1 John 4:20-21
The love of God has dirt under its fingernails. Contrary to popular opinion, love, properly understood, is not an ephemeral emotion floating in the atmosphere just above treeline. Christian love builds callouses on its fingers and feet. Love does things. It motivates us, teaches us what is good and what is destructive for the the human life. It is - or it becomes - the love of God among us.
John is thoroughly earthy in his commands to love. Though he talks about love a lot he is far from what we would call a romantic. Christian love is intensely practical, intentional, and often difficult. If we say we love God and hate a neighbor we are lying about loving God. It doesn't matter how often we say we love God, how sincerely we mean it when we say it, or how many people believe us when we say it, if we hate a single human soul we are lying about our love for God. It is a high bar, but the love of God is utterly incompatible with hatred for people. In fact, the more we grow in the love of God the clearer love and hate become to us: we love people and hate the junk that destroys their souls. We learn to hate sin just as God does. In fact, God loves every soul so much, he deeply hates the sin that separates them from him and destroys their lives.
Every human deserves to know the love of God and Christians need to do the loving. This world with all its promises of liberty and tolerance will never reproduce the power of the love of God, so it needs to be the people of God who show it. People need to be loved.
These people we live with, get to know, build relationships with, all need to be loved. The people we create families and communities with, the people who become our life-long friends need to be loved. Even those who take more from us that they give need God's love. The people we find difficult, annoying, arrogant, simple-minded, myopic, dangerous, or plain-old cruel need to be loved.
After all, this is how God did it.
Instead of loving us from afar and casting his affections our way hoping we might feel some of it or comprehend some fraction of it, he came here. He became flesh and the life and love of God was manifest in our midst in a man who got dirt under his fingernails and blisters on his feet. He walked the dusty roads of Galilee, feasted with friends and laughed in the company of people who befriended him. He wept at the death of a friend. He endured the fickle crowds who followed him as long as he had bread to give them at the end of the sermon. He endured the years-long persecution of the religious leadership of his people. His friends ran from his aid, denied, and betrayed him. In this flesh he felt every ounce of pain in the flogging and the hammering of the nails. In this flesh, the love of God died to save difficult, rebellious, stiff-necked, dangerous, and plain-old evil people.
We need to love people. God did.
Showing posts with label John the Apostle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John the Apostle. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Believing and Behaving Disciples
1 John 4:15-16
John is known as 'the apostle of love' and for good reason. In his first epistle his concentration on the love of God is obvious if not overwhelming. But what can be lost in this love language is his concern that believers also confess the truth about Jesus Christ. There were false teachers coming through the church who were teaching new things about Christ, which, if believed, would separate disciples from the truth and the fellowship of the body of Christ. John desperately wanted his congregation to hold to the truth in Jesus Christ and to love as he did with a unique and unquenchable fervor. Both are needed for our faith, but we are often tempted to take up either one and drop the other.
One common mistake in the Christian faith is to hold to the truths of Christ without their implications reaching our behavior. We believe; we don't behave. There are times when this is a cold faith. What we believe is reduced to formulae, to precisely worded statements of doctrine that must be adhered to under threat of inquisition. We come to Christ as a set of doctrines to be held to (and to hold others to) instead as coming to a Person - the Person who lived, died and rose again. Things like 'grace' become just terms and ideas instead of lifestyles and gifts of relationship. And as such, we lose too much.
Sometimes this is a fiery and fervent mistake. When Christ is reduced to statements of belief it becomes easy to recognize the impostors. It becomes easy to vet the undesirables, throw out a pastor, split a church, or leave the fold altogether. All because we had Christ down pat and they did not agree. Zeal without knowledge is a dangerous thing.
The other mistake may be a reaction to the first, but is just as wrong-headed. Down this path we take a journey of deeds, intentions, and emotions. The faith becomes a matter of what we do, how often we do it, how well-intentioned we are when we do it, and how fervently we reject the other mistake. Who needs doctrines and creeds that do nothing but divide? Here, we do not play those power games or exclude other deed-doers over minutiae. We want people who will live lives of love to their fellow human beings, nothing more, and certainly nothing less.
With all its good intentions this temptation leaves the front door open to any and every definition of "love" and eventually of Christ himself. After all, we are not going to divide and conquer over those kinds of things. In this way, though the deed is done (or at least is intended to be done), the truth of the person of Christ gets left by the roadside like the spare luggage we should not have packed in the first place.
John, however, shows us the better way. Christians confess and love. Disciples of Jesus Christ know and believe in the true Christ and love their brothers and sisters as Christ loved them. The believer with the robust and meaningful faith believes and behaves. It turns out that whoever confesses that Jesus is the Christ, came in the flesh, and died as the propitiation for our sins abides in him. And, not surprisingly, whoever loves as he loves abides in him and he abides in them. This is the better way.
John is known as 'the apostle of love' and for good reason. In his first epistle his concentration on the love of God is obvious if not overwhelming. But what can be lost in this love language is his concern that believers also confess the truth about Jesus Christ. There were false teachers coming through the church who were teaching new things about Christ, which, if believed, would separate disciples from the truth and the fellowship of the body of Christ. John desperately wanted his congregation to hold to the truth in Jesus Christ and to love as he did with a unique and unquenchable fervor. Both are needed for our faith, but we are often tempted to take up either one and drop the other.
One common mistake in the Christian faith is to hold to the truths of Christ without their implications reaching our behavior. We believe; we don't behave. There are times when this is a cold faith. What we believe is reduced to formulae, to precisely worded statements of doctrine that must be adhered to under threat of inquisition. We come to Christ as a set of doctrines to be held to (and to hold others to) instead as coming to a Person - the Person who lived, died and rose again. Things like 'grace' become just terms and ideas instead of lifestyles and gifts of relationship. And as such, we lose too much.
Sometimes this is a fiery and fervent mistake. When Christ is reduced to statements of belief it becomes easy to recognize the impostors. It becomes easy to vet the undesirables, throw out a pastor, split a church, or leave the fold altogether. All because we had Christ down pat and they did not agree. Zeal without knowledge is a dangerous thing.
The other mistake may be a reaction to the first, but is just as wrong-headed. Down this path we take a journey of deeds, intentions, and emotions. The faith becomes a matter of what we do, how often we do it, how well-intentioned we are when we do it, and how fervently we reject the other mistake. Who needs doctrines and creeds that do nothing but divide? Here, we do not play those power games or exclude other deed-doers over minutiae. We want people who will live lives of love to their fellow human beings, nothing more, and certainly nothing less.
With all its good intentions this temptation leaves the front door open to any and every definition of "love" and eventually of Christ himself. After all, we are not going to divide and conquer over those kinds of things. In this way, though the deed is done (or at least is intended to be done), the truth of the person of Christ gets left by the roadside like the spare luggage we should not have packed in the first place.
John, however, shows us the better way. Christians confess and love. Disciples of Jesus Christ know and believe in the true Christ and love their brothers and sisters as Christ loved them. The believer with the robust and meaningful faith believes and behaves. It turns out that whoever confesses that Jesus is the Christ, came in the flesh, and died as the propitiation for our sins abides in him. And, not surprisingly, whoever loves as he loves abides in him and he abides in them. This is the better way.
Monday, May 7, 2012
A God Greater Than Sin
Like all the early Christians, John’s first readers were
facing false teaching that threatened to separate them from their relationship
with each other and with Christ. While
there are times when John tells us exactly what the false teachers were saying,
there are times when we are required to infer the false teaching from the
correction John gives. We learn the
disease by reading the prescription labels.
It seems to be the case that John’s congregation was being tempted to
take sin too lightly, to view it with a frightening level of indifference, to
see sin as inconsequential to their lives with Christ.
To be sure, this is one way of dealing with the
unremitting reality of our own brokenness.
If we are able to deny sin itself, justify any behavior we want, or even
claim a certain kind of perfection, we are able (we think) to side-step the
problem sin presents. But this is not
John’s solution. His is radically
different from the temptation to suppress the sinfulness of sin. Instead, the closer we look at the depth and
power of sin and all of its consequences in our lives the more we learn that
God as greater than all of that. The God
who forgives does not forgive small and inconsequential things, He forgives the
very thing that becomes our ruination.
Disciples of Jesus Christ do not live forgiven lives because they have
diminished sin, but because God has done something about all their sin.
To remedy the false teaching John tells his readers that all
“sin is lawlessness.” Everything that is
contrary to the will and character of God is a breaking of His law. John does not make distinctions between the
large, visible sins and the small or private sins implying that only the ‘big’
acts of rebellion are lawless while the others are not. All that goes against God’s law is sin and
all sin is lawlessness – every inclination, every action.
John, however, does not leave us there. Christ “appeared to take away sins, and in
him there is no sin.” John knows our
lives are riddled with brokenness and that Christ came to fix that problem. In fact, knowing the extent of sin is our
doorway into understanding why Christ came.
If John’ s readers were denying their sinfulness, were they changing the
reason why Christ came? If I have
decided that I no longer suffer the ravages of sin, who then does Christ
become? It is a short path from the
softening of sin to Christ being reduced from a Savior to a moral example or a
great human teacher. Changing my need
changes my savior.
But, if John’s congregation holds to the teaching they have
heard from the beginning about their need and their true Savior, then both the
problem is rightly understood and the remedy is rightly accepted. Jesus Christ came to take away sins, not to
be listed among some of the greatest philosophers or teachers in history. And the only way to get to that saving God is
to take sin seriously.
The lighter we take sin the smaller and more unnecessary
God becomes to us. But if we look
unflinchingly at the power and ubiquity of sin and turn to the only One who can
cure us, God becomes Lord and Savior of our lives.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Relearning Obedience
John 21:1-14
As the disciple John closes his gospel, he notes that Jesus revealed himself to his disciples in a particular way. The story of the great catch of fish is not just a filler between the resurrection and Jesus’ restoration of Peter, it is a deliberate act of revelation from Jesus to his disciples. And it is a revelation that happens through a simple, but consequential, act of obedience.
None of us are naturally tuned to happily and consistently obey the will of God. We naturally obey ourselves and the easy inclinations of the flesh, and learning to obey Christ is work that cuts against the grain of our nature. We often misunderstand obedience to God as a wearisome and life-destroying task, so we are wrongly prejudiced against it before we begin. But this fish story teaches us that obedience is in truth an amazing thing. Obedience is revelation about God, it is the entrance into his will, and it is the source of his power and the work of his kingdom. In all, the call to obedience is God’s invitation for us to join in his work and his will.
They fished all night and caught nothing. Like everywhere else in John’s gospel, work in the dark is fruitless. But just as the morning begins to dawn and light strikes the seashore, a stranger becomes visible and tells them to cast their nets on the right side of the boat. Amazingly, these frustrated and professional fishermen do it. And as soon as they do, an empty net becomes full and a fruitless night becomes a fruitful morning.
As soon as the fish are in the net, John sees something. He cries, “It is the Lord!” (vs. 7) They didn’t recognize Jesus until after an act of obedience. And the revelation here is the result of an act of obedience – obedience shows us God.
Obedience is a teacher. When we obey God rather than our own ways, we learn through experience that his ways are higher than ours and his power is greater than ours. The professionals were failing under their own power on the sea. Disciples brought in a net full of fish by obeying a simple command.
After Peter swims to shore and the remaining disciples pull in the catch, they all stand before their risen Savior. He has already prepared them breakfast: “When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread.” (vs. 9) The disciples caught 153 large fish, and Jesus didn’t need a single one of them. This causes me to wonder, why the great catch of fish? Did they catch fish to provide Jesus with something he didn’t have? Were they bringing him something he couldn’t get on his own?
Was their act of obedience an act of giving Jesus something he lacked or something they lacked? Was their obedience about what he needed or what they needed?
We obey God because he is our Lord and we are his people. But we also obey God for our own sake – to fill our lack and to meet our need. Our obedience is God’s way of filling us with himself and bringing us into his work in his kingdom. He had already caught the fish he needed to feed them. They needed to learn that obedience brings them into the work he is already doing.
Obey the word and will of God today and you will find a Savior ready and waiting to fill you with his abundance.
As the disciple John closes his gospel, he notes that Jesus revealed himself to his disciples in a particular way. The story of the great catch of fish is not just a filler between the resurrection and Jesus’ restoration of Peter, it is a deliberate act of revelation from Jesus to his disciples. And it is a revelation that happens through a simple, but consequential, act of obedience.
None of us are naturally tuned to happily and consistently obey the will of God. We naturally obey ourselves and the easy inclinations of the flesh, and learning to obey Christ is work that cuts against the grain of our nature. We often misunderstand obedience to God as a wearisome and life-destroying task, so we are wrongly prejudiced against it before we begin. But this fish story teaches us that obedience is in truth an amazing thing. Obedience is revelation about God, it is the entrance into his will, and it is the source of his power and the work of his kingdom. In all, the call to obedience is God’s invitation for us to join in his work and his will.
They fished all night and caught nothing. Like everywhere else in John’s gospel, work in the dark is fruitless. But just as the morning begins to dawn and light strikes the seashore, a stranger becomes visible and tells them to cast their nets on the right side of the boat. Amazingly, these frustrated and professional fishermen do it. And as soon as they do, an empty net becomes full and a fruitless night becomes a fruitful morning.
As soon as the fish are in the net, John sees something. He cries, “It is the Lord!” (vs. 7) They didn’t recognize Jesus until after an act of obedience. And the revelation here is the result of an act of obedience – obedience shows us God.
Obedience is a teacher. When we obey God rather than our own ways, we learn through experience that his ways are higher than ours and his power is greater than ours. The professionals were failing under their own power on the sea. Disciples brought in a net full of fish by obeying a simple command.
After Peter swims to shore and the remaining disciples pull in the catch, they all stand before their risen Savior. He has already prepared them breakfast: “When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread.” (vs. 9) The disciples caught 153 large fish, and Jesus didn’t need a single one of them. This causes me to wonder, why the great catch of fish? Did they catch fish to provide Jesus with something he didn’t have? Were they bringing him something he couldn’t get on his own?
Was their act of obedience an act of giving Jesus something he lacked or something they lacked? Was their obedience about what he needed or what they needed?
We obey God because he is our Lord and we are his people. But we also obey God for our own sake – to fill our lack and to meet our need. Our obedience is God’s way of filling us with himself and bringing us into his work in his kingdom. He had already caught the fish he needed to feed them. They needed to learn that obedience brings them into the work he is already doing.
Obey the word and will of God today and you will find a Savior ready and waiting to fill you with his abundance.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Earthly Power, God's Will
John 18:1-11
The scene is about as dark as it could be. In the middle of the night Jesus is with his handful of disciples and followers in a garden praying. Then the betrayer Judas arrives with both Roman and Temple soldiers armed to the teeth to take Jesus into custody. The night is dark, the prospects seem bleak, and there is almost nothing the disciples can do about it. But there is something Peter decides to do about it.
Just a couple of hours earlier at dinner Peter proclaimed that he would follow Jesus wherever he went, even if it meant going to his own death. Peter found his moment. He drew his sword in the face of possibly hundreds of professional soldiers and made his way toward the closest unarmed man he could find. Peter struck, the ear was severed, and Jesus put a stop to the whole thing. When Jesus healed the servant’s ear, he not only healed the physical wound, he healed the damage Peter did with his sword. To put Peter’s action and Jesus’ response in context, we should back up a minute before Peter puts his hand on the hilt.
It is important to see who was in control of the arrest. When Judas and his band arrive, Jesus “came forward” and asked them who they sought. He clearly wasn’t put off by the posturing of power. When Jesus identified himself with, “I am he,” all of them rocked back on their heels and fell over. Not even a group of armed, professional soldiers could stand in the presence of the breath of God. Just the mention of his name blew them down. Jesus was no unfortunate martyr caught in the gears of injustice. Jesus was in control of the cross and he was in control of the arrest.
While the soldiers and Judas recovered their feet Jesus said, “I told you that I am he. So, if you seek me, let these men go.” Earlier Jesus prayed that he had lost none of the disciples except the one who had already betrayed him, so this moment is a fulfillment of his own prayer. Jesus is arrested and his disciples, including the impetuous Peter, go free. Jesus is not only in control of the arrest and the cross, he is in control of his disciples. In the face of overt and aggressive armed persecution, not a single disciple faces a fate outside of God’s will. And that brings us back to Peter.
Peter’s impulse was to draw his sword in the face of swords. He wanted to protect Christ with all the human strength he could muster. His impulse was to fight earthly power with earthly power, and his impulse was exactly wrong. Jesus, on the other hand, was interested in another power and asked Peter, “shall I not drink the cup that the Father has given me?” Earthly power was of no consequence in a garden full of soldiers and swords: the most powerful and important thing that night was the will of God.
The Kingdom of God is not about the assertion of my earthly power or our earthly power – it is a matter of the will of God. In the face of everything this world brings against Christ and his people, the most powerful and important thing to the disciple is the will of God. Christ was in complete control of the cross, and Christ is in complete control of his child.
The scene is about as dark as it could be. In the middle of the night Jesus is with his handful of disciples and followers in a garden praying. Then the betrayer Judas arrives with both Roman and Temple soldiers armed to the teeth to take Jesus into custody. The night is dark, the prospects seem bleak, and there is almost nothing the disciples can do about it. But there is something Peter decides to do about it.
Just a couple of hours earlier at dinner Peter proclaimed that he would follow Jesus wherever he went, even if it meant going to his own death. Peter found his moment. He drew his sword in the face of possibly hundreds of professional soldiers and made his way toward the closest unarmed man he could find. Peter struck, the ear was severed, and Jesus put a stop to the whole thing. When Jesus healed the servant’s ear, he not only healed the physical wound, he healed the damage Peter did with his sword. To put Peter’s action and Jesus’ response in context, we should back up a minute before Peter puts his hand on the hilt.
It is important to see who was in control of the arrest. When Judas and his band arrive, Jesus “came forward” and asked them who they sought. He clearly wasn’t put off by the posturing of power. When Jesus identified himself with, “I am he,” all of them rocked back on their heels and fell over. Not even a group of armed, professional soldiers could stand in the presence of the breath of God. Just the mention of his name blew them down. Jesus was no unfortunate martyr caught in the gears of injustice. Jesus was in control of the cross and he was in control of the arrest.
While the soldiers and Judas recovered their feet Jesus said, “I told you that I am he. So, if you seek me, let these men go.” Earlier Jesus prayed that he had lost none of the disciples except the one who had already betrayed him, so this moment is a fulfillment of his own prayer. Jesus is arrested and his disciples, including the impetuous Peter, go free. Jesus is not only in control of the arrest and the cross, he is in control of his disciples. In the face of overt and aggressive armed persecution, not a single disciple faces a fate outside of God’s will. And that brings us back to Peter.
Peter’s impulse was to draw his sword in the face of swords. He wanted to protect Christ with all the human strength he could muster. His impulse was to fight earthly power with earthly power, and his impulse was exactly wrong. Jesus, on the other hand, was interested in another power and asked Peter, “shall I not drink the cup that the Father has given me?” Earthly power was of no consequence in a garden full of soldiers and swords: the most powerful and important thing that night was the will of God.
The Kingdom of God is not about the assertion of my earthly power or our earthly power – it is a matter of the will of God. In the face of everything this world brings against Christ and his people, the most powerful and important thing to the disciple is the will of God. Christ was in complete control of the cross, and Christ is in complete control of his child.
Monday, August 23, 2010
A New Commandment to Love
John 13:34-35
On the night Jesus was betrayed, he washed the disciples’ feet, identified Judas as his betrayer, and gave them a new commandment about love. The command to love each other as he loved them comes at an interesting moment in the Gospel story. After washing their feet, Jesus’ betrayer leaves the room to sell him for money, and after giving the command, Peter’s forthcoming denial is revealed. The command to love each other with God’s unique kind of love is sandwiched between satanic betrayal and the denial that comes from well intentioned, but ultimately frail, humanity. Christ’s love is never seen so clearly as when the background is so dark.
“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (vs. 34-35)
In one sense, there is nothing new about this command. The Old Testament tells us that we are to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love our neighbors as ourselves (Deut. 6:5; Lev. 19:34). During his life with the disciples, Jesus repeated these commands in what we sometimes call the Greatest Commandment – we ought to love God with everything we have and love our neighbors as we love ourselves (Mark 12:30-31). So, if there is nothing new about God commanding his people to be people of love, what is so new about this commandment to love?
First of all, the context becomes the standard. The cross is looming just ahead of Jesus: he is distressed and troubled by all that will befall him in the next 24 hours, including both the physical torture and the betrayal and denial of beloved friends. This is God in flesh being betrayed by a friend, and yet Jesus washed his feet and served him bread. Up to the last minute before Satan enters Judas and Judas leaves the room for good, Jesus reaches out to him in love. This is God in flesh surrounded by well-meaning disciples but frail humans who nonetheless are going to fall before they rise again to become his church. And in it all Jesus places his kingdom in their hands. When there seems to be no good reason for Jesus to love his disciples or command love one to another – on a night as dark as this – Jesus commands love. The cross becomes the standard.
Second, the person becomes the standard. This is not human love. This is not human love to the maximum sustained over a long period of time. This is not “true love.” This is nothing any human or any group of humans can muster or imitate, because it is a love that comes from the heart of God himself. Jesus is clear just hours before he will die on the cross for them that he alone is the standard for this love: “just as I have loved you.” Jesus must become our example of and source of love.
And finally, the disciples become the bearers of this love. John the disciple said in one of his epistles, “Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another” (1 John 4:11). Jesus has ascended into the heavens and we are now the love of God to this world and to each other. If we follow his example, we are marked by our love – we are distinguished and recognized by our love. We are not recognized just as good people or perpetual do-gooders. We are recognized as people who belong to this Jesus Christ.
This command to love is utterly unique in that the cross becomes the standard, the person Jesus becomes the standard, and we the disciples are becoming the examples here and now of this love.
On the night Jesus was betrayed, he washed the disciples’ feet, identified Judas as his betrayer, and gave them a new commandment about love. The command to love each other as he loved them comes at an interesting moment in the Gospel story. After washing their feet, Jesus’ betrayer leaves the room to sell him for money, and after giving the command, Peter’s forthcoming denial is revealed. The command to love each other with God’s unique kind of love is sandwiched between satanic betrayal and the denial that comes from well intentioned, but ultimately frail, humanity. Christ’s love is never seen so clearly as when the background is so dark.
“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (vs. 34-35)
In one sense, there is nothing new about this command. The Old Testament tells us that we are to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love our neighbors as ourselves (Deut. 6:5; Lev. 19:34). During his life with the disciples, Jesus repeated these commands in what we sometimes call the Greatest Commandment – we ought to love God with everything we have and love our neighbors as we love ourselves (Mark 12:30-31). So, if there is nothing new about God commanding his people to be people of love, what is so new about this commandment to love?
First of all, the context becomes the standard. The cross is looming just ahead of Jesus: he is distressed and troubled by all that will befall him in the next 24 hours, including both the physical torture and the betrayal and denial of beloved friends. This is God in flesh being betrayed by a friend, and yet Jesus washed his feet and served him bread. Up to the last minute before Satan enters Judas and Judas leaves the room for good, Jesus reaches out to him in love. This is God in flesh surrounded by well-meaning disciples but frail humans who nonetheless are going to fall before they rise again to become his church. And in it all Jesus places his kingdom in their hands. When there seems to be no good reason for Jesus to love his disciples or command love one to another – on a night as dark as this – Jesus commands love. The cross becomes the standard.
Second, the person becomes the standard. This is not human love. This is not human love to the maximum sustained over a long period of time. This is not “true love.” This is nothing any human or any group of humans can muster or imitate, because it is a love that comes from the heart of God himself. Jesus is clear just hours before he will die on the cross for them that he alone is the standard for this love: “just as I have loved you.” Jesus must become our example of and source of love.
And finally, the disciples become the bearers of this love. John the disciple said in one of his epistles, “Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another” (1 John 4:11). Jesus has ascended into the heavens and we are now the love of God to this world and to each other. If we follow his example, we are marked by our love – we are distinguished and recognized by our love. We are not recognized just as good people or perpetual do-gooders. We are recognized as people who belong to this Jesus Christ.
This command to love is utterly unique in that the cross becomes the standard, the person Jesus becomes the standard, and we the disciples are becoming the examples here and now of this love.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Knowing God
John 7:1-18
Jesus is a controversial figure. Divisive, even. And I speak of the Jesus of Scripture, of course. The “nice guy” Jesus of our culture is not only uncontroversial, he isn’t even interesting. He wants everyone to get alone, he is OK with other gods, and he loves you just the way you are. But when we come into contact with the Jesus of Scripture he immediately divides the room. And such is the case with the story of John 7. Jesus reenters Jerusalem for another feast of the Jews and even before the people know he is there, they are divided about who he is.
If we put ourselves in the places of the people in Jerusalem trying to figure out who Jesus is, we are presented with a real problem. There are those who say he is a great teacher, those who claim he is a rotten teacher. There are those who go so far as to say he is the Messiah, and those who want to kill him for blasphemy. One way or another, Jesus was not – and is not – a boring figure.
So how are we to decide who Jesus is? Are there better or worse ways to understand who he is? If we put it another way, if our spiritual formation depends on getting Jesus right, how do we get him right? In the course of the conversations in chapter 7, Jesus gives us at least two answers to this question. The first is all about our desires.
“If anyone’s will is to do God’s will, he will know whether the teaching is from God or whether I am speaking on my own authority.” (vs. 17)
If our wills are pointed in the right direction, Jesus promises us that we will come to a deeper and more accurate understanding of God and a more intimate relationship with him. If we can understand our will as something guided by our most powerful desires, if our desires are healthy our relationship with God will become healthier. And we have already seen this truth in action in John’s Gospel. In chapter 5, the Jewish leaders cared more for their Sabbath laws than the healing of a life-long paralytic, so they not only missed Jesus, they decided to kill him. The first story of John 7 involves Jesus’ brothers as mockers and tempters. As such, they completely missed who Jesus truly was. In contrast, after hearing a very difficult conversation about what it would mean to follow Jesus, Peter proclaimed that there was nowhere else for them to go. He would follow Jesus no matter what followed. That decision didn’t make Peter’s life perfect, but it did mean he found Jesus.
The second way is through our glory.
“The one who speaks on his own authority seeks his own glory; but the one who seeks the glory of him who sent him is true, and in him there is no falsehood.” (vs. 18)
As our example, the Son of God, the second member of the Trinity, God in flesh, lived for the glory of God and it resulted in the truth of God here on earth. I, a simple and broken human being, am tempted on a regular basis to replace God’s glory with my own. Through my daily life of taking care of people, tasks, and self I become habitually caught up in me and my life. But we learn through Christ that glory is a glimpse into who does and does not see God.
If Christ’s life on earth was lived to the glory of God and he is known because of it, how much more will I see, experience, and reveal that life if I live for the glory of God.
Jesus is a controversial figure. Divisive, even. And I speak of the Jesus of Scripture, of course. The “nice guy” Jesus of our culture is not only uncontroversial, he isn’t even interesting. He wants everyone to get alone, he is OK with other gods, and he loves you just the way you are. But when we come into contact with the Jesus of Scripture he immediately divides the room. And such is the case with the story of John 7. Jesus reenters Jerusalem for another feast of the Jews and even before the people know he is there, they are divided about who he is.
If we put ourselves in the places of the people in Jerusalem trying to figure out who Jesus is, we are presented with a real problem. There are those who say he is a great teacher, those who claim he is a rotten teacher. There are those who go so far as to say he is the Messiah, and those who want to kill him for blasphemy. One way or another, Jesus was not – and is not – a boring figure.
So how are we to decide who Jesus is? Are there better or worse ways to understand who he is? If we put it another way, if our spiritual formation depends on getting Jesus right, how do we get him right? In the course of the conversations in chapter 7, Jesus gives us at least two answers to this question. The first is all about our desires.
“If anyone’s will is to do God’s will, he will know whether the teaching is from God or whether I am speaking on my own authority.” (vs. 17)
If our wills are pointed in the right direction, Jesus promises us that we will come to a deeper and more accurate understanding of God and a more intimate relationship with him. If we can understand our will as something guided by our most powerful desires, if our desires are healthy our relationship with God will become healthier. And we have already seen this truth in action in John’s Gospel. In chapter 5, the Jewish leaders cared more for their Sabbath laws than the healing of a life-long paralytic, so they not only missed Jesus, they decided to kill him. The first story of John 7 involves Jesus’ brothers as mockers and tempters. As such, they completely missed who Jesus truly was. In contrast, after hearing a very difficult conversation about what it would mean to follow Jesus, Peter proclaimed that there was nowhere else for them to go. He would follow Jesus no matter what followed. That decision didn’t make Peter’s life perfect, but it did mean he found Jesus.
The second way is through our glory.
“The one who speaks on his own authority seeks his own glory; but the one who seeks the glory of him who sent him is true, and in him there is no falsehood.” (vs. 18)
As our example, the Son of God, the second member of the Trinity, God in flesh, lived for the glory of God and it resulted in the truth of God here on earth. I, a simple and broken human being, am tempted on a regular basis to replace God’s glory with my own. Through my daily life of taking care of people, tasks, and self I become habitually caught up in me and my life. But we learn through Christ that glory is a glimpse into who does and does not see God.
If Christ’s life on earth was lived to the glory of God and he is known because of it, how much more will I see, experience, and reveal that life if I live for the glory of God.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
God Loves the World
John 3:16-21
How would you finish the phrase, “Love is…”? We could, and we often do, put all kinds of things and people into that sentence. We use “love” to apply to a radical array and variety of items in our lives. I love a well made mocha. I also love my wife. I love hiking in the Colorado Rockies. I also love my friends. Because we use this word to apply to so many different things, we often lose sight of the power and meaning of love. Sometimes, when a word means almost anything, it comes to mean almost nothing.
So, what does it mean that “God so loved the world” that he gave his one and only Son? John uses a powerful word for love here, and we ought to look at it in at least three ways. This love is attention. When we have a deep love for someone or something, it consumes our attention. They are on our minds often if not all the time, and we are interested in their well-being and their condition. To love a thing is to give our attention to a thing.
This love is also attachment. When we love a thing, a person, or an idea, we will attach ourselves to them. We will rearrange our lives and prioritize our time so we can be with, or think about, or do for those people. My heart, my mind, and my life will attach themselves to the things I love.
This love is also sacrifice. We sacrifice for the things we love. And we sacrifice to the degree we love them. I will sacrifice money for a good meal. But there are people in my life for whom I would sacrifice my life.
God so loved the world that he gave all these things to us. He has lavished his attention upon us in the form of his Son. Christ came to reveal the will and heart of the Father in his life among us. God also attached himself to this world through the incarnation. Jesus took on real flesh and bone and lived a human life as God with us. And then God sacrificed for us out of his love. Jesus suffered real betrayal, humiliation and pain. Jesus really did die a torturous death upon a cross, forsaken by his closest friends. It cost God to love us.
And in this love we see the will of God. We become shockingly aware of what God wants when we pay attention to his love. We, his creation, were separated from him and lost in our brokenness and sin. He saw the chasm and initiated reconciliation through giving us his Son. Paul says that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Rom 5:6-8). The disciple Peter says that God’s will is that none should perish, but that all would come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9).
But just as we learn of God by his love, we also learn from our loves. The problem is not with God’s love, but with ours. Jesus is clear that though the light came into the darkness, people did not receive him because they loved darkness rather than the light (John 3:19). The shocking thing is, our love of darkness is just as deep as God’s love for us. God loves (agape) the world, but humans love (agape) darkness.
So then, where is my mind naturally drawn? To whom and what am I naturally willing to attach myself? What do I naturally sacrifice for? Just as God’s love drives him into our lives to reconcile us to himself, our loves, when they remain in darkness, blind us to the gift of God.
But that is not the end of the story, because, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son to us that we might believe and not perish, but have everlasting life. God loves the world.
How would you finish the phrase, “Love is…”? We could, and we often do, put all kinds of things and people into that sentence. We use “love” to apply to a radical array and variety of items in our lives. I love a well made mocha. I also love my wife. I love hiking in the Colorado Rockies. I also love my friends. Because we use this word to apply to so many different things, we often lose sight of the power and meaning of love. Sometimes, when a word means almost anything, it comes to mean almost nothing.
So, what does it mean that “God so loved the world” that he gave his one and only Son? John uses a powerful word for love here, and we ought to look at it in at least three ways. This love is attention. When we have a deep love for someone or something, it consumes our attention. They are on our minds often if not all the time, and we are interested in their well-being and their condition. To love a thing is to give our attention to a thing.
This love is also attachment. When we love a thing, a person, or an idea, we will attach ourselves to them. We will rearrange our lives and prioritize our time so we can be with, or think about, or do for those people. My heart, my mind, and my life will attach themselves to the things I love.
This love is also sacrifice. We sacrifice for the things we love. And we sacrifice to the degree we love them. I will sacrifice money for a good meal. But there are people in my life for whom I would sacrifice my life.
God so loved the world that he gave all these things to us. He has lavished his attention upon us in the form of his Son. Christ came to reveal the will and heart of the Father in his life among us. God also attached himself to this world through the incarnation. Jesus took on real flesh and bone and lived a human life as God with us. And then God sacrificed for us out of his love. Jesus suffered real betrayal, humiliation and pain. Jesus really did die a torturous death upon a cross, forsaken by his closest friends. It cost God to love us.
And in this love we see the will of God. We become shockingly aware of what God wants when we pay attention to his love. We, his creation, were separated from him and lost in our brokenness and sin. He saw the chasm and initiated reconciliation through giving us his Son. Paul says that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Rom 5:6-8). The disciple Peter says that God’s will is that none should perish, but that all would come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9).
But just as we learn of God by his love, we also learn from our loves. The problem is not with God’s love, but with ours. Jesus is clear that though the light came into the darkness, people did not receive him because they loved darkness rather than the light (John 3:19). The shocking thing is, our love of darkness is just as deep as God’s love for us. God loves (agape) the world, but humans love (agape) darkness.
So then, where is my mind naturally drawn? To whom and what am I naturally willing to attach myself? What do I naturally sacrifice for? Just as God’s love drives him into our lives to reconcile us to himself, our loves, when they remain in darkness, blind us to the gift of God.
But that is not the end of the story, because, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son to us that we might believe and not perish, but have everlasting life. God loves the world.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Why Does God Care?
John 2:1-12
Have you ever wondered what God cares about? What is it that catches his attention? What in this universe moves God? After all, he is the Creator, the Author of all time and history, and he knows the position of every atom and molecule in the universe. He sees the beginning from the end and all of human history is simply a glance for God. There are a lot of grand and magnificent things for God to take care of and large sweeps in human affairs for God to pay attention to. Have you ever wondered if God really does take notice – and care – about the microscopic scope of your life?
Jesus’ first miracle in John’s Gospel is a telling glimpse into these questions. And not only does it begin to tell us what kinds of things God cares about, but more importantly, it shows us why he cares about them.
Jesus, his disciples and his mother are invited to a wedding in Cana in Galilee. They travel a few miles from the tiny and humble hamlet of Nazareth to the tiny and humble town of Cana. Like the small villages around it, Cana is obscure, simple, and even poor. From the very start there are very few people here to even behold the glory that is the miracle Jesus is about to perform. Then, when the wine runs out, Jesus and his mother have a conversation about what needs to happen. Though he gently rebuffs her for placing expectation upon him, Mary responds with the right kind of surrender and faith by telling the servants to do whatever Jesus tells them to do.
Then, in this small town at an anonymous wedding celebration, Jesus is left alone with a couple of servants and a handful of young disciples. And it is there, in the back hallway of the house that Jesus performs the first of his miracles.
Though Jesus is teaching his disciples something deep and meaningful about him and his mission on earth, there is no getting around the simple fact that there is also a wedding that needs saving. Jesus saves the groom and his family embarrassment and even shame by quietly turning 180 gallons of water into wine.
I struggle from time to time over the care and attention of God. Of all the things and people in this universe, can it really be true that God not only sees me (is simply aware of my presence the way I am aware of harmless spiders in my basement) but that he cares (more deeply than I care for my own family)? Then I read a passage like this one and am reassured that God reaches even into the simple and humble recesses of life and is ready to perform the miraculous. Not even a sparrow falls to the ground apart from my Father’s attention, and in his eyes, I am worth more that many sparrows.
But John also tells us why Jesus works wonders in the humble estate of my life. After a miracle performed in an out of the way town among only a handful of unimportant people, John says, “This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory. And his disciples believed in him.”
Why is Christ at work in even my life? Every ounce of his activity in my life is designed to reveal the divine splendor and the eternal power and might of my God. He does not work in and through me so that the world might see me – it is so the world around me may see the glory of my Savior and that they might place their trust and confidence in him.
Every moment of my life is pregnant with the glory of God.
Have you ever wondered what God cares about? What is it that catches his attention? What in this universe moves God? After all, he is the Creator, the Author of all time and history, and he knows the position of every atom and molecule in the universe. He sees the beginning from the end and all of human history is simply a glance for God. There are a lot of grand and magnificent things for God to take care of and large sweeps in human affairs for God to pay attention to. Have you ever wondered if God really does take notice – and care – about the microscopic scope of your life?
Jesus’ first miracle in John’s Gospel is a telling glimpse into these questions. And not only does it begin to tell us what kinds of things God cares about, but more importantly, it shows us why he cares about them.
Jesus, his disciples and his mother are invited to a wedding in Cana in Galilee. They travel a few miles from the tiny and humble hamlet of Nazareth to the tiny and humble town of Cana. Like the small villages around it, Cana is obscure, simple, and even poor. From the very start there are very few people here to even behold the glory that is the miracle Jesus is about to perform. Then, when the wine runs out, Jesus and his mother have a conversation about what needs to happen. Though he gently rebuffs her for placing expectation upon him, Mary responds with the right kind of surrender and faith by telling the servants to do whatever Jesus tells them to do.
Then, in this small town at an anonymous wedding celebration, Jesus is left alone with a couple of servants and a handful of young disciples. And it is there, in the back hallway of the house that Jesus performs the first of his miracles.
Though Jesus is teaching his disciples something deep and meaningful about him and his mission on earth, there is no getting around the simple fact that there is also a wedding that needs saving. Jesus saves the groom and his family embarrassment and even shame by quietly turning 180 gallons of water into wine.
I struggle from time to time over the care and attention of God. Of all the things and people in this universe, can it really be true that God not only sees me (is simply aware of my presence the way I am aware of harmless spiders in my basement) but that he cares (more deeply than I care for my own family)? Then I read a passage like this one and am reassured that God reaches even into the simple and humble recesses of life and is ready to perform the miraculous. Not even a sparrow falls to the ground apart from my Father’s attention, and in his eyes, I am worth more that many sparrows.
But John also tells us why Jesus works wonders in the humble estate of my life. After a miracle performed in an out of the way town among only a handful of unimportant people, John says, “This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory. And his disciples believed in him.”
Why is Christ at work in even my life? Every ounce of his activity in my life is designed to reveal the divine splendor and the eternal power and might of my God. He does not work in and through me so that the world might see me – it is so the world around me may see the glory of my Savior and that they might place their trust and confidence in him.
Every moment of my life is pregnant with the glory of God.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Willing Slaves of Christ
Revelation 1:1
The book of Revelation tends lay in a fog. We may only read it when we get worried about world events, or at the end of our yearly reading program, and it is almost always a frustrating book to try and figure out. It contains odd and difficult to understand visions, dreams, beasts and creatures. Much of what John sees and writes down is in a form foreign to us, and we don’t always know how to go about tackling the interpretation of the book.
This is an odd, though common, irony. From the very start of the book, it is intended to be a revelation of Jesus Christ. Though that word “revelation” is the Greek word for apocalypse, it means to have something unfolded and explained to us. And who or what is the target of that unfolding? It is Jesus Christ. The book of Revelation, for all its uniqueness, reveals Jesus Christ to us in ways the rest of the NT only hints at.
One of the keys to the revelatory nature of this book lies in an important concept John uses twice in his opening thoughts. God reveals the contents of this book to his servants in general, and reveals it specifically to his servant John (1:1). By the time John writes this book down (probably as late as 95 A.D.), the title of “servant” of Christ is loaded with meaning.
This word is a powerful indicator of a believer’s relationship with Jesus Christ. It means to be a “bond slave,” or someone who has willingly become the slave of another. For example, after Peter and John suffer persecution at the hands of the religious leaders of the day, they return to their church and pray. Part of what they say is in Acts 4:29:
“And now, Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness.”
The early church took this title of “willing slave” upon themselves: they were not given it, they took it. And as Paul writes to the various churches, he commonly calls himself the servant, or bondservant, of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:1, Philippians 1:1). John also calls himself a servant of Jesus Christ. And as such he faithfully writes down all he sees and hears and compiles the book of Revelation.
It is no small thing to say John faithfully wrote down this book. He was the subject of persecution, the people he wrote to were as well, and the things contained in the book are not all roses and rainbows. John was a servant of Christ even when it meant his own (severe) discomfort, and when he probably didn’t like what he was seeing and getting from God.
As such, he stands as an example of what it means for me to be a willing slave of Jesus Christ. It means he is the most important thing to my life and my decisions. It means God is always right and good even when present circumstances are not easy or comfortable. It means I can and should fulfill my calling no matter what that means for my position and place in life. Taking the label of servant means I act as though God is Lord, not me.
And what results? Well, for one thing, God wants to reveal his Son Jesus Christ to his servants through the pages of Revelation. To encounter this Christ through the lens of the trials and difficulty of this world requires a right relationship with him: being a willing servant to a sovereign God.
The book of Revelation tends lay in a fog. We may only read it when we get worried about world events, or at the end of our yearly reading program, and it is almost always a frustrating book to try and figure out. It contains odd and difficult to understand visions, dreams, beasts and creatures. Much of what John sees and writes down is in a form foreign to us, and we don’t always know how to go about tackling the interpretation of the book.
This is an odd, though common, irony. From the very start of the book, it is intended to be a revelation of Jesus Christ. Though that word “revelation” is the Greek word for apocalypse, it means to have something unfolded and explained to us. And who or what is the target of that unfolding? It is Jesus Christ. The book of Revelation, for all its uniqueness, reveals Jesus Christ to us in ways the rest of the NT only hints at.
One of the keys to the revelatory nature of this book lies in an important concept John uses twice in his opening thoughts. God reveals the contents of this book to his servants in general, and reveals it specifically to his servant John (1:1). By the time John writes this book down (probably as late as 95 A.D.), the title of “servant” of Christ is loaded with meaning.
This word is a powerful indicator of a believer’s relationship with Jesus Christ. It means to be a “bond slave,” or someone who has willingly become the slave of another. For example, after Peter and John suffer persecution at the hands of the religious leaders of the day, they return to their church and pray. Part of what they say is in Acts 4:29:
“And now, Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness.”
The early church took this title of “willing slave” upon themselves: they were not given it, they took it. And as Paul writes to the various churches, he commonly calls himself the servant, or bondservant, of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:1, Philippians 1:1). John also calls himself a servant of Jesus Christ. And as such he faithfully writes down all he sees and hears and compiles the book of Revelation.
It is no small thing to say John faithfully wrote down this book. He was the subject of persecution, the people he wrote to were as well, and the things contained in the book are not all roses and rainbows. John was a servant of Christ even when it meant his own (severe) discomfort, and when he probably didn’t like what he was seeing and getting from God.
As such, he stands as an example of what it means for me to be a willing slave of Jesus Christ. It means he is the most important thing to my life and my decisions. It means God is always right and good even when present circumstances are not easy or comfortable. It means I can and should fulfill my calling no matter what that means for my position and place in life. Taking the label of servant means I act as though God is Lord, not me.
And what results? Well, for one thing, God wants to reveal his Son Jesus Christ to his servants through the pages of Revelation. To encounter this Christ through the lens of the trials and difficulty of this world requires a right relationship with him: being a willing servant to a sovereign God.
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