Ezekiel 16:62-63, or Good Friday

Following a lengthy description of the infidelity of Israel, the prophet records these two verses:

I will establish my covenant with you, and you shall know that I am the Lord, that you may remember and be confounded, and never open your mouth again because of your shame, when I atone for you for all that you have done, declares the Lord God.

I stumbled across it last week, looking for a passage to read at the wedding of a good friend.  I had underlined it, presumably in my last pass through the Old Testament, yet it struck me as pointedly fresh, and cutting.  Scripture is a double-edged sword, I have found.

I almost cried, reading this, which is odd for me.  Rarely do I perceive the weight of what I read, but when I do I take notice.  I wrote the verse out on a flash card and kept it in my back pocket that day, pulling it out occasionally.  It continued to move me, largely because of the intensity of emotion it describes, and the regular lack of that same emotion within me.

We who have been raised in the church know the story of the death of Christ.  We know the time-tables of the last supper, prayer in the garden, arrest, beatings, trials, beatings, crucifixion.   And for a while there seemed an emphasis in church culture on the physical suffering of Christ.  I remember going on retreats where clips of the suffering God were shown from several different movies.  And I remember long talks by speakers stretching out the descriptions of the tortuous death that was endured by Him.  And they were shocking, and moving- but largely out of compassion, and visceral disgust.  I don't ever recall watching, or listening, and reacting with shame, or confounded silence.

We have so repeated the story that I fear many of us have forgotten its force.  This should be to us a shameful moment, as Christ was shamed for our liberty.  The physical pains were great, but the emotional suffering was likely greater.  God, bearing shame, mocked and spit upon.  But the spiritual pain was greater still.  The Son of God becoming alienated from the Father as the sins of man are driven between Them as a keenly sharpened wedge, even as the nails were driven between the bones of Jesus' arms.  I may be amiss here, but I believe the very fabric of the Trinity was torn in that moment, that separation was endured and received,  so that the veil in the temple may be torn for our reconciliation with the Father.

We ought to hear the story and cringe, not in a humanistic discomfort, but in deep, personal shame.  This is the fruit of our labor.  This is the result of our whoring after other things, our ingratitude and self-centeredness and rebellion: the suffering, dying, Lord of all.  Jesus, very God made humble man, received the wrathful payment for our actions; and so we ought to be confounded, and shamed.  By the magnitude of what has been done, we ought to be silenced.

Freedom and Constraint, or, Why I Follow Rules

Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God.  Honor everyone.  Love the brotherhood.  Fear God.  Honor the emperor.
1 Peter 2:16-17

The Christian is to be both the most free and most constrained of all persons, for both freedom and constraint are the product of love.

First, love frees.  One who is deeply loved (and is deeply aware of the fact) is not bound by introspection, nor insecurity, nor fear of failure, nor the need to produce.  One who is loved is totally freed from oneself, from pride and despair.  Thus, love casts out all fear and produces joy that is inalienable.  Love frees.

But second, love constrains.  Not by manipulation nor threat, but love constrains instead by the transformations of our affections.  That is, when we are loved deeply, and know it, we turn towards the source of that love with release and malleability.  Imagine the flower that bends to follow the sun across the sky, or the wife who curls into the arms of her husband.  Love transforms us, giving us new desires and longings (affections), and so constrains us from whence we once looked for joy and life and purpose (namely, ourselves) unto Christ, the bearer and securer of love to us.

Peter is fairly clear.  Honor everyone, love the brotherhood, honor the emperor.  This, following the mandate to live freely.  How can rule-following exist within the ultimate reign of freedom?

By challenging the very premise of the question.  Because freedom does not reign, nor do rules.  Instead, love reigns, and both our freedom and our desire to respect those around and over us are merely an outflow of that love.

When are loved, we are freed.  The more full the love, the more full our freedom within it.  Yet love also draws us in and molds us into its own character over time.  If it does not change us towards love in the end (understanding that the outward change is impossible to measure with certainty, and often is proportional to how much of our freedom in Christ's love we understand and therefore how much healing from past wounds we have undergone), we have likely not met love at all- at least not as love.

In true love we are freed to be ourselves, as we were created to be.  But freed to be ourselves as created and redeemed by God.  In Him we find that our nature is not self-serving, nor rebellious, but submitted to and serving, as Christ submitted to the Father and served us, His bride.  Jesus Himself, Son of God, suffered injustice and insult because of His great love for us.  How much more can we submit to and serve authority, even unto injustice, having been loved so sacrificially?

If we see love as license, we abuse it.  If we see love as control, we reject it.  Yet love seen as love is different, producing both freedom and constraint- and such is the love of God.

---

Addendum:

Obviously there are times in which rules must be broken.  Should authorities require rebellion against God, we can and must reject its rules.  Jesus did, by healing on the Sabbath.  The disciples did, by preaching after being instructed to preach no longer.  Even calling Jesus Lord was seen as treason: Caesar was Lord, and to call Jesus such was thought rebellious.  Yet Jesus paid the temple tax, and 'gave to Caesar what is Caesar's'.  From this we glean that even poor leadership is to be honored, according to Jesus's example, so long as it does not cause us to sin.  For another example, study David, Saul, and Absalom, and their relationships with each other.

Loving My Job

is not natural for me.

I mean, it's easy when the lines are short and tips are high and everyone's in good moods.  The combination from heaven.  But often, the lines are endless, the tips are average, and someone is having a bad day.

And often it feels like a dead end.  The managers/owners are doing a fantastic job pushing forward into new business ventures.  Their goals are to get their staff salaries, maybe even benefits.  They reward hard work and integrity.  Honestly, my bosses are great, and there is room to grow, but I still feel unfulfilled most days.  I miss thinking, fighting through theories and devising new methods of practice.  I miss writing papers, believe it or not.  Even writing about things I don't care about.

And it's taxing to serve constantly.  I spend six hours a day (or more) answering the beck and call of anyone and everyone who passes the curly sentries.  And sometimes it feels absolutely dehumanizing.  When do I get something?  Anything?  A 'how are you, really?', a thoughtful tip, a smile?  Sometimes it feels like I'm scratching the bottom of my barrel of joy, life, love.

I have kneeled in the bathroom, door locked, or in the alley behind the recycling bins, and begged for more joy, begged for a servant's heart.  Because the truth is, my Lord served unto death.  He served the petty and the foolish and the entirely self-centered, with no return and very, very little affirmation.  Usually, He was misunderstood, and His love stood alone.  So I beg, and pray, and try to reset my heart upon His love, and try to act joyful.  Sometimes it works, in that my heart is changed.  Most of the time, really.  But sometimes I just have to fight through it.

Exercising thankfulness helps, too.  Be grateful in all circumstances, He says.  Because His goodness supersedes all, and brings joy, life, hope, to all.  So I try to think about what I'm grateful for in my job.  A paycheck.  Bosses that are concerned with my welfare, and who apologize when they're wrong.  Coworkers who enjoy each other.  The ability to play worship music while I close sometimes.  Good, good music.  The chance to pray with folks.  The chance to make friends and take people sailing.  Free sun-dried Kenyan coffee, occasionally.  Dollar-off beers.

And seeking to love folks can bring life too.  Seems counter-intuitive, that to further serve a customer would give you more energy when you are totally depleted already.  But love is a deep well, deeper than the law of what I'm 'supposed to do'.

It helps me when I come to work early, too.  And stay late.  And drop by even when I'm off.  My gut reaction, when work becomes a bore, or frustrating, is to get away.  As far away as possible, for as long as possible.  Get cut, get off, get away.  But, if I'm truly to do everything as though to the Lord Himself, that's not going to cut it.  So, to spur a right attitude of service, I can come in early.  Instead of structuring my day, and thereby my heart, to avoid that to which I truly believe I am called, I can act like it's something given for me to grow in, and love in, and do well in.  I can invest in what I am called to love... and love grows.  Keller mentioned it in a sermon I listened to last week, that in relationship, when everything feels dry, enact love, and love will grow.  It is true at work, for sure.

These are some rambling thoughts on work, but have been very apparent to me of late, and worth sharing.  Most of us find ourselves oscillating between enjoying and despising our jobs- time to let the gospel level our emotions.