Get Behind Me, Satan

Passage: Mark 8:31-38

The film The Matrix takes place in a world within a world.  As the film progresses, the world the main characters inhabit – a slightly futuristic version of our world – turns out to be an illusion.  The illusion has been generated by super-intelligent computers who have enslaved humanity and projected a false reality into their minds.  These computers control reality as people know it; and it’s only through the intervention of a handful of liberated human beings that people are unplugged from the machine and introduced to the real world.  Within the false reality – or “Matrix” – any person, no matter how familiar, may be an enemy agent in disguise.  As such, those engaged in the resistance are reminded that, when they’re operating with the Matrix, no one can be trusted.

In Mark 8, Jesus treats his closest friend as an enemy agent.  Jesus has just disclosed to his disciples that his mission must end at the cross.  Peter, who has been endlessly loyal to Jesus, takes him aside and insists that Jesus stop talking such nonsense.  Jesus looks Peter in the eye and says,

Get behind me, Satan! For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.

How is this fair?  Surely Peter only has his friend’s best interests at heart.

Jesus knows better.  What Peter has in mind is his own security.  Peter has gotten accustomed to life with Jesus, and doesn’t want it to change.  He doesn’t want to face the possibility of losing his friend, and losing the comfortable rhythm of their life together.  Peter has so allowed this comfort and security to take precedence that he’s willing to sacrifice Jesus’ mission – the very reason Jesus came into the world – so his own life can be better. 

This is what every follower of Jesus is tempted to do.  To invite Jesus in and bask in the comfort and security of his presence.  And then, when the time comes to pursue the mission, to rebuke Jesus for disrupting our lives.  Each of us becomes an adversary of God when we choose stability over sacrifice, and say no when the way of Jesus leads to the cross.  Life with Jesus means death right now – death to comfort; death to pride and ambition; death to self.  Jesus is always moving; and if we want him, we move with him – wherever he intends to go.  

The Acceptable Offering

Passage: Exodus 9; 10:1-3; Genesis 4:1-7

No sooner has God finished teaching his people how to make sacrifices than they get a chance to try it out.  Aaron the high priest, assisted by his sons, follows God’s detailed instructions.  In the sight of the people he carries out each step, dividing the offered animal, properly disposing of the rejected parts, placing the accepted parts on the altar, pouring out the blood, and using it to mark the horns of the altar.  They complete each step, rejoin Moses and the other leaders some distance away from altar, and wait.  Did they do it right?  In response, we’re told, God’s glory appears to all the people.  And fire falls from heaven and consumes the offering.  God is pleased.  Moses and Aaron are relieved.

And Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu, are enthralled.  They want to see it again.  As soon as the crowd has dissipated, they grab a couple of censers, fill them with live coals from the altar, and place incense on the coals.  They fan the incense into flame, and then wait for the fireworks.  The fireworks come, but when they do, it’s not the offering that gets consumed.  It’s Nadab and Abihu.  

Their story is reminiscent of the very first sacrifice.  Genesis 4 tells the story of Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve’s first children.  As they grow, they develop vocations: Cain, farming, and Abel, herding sheep.  One day, Abel offers the best of his lambs to God as a spontaneous gift.  God is pleased.  Cain sees this, and wants some of the attention.  So he hastily grabs a handful of whatever vegetables he’s got lying around, and brings them to God.  Cain is incensed when God responds to his offering with indifference.  God sees Cain’s bitterness.  He says,

Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast?  If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.

What causes God to accept one offering while rejecting another?  Is it the quality of what’s presented?  Does God prefer lamb to broccoli?  How can anyone predict how God is going to react to what they do for him?

Here’s what the two disastrous sacrifices have in common: they were offered as a means to an end.  The two young priests wanted God to perform for them.  Cain wanted God to affirm him.  The offerings were made not for God, but for those making the offerings.  God refuses to be treated as a means to anything but himself. 

In Romans 12 Paul says,

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Our instinct is to ask what it takes to get God to do what we want.  What prayer do I have to pray to get that person to love me?  What ritual do I have to perform to get that job?  To sell that house?  What do I have to do to make God do for me?  We treat religion, and God himself, as a means to an end.  God responds to this the way you and I respond to anyone who treats us the same way.  The only difference is that God’s anger is deadly, and his rejection is death.  We need him.  God says, “Pursue me for me.  I’m the goal.  I’m the prize.”  If this is the way we see God, then any expression of our devotion is acceptable.  But if this is the way we see God, we will also never hesitate to offer him everything.  

The Currency of Your Heart

Passage: Leviticus 1-3

This year my kids have started to grasp the concept of money.  Our oldest daughter lost her first tooth, and got her first dollar.  Both girls have started earning money for doing chores around the house.  And both express great interest in money.  That being said, money is still an abstract concept for them.  They leave their dollar bills lying around the house.  They don’t go to the store often, so haven’t had many opportunities to exchange their money for anything meaningful.  Money isn’t really their primary form of currency.  What is?  Candy.  Candy makes their world go round.  They would give anything, up to and including one of their parents, for candy.  They don’t get it that often, so when they do they savor it, guard it, count it, and hoard it.

Last week was Valentine’s Day, and one of the ways we celebrated our love as a family was candy.  Few things have ever warmed my heart more than what my kids did with their candy during the week.  One afternoon my wife and kids were out together, and stopped to get treats out of a vending machine.  My older daughter chose peanut butter cups; my younger daughter chose chewy fruit snacks.  The fruit snacks turned out not to be as good as advertised, and my younger daughter was very disappointed.  Without prompting, my older daughter volunteered to give her sister a peanut butter cup – half her treat.  Later in the week we had our Valentine’s Day meal, and gave the girls each a little heart-shaped box of chocolates.  My younger daughter saw that I wasn’t eating any candy, and immediately offered me some of hers. 

In and of themselves neither of these offerings was particularly significant – a few cents’ worth of candy.  But they represented sacrifices of the currency that is closest to my kids’ hearts.  And both kids offered their candy not out of duty or the promise of anything in return, but out of regard for someone they love.  As their parent, nothing pleases me more than these displays of generosity, love and trust.  They gave because there was something more valuable to them than candy.  And they gave trusting that there would be enough.

The Book of Leviticus begins with instructions.  God gives detailed instructions to his people about how to make sacrifices.  And sacrifices – of livestock and grain – are identified as the primary expression of the worship of God’s people.  Why is this?  Is it because God needs food?  Perish the thought.  Is it because God wants his people to go without?  Never – he provides relentlessly and abundantly.  So what’s the deal with the sacrifices?  Livestock and food are the currency of his people’s heart.  These represent life, and the guarantee of a future.  God consistently commands that his people give up the means of life – both to him, and to those in need.  God does so to remind his people that there are more important things in life.  Their relationships – with God, and with each other – are more valuable and life-sustaining than their food, their land, or their money.  And the people’s willingness to give that stuff up demonstrates the most important thing: their trust in God, and their love for him.

What’s the currency of your heart?  Do you trust God to give you enough?  So much so that you’re willing to give it up?  Take stock, and consider what sacrifice God is inviting you to make. 

Love Unknown

Passage: Matthew 27:16-23

Yesterday at an Ash Wednesday service I sang the hymn, “My Song is Love Unknown”.  One of the verses goes like this:

They rise, and needs will have
My dear Lord made away;
A murderer they saved,
The Prince of life they slay,
Yet cheerful He to suffering goes,
That He His foes from thence might free.

What’s the hymn writer talking about?  A Bible story that was part of my devotions earlier this week.  It’s the story of Barabbas.  Jesus has finally fallen into the hands of his enemies, the religious elite of Jerusalem.  They have handed him over to a Roman court to be tried for capital crimes.  And the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, senses something’s up.  He doesn’t find that this Jesus is guilty of much of anything, except ruffling the feathers of his very reactive subjects.  But they are so insistent, that finally Pilate gives them a choice.  Every year at about this time Pilate made a habit of releasing a Jewish prisoner – as a kind of good will gesture.  So Pilate hauls a guy named Barabbas out of jail.  He’s a convicted murderer and terrorist.  Pilate stands Jesus and Barabbas side by side.  He says, “Okay, here’s the deal.  You get to set one guy free.  On podium A you have Barabbas – he’s killed a bunch of people; he’ll probably kill again; plus he’s pretty ugly – look at that face.  On podium B you have Jesus.  Never hurt anyone; mild-mannered – look, he’s just standing there.  So, what’ll it be.”  Everyone on the stage except Jesus is shocked to hear the crowd shout, as with one voice, “Barabbas!”  Barabbas stops jeering and making lewd gestures, and raises his hands as if he’s just won the lottery.  Which he kind of has.  Jesus is quiet and resolute.  This is what he came here for.  To take the place of a murderer.  Of a race of murderers.

But what about Barabbas?  We don’t know.  Does he leave the stage with murder in his heart?  Or, having been given a new life, does he commit to living a new way? It seems awfully irresponsible to set a guy like that free.

Isn’t this what Jesus does for us?  Though we all have murder in our hearts, he sets us free.  And there’s no guarantee that we won’t go out and keep being murderers; thieves; liars. 

Maybe, having experienced this love previously unknown, Barabbas loses his taste for murder.  Maybe he disappears into the crowd intent on slaking his thirst for blood.  But then when the opportunity arises, he discovers that his thirst is gone.  And that it has been replaced with a different kind of desire.  A desire not to end life but to preserve it.  A desire not to take life but to give it.  Maybe this is what will happen to you and me, too.  That having experienced this love that gives its life for ours, we’ll start living a new kind of life.  We who have received the gift of life will learn to give it in return. 

My song is love unknown,
My Savior’s love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I, that for my sake
My Lord should take, frail flesh and die?

Counting Heads

Passage: 2 Samuel 24:1-17; Exodus 30:11-16

Near the end of his reign, King David is struck by an unusual impulse.  One day, as if on a whim, he tells Joab, his general, “Go take a census of Israel.”  Joab says, “Why would the king ask me to do such a thing?”  The reason for Joab’s response may be sheer laziness; but as things unfold we recognize that Joab resists for more important reasons.  The king prevails, and Joab leads his army out into the countryside to take a census of the men of fighting age throughout the kingdom.  He reports the numbers to David.

At this point, David recognizes that he has been in error.  David repents – of what, we’re not exactly sure – and confesses to the LORD that he has sinned.  The LORD responds, “Okay.  You can choose one of three punishments: three years famine; three months of military loss; or three days of plague?”  David chooses the plague.  70,000 people die.

So what’s going on here?  What’s the harm in David taking a census?  And why does God punish his people so severely?  

The plague relates to a command God gave centuries earlier, when Israel was about to enter the Promised Land.  In Exodus 30 God gives detailed instruction regarding a “census tax”.  He says:

When you take the census of the people of Israel, then each shall give a ransom for his life to the Lord when you number them, that there be no plague among them when you number them.

But why?  God explains: …to make atonement for your lives.

What does that mean?  God doesn’t require the tax because he needs the money.  And he doesn’t require it as a kind of penalty (the amount he demands is very nominal).  It’s a reminder: Your life is not your own.  The backdrop to all of this is the fact that, having rescued his people from certain death, God now has a claim on each of their lives.  This is a fact they can never forget.

And yet, forget it they do.  David numbers his people as a rich man counts his money.  He forgets the tax, and forgets the reason behind it.  As God’s anointed king, he also forgets this all-important fact: the source of his power isn’t the size of his fighting force.  It’s God himself.  David and his people suffer the harsh reminder.

But the alternative is much harsher.  Life without God is death – not just in the immediate, but for all eternity.  God in his mercy imposes checks and balances to remind his people not only of their dependency on him, but also of his mercy and faithfulness.  God does the same for us.  The introduction to the Heidelberg Catechism reminds us of where true life is found:

What is your only comfort in life and in death?

That I am not my own, but belong – body and soul, in life and in death – to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven: in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.   (Heidelberg Catechism Q&A 1)

Talents

Passage: Matthew 25:14-30

I have a friend who’s always been deeply troubled by the “Parable of the Talents”.  Most disturbing to her is the conclusion: For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance. But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away.

It doesn’t seem fair.  The apparent moral of the story is that God gives people different gifts, and varying degrees thereof.  And that the people who have more will always get more.  Kind of a cosmic “one percent vs. ninety-nine percent”. 

The problem is that we read the parable through the lens of the world rather than the Kingdom of God.  Within God’s Kingdom, the reward is God himself.  That is, the experience of God’s presence and God’s glory.  What God promises his children here on earth is glimpses of his glory – ever-increasing experiences of God’s presence and miraculous power.  The lesson of the “Talents” is this: God gives us abilities and resources, and opportunities to invest them.  But we’re investing them not in the economy of this world, but the economy of the Kingdom.  So God isn’t promising financial dividends.  He’s offering ever-increasing glimpses of himself.  In our lives as believers, God gives us repeated opportunities to take risks.  To initiate new relationships.  To serve new communities of people in need.  To embark on new projects.  Typically these new endeavors are outside our comfort zone.  And typically we hesitate because we’re afraid.  We’re afraid of what the new thing will cost us.  And we’re afraid that we’ll try and fail.  So what do we do?  We play it safe.  

Playing it safe is based on a couple of assumptions.  The first is that the resources we’ve been given are in short supply.  The second is that God presides over the earth like a cosmic referee, just waiting to penalize us for stepping out of line.  Jesus addresses this in the response of the third servant: “Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed, so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”  In fact, the servant reveals that he doesn’t know his Master at all.  And his penalty for playing it safe is missing out on  the Master’s abundance.

The invitation of the parable is this:

1. Assess the resources God has given you.  Don’t diminish your potential because it seems less than someone else’s.
2. Be vigilant about the opportunities God is giving you.  Don’t settle for where you are.  God always has something new in mind for you.
3. Understand that God is offering an invitation, not a threat.  The only way to lose what God offers is to forget who God is.  God won’t run out of gifts – he will always give you what you need, especially to invest in his Kingdom.  And God isn’t waiting to punish you.  God wants you to experience his love and his power in ever-increasing ways. 

Don’t bury your talent.  Step out and take risks.  Look for new ways to invest what you’ve been given.  And live the abundant and adventurous life for which you’ve been created. 

Why are the Lawyers the Bad Guys?

Passage: Matthew 22:34-40

When you read through the New Testament Gospels, you notice a trend: most of Jesus’ opponents are religious experts or “teachers of the law” (read: Lawyers).  If you, or someone close to you, is a lawyer, you may find this unsettling.  What’s Jesus’ problem with lawyers?  And what’s their problem with him?

The reason the experts in the law keep showing up is that Jesus very quickly developed the reputation of being a legal expert in his own right.  Every time Jesus talked about God’s Law, his audience was astonished at his insight and authority.  So the resident experts wanted to see what Jesus was made of.

On the other hand, Jesus gives the lawyers a hard time because he’s interested in teaching not the Law itself, but the principles behind the Law.  And Jesus recognizes in the religious leaders and experts of his day a dynamic that endures in ours: those who know the law best are best equipped to exploit its loopholes.

I’m a big fan of the program The Good Wife.  The show’s central character, Alicia Florrick, is an up-and-coming associate at a Chicago law firm.  As the show progresses, Alicia becomes an increasingly adept trial lawyer.  But her growing success is accompanied by a growing discomfort with the incongruity between the outcomes of her cases and her deeper sense of justice.  She wins in favor of defendants who did what they were accused of.  She wins against doctors or corporations who aren’t really responsible for her clients’ suffering.  She recognizes that the best lawyers are the ones who are most skillful at working the law to their advantage. 

Jesus recognizes this about experts in God’s Law.  Those of us who are most familiar with the letter of the law know its loopholes and grey areas.  We know how to justify stuff that is objectively wrong or generally bad for us and the world around us based on what is or isn’t spelled out explicitly.  But as the author of God’s Law, Jesus is less concerned with the rules than he is with the principles behind them.  His response to the experts of the Law is sometimes hostile, but just as often conciliatory.  Why?  Because what he wants is for all of us to stop fooling ourselves into thinking we’re better than we are.  And to respond to God not as a judge who we have to work around, but as a Father who only wants us to live the way were created to live.  It turns out that getting around the rules isn’t as good for us as we think.