Blind Animals and Devotions

Reading Malachi this morning, found myself amongst the priests that the Lord rebukes.

A son honors his father, and a servant his master. If then I am a father, where is my honor? And if I am a master, where is my fear? says the LORD of hosts to you, O priests, who despise my name. But you say, ‘How have we despised your name?’ By offering polluted food upon my altar. But you say, ‘How have we polluted you?’ By saying that the LORD’s table may be despised. When you offer blind animals in sacrifice, is that not evil? And when you offer those that are lame or sick, is that not evil? Present that to your governor; will he accept you or show you favor? says the LORD of hosts. (Malachi 1.6-8)

How often do I offer the easy sacrifices? How often do I give what has little value to me? My prayers are so often offered when convenient, my devotion when I'm not too tired, my tithes when I think about them. When have I offered that which really cost me something (2 Sam 24.24)?

The prophet does not leave me there. There is a fearful hope on the horizon.

And the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple; and the messenger of the covenant in whom you delight, behold, he is coming, says the LORD of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap. He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, and they will bring offerings in righteousness to the LORD. Then the offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to the LORD as in the days of old and as in former years. (Malachi 3.1-4)

I cannot stand when he appears-  I could not endure the day of his coming. Yet he purifies the priests- he purifies me. And in him my sacrifices become acceptable, 'pleasing to the Lord as in the days of old'. That is good news, and encourages me to press on towards greater sacrifice. Not because greater sacrifice can save me; the Greater Sacrifice already has. I desire to offer better sacrifices simply because he again has shown himself worthy of them.

Lord, teach me to worship you in discipline, and in sacrifice- not that I might earn your favor, but in response to the favor already lavished on me. I am grateful, Lord, for that favor.

The Temple Torn Down

The temple in Jerusalem was first built in the 10th century bc, and was immediately filled with the tangible glory of God; it was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586bc, in response to the continuing sins of Judah. This destruction, along with the exile of the nation, was seen by Israel as the rejection of God's people by God Himself.

The temple was rebuilt by the Jews returning from exile in 415bc by order of the Persian king Cyrus, but it was never the same. The glory of the Lord was gone, and could not be recalled. The temple was later renovated by Herod the Great (renowned for his passion for architecture and building projects) and stood in renewed splendor in the time of Jesus. It was this temple, the renewed, extravagant temple, at which the disciples marveled, and to which the disciples drew Jesus's attention. It was this temple that Jesus promised would be destroyed, without one stone left upon another, as occurs forty years later. Jesus was not concerned about this temple, because He understood that, in the fullness of God's plan, God would now dwell with man in a different way. God was walking with man, as a man, and would soon be present by His Spirit in men's hearts. Jesus understood that temple was not the point, that it was a sign: a sign to point to the greater place of God's presence and favor, the one filled with His glory and yet torn down for the sins of His people. Even the temple, the center of the Jewish faith, would fade away. Another center of worship would be provided.

I think the modern charismatic church has built itself a temple out of the emotional experience of God. Many of us have experienced a joy that overcomes us, a peace that is overwhelming. Many of us have sat in worship and received visions, scriptures, words. Many of us have, at the high points of emotional prayer, seen miracles or been blessed with moments of faith so strong we thought they would never fade. And yet they do, and life continues, seemingly without glory, without the presence of the Lord.

I think we make the emotional experience of God into a temple when we begin to believe that we will not meet with the Lord unless we return to that place. Unless worship lifts us out of ourselves, unless we get 'filled up', 'recharged', then we remain distant from the Lord. We're missing out. And so, when we try to make worship feel glory-filled and it doesn't, we analyze and we despair. Something is absent. The temple is torn down. Have we done something wrong? Has the Lord left us?

Yes, we have done something wrong. We have put our faith in an experience and not in the love of the Lord. But has the Lord left us? Most assuredly, no. He may indeed be tearing down our temple, but it is so that we might see that to which it pointed all along. Our peace with God, our nearness to Him, His attentiveness to our prayers- these are not products of our experience, but of His love. Not products of our perceiving, but of His willing. He is the place of our worship, with or without walls, with or without emotion. And that's good news, because He promises never to leave. He has been rebuilt in splendor, never again to be torn down. There is a new center to our worship of the Lord, and it is not our emotion. It is our God Himself, incarnate and with His people even now, regardless of our broken perception of it.

Prophecy, Exactitude, and Short Fiction

During my senior year I took several short story classes in college. Had I taken them sooner, I would have been an English major. In English, as in Sociology, students study human nature, philosophy, culture and social interaction- but the reading is infinitely more interesting.

As we learned to analyze and write short fiction, a major literary tool that we studied was 'foreshadowing'. For an author to foreshadow a story's conclusion was almost never to 'spell it out' to the reader ahead of time. In fact, foreshadowing was not used to inform the reader of what was to come at all. Instead, foreshadowing was most powerfully used when the author sought to prepare the reader for the nearing conclusion. Foreshadowing occurrs when an author introduces elements of the conclusion (colors, sounds, feelings, phrases, pictures, etc.), before the conclusion, such that, when the conclusion arrives, it feels familiar, fitting, right. Miraculous resolutions in stories can often feel forced or manipulated, a 'deus ex machina' rather than an honest resolution to conflict. Foreshadowing prepares the reader for a powerful conclusion, by making the conclusion more beautiful and more fitting that it would have been otherwise. Rarely does the reader know that foreshadowing is being used- but it's effects are undeniably felt. *

We often approach the Old Testament looking for exact representations of Christ. We want prophecies that prove that He was the messiah to come, that He was the 'heel to crush the serpent's head', the 'prophet greater than Moses', the 'suffering servant' of Isaiah. We want these stories to give us exact measurements of His body, a perfect copy of His thumbprint. But perhaps these stories were not intended to prove Jesus- perhaps they were intended to prepare us for Him.

The Old Testament was not written so that we could accurately describe Jesus on a test. The Old Testament was written so that, by the inspiration of the Spirit, we might recognize Jesus as the fulfillment of God's redemptive plan from before all time, and through all time- that we might perceive Him to be as beautiful and fitting a conclusion as He is. And this is a crucial distinction, for if we seek exact, one-for-one representations of Christ in the Old Testament, then of course we will never find them. Metaphors always fall short. A representation, by definition, lacks something of the real thing. It is something other than the real thing; but something that points to the real thing.

The stories of our forefathers, the poems and prayers of the kings of Israel, the images and promises of the prophets- these do not exist to prove Christ, but to prepare us for Christ. They are not to inform our minds such that they can fully grasp Him; instead, they prepare our eyes to see Him, and our hearts to love Him. Our mind, wrestling to grasp His nature and work, often lags behind. And I don't think that's a bad thing, at least not for an over-thinker like myself.

Read the Bible not to prove Christ, but to know Him. I suspect you fill find Him much more beautiful, much more fitting, if you do.

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*Flannery O'Connor uses foreshadowing in nearly every one of her short stories. 'The Lame Shall Enter First' is an excellent example. Re-read the story (after reading through to the conclusion once), and see how many elements of the conclusion are present throughout the story. Had they not been previously mentioned, the ending would have felt contrived. But because the images of the attic, the stars, the rope, are already in the reader's mind, the conclusion feels eerily appropriate.

Foreshadowing could be thought of like this- a river forcing it's way through a canyon will crash and splash over rocks and into gullies, without order and being quite overtly powerful, but unfocused and distracted by its obstacles. Were you to carve out sections of the canyon floor ahead of time, then when the river rushes through it, the river's flow would not be distracted by the rocks or walls, but would be focussed on its conclusion. Foreshadowing is the carving out of pathways in the reader's mind, such that when the story flows to its conclusion, it is not distracted by this and that obstacle, but instead is channeled in the direction in which the author desires for it to flow.

Praying in Church, or What I Have to Prove

I've felt called to ministry for a long time. In eighth grade I wanted to be a park ranger. But by ninth, I was looking towards youth ministry.

I helped with youth, and planned on youth ministry through high school and into college, and was affirmed by friends and family every step of the way. I was good at it, and relatively mature in my leadership. I was looked up to by those under me and my peers, and challenged to grow by those above me. I loved teaching, and counseling, and applying the love of God to every situation. And I loved power, and the euphoria of being liked by everyone, and the false community of easy compliments and stage personalities.

In college, I began leading worship, and thought perhaps that was my calling. I loved leading people into some 'encounter' with God, setting the stage for people to listen and respond. And I loved the attention, and the power that comes with a microphone, and sounding good, and doing something special.

By the summer between junior and senior year, I was increasingly aware that I wanted to preach. I wanted to guide a body of believers in thought and practice, comforting with that by which I have been comforted, preaching reconciliation, peace to those far off and those near. And I loved the power that comes with knowledge, and the admiration of men (usually the immature or ignorant ones).

And now I am in ministry, full time. And I see my desires for the gospel matched for desire for my own recognition and support. I am not a humble man, but self centered and introspective.

And this is why it is harder for me to pray in a church job than it was for me to pray at Kudu. Because at Kudu I didn't have time to think about myself. There were people to serve everywhere, needy co-workers and best friends and grumpy customers and the greatest regulars a barista could ask for. I was there, but the entire job was immediately other-focussed. There was little time to seek admiration, and nothing to prove. I was working in a coffee shop- the humility that this ground into me was real, and righteously overtook my pride (at first, I will admit, I felt that I 'deserved better'- how self-righteous is my heart). Coffee was hard, but because it was hard it drew me to Jesus with need over and over and over again.

Now I sit in a nice office, with a window, at a desk for much of the day. My time is spent talking to leaders, organizing events, writing training manuals and devotional material, studying scripture. THE DREAM. I love what I am doing. But now I feel I have so much to prove. I have so much life-pursuit to validate, so many affirmations to live into and prove correct. I have the responsibility of many small groups of many people looking to me for leadership; in an area where I was sure I knew what I was doing, I am now being daily humbled at my ignorance and idealism.

All that to say, it's sometimes harder to pray in church than in a coffee shop. Sometimes it's easier to seek the Lord when you don't feel like you have anything to prove, and are face to face with the people you are called to serve. But now that there is truly risk- can I trust Him with something so dear to me as my calling? Can I trust Him with what has been so great a part of my identity? Am I willing to seek first the kingdom, even if it's against my desires to control and guarantee outcomes? Can I be drawn out of myself to love others?

Truly, I don't have a choice. As the Lord reveals an idol in ministry, I am forced to either repent or to grieve His Spirit. And for that I am grateful, because it once again forces me to pray. Pray, as I pray, that I would pray in church, that I would trust the Lord in my new job, and that I would seek Him not just for survival, but for the joy that is His love for me. By His grace alone, that has become my prayer of late, and I look forward to its answer.
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PS- I've had a few particularly sweet days in the past week. Great conversations, good reading, and beautiful rain. And just a brush of the nearness of God, like a breeze not felt but noticed by the coolness it leaves on one side of your face.

Acceptance, Endurance, and Joy

I expect storms in the Christian faith. It was through suffering that the Son of God won our redemption, and His closest friends soon followed Him through it. And so when faced with storms, when faced with suffering or doubt or frustration, I am quick to accept these things as normal. I sing with the hymnwriter:

Why should I complain, Of want or distress

Temptation or pain? He told me no less*

Suffering, in my mind, is to be expected. And mingled with any suffering, for me, is a doubting of God's presence. I doubt whether I know Him, I doubt whether I love Him. I doubt whether He is good. I am almost always dissatisfied with my experience of relationship with God, and suffering magnifies my dissatisfaction.

But I expect suffering, and having lived with myself for a decade or two now, I expect doubt as well. And so when storms come, I am not surprised. I do not quit. I just keep moving. I focus on the task at hand, on survival and my immediate responsibilities. To continually consider my perceived distance from the Lord brings pain, and confusion. To continually analyze whatever suffering I am experiencing breeds insecurity, and anxiety. So I withdraw, and reef in the sails of my thoughts and emotions**. I will recover them when it's over- they have caused too much pain before. I will focus on enduring.

But then, sometimes the gale softens, and I look up to gain my bearings. Or it intensifies, and forces me to be alert. And when I look up, I find I am far from where I began. The sea seems foreign, alien, unpredictable. I have waited and withdrawn and held on for long days and long nights, confident that the storm is 'the normal Christian experience', and confident that to endure is to be faithful.

But eventually in my begrudging, hardened acceptance, either by the grace of rest or by the grace of challenge, I realize that it has been a very long time since I felt joy. It has been a long time since I felt love. It has been a very long time since I was broken in compassion for a friend or a neighbor. I have begun to forget how to pray.

And worst of all, I realize that it has been a very long time since I last glimpsed my Savior. I discover that I have long watched the water pass beneath me, but have long forgotten the horizon. And the thought awakens my heart with despair and hope beyond hope like a sweet memory of lost childhood. Suddenly I wonder where I am, and how I've arrived here.

Hebrews 12 is a chapter on suffering. It bids us continue through it, as Christ bore suffering on our behalf. But it describes His journey differently than mine. For Christ too expects suffering. He is no stranger to it, nor does He shy away from it. Christ does not stop, but walks fully into pain and fear and despair. But Jesus does not lower His shoulder and drop His gaze. He does not lean into the wind and focus on His path, on survival and His immediate responsibilities. He is not defined by a begrudging acceptance of His suffering; He is defined by something altogether different.

The Lord of all endures the cross for the joy set before Him**. He has a prize from which His eyes never falter, and from which His face never turns. I am sure He would have suffered less had He turned away, had He reefed His sails of thought and emotion and focused instead on endurance. Yet He does not suffer for suffering's sake, nor endure for endurance's sake. He suffers for my sake. He endures for me. And so He bears the pain of my absence for the joy of knowing that I will one day be reunited with Him. For the joy of knowing that the very suffering He endures will bring me back to Him in love.

This is the glory of all glory, wonder of all wonders. I am the joy set before Him. We are the joy set before Him. And so I have come to realize that to endure is not the same as to be faithful- to be faithful is to look on my hope, my love, my joy. Endurance is the byproduct of worship, and of meditation on Jesus. He is the prize, the goal, the joy that we have been promised, and the joy that empowers us to suffer, doubt, and struggle well. It is by looking to Him that we truly endure. I ask for the grace to continue to learn how to do just that.

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* John Newton, Begone Unbelief, 1779
** To reef a sail: to reduce the amount of sail presented to the wind by partially lowering the sail and rolling up and securing the excess fabric now at the bottom edge. Reefing is used in heavy wind on larger boats to reduce the danger of capsizing. 

*** Hebrews 12.2

The Offensive God

When the man saw that he did not prevail agains Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. ... The sun rose upon him... limping because of his hip. from Genesis 32

But she came and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, help me." And he answered, "It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." Matthew 15.25-26

You brood of vipers! How can you speak good, when you are evil? Matthew 12.34

I sometimes find myself startled by different passages in scripture.  Jesus couldn't have really done that, or said that, or meant that- it just seems so offensive!

But what if He did? What if the scriptures are accurate, and we have a God who offends our senses, our emotions and our reason? It seems to me that this is a much more probable God than one who somehow conforms to all my expectations of behavior.

We have, in fact, a unique God, a God true to Himself and independent.  He is the First, the Prime Mover, and all else is contingent on His breath, His word, His will, His deed. Our theories of justice are as finger paintings of a ray of sunlight, weak impressions of that which streams eternally from Him. He is the source, the root, the pure, the form, the infinite truth. We can not weigh His behavior on our scales- what scale could bear Him? We can not circum-navigate His mind- what ship could surpass Him? Justice balances her scales by His gravity. Righteousness delights to claim the ground He walks upon (Psalm 85.13).

Yet if all we know and claim of justice, righteousness, and love comes comically short when placed beside Him, how can we know that He is trustworthy to be any of those things towards us? If justice and righteousness and love are defined by His hand, how can we be sure that His hand intends 'good' at all?

There is but one way to be sure. He has revealed His will, revealed what 'good' truly means. He has demonstrated justice, righteousness, and love. The cross is our evidence that His transcendence is truly good for mankind, even when we cannot understand it. Even when pain is great, or fear is dominating, when faith seems offensive or darkness cloaks all things. There was one day in which God bore that pain, that fear, that offense, and that darkness. And it is in the suffering of God that we find our assurance in Him. It is in His breaking for our healing that we place our hope. Our God is offensive, and challenging, and independent, never more than when He took on flesh and suffered in our place. Yet "Christ crucified, a stumbling bock to Jews and folly to the Gentiles, [is], to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the wisdom of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men." 1 Corinthians 1.23-25

We cannot define Him by our measures, but must base our measures on Him. Yet still His good is truly for us, in His justice, righteousness, and love, for He has suffered that we might be redefined in Him. Thus we submit to Him in the confusions of scripture and of life, trusting that He is greater, in wisdom and strength, than we could ever understand. But most of all, we submit to Him in love, for He has truly loved us with a love that surpasses all understanding (Ephesians 3.19).

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And, to be fair, our conceptions of justice, righteousness, and love (and many other things) are not created in a vacuum. I would suggest they spring from God's creative ordering of the universe, and more specifically from the law He has placed in the hearts of all. So, I wouldn't advocate for a total rejection of our senses of right and wrong- but as Christians, we must re-calibrate our measures to Him and His revealed word, not just to our sense of right and wrong.

Killing Snakes

He removed the high places and broke the pillars and cut down the Asherah. And he broke in pieces the bronze serpent that Moses had made, for until those days the people of Israel had made offerings to it (it was called Nehushtan).
                  1 Kings 18.2

A good reminder, this morning, that even the gifts of the Lord can be misused. That which was holy and set aside for a good purpose, that which was intended to bring us back to the Lord, can become that which keeps us from Him. No practice or tool or ceremony or book or camp or feast or fast or prayer- none of these hold our hope or our life, our true salvation. They are intended to bring us to Him, the Author of our salvation, as He desires to be found. They are intended to place our focus back on him. The moment they become our focus, they switch from being blessedly helpful to incredibly damaging. We can make idols out of 'sacred' things just as well as we can make idols from 'secular' things*. 'Sacred' idols are often simply harder to see, because they appear so nice and religious. But do they point us to Christ, and set our faith on Him? Do they bear in us true love for the true God, and love for His people? If not, it's time to kill the snake. It was never meant to be the point- it was always meant to point to Jesus.

I like snakes, personally. But sometimes they got to go.




*I don't actually believe in much of a division there, between sacred and secular. If creation does not  do so, surely the incarnation trumps gnosticism.  And if that requires clarifying, let me know. It would make a good post later.

To Fix and to Heal

I am a fixer, born of fixers, in a land of broken things. I often find myself under the leaky sink, or on the porch with a flat tire, or in the yard with a broken chair from the side of the road*.

And when I find myself broken, my own heart in dissaray, I quickly become my own project. I look back and analyze my behaviors, my decisions. Where was sin, and where was failure? I look long and hard at the present. Where am I missing the mark, and where do I have the wrong idea entirely? And I graph out the future. What scenarios will do what to/for me? What will I say or do to recover?

The first time I remember this experience of self-consuming introspection was many years ago working on summer staff at Camp. I was desperate to hear God's voice, but could not perceive it. I spent hours praying for a 'diagnosis', hours searching scripture for a reason or a method or an answer. I wept for my inability, and pressed ever further into my own self-analysis, to the point of despair.

I remember when I came out of it, too. I went to bed one night, halfway through the summer, just worn out. I was tired of fighting, tired of trying to do what I could not do, tired of endless self-analysis. So, in my top bunk in the corner of the staff house, I simply asked for joy. That my frustration and despair would be gone, and joy would replace it. After months of seeking to fix my situation, I gave up, and asked that I would be healed.

And, sure enough, the next morning broke with joy. Steady, stable, deep joy. Joy without explanation, healing without diagnosis.**

It's hard for me to want to be healed without knowing what is wrong. Because if I can recognize and understand my problems, I believe I might have some control over them. If I know why I don't perceive His voice, I can place myself such that I can perceive it. If I know why I hurt, I can prevent hurt from recurring.

But I forget that, when I find myself emotionally broken, my reason is broken as well. And even if my reason was pure, right understanding does not produce right love (1 Corinthians 13:2). My ability to diagnose my problems is impossibly flawed, as is my every solution.

In seasons of hardship I desperately seek to figure it all out, to understand and to fix it, whatever it may be. But recently the Lord has been reminding me that all of it -my world, my community, my heart- is not mine to fix. It is His to heal. And He is faithful to do it. He simply asks that I let Him. It is a humbling, frightening surrender; but it is the very path into joy. Introspection can be a great tool unto holiness; but when it becomes my hope for recovery, it proves a horrible master. There is greater hope in the mystery of a God who took on flesh. And here, where my understanding fails, a better Master is found to heal.

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*I found two matching wooden Adirondack chairs, one year apart, in front of the same house downtown. Both look great now, though I'm still looking for just the right hinge-pin.

**I heard God's voice, too. But that is a story for another day.

Unless the Lord Builds the House

I'm reading through the Bible chronologically this year- one of its benefits is that it helps me make connections that I have skipped over in the past.

For several years I have found encouragement in Psalm 127, particularly verses 1 and 2. Solomon writes that

Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.
It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for He gives to His beloved sleep.

This psalm has often seemed particularly significant fto me, as I've wrestled with anxiety or feeling the need to prove my relationship with the Lord.  But I had never found significance in its author. But this time, it was placed (chronologically) in the context of Solomon's life, which gave greater depth to the psalm itself.

Solomon is known in scripture for building God's house, the temple in Jerusalem.  I suspect that, when Solomon writes "Unless the Lord builds the house", he is thinking of just that project. In many ways, the temple is the crowning achievement of Solomon's reign- yet, unless the Lord was to build it, the builders would labor in vain.

Similarly, Solomon is recorded as fortifying Israel like no man before him, buying and stockpiling weapons and defenses, and amassing an army like none Israel had ever seen.  Yet, unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. None of it matters if the Lord is not with him.

As I read over this late one evening, I was reminded that, no matter what I seek to build- a career, a ministry, a community- my building is in vain unless the Lord builds it. No matter what I guard, it is in vain unless He guards it. Which at first seems fatalistic- but I've come to believe that this is really good news for me. Though it does leave me helpless in my own abilities, it leaves me more secure than anything else in the world.  Because it puts my security, my trust, in Him. And He is good, and His nature is always to have mercy, and always to do what is best for His children.  I can sleep with Him as my Lord.

Often, when discouraged in my walk with the Lord, I look for a spiritual remedy, something to restore me to the joy of my salvation. Acts speaks of 'times of refreshing' from the presence of the Lord- how I long for those! I wish I longed more for, and experienced more of, that presence.

Yet when I find that He feels distant, often when I am stretched thin or tired, this passage comforts me. It reminds me that I am small, and that He knows I am just dust. It reminds me that He has given very earthly things (like sleep) for my good. And in it the Lord reminds me that I may find rest in His strength, even when my strength fails. That I can trust in the house that He is building, and the city that He is guarding.

Who Goes First

I remember bridge jumping during one spring break in college. It was an incredibly dumb thing to do, I know. Many levels of dumb involved.

But I remember the anxious waiting beforehand, wondering who would jump first. A lot of personal danger might be avoided if someone else proved the possibility first. I went second, and was quite grateful for the first guy.

I was reading Joshua 3 during my lunch break, when I came across this paragraph:

So when the people set out from their tents to pass over the Jordan with the priests bearing the ark of the covenant before the people, and as soon as those bearing the ark had come as far as the Jordan, and the feet of the priests bearing the ark were dipped in the brink of the water (now the Jordan overflows all its banks throughout the time of harvest), the waters coming down from above stood and rose up in a heap very far away, at Adam, the city that is beside Zarethan, and those flowing down toward the Sea of the Arabah, the Salt Sea, were completely cut off. And the people passed over opposite Jericho. Now the priests bearing the ark of the covenant of the LORD stood firmly on dry ground in the midst of the Jordan, and all Israel was passing over on dry ground until all the nation finished passing over the Jordan. (vs 14-17)

I've noticed the passage before, and thought how beautiful it was that God's presence went before them.  He entered the river and stopped it, that Israel might go through.  I thought it was a good image of how the Lord saves us.  But reading it again (while eating homemade stir-fry, by the way), I noticed some nuances.

The hymn writer Samuel Stennett wrote the hymn "On Jordan's Stormy Banks", singing of the promises that await God's people in heaven. They look across the Jordan, stormy and full in its harvest-time, and long for the culmination of the work of God in their hearts.  Sickness, sorrow, pain and death will be felt no more.  We shall see the Father's face, and in His bosom rest. The yearning depicted there is nearly tangible.

Stennett's hymn understands the Jordan as a symbol of death, a river flooded with the harvest of men. It keeps the people of God from life in His promised paradise, an unfordable barrier to our hope. If we understand the river Jordan as such, what hope does scripture give to our position, on this side of death?

I think, in Joshua 3, we see the priests as our hope, the priests who carry the ark of the covenant (which holds the two stone tablets, the ten commandments). The priests literally bear the weight of the law perfectly, and enter into the stormy waters first. The priests' presence, with the Lord's presence, holds back the tide of water until all Israel is through.

It struck me as I was reading, that Jesus is the priest who fulfills the law perfectly, who bears its demands without fault, and yet enters into death for us, that we might pass through it without the sting of separation from Him. He carries the weight of the law into death, that we might live. Jesus is the ark-bearing priest.

I think that makes the story of Israel crossing the Jordan even more compelling. It draws me to worship. He went first, accomplishing what we could not, so that we could follow Him into what we otherwise would never reach.

The Curse of Enmity, the Blessing of Dissatisfaction

This is something I first learned a few months ago at a Ridley class, but I noticed it again today, and thought it worth sharing.

In Genesis 3, the serpent deceived Adam and Eve, winning their trust, and thereby winning their worship from their Creator.  Immediately after the fall, God intervenes, proclaiming curses for what evil has been done.

Culturally we have a strong aversion to the concept of God cursing.  This goes hand in hand with our aversion to God's wrath- we much prefer a gentle, forgetful grandfather, to a firm, all knowing Lord. But the curse is not something from which we ought immediately recoil- even God's curse is a blessing to His children.

Just as an example, the first curse is meted out to the serpent.  In Genesis 3.15, the Lord promises to put enmity between the serpent and the woman's children, one of whom would one day crush the serpent's head, though be bruised.

It has commonly been observed that 'the child' of the woman that would crush the serpent's head, though be bruised, is in fact Jesus.  He crushes Satan and the power of sin, even as He is bruised.  That curse is a blessing.

But less noticed is the curse of enmity. How is this a good thing?  Earlier I mentioned the serpent's taking of our trust and worship.  In turning to him we have made him our god, our joy, our trust.  And so we continue to do daily.  We trust things other than God, things other than His words.  Our desires, our lusts, our appetites, our strength and pride and beauty- all are things which vie for our trust and worship.  And we give them quickly, for seemingly nothing in return, like 'a prostitute who requires no pay, but instead pays her lovers' (Ezekiel 16.33).

And so, left to our own, we would pour our lives out to them, hoping to the very end that they would satisfy.  Unless, somehow, we found ourselves unsatisfied.  Unless we began to distrust, dislike, even hate the thing we clung to, the thing we loved, we would never look elsewhere.  Unless enmity somehow came between us, we would never leave our empty lovers.

Hosea 2.6-7 reveals this curse of enmity as an ongoing work of the Lord. Speaking of His adulterous people, Israel, He says:

"Therefore I will hedge up her way with thorns,

     and I will build a wall against her,

     so that she cannot find her paths.

She shall pursue her lovers

     but not overtake them,

     and she shall seek them

     but shall not find them.

Then she shall say,

     ‘I will go and return to my first husband,

     for it was better for me then than now.’"

God keeps our wrong lovers from fulfilling us, that we might return to Him.  The curse of enmity between Satan and sin and our hearts is an incredible blessing. It means that the alcoholic hates his drink, the glutton hates his food, the sex addict hates that which leaves him feeling empty.  Our loves, by grace, begin to feel like enemies. And this is a blessing, so great a blessing, because it leaves us desperate for a true ally, a true love that will satisfy us.  It makes us thirst and hunger and long for something truly fulfilling, something we have long ago forgotten, but something that still seems perilously near to us- relationship with the Lord. While this curse of enmity is not in itself sufficient to birth in us the love of Christ, it is often the plow that breaks up the hard soil of our hearts to receive His Word of repentance.

Sleep, Darkness, Despair and Faithfulness

Despair is an experience shared by many believers. Where they once felt a vibrant faith, they now feel asleep. Where scripture once carried them to heights of worship and joy, they now find it dull, if not dark and confusing. Community leaves them frustrated, because they can't seem to feel what everyone else is feeling. Worship and singing is emotionless, except for a subtle, simmering anxiety, and a growing despair that, what once felt real to you, no longer feels real at all.

If you have read any of my other writings, you likely know that I am no stranger to this landscape- the sometimes dry, sometimes monotonous desert of faith. I have often found myself plodding along in some direction, long ago predetermined, without any perceived guidance or encouragement as I walk. All the while I can only pray and hope that what I once held dear might still hold me.

One of the most beautiful passages in scripture is the story of the covenant cutting ceremony between God and Abram in Genesis 15. In it, God and Abram lay out their promises formally, and then prepare to vow their allegiance to one another.

There is much to be said of the form and function of a covenant ceremony in the Ancient Near East. In summary, two parties make a pact together. Stating what they require of each other, they then split several animals down the middle (long-ways) and lay them out, one half over against one another, all in a line. This creates a pathway of blood between the halves.* To ratify the covenant, both parties walk this blood-path. This walk is the sealing of the vow, and it is signifies a promise with consequences. It says, 'if I break my half of our covenant, let me be severed, like these animals.' Both parties walk, both parties promise, both are legally held responsible for their end of the deal. To break the covenant is to be severed. It is to die.

One important detail makes the covenant-cutting ceremony of Genesis 15 shockingly unique- Abraham does not walk the blood-path. Instead, God walks it. Twice. Which means, He promises to uphold both halves of the covenant. He says, 'If I break my vow to you, let Me be severed- but if you break your vow to Me, let Me be severed in your place. If I am faithless, I will die- but if you are faithless, then I will die in your stead.'

This is hugely significant. This is massive. Because it demonstrates that what is most essential to our relationship with the Lord is not our faith, but His. What is crucial is not our promise, but God's. He has made a covenant with us, His children, to give us the promised land, even when we fail. He will not suffer us to lose the inheritance He has given us. In fact, He suffers to ensure that we keep it.

But I noticed something new in that story last night, talking to a friend around a campfire. Abram is forcibly kept from walking the blood-path. It appears that God does not want Abram to think that upholding the covenant is his responsibility, even if Abram wanted it to be so. The Lord uses deep sleep, darkness and despair, to prepare Abram to see that it was never his faithfulness that secured him in relationship with God. It was God's faithfulness, and His promise that secured him all along.

Perhaps the reason so many of us wrestle with spiritual slumber, darkness, doubt and despair, is because the Lord has put us in it- not to punish us, but to show us something of Himself. Perhaps He keeps us from walking in easy faith, and in confidence in our faithfulness, in order to demonstrate to us that it was never our walking, never our faithfulness that saved or secured us. It was Him, walking for us. It was His promises, and His faithfulness. It was a covenant that He made, and that He fulfilled, when He was torn for us. Perhaps our darkness is intended to let His glory shine the brighter to us, to reveal that what we once held dear was all the while holding us. That would be very good news, indeed.

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*As I understand it, this blood-path is why we often use a red carpet at weddings- a sign of a serious covenant under the Lord.

You Meant Evil, and How to Read the Bible

On the road to Emmaus, a disguised Jesus explains to two of His disciples that the entire Old Testament was written about Him.  Their hearts burn within them as all that they have ever known is transformed, though they still do not recognize who is speaking.  It's a wonderful story, worth reading in its entirety.*

This, and other passages of scripture in the New Testament, reveal to us something very interesting about how we ought to read the Bible.  Because while we quickly perceive its moral teachings, we are slow to perceive Him who speaks.  We often read for information, or for self-betterment, or for the vague notion that it is our duty to do so.  But Christ says read simply because it is about Him. From His own mouth we learn that scripture ought to be interpreted Cristologically. This means interpretation through Christ, towards Christ.  All the history, the prophecy, the poetry, the wisdom, the letters, the stories, even the law, are meant to show us His face.  Remarkable, isn't it?  And so often counter to everything we would have thought on our own.  Like the disciples on the road, we are often blind to Jesus in the words, until we are shown Who it is that is speaking to us.  I'd encourage you to pray as you read scripture, and pray that the Spirit (who is alive and well, and working to this end) would show you Jesus in whatever you are reading.  Because He's there.

An example from the past few days: I've been reading about Joseph and his technicolor dreamcoat.  By the by, 'brightly colored' may have been a poor translation.  It seems a more accurate to translate the Hebrew to say 'long sleeved', which would be the equivalent of 'white collar' in our society (you can't do manual labor if your sleeves keep getting in the way, and thus long sleeves are a sign of wealth, and preferential treatment).

Regardless, we know that Joseph is hated for his father's love.  He is sent to his brothers, and in anger they throw him into a pit.  They intend to kill him, but at the last minute find that selling him as a slave would be more profitable (and less abrasive to their consciences).  He is brought into Egypt, where he lives and grows in respect and responsibility until Pharoah raises him up to sit at his right hand- just in time to prepare the nation for a famine.  Because of his care for the people and his wisdom, he gathers grain and stockpiles it, and when the famine comes, first Egypt, and then the world- even Israel- must come to him for food.  The grain is in abundance, but over time it costs the people everything.  They have no food- what are their belongings to them?  Belongings are gladly traded for life.  And in the end even their lives are offered to Pharoah, becoming slaves and servants for their food.  Joseph and his family are reconciled, and he brings them to Egypt, providing for their every need.**  In reconciling with his brothers, who had betrayed and all but killed him, comes his famous line: "As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today." (Gen. 50.20)

And as I prayed and read, I began to notice the many parallels to Jesus.  Hated for His Father's love.  Cast out, killed.  Sent to a land which His brothers did not understand, and in which they saw no hope.  But there He is raised up, and has an abundance of food.  The food is for the people, life for which we in turn give all that we have. Truly, we find ourselves in a famine today. The things which we thought would give us life do not. The things to which we cling for comfort and encouragement fail us, for the whole world is failing, is broken.  And we must come, laying down our idols, again and again, until we are truly surrendered before Him. And was not the cross evil, the greatest of all evils?  But was it not also glory, the greatest good which God has ever wrought? In Genesis, Joseph weeps when his brothers return, and again when they beg for forgiveness.  How much more does Jesus weep when His brothers and sisters see their sin and return in humility and love? If Joseph loves even his betrayers, how much more does Jesus love us, who betray Him daily and yet have been ransomed back?

Of course, no one who represents Christ in scripture can do so perfectly, nor fully.  If they could, they would be Christ themselves.  So we find some differences- the most important to note is that the grain is  sold. Our life in Christ is given.  'Come, buy food that lasts, without money and without cost' (Isaiah 55.1-2, paraphrased). Grace, our life, is given to us for free-  but then again, does it not cost everything?  Do we not realize, when we turn to Christ for life and comfort, that we have nothing to give?  Do we not pledge our lives, because we find that we have nothing else of value?  Even our lives we know to be a paltry gift compared to what we have been given- yet to offer ourselves to the Lord is a offering of gratitude.

In another difference, Joseph declares that he will hold no grudge, for 'he is not in the place of God'. How much greater is the grace of one who is in the place of God, but still forgives?

The similarities reveal the good news of Jesus' provision for us in grace clearly, but even the differences whisper His name. So, an exercise.  This is a closing passage of Joseph's story- read it, if you like, and ask the Lord to show you Jesus in it.  I'd wager He will, and what you'll find is incredible.

‘Say to Joseph, Please forgive the transgression of your brothers and their sin, because they did evil to you.’ And now, please forgive the transgression of the servants of the God of your father.” Joseph wept when they spoke to him. His brothers also came and fell down before him and said, “Behold, we are your servants.” But Joseph said to them, “Do not fear, for am I in the place of God? As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today. So do not fear; I will provide for you and your little ones.” Thus he comforted them and spoke kindly to them.

(Genesis 50.17-21)

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*Luke 24.13-35

**This story takes place in Genesis, chapters 37-50.  Apparently, he's a big deal.