Passage: Isaiah 58
In the first book of his Institutes of the Christian Religion, John Calvin makes the following statement:
…since this shadow of religion (it scarcely even deserves to be called a shadow) is false and vain, it is easy to infer how much this confused knowledge of God differs from that piety which is instilled into the [hearts] of believers, and from which alone true religion springs. And yet hypocrites would fain, by means of tortuous windings, make a show of being near to God at the very time they are fleeing from him. For while the whole life ought to be one perpetual course of obedience, they rebel without fear in almost all their actions, and seek to appease him with a few paltry sacrifices; while they ought to serve him with integrity of heart and holiness of life, they endeavour to procure his favour by means of frivolous devices and punctilios of no value. (Institutes, 1.4.4)
In case you had difficulty following Calvin’s prose, the above is an argument against the pursuit of religious behavior as a substitute for a real relationship with God. The distinction, according to Calvin, is that many people pursue some form of religious expression either as false pretense of being better people than they are, or as a way of easing the guilt that arises from their innate sense of accountability to God. Neither motivation results in a connection with the divine that will have any life-saving impact. Calvin warns that religious pretense is as dangerous as, if not more dangerous than, out and out rejection of God.
Interestingly, God himself makes almost the same argument in Isaiah 58. In this chapter God confronts members of his people who have gone through all the right motions but have failed to devote their lives to him. God parodies people who have fasted in order to appear religious, or attended worship to ease their consciences, only to turn around and ignore God’s broader imperative to live transformed lives. God says, “Sure, you’ve fasted. But how have you cared for the poor? How have you fed the hungry? How have you upheld the cause of justice in your homes, your cities, and your nation?”
This is a warning that “religious” people of all stripes cannot afford to ignore. It’s not enough to “be spiritual”. It’s not enough to go to church periodically. To write the occasional check. To throw the occasional prayer up to “the big guy”. The only thing that will truly erase your guilt and redeem your life is the mercy of the one true God. A saving relationship with this God will manifest itself in radical changes to your attitudes and priorities. You will care about the people this God cares about. You will rearrange your life in response to the commands of God and the impulses of his Spirit. You will be less concerned with how you look to the people around you than how your life lines up with God’s expectations. You might be able to fool the person in the pew next to you. You can’t fool God. God doesn't care how good you look to your family or your constituents or the people at church. What God cares about is your participation in a process that will transform your life and your world.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Fulfilled
Passage: Isaiah 54:1-8; 55:1-3; 56:1-8
The film Magnolia introduces a procession of characters who, for various reasons, have lived tragically unfulfilled lives. One of them is Donnie Smith, a grown-up quiz show prodigy whose genius disappeared after he was struck by lightning. He’s now a socially stunted adult who works as a delivery driver and spends his evenings pining for a local bartender. The sense of emptiness and unrequited desire that comprises Magnolia’s central theme is captured perfectly in Donnie’s words: “I don’t know where to put things. I have all this love to give, you know? I just don’t know where to put it.”
In a remarkable three-chapter sequence, Isaiah prophesies to a world full of unfulfilled people. Chapters 54-56 represent a kind of verbal triptych in which God uses three different metaphors to describe people whose plight he holds close to his heart. The types of people mentioned are: a woman struggling with infertility; people who are hungry and poor; and those pushed to the margins of society because of physical deformity or ethnicity. God addresses the sorrow and longing represented by each type. God promises fulfillment; satisfaction; and inclusion. God listens to the cries of those people whose lives have felt incomplete and whose needs have gone unmet. God, whose ultimate plan is the restoration of his good creation, promises to restore the broken hearts and lives of his broken people - to be the fulfillment of an unfulfilled people.
The film Magnolia introduces a procession of characters who, for various reasons, have lived tragically unfulfilled lives. One of them is Donnie Smith, a grown-up quiz show prodigy whose genius disappeared after he was struck by lightning. He’s now a socially stunted adult who works as a delivery driver and spends his evenings pining for a local bartender. The sense of emptiness and unrequited desire that comprises Magnolia’s central theme is captured perfectly in Donnie’s words: “I don’t know where to put things. I have all this love to give, you know? I just don’t know where to put it.”
In a remarkable three-chapter sequence, Isaiah prophesies to a world full of unfulfilled people. Chapters 54-56 represent a kind of verbal triptych in which God uses three different metaphors to describe people whose plight he holds close to his heart. The types of people mentioned are: a woman struggling with infertility; people who are hungry and poor; and those pushed to the margins of society because of physical deformity or ethnicity. God addresses the sorrow and longing represented by each type. God promises fulfillment; satisfaction; and inclusion. God listens to the cries of those people whose lives have felt incomplete and whose needs have gone unmet. God, whose ultimate plan is the restoration of his good creation, promises to restore the broken hearts and lives of his broken people - to be the fulfillment of an unfulfilled people.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
A Better Offer
Passage: Isaiah 36:1-22
If you're trying to sell a house in this economy, you'll hear the following piece of wisdom: “Your first offer’s going to be your best offer.” To back it up there are plenty of disheartening stories circulating about sellers turning down their first offers in the hopes of getting something better. After holding out as long as they could, many have settled for far less than the original offer. It seems the prudent response is to go with the offer you have instead of holding out for a better offer.
In Isaiah 36, King Hezekiah of Judah is given what appears to be his best offer. Hezekiah and his people are in the shadow of the looming threat of the Assyrian Empire. Sennacherib, king of the Assyrians, has sent a message to Hezekiah: “If you surrender now, we’ll go easy on you. We’ll only cart you out of your homes and take the best of your women and children to be our slaves. We’ll treat you relatively humanely. Or you could hold out, in which case we’ll send an army that outnumbers your population ten to one. We’ll surround your cities and you and your people will resort to eating your young to survive. Really, it’s up to you.”
Hezekiah maintains a brave face in public. But in private the king falls apart. Faced with the inevitability of an Assyrian onslaught, Hezekiah only has one choice: take the first offer. There will be no better offer. Hezekiah and his people have no choice but to submit themselves to the Assyrians and become their slaves.
Then Hezekiah receives a second message, this time from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah says, “The Assyrians have blasphemed the name of the LORD, and for this the LORD will destroy them. Trust in God, and he will deliver you. Don’t surrender to Sennacherib!”
All of a sudden, Hezekiah has a choice. But it’s a tough one. If he holds out hope in God’s better offer, he risks incurring the wrath of the Assyrians. The sure shot still seems to be surrender to the enemy. The only thing God offers is his word.
Hezekiah takes the chance. And miraculously, God delivers. Hezekiah and his people don’t lift a finger, and the Assyrian horde is defeated. God proves himself able to overcome any adversity. All God asks is that his people trust him.
God continually invites his people to place our trust in him, rather than in property, earning potential, health, government, or military. God says, “Those things may seem like the best offer. None of them is as good as what I have for you.” Hold out. God always has the better offer.
If you're trying to sell a house in this economy, you'll hear the following piece of wisdom: “Your first offer’s going to be your best offer.” To back it up there are plenty of disheartening stories circulating about sellers turning down their first offers in the hopes of getting something better. After holding out as long as they could, many have settled for far less than the original offer. It seems the prudent response is to go with the offer you have instead of holding out for a better offer.
In Isaiah 36, King Hezekiah of Judah is given what appears to be his best offer. Hezekiah and his people are in the shadow of the looming threat of the Assyrian Empire. Sennacherib, king of the Assyrians, has sent a message to Hezekiah: “If you surrender now, we’ll go easy on you. We’ll only cart you out of your homes and take the best of your women and children to be our slaves. We’ll treat you relatively humanely. Or you could hold out, in which case we’ll send an army that outnumbers your population ten to one. We’ll surround your cities and you and your people will resort to eating your young to survive. Really, it’s up to you.”
Hezekiah maintains a brave face in public. But in private the king falls apart. Faced with the inevitability of an Assyrian onslaught, Hezekiah only has one choice: take the first offer. There will be no better offer. Hezekiah and his people have no choice but to submit themselves to the Assyrians and become their slaves.
Then Hezekiah receives a second message, this time from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah says, “The Assyrians have blasphemed the name of the LORD, and for this the LORD will destroy them. Trust in God, and he will deliver you. Don’t surrender to Sennacherib!”
All of a sudden, Hezekiah has a choice. But it’s a tough one. If he holds out hope in God’s better offer, he risks incurring the wrath of the Assyrians. The sure shot still seems to be surrender to the enemy. The only thing God offers is his word.
Hezekiah takes the chance. And miraculously, God delivers. Hezekiah and his people don’t lift a finger, and the Assyrian horde is defeated. God proves himself able to overcome any adversity. All God asks is that his people trust him.
God continually invites his people to place our trust in him, rather than in property, earning potential, health, government, or military. God says, “Those things may seem like the best offer. None of them is as good as what I have for you.” Hold out. God always has the better offer.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
All the Way
Passage: Galatians 5:1-12
One of the problems the Apostle Paul confronts regularly amongst members of his church is legalism. Paul, and a majority of his fellow Christians, grew up within religious communities that placed a high value on rules. These religious rules served two purposes. The first was ensuring that practitioners were right with God. The second was establishing criteria for who belonged and who didn’t. As they’ve adapted to a new religion and a new way of relating to this God, members of Paul’s church have had difficulty figuring out how the rules fit.
Paul preaches a Gospel that insists that one gets right with God not by rules but by the blood of Jesus Christ. Moreover, membership in this new religious community is not established by outward signs but by a change of heart – the realization that one needs a Savior, and the recognition of Jesus as that Savior. For a people accustomed to measurable criteria, however, this new way of relating to God seems way too ambiguous.
So Paul keeps running into people who insist on the old rules and rituals; the old stamps of approval. In Galatians 5 Paul lays it on the line. He says, “Fine. You want to be sticklers for the law? You want to insist that your brothers and sisters follow it to the letter? Start with yourself. Everyone has their favorite rules. Everyone knows the rules that one can obey most visibly. Forget about the stuff everyone can see. Make sure you’re following every rule. Even the ones only God can monitor. If you’re going to go with the Law, you have to go all the way.”
Paul recognizes that the Law of God operates as a whole. One cannot claim to be obedient to the Law if one is not obedient to the Law in its entirety. To those who require circumcision, Paul says, “Why stop there? Go all the way. Require perfect obedience to the whole Law. But only do so after you’ve mastered it yourself.” Paul adopts this rhetoric not to dismiss God’s Law, but rather to point out its inadequacy as a means of salvation. Paul is not maligning people who strive to live in obedience to God. Paul is simply pointing out the grave error of those who use the Law to try to prove that they have a superior claim to the love of God.
Religious people have always been quick to shape their communities and routines around rules. Those rules can and do find their way to the heart of our identities and practices, such that without great care they can replace the essence of our faith. At the heart of our faith is a Gospel that reminds us: we get close to God not by the rules but by the blood of Jesus Christ; and our place in God’s heart has everything to do with the state of our own hearts. God welcomes those who recognize their desperate need for a Savior. God allows those who think they can do it on their own to go ahead and try.
One of the problems the Apostle Paul confronts regularly amongst members of his church is legalism. Paul, and a majority of his fellow Christians, grew up within religious communities that placed a high value on rules. These religious rules served two purposes. The first was ensuring that practitioners were right with God. The second was establishing criteria for who belonged and who didn’t. As they’ve adapted to a new religion and a new way of relating to this God, members of Paul’s church have had difficulty figuring out how the rules fit.
Paul preaches a Gospel that insists that one gets right with God not by rules but by the blood of Jesus Christ. Moreover, membership in this new religious community is not established by outward signs but by a change of heart – the realization that one needs a Savior, and the recognition of Jesus as that Savior. For a people accustomed to measurable criteria, however, this new way of relating to God seems way too ambiguous.
So Paul keeps running into people who insist on the old rules and rituals; the old stamps of approval. In Galatians 5 Paul lays it on the line. He says, “Fine. You want to be sticklers for the law? You want to insist that your brothers and sisters follow it to the letter? Start with yourself. Everyone has their favorite rules. Everyone knows the rules that one can obey most visibly. Forget about the stuff everyone can see. Make sure you’re following every rule. Even the ones only God can monitor. If you’re going to go with the Law, you have to go all the way.”
Paul recognizes that the Law of God operates as a whole. One cannot claim to be obedient to the Law if one is not obedient to the Law in its entirety. To those who require circumcision, Paul says, “Why stop there? Go all the way. Require perfect obedience to the whole Law. But only do so after you’ve mastered it yourself.” Paul adopts this rhetoric not to dismiss God’s Law, but rather to point out its inadequacy as a means of salvation. Paul is not maligning people who strive to live in obedience to God. Paul is simply pointing out the grave error of those who use the Law to try to prove that they have a superior claim to the love of God.
Religious people have always been quick to shape their communities and routines around rules. Those rules can and do find their way to the heart of our identities and practices, such that without great care they can replace the essence of our faith. At the heart of our faith is a Gospel that reminds us: we get close to God not by the rules but by the blood of Jesus Christ; and our place in God’s heart has everything to do with the state of our own hearts. God welcomes those who recognize their desperate need for a Savior. God allows those who think they can do it on their own to go ahead and try.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Obstinate
Passage: Isaiah 30:1-18
One of my kids’ favorite movies, Cars, introduces Lightning McQueen, a hot-shot race car. At the beginning of his story, McQueen is an up-and-coming champion who has raised himself up by his lug nuts and won’t take any guff – or advice – from anyone. A self-professed “one-man show”, McQueen tunes out an older veteran of the racing circuit who takes him aside to caution him about the values of friendship and humility. The young race car reaps the consequences of his know-it-all pride when, in an off-road showdown with racing legend Doc Hudson, McQueen is advised, “Turn right to go left.” True to form, McQueen says, “What do you know? I’ll do it my way, thank you very much.” McQueen’s obstinacy culminates in a precipitous drop into a cactus patch.
The Old Testament tells the story of a young, upstart nation intent on going its own way. God’s chosen people, the Israelites, receive fair warning. God tells them repeatedly, “Do things my way. I know what I’m talking about.” His people refuse, insisting instead on going it alone. In fact, they get irritated when God’s prophets intervene to try to set them straight. Isaiah records the response God’s people give him every time he opens his mouth:
"Give us no more visions of what is right! Tell us pleasant things, prophesy illusions. Leave this way, get off this path, and stop confronting us with the Holy One of Israel!” In other words, "Let out of our way so we can take this path to our deaths."
Isaiah expresses the frustration and sadness of a God who only wants to spare his beloved people pain.
Isaiah tells his people to listen to reason and turn around. He says,
“In repentance and rest is your salvation; in quietness and trust is your strength… Everything you need is right here. Just stop running. Turn around – repent. Take God at his word.”
When we are intent on a course of action, we tend to disregard the advice of anyone who doesn’t affirm us. Like Isaiah’s audience we are tempted to say, “Give us no more visions of what is right! Tell us pleasant things…” We want to go our own way. God’s word confronts us with a way of life that is a change of direction. We’re not sure we want to alter our course away from what we’ve set our sights on. We are, however, fairly warned. If the way to the thing you want steers you away from God, it can only lead one place: death. Don’t cling to that way. Don’t be obstinate. Turn around.
One of my kids’ favorite movies, Cars, introduces Lightning McQueen, a hot-shot race car. At the beginning of his story, McQueen is an up-and-coming champion who has raised himself up by his lug nuts and won’t take any guff – or advice – from anyone. A self-professed “one-man show”, McQueen tunes out an older veteran of the racing circuit who takes him aside to caution him about the values of friendship and humility. The young race car reaps the consequences of his know-it-all pride when, in an off-road showdown with racing legend Doc Hudson, McQueen is advised, “Turn right to go left.” True to form, McQueen says, “What do you know? I’ll do it my way, thank you very much.” McQueen’s obstinacy culminates in a precipitous drop into a cactus patch.
The Old Testament tells the story of a young, upstart nation intent on going its own way. God’s chosen people, the Israelites, receive fair warning. God tells them repeatedly, “Do things my way. I know what I’m talking about.” His people refuse, insisting instead on going it alone. In fact, they get irritated when God’s prophets intervene to try to set them straight. Isaiah records the response God’s people give him every time he opens his mouth:
"Give us no more visions of what is right! Tell us pleasant things, prophesy illusions. Leave this way, get off this path, and stop confronting us with the Holy One of Israel!” In other words, "Let out of our way so we can take this path to our deaths."
Isaiah expresses the frustration and sadness of a God who only wants to spare his beloved people pain.
Isaiah tells his people to listen to reason and turn around. He says,
“In repentance and rest is your salvation; in quietness and trust is your strength… Everything you need is right here. Just stop running. Turn around – repent. Take God at his word.”
When we are intent on a course of action, we tend to disregard the advice of anyone who doesn’t affirm us. Like Isaiah’s audience we are tempted to say, “Give us no more visions of what is right! Tell us pleasant things…” We want to go our own way. God’s word confronts us with a way of life that is a change of direction. We’re not sure we want to alter our course away from what we’ve set our sights on. We are, however, fairly warned. If the way to the thing you want steers you away from God, it can only lead one place: death. Don’t cling to that way. Don’t be obstinate. Turn around.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
That'll be the Day
Passage: Isaiah 19:1-25
As you may have noticed, Isaiah doesn’t limit his condemnation to the people of Judah. God’s prophet expands his gaze to the four corners of the earth, taking in every nation whose idolatry and corruption have been exposed to the light of God’s judgment. In Isaiah 19 God spends some time highlighting what he has in store for Egypt. It doesn’t look good.
The passage ends, however, on a hopeful note that seems at odds with the overall message. Given that Isaiah’s intended audience is the people of Judah, it’s not hard to imagine that the conclusion to chapter 19 is not, at least initially, well-received.
After going into some detail regarding the ways God will break Egypt, the historic enemy of his people, Isaiah writes:
In that day five cities in Egypt will speak the language of Canaan and swear allegiance to the LORD Almighty.
He goes on to say that Egypt will erect a monument and a temple to the God of the Hebrews. That the Egyptians and the Assyrians and the children of Israel will be united in their allegiance to the one true God. Isaiah concludes,
In that day Israel will be the third, along with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing on the earth. The LORD Almighty will bless them, saying, "Blessed be Egypt my people, Assyria my handiwork, and Israel my inheritance."
Wait a minute, say Isaiah’s audience members. That’s not the way the story ends. It ends with God crushing our enemies and restoring us – his chosen ones – to our rightful place as rulers of the world!
Not so. God’s stated purpose for his people, right from the start, has been to use them as a conduit for his blessing to the entire world. God gives Isaiah a glimpse of what that will look like: the powers of the world no longer locked in an endless struggle for dominance but locked in a familial embrace. The nations finding unity on their knees before a God not of war and destruction but a God of peace and reconciliation. God’s goal for his people is not to get them ahead of everyone else, but to show everyone else the way. One day, says Isaiah, there won’t be Israel and Assyria and Egypt. There will just be one people: the people of God.
This is what we’re working on. A world drawn together not under a dominant unifying government, but under the care and direction of a loving and all-powerful God. Our job isn’t to topple and decry the governments and nations we don’t like. According to Isaiah, that’s God’s job. Ours is to worship the one true God, to show the world what it means to live as God’s people, and hope to God that we see the day our enemies are embraced as his children.
As you may have noticed, Isaiah doesn’t limit his condemnation to the people of Judah. God’s prophet expands his gaze to the four corners of the earth, taking in every nation whose idolatry and corruption have been exposed to the light of God’s judgment. In Isaiah 19 God spends some time highlighting what he has in store for Egypt. It doesn’t look good.
The passage ends, however, on a hopeful note that seems at odds with the overall message. Given that Isaiah’s intended audience is the people of Judah, it’s not hard to imagine that the conclusion to chapter 19 is not, at least initially, well-received.
After going into some detail regarding the ways God will break Egypt, the historic enemy of his people, Isaiah writes:
In that day five cities in Egypt will speak the language of Canaan and swear allegiance to the LORD Almighty.
He goes on to say that Egypt will erect a monument and a temple to the God of the Hebrews. That the Egyptians and the Assyrians and the children of Israel will be united in their allegiance to the one true God. Isaiah concludes,
In that day Israel will be the third, along with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing on the earth. The LORD Almighty will bless them, saying, "Blessed be Egypt my people, Assyria my handiwork, and Israel my inheritance."
Wait a minute, say Isaiah’s audience members. That’s not the way the story ends. It ends with God crushing our enemies and restoring us – his chosen ones – to our rightful place as rulers of the world!
Not so. God’s stated purpose for his people, right from the start, has been to use them as a conduit for his blessing to the entire world. God gives Isaiah a glimpse of what that will look like: the powers of the world no longer locked in an endless struggle for dominance but locked in a familial embrace. The nations finding unity on their knees before a God not of war and destruction but a God of peace and reconciliation. God’s goal for his people is not to get them ahead of everyone else, but to show everyone else the way. One day, says Isaiah, there won’t be Israel and Assyria and Egypt. There will just be one people: the people of God.
This is what we’re working on. A world drawn together not under a dominant unifying government, but under the care and direction of a loving and all-powerful God. Our job isn’t to topple and decry the governments and nations we don’t like. According to Isaiah, that’s God’s job. Ours is to worship the one true God, to show the world what it means to live as God’s people, and hope to God that we see the day our enemies are embraced as his children.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Do Not Fear...
Passage: Isaiah 8:11-18
When I was a kid I would regularly try to stall the going-to-bed process. I’d stay up as long as I could. Even after I’d been put to bed I’d get back up. Tell my parents I needed a drink of water. Tell them I had to go to the bathroom. Tell them anything to buy a few more minutes of awake time. My most common excuse was this: “I’m scared!” Once in awhile one or the other of my parents would get fed up and say, “Go back to bed or I’ll give you something to be afraid of!” I’d scoot back to bed. Of course what they meant – in so many words – was, “You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m here. Go back to bed!”
One of the things that characterizes the Book of Isaiah is good news wrapped up in bad news. Isaiah repeatedly tells his people that they will suffer God’s judgment. In the next breath Isaiah speaks tenderly of God’s promised salvation. In chapter 8 Isaiah says this:
Do not call conspiracy everything that these people call conspiracy; do not fear what they fear, and do not dread it. The LORD Almighty is the one you are to regard as holy, he is the one you are to fear…
Isaiah is addressing a nation consumed with fear. They’re afraid of economic recession; they’re afraid of famine and disease; they’re terrified of the invading armies of their more powerful neighbors. Isaiah’s message is, “There’s only one thing you need to fear: God!” The paradox is this: if they feared God, they wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything else.
In these fearful times, Isaiah’s words are more relevant than ever. We are bombarded with news of conspiracy and calamity. The intent, it seems, of every commentator and every news source is to fill us with fear. We are well served to listen to the prophet: "Do not call conspiracy everything that these people call conspiracy; do not fear what they fear. The LORD Almighty is the one you are to regard as holy, he is the one you are to fear."
If you fear God, you have nothing to be afraid of.
When I was a kid I would regularly try to stall the going-to-bed process. I’d stay up as long as I could. Even after I’d been put to bed I’d get back up. Tell my parents I needed a drink of water. Tell them I had to go to the bathroom. Tell them anything to buy a few more minutes of awake time. My most common excuse was this: “I’m scared!” Once in awhile one or the other of my parents would get fed up and say, “Go back to bed or I’ll give you something to be afraid of!” I’d scoot back to bed. Of course what they meant – in so many words – was, “You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m here. Go back to bed!”
One of the things that characterizes the Book of Isaiah is good news wrapped up in bad news. Isaiah repeatedly tells his people that they will suffer God’s judgment. In the next breath Isaiah speaks tenderly of God’s promised salvation. In chapter 8 Isaiah says this:
Do not call conspiracy everything that these people call conspiracy; do not fear what they fear, and do not dread it. The LORD Almighty is the one you are to regard as holy, he is the one you are to fear…
Isaiah is addressing a nation consumed with fear. They’re afraid of economic recession; they’re afraid of famine and disease; they’re terrified of the invading armies of their more powerful neighbors. Isaiah’s message is, “There’s only one thing you need to fear: God!” The paradox is this: if they feared God, they wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything else.
In these fearful times, Isaiah’s words are more relevant than ever. We are bombarded with news of conspiracy and calamity. The intent, it seems, of every commentator and every news source is to fill us with fear. We are well served to listen to the prophet: "Do not call conspiracy everything that these people call conspiracy; do not fear what they fear. The LORD Almighty is the one you are to regard as holy, he is the one you are to fear."
If you fear God, you have nothing to be afraid of.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I Don't Mean to Brag...
Passage: 2 Corinthians 11:16-12:10
In 2 Corinthians 11 and 12 the Apostle Paul, who is sometimes given to hyperbole, seems to lose it altogether. In fact, he admits of himself: “I am speaking as a fool…I am out of my mind to talk like this.” What pushes Paul over the edge?
Paul recognizes his peers’ propensity to boast. He belongs to a culture of male bravado and machismo, in which it is customary for a guy to herald his achievements and flaunt his strengths. As more of his contemporaries have converted to Christianity, Paul has nurtured in them values that are countercultural: compassion; conciliation; humility. Paul has been gratified to see these values take root.
But old habits die hard. In correspondence with a member of the church in Corinth, Paul catches wind of the resurgence of a persistent practice: boasting. Members of Paul’s church, having apparently mastered this whole Christian thing, have begun boasting about how good they are at it. Specifically, they’ve begun boasting about suffering for their faith. How brave they are in the face of opposition; how strong they are in maintaining their faith in the face of adversity.
Paul heaves a sigh. And fires off a letter. “Guys,” he says. “You still don’t get it. It’s not about you. It’s not about how great you are. If anyone should boast about suffering for the faith, it’s me. But I don’t. What I should be highlighting is my weakness. And so should you. Why? Because the more obvious it is we need a Savior, the more remarkable our Savior will appear. What is our job, if not to direct the world’s attention to our Savior?”
Live out your faith. Live it out the best you can. But don’t make it about how well you know your Bible. How much you do for other people. Don’t make it about how morally good you are. If you want to draw people’s attention to something, draw their attention to your flaws. Your failures. Let them know how bad you need a Savior. Brag about how good your Savior is.
In 2 Corinthians 11 and 12 the Apostle Paul, who is sometimes given to hyperbole, seems to lose it altogether. In fact, he admits of himself: “I am speaking as a fool…I am out of my mind to talk like this.” What pushes Paul over the edge?
Paul recognizes his peers’ propensity to boast. He belongs to a culture of male bravado and machismo, in which it is customary for a guy to herald his achievements and flaunt his strengths. As more of his contemporaries have converted to Christianity, Paul has nurtured in them values that are countercultural: compassion; conciliation; humility. Paul has been gratified to see these values take root.
But old habits die hard. In correspondence with a member of the church in Corinth, Paul catches wind of the resurgence of a persistent practice: boasting. Members of Paul’s church, having apparently mastered this whole Christian thing, have begun boasting about how good they are at it. Specifically, they’ve begun boasting about suffering for their faith. How brave they are in the face of opposition; how strong they are in maintaining their faith in the face of adversity.
Paul heaves a sigh. And fires off a letter. “Guys,” he says. “You still don’t get it. It’s not about you. It’s not about how great you are. If anyone should boast about suffering for the faith, it’s me. But I don’t. What I should be highlighting is my weakness. And so should you. Why? Because the more obvious it is we need a Savior, the more remarkable our Savior will appear. What is our job, if not to direct the world’s attention to our Savior?”
Live out your faith. Live it out the best you can. But don’t make it about how well you know your Bible. How much you do for other people. Don’t make it about how morally good you are. If you want to draw people’s attention to something, draw their attention to your flaws. Your failures. Let them know how bad you need a Savior. Brag about how good your Savior is.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Putting God to the Test
Passage: Isaiah 7
The Book of Isaiah offers a fine balance between God’s judgment and God’s grace. The predominant theme of the book is that the people of Judah – the remnant of God’s chosen people – will suffer the consequences of generations’ worth of rebellion against God. This judgment is, by all accounts, inevitable. Yet even as Isaiah’s doomsday ministry unfolds it seems as though God keeps changing his mind. There are repeated moments at which God promises to make good his offer of deliverance. From our historical vantage point we recognize the fulfillment of this promise in the person of Jesus Christ (the long awaited “Immanuel”). We know God intended to bring salvation all along - but at a much later time than that of Isaiah.
Yet there are points in the story when God seems also to offer salvation in the immediate. One such point is Isaiah’s conversation with King Ahaz in chapter seven. Ahaz has faced off against his closest competition: the kings of Aram and (remarkably) his sister state, Israel. Ahaz and his people are hard pressed. They are holding their own, but at this point it is anyone’s battle. God sends Isaiah with a message: Don’t worry, Ahaz. God will defeat your enemies for you. You can even ask me for a sign – for confirmation that I am with you.
Ahaz refuses. His excuse is this: “I will not put the LORD my God to the test.” Is this a show of piety? Tragically it is not. Ahaz refrains from putting God to the test because he doesn’t believe God is there. Ahaz intends to seek help not from God, but from a lesser superpower: Assyria. If you read the rest of the story, you’ll see how that works out for him.
Isaiah’s response to Ahaz is harsh: “It’s one thing to test my patience. But don’t test God’s. God will, in fact, send a sign. A child. His name will be Immanuel.” Isaiah’s message for Ahaz is the same as God’s message for his people throughout this book: I will bring the salvation I have always promised. But as a consequence of your lack of faith, you will not see it.
God repeatedly invites his people test his promises. When we refrain it is only because we don’t trust that God will come through. What happens to our faith if we live our lives never really trusting God to come through? Where do we place our trust, if not in God? And how will we see God's salvation if we never really expect to?
The Book of Isaiah offers a fine balance between God’s judgment and God’s grace. The predominant theme of the book is that the people of Judah – the remnant of God’s chosen people – will suffer the consequences of generations’ worth of rebellion against God. This judgment is, by all accounts, inevitable. Yet even as Isaiah’s doomsday ministry unfolds it seems as though God keeps changing his mind. There are repeated moments at which God promises to make good his offer of deliverance. From our historical vantage point we recognize the fulfillment of this promise in the person of Jesus Christ (the long awaited “Immanuel”). We know God intended to bring salvation all along - but at a much later time than that of Isaiah.
Yet there are points in the story when God seems also to offer salvation in the immediate. One such point is Isaiah’s conversation with King Ahaz in chapter seven. Ahaz has faced off against his closest competition: the kings of Aram and (remarkably) his sister state, Israel. Ahaz and his people are hard pressed. They are holding their own, but at this point it is anyone’s battle. God sends Isaiah with a message: Don’t worry, Ahaz. God will defeat your enemies for you. You can even ask me for a sign – for confirmation that I am with you.
Ahaz refuses. His excuse is this: “I will not put the LORD my God to the test.” Is this a show of piety? Tragically it is not. Ahaz refrains from putting God to the test because he doesn’t believe God is there. Ahaz intends to seek help not from God, but from a lesser superpower: Assyria. If you read the rest of the story, you’ll see how that works out for him.
Isaiah’s response to Ahaz is harsh: “It’s one thing to test my patience. But don’t test God’s. God will, in fact, send a sign. A child. His name will be Immanuel.” Isaiah’s message for Ahaz is the same as God’s message for his people throughout this book: I will bring the salvation I have always promised. But as a consequence of your lack of faith, you will not see it.
God repeatedly invites his people test his promises. When we refrain it is only because we don’t trust that God will come through. What happens to our faith if we live our lives never really trusting God to come through? Where do we place our trust, if not in God? And how will we see God's salvation if we never really expect to?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Shameless Plug
Passage: 2 Corinthians 9:6-15
The Apostle Paul is not known for his subtlety. In his letters to various churches he is confrontational and blunt about all kinds of issues: church order, marriage, sexual ethics and tepid faith. Paul is as honest about his own needs and struggles as he is about his churches’ problems. In 2 Corinthians 9 he exhorts his church to give. This is a practice that is, apparently, as old as the church, and has always rubbed people the wrong way. “I don’t go to church anymore because I’m tired of getting hit up for money”; “All those televangelists want to do is line their own pockets.” It’s easy to be cynical about the shameless plugs religious types make in order to fill the coffers. And it would be easy to dismiss Paul’s plug in 2 Corinthians as more of the same.
We’re remiss to do so. Paul’s appeal to the Corinthian church is about much more than helping a sister church in need. It’s about more than just funding a ministry or a pastor’s salary. What Paul highlights is the fact that giving is an essential ethic of the Christian life. It’s a response not primarily to a pressing practical need, but an appropriate response to God’s abundant generosity. Paul tells his church that they’ve all been the recipients of an invaluable gift. Paul reminds his church that their needs will always be met by their generous God. In response, says Paul, it makes sense to share of the overabundance we’ve all received from God. Using the metaphor of planting and harvesting, Paul argues that the more his church gives, the more they’ll get. It’s apparent that the return to which Paul refers here isn’t primarily financial. This isn’t some supernatural investment scheme. Paul and his church are invested not in their own 401K’s, but in the Kingdom of God. The fruit of their labors is the mission of the church – a world transformed, one person at a time, by the love of Jesus Christ. This, says Paul, is what you’re investing in. You can never invest too much.
The Apostle Paul is not known for his subtlety. In his letters to various churches he is confrontational and blunt about all kinds of issues: church order, marriage, sexual ethics and tepid faith. Paul is as honest about his own needs and struggles as he is about his churches’ problems. In 2 Corinthians 9 he exhorts his church to give. This is a practice that is, apparently, as old as the church, and has always rubbed people the wrong way. “I don’t go to church anymore because I’m tired of getting hit up for money”; “All those televangelists want to do is line their own pockets.” It’s easy to be cynical about the shameless plugs religious types make in order to fill the coffers. And it would be easy to dismiss Paul’s plug in 2 Corinthians as more of the same.
We’re remiss to do so. Paul’s appeal to the Corinthian church is about much more than helping a sister church in need. It’s about more than just funding a ministry or a pastor’s salary. What Paul highlights is the fact that giving is an essential ethic of the Christian life. It’s a response not primarily to a pressing practical need, but an appropriate response to God’s abundant generosity. Paul tells his church that they’ve all been the recipients of an invaluable gift. Paul reminds his church that their needs will always be met by their generous God. In response, says Paul, it makes sense to share of the overabundance we’ve all received from God. Using the metaphor of planting and harvesting, Paul argues that the more his church gives, the more they’ll get. It’s apparent that the return to which Paul refers here isn’t primarily financial. This isn’t some supernatural investment scheme. Paul and his church are invested not in their own 401K’s, but in the Kingdom of God. The fruit of their labors is the mission of the church – a world transformed, one person at a time, by the love of Jesus Christ. This, says Paul, is what you’re investing in. You can never invest too much.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Did I Just Open the Wrong Book?
Passage: Song of Solomon 1
Song of Solomon is a book of the Bible I don’t enjoy reading. Seriously. I have an easier time reading about God’s judgment in Jeremiah; about human brutality in Judges; about the futility of the human condition in Ecclesiastes. Song of Solomon switches gears so fast I get whiplash. It just doesn’t seem to fit. It’s too…mushy.
In the history of biblical interpretation there have been others who share my discomfort. There is at least one school of thought that suggests that Song of Solomon is one big metaphor for God’s love for his people. To read it otherwise, they say, is to venture into territory unfit for self-respecting Bible readers. Of course there is also a long tradition of ascetic and puritanical Christianity that maintains that romantic love and sexual desire are evil. The two theories seem to support each other. In general we don’t like to mix sex and religion, and Song of Solomon threatens to blur the lines.
However, there is a way to read Song of Solomon that both legitimizes the sentiments it expresses and defends its place in the canon. It starts with recognizing that sexual love and desire are God-created gifts that we were made to enjoy. Song of Solomon celebrates the natural longing and desire that marriage was designed to fulfill. Husbands and wives should feel for each other the way the “lover” and “beloved” of the book obviously do. Ideally, husbands and wives should feel that way about each other long after the hormone-charged days of courtship and early marriage have passed. There’s nothing better, say the actors in this romance, than to be united for life with someone you’re crazy about.
That being said, those who claim Song of Solomon is a metaphor for God’s relationship with his people aren’t off the mark, either. The Bible consistently uses romantic, even marital, language to describe God’s love and longing for humanity. God is described as a lover; the unfaithfulness of God’s people compared to the infidelity of a wayward partner; the church referred to as “the bride of Christ.” How do we reconcile all these ideas?
The most intimate union we can imagine is the sexual union of husband and wife. It’s the closest two people can be. Moreover the physical intimacy enjoyed by a married couple is really an expression of their emotional and spiritual intimacy. They have devoted their lives to one another. They have committed to being fully open and vulnerable to each other. They are connected in an exclusive, one-of-kind way that, ideally, they will know with no other person. It doesn’t get any closer.
The intimacy that God desires with us and that we are created to desire with God runs even deeper. Marriage is the closest comparison because we don’t know any closer. God knows us more clearly and loves us more purely than the closest of lovers.
Song of Solomon introduces the image of two people who are wholly devoted to each other and long to be connected in the most intimate way. This is a kind of relationship to be desired and sought after. It’s also just a shadow of the wholeness and the fulfillment we will know perfectly when we meet Jesus, the lover of our souls, face-to-face.
Song of Solomon is a book of the Bible I don’t enjoy reading. Seriously. I have an easier time reading about God’s judgment in Jeremiah; about human brutality in Judges; about the futility of the human condition in Ecclesiastes. Song of Solomon switches gears so fast I get whiplash. It just doesn’t seem to fit. It’s too…mushy.
In the history of biblical interpretation there have been others who share my discomfort. There is at least one school of thought that suggests that Song of Solomon is one big metaphor for God’s love for his people. To read it otherwise, they say, is to venture into territory unfit for self-respecting Bible readers. Of course there is also a long tradition of ascetic and puritanical Christianity that maintains that romantic love and sexual desire are evil. The two theories seem to support each other. In general we don’t like to mix sex and religion, and Song of Solomon threatens to blur the lines.
However, there is a way to read Song of Solomon that both legitimizes the sentiments it expresses and defends its place in the canon. It starts with recognizing that sexual love and desire are God-created gifts that we were made to enjoy. Song of Solomon celebrates the natural longing and desire that marriage was designed to fulfill. Husbands and wives should feel for each other the way the “lover” and “beloved” of the book obviously do. Ideally, husbands and wives should feel that way about each other long after the hormone-charged days of courtship and early marriage have passed. There’s nothing better, say the actors in this romance, than to be united for life with someone you’re crazy about.
That being said, those who claim Song of Solomon is a metaphor for God’s relationship with his people aren’t off the mark, either. The Bible consistently uses romantic, even marital, language to describe God’s love and longing for humanity. God is described as a lover; the unfaithfulness of God’s people compared to the infidelity of a wayward partner; the church referred to as “the bride of Christ.” How do we reconcile all these ideas?
The most intimate union we can imagine is the sexual union of husband and wife. It’s the closest two people can be. Moreover the physical intimacy enjoyed by a married couple is really an expression of their emotional and spiritual intimacy. They have devoted their lives to one another. They have committed to being fully open and vulnerable to each other. They are connected in an exclusive, one-of-kind way that, ideally, they will know with no other person. It doesn’t get any closer.
The intimacy that God desires with us and that we are created to desire with God runs even deeper. Marriage is the closest comparison because we don’t know any closer. God knows us more clearly and loves us more purely than the closest of lovers.
Song of Solomon introduces the image of two people who are wholly devoted to each other and long to be connected in the most intimate way. This is a kind of relationship to be desired and sought after. It’s also just a shadow of the wholeness and the fulfillment we will know perfectly when we meet Jesus, the lover of our souls, face-to-face.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The Conclusion of the Matter
Passage: Ecclesiastes 12:9-14
In the last verses of Ecclesiastes a second voice asserts itself. Most of the book has consisted of the words of “The Teacher.” Then, when the Teacher’s lengthy rant finally comes to an end, a narrator takes the stage. He says a few words about how wise and influential the Teacher was. He goes on to caution the reader against listening to anyone else’s advice.
Then, as though he can’t help himself, the narrator adds some advice of his own. Perhaps after reading back through the preceding material the narrator recognizes how it sounds – pessimistic; critical; at times self-contradictory. He has to wrap it all up somehow. So, in conclusion, he says,
Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.
For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.
Remarkably, it’s this post-script that brings the whole book back in line with the rest of the Old Testament. For much of his discourse the Teacher talks about how fleeting life is. He goes to great lengths to urge his readers to make the most of every day because you can’t know if today will be your last. He invites his listeners to avoid agonizing over the bigger questions of life’s meaning and what happens after we die because there are no rock-solid answers to those questions. Exclamation point. We’re confused because we've been led to believe that the point of the Bible is to give answers to those questions.
As though aware of the dilemma, the narrator jumps in at the last minute to connect the dots for us. God’s in control, he says. God knows the stuff we can’t know. Therefore in order to live every passing day with peace, live in step with God. Follow God’s rules, and trust your future to God’s care. Phew.
What we have to ask is this: Is this the official conclusion to Ecclesiastes, or a later addition by an unsatisfied editor? Would Ecclesiastes still fit our canon if it didn’t have this God-friendly final word? Does the conclusion of the book fit with all that precedes it?
You could argue either way. It could very well be that the whole of the book was composed in a point-counterpoint fashion in order to heighten the impact of its overall message. The final imperative to walk in step with God makes more sense when you’ve been confronted with the futility and emptiness of life without God.
However, even without its conclusion, Ecclesiastes provides remarkable - even inspired - insight into the human condition. Whether or not one has faith in God, one cannot escape the fact that life is made up largely of repeating cycles and routine activity. These could easily lose their meaning over time. What the Teacher urges everyone to do is find a way to make the repetitive and routine stuff of life meaningful. This, he says, is the secret to living a full and joyful life. This is, as it turns out, divinely inspired wisdom. The focus of God’s Law – that Law according to which the final narrator exhorts us to live – is this very thing. Living out one’s routine duties and relationships in a healthy and functional way. Making commitments to people and to responsibilities, and sticking with them. Honoring and respecting other people; tending and caring for others and the world you live in. Making the most of the mundane. Whether you understand this as overt response to a divine mandate, or see it simply as a good way to go, this is the wise way to live.
In the last verses of Ecclesiastes a second voice asserts itself. Most of the book has consisted of the words of “The Teacher.” Then, when the Teacher’s lengthy rant finally comes to an end, a narrator takes the stage. He says a few words about how wise and influential the Teacher was. He goes on to caution the reader against listening to anyone else’s advice.
Then, as though he can’t help himself, the narrator adds some advice of his own. Perhaps after reading back through the preceding material the narrator recognizes how it sounds – pessimistic; critical; at times self-contradictory. He has to wrap it all up somehow. So, in conclusion, he says,
Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.
For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.
Remarkably, it’s this post-script that brings the whole book back in line with the rest of the Old Testament. For much of his discourse the Teacher talks about how fleeting life is. He goes to great lengths to urge his readers to make the most of every day because you can’t know if today will be your last. He invites his listeners to avoid agonizing over the bigger questions of life’s meaning and what happens after we die because there are no rock-solid answers to those questions. Exclamation point. We’re confused because we've been led to believe that the point of the Bible is to give answers to those questions.
As though aware of the dilemma, the narrator jumps in at the last minute to connect the dots for us. God’s in control, he says. God knows the stuff we can’t know. Therefore in order to live every passing day with peace, live in step with God. Follow God’s rules, and trust your future to God’s care. Phew.
What we have to ask is this: Is this the official conclusion to Ecclesiastes, or a later addition by an unsatisfied editor? Would Ecclesiastes still fit our canon if it didn’t have this God-friendly final word? Does the conclusion of the book fit with all that precedes it?
You could argue either way. It could very well be that the whole of the book was composed in a point-counterpoint fashion in order to heighten the impact of its overall message. The final imperative to walk in step with God makes more sense when you’ve been confronted with the futility and emptiness of life without God.
However, even without its conclusion, Ecclesiastes provides remarkable - even inspired - insight into the human condition. Whether or not one has faith in God, one cannot escape the fact that life is made up largely of repeating cycles and routine activity. These could easily lose their meaning over time. What the Teacher urges everyone to do is find a way to make the repetitive and routine stuff of life meaningful. This, he says, is the secret to living a full and joyful life. This is, as it turns out, divinely inspired wisdom. The focus of God’s Law – that Law according to which the final narrator exhorts us to live – is this very thing. Living out one’s routine duties and relationships in a healthy and functional way. Making commitments to people and to responsibilities, and sticking with them. Honoring and respecting other people; tending and caring for others and the world you live in. Making the most of the mundane. Whether you understand this as overt response to a divine mandate, or see it simply as a good way to go, this is the wise way to live.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
No Guarantee
Passage: Ecclesiastes 3:9-22
The Old Testament has some pretty depressing books. Judges, for instance, chronicles the steady decline that occurs in the religious and moral life of the Israelites almost immediately following their settlement of the Promised Land. 2 Chronicles details the deterioration of the Kingdom of Israel and the eventual exile of its people to Babylon – all forewarned by God’s prophets. Hosea presents a prophet commanded by God to marry a prostitute in order to serve as a metaphor for God’s relationship with his unfaithful people.
Then there’s Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes is depressing not because it tells a sad story, but because it paints a sweepingly pessimistic picture of all human experience. The author of Ecclesiastes, named simply “Qoheleth”, or, “The Teacher,” mentions on all the normal things in which people invest themselves: education; work; marriage; family; pleasure. He proceeds to talk about the futility of each of these pursuits. Educated people suffer as much as uneducated ones; the fruits of one’s life’s work eventually go to someone else; spouses die; kids grow up; the aging body loses its capacity for pleasure. And, of course, everybody eventually dies. Verse after verse the author peels back layer after bitter layer to reveal the truth we’re all scrambling to avoid: everything you cherish in life will one day be taken away.
Wait a minute, say the religious among us. There’s always the afterlife, isn’t there? The author fixes us with a steely gaze. How can you be so sure?
In his third chapter the Teacher turns his cynical eye even on this – the last hope for those disenchanted with the promises of this life. He says,
I also said to myself, "As for human beings, God tests them so that they may see that they are like the animals. Surely the fate of human beings is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath; humans have no advantage over animals. Everything is meaningless. All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. Who knows if the human spirit rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?"
How has such an expression of doubt made its way into our Bible? And how do we make sense of it?
The author of Ecclesiastes is presenting, for polemical purposes, the perspective of someone without faith. Looking simply at the physical evidence, you can’t help drawing the same conclusions as the Teacher. Life is short; everybody dies; in the process everybody loses everything. And there is no empirical evidence that life goes on after death. There’s no guarantee that death isn’t the end. All we have to go on is someone else’s word.
The key to the life of faith is trusting that there’s something more. Trusting God’s word, and those who bear witness to it. Trusting that God not only preserves our life and identity for eternity but also guides and watches over our lives here and now. God’s word promises us that our lives aren’t buried in the earth with our deceased bodies; we are distinguished from other creatures in that we are created in God’s image. We hold out hope that life has meaning and that death isn’t the end of the line based not on any physical guarantee but on the promise of a good God.
The Old Testament has some pretty depressing books. Judges, for instance, chronicles the steady decline that occurs in the religious and moral life of the Israelites almost immediately following their settlement of the Promised Land. 2 Chronicles details the deterioration of the Kingdom of Israel and the eventual exile of its people to Babylon – all forewarned by God’s prophets. Hosea presents a prophet commanded by God to marry a prostitute in order to serve as a metaphor for God’s relationship with his unfaithful people.
Then there’s Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes is depressing not because it tells a sad story, but because it paints a sweepingly pessimistic picture of all human experience. The author of Ecclesiastes, named simply “Qoheleth”, or, “The Teacher,” mentions on all the normal things in which people invest themselves: education; work; marriage; family; pleasure. He proceeds to talk about the futility of each of these pursuits. Educated people suffer as much as uneducated ones; the fruits of one’s life’s work eventually go to someone else; spouses die; kids grow up; the aging body loses its capacity for pleasure. And, of course, everybody eventually dies. Verse after verse the author peels back layer after bitter layer to reveal the truth we’re all scrambling to avoid: everything you cherish in life will one day be taken away.
Wait a minute, say the religious among us. There’s always the afterlife, isn’t there? The author fixes us with a steely gaze. How can you be so sure?
In his third chapter the Teacher turns his cynical eye even on this – the last hope for those disenchanted with the promises of this life. He says,
I also said to myself, "As for human beings, God tests them so that they may see that they are like the animals. Surely the fate of human beings is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath; humans have no advantage over animals. Everything is meaningless. All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. Who knows if the human spirit rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?"
How has such an expression of doubt made its way into our Bible? And how do we make sense of it?
The author of Ecclesiastes is presenting, for polemical purposes, the perspective of someone without faith. Looking simply at the physical evidence, you can’t help drawing the same conclusions as the Teacher. Life is short; everybody dies; in the process everybody loses everything. And there is no empirical evidence that life goes on after death. There’s no guarantee that death isn’t the end. All we have to go on is someone else’s word.
The key to the life of faith is trusting that there’s something more. Trusting God’s word, and those who bear witness to it. Trusting that God not only preserves our life and identity for eternity but also guides and watches over our lives here and now. God’s word promises us that our lives aren’t buried in the earth with our deceased bodies; we are distinguished from other creatures in that we are created in God’s image. We hold out hope that life has meaning and that death isn’t the end of the line based not on any physical guarantee but on the promise of a good God.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Settling Up
Passage: Job 42:7-17
You could draw two possible conclusions when you get to the end of Job. On one hand you could say, “God gave Job a raw deal, but at least he makes up for it by giving Job back more than he lost.” On the other you could say, “So what if God gives Job more property and kids? It doesn’t undo the injustice and pain of Job’s experience!” Either conclusion is valid. But neither is complete. To say God compensates Job at the end of the story is to reduce the magnitude of Job’s suffering. One cannot be compensated for the loss of a child, let alone all one’s children. Certain lost things can’t be replaced. To say, on the other hand, that God can’t make up for the terrible things Job suffered is to reduce God to a purveyor of property and experience. God is justified not on the basis of human experience but on the basis of being God.
Human beings can’t cry foul every time God deals them a bad hand. God’s justice takes into account an immeasurable number of factors; God’s dealings with any one person must be weighed against God’s dealings with everyone. The value of any of God’s dealings must also be assessed not according to any human objective but according to God’s objectives.
When God settles up at the end of Job, God doesn’t apologize. God confronts Job’s “friends” for their gross misjudgment of the cosmic order of things and related abuse of Job. God demands that they make amends. God chastises Job for demanding an explanation that God does not owe him. And then God gives good things to Job. God does so not as an act of penance – God has not done wrong. God does so not to compensate Job for what Job lost – there can be no adequate compensation. God gives Job good things because God is a good God. This is what Job maintains throughout his ordeal; this is what distinguishes Job as a man of great faith. And this is the paradoxical message of the Book of Job as a whole: God is a good God. God is, by nature, worthy of a worship that is not contingent upon the conditions of the worshiper.
God is also interested in settling up with people not on the basis of their merits, but on the basis of God’s merits. Here’s how God goes about settling up with us:
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. (John 3:16-17)
You could draw two possible conclusions when you get to the end of Job. On one hand you could say, “God gave Job a raw deal, but at least he makes up for it by giving Job back more than he lost.” On the other you could say, “So what if God gives Job more property and kids? It doesn’t undo the injustice and pain of Job’s experience!” Either conclusion is valid. But neither is complete. To say God compensates Job at the end of the story is to reduce the magnitude of Job’s suffering. One cannot be compensated for the loss of a child, let alone all one’s children. Certain lost things can’t be replaced. To say, on the other hand, that God can’t make up for the terrible things Job suffered is to reduce God to a purveyor of property and experience. God is justified not on the basis of human experience but on the basis of being God.
Human beings can’t cry foul every time God deals them a bad hand. God’s justice takes into account an immeasurable number of factors; God’s dealings with any one person must be weighed against God’s dealings with everyone. The value of any of God’s dealings must also be assessed not according to any human objective but according to God’s objectives.
When God settles up at the end of Job, God doesn’t apologize. God confronts Job’s “friends” for their gross misjudgment of the cosmic order of things and related abuse of Job. God demands that they make amends. God chastises Job for demanding an explanation that God does not owe him. And then God gives good things to Job. God does so not as an act of penance – God has not done wrong. God does so not to compensate Job for what Job lost – there can be no adequate compensation. God gives Job good things because God is a good God. This is what Job maintains throughout his ordeal; this is what distinguishes Job as a man of great faith. And this is the paradoxical message of the Book of Job as a whole: God is a good God. God is, by nature, worthy of a worship that is not contingent upon the conditions of the worshiper.
God is also interested in settling up with people not on the basis of their merits, but on the basis of God’s merits. Here’s how God goes about settling up with us:
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. (John 3:16-17)
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