Behind Jesus

February 18, 2020

All three synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) record the story of Jesus asking his disciples what they are hearing people say about him before asking their own opinion. All three have Peter making that great declaration that Jesus is “the Christ [the Son] of God,” after which Jesus reveals what that means. Contrary to popular understanding, Jesus didn’t come to usher in a powerful political rule. Instead, he speaks of his coming suffering and death by crucifixion. Interestingly, only Matthew and Mark record Peter’s protest to his revelation. Matthew tells us Peter’s words: “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall not happen to you!” Mark says merely that Peter objected to this revelation. Both gospels give us Jesus’ response to Peter’s objection: “Get behind me, Satan!” Luke however, is silent about Peter’s objection and Jesus’ response.

Luke has these very same words, but instead of finding them in the story of Peter’s confession and subsequent reluctance to embrace the Cross, they are found in Luke’s Temptation narrative. The devil takes Jesus up on a high mountain, shows him the kingdoms of the world, and tells him “all this can be yours if you bow down and worship me.” 

“Get behind me, Satan!” is Jesus’ thunderous response—Luke alone has these very same words with which he rebukes Peter in the other two synoptic gospels. Two different scenarios, but identical responses. Why? 

In the Temptation account, the devil is trying to get Jesus to bypass the Cross. In the Confession narrative, Peter suggests the very same path. Jesus’ visceral response is worth noting. Most of the time, he is patient with his disciples, even when he bemoans their slowness to believe. He often got worked up when dealing with the religious leaders, but with his disciples, he is other than here, almost lethargic in his reactions. The Cross however, is at the heart of his mission. Avoiding it was the one thing he could not do; it would completely torpedo the purpose of the Incarnation. “Satan” literally means “adversary.” Anyone who tries to avoid the cross abdicates any semblance of faithfulness or even neutrality to Christ. Such a person becomes and enemy of the Gospel. Jesus came to die for the sins of mankind. No Cross, no salvation; we remain in the death-grip of our sin and guilt.

Immediately following his rebuke of Peter, Jesus reveals the implications of all this: if we are to follow him, we too, must pick up a cross. Contrary to much popular contemporary preaching, following Christ is not a divine GPS to prosperity. If to secure our salvation Jesus couldn’t avoid a cross, neither can we avoid a cross to experience salvation. The Cross is central to the mission and message of the Gospel, for Jesus, and for us. This truth is not easy to hear, but it is worthy of our praise and thanksgiving. The old hymn by Isaac Watts puts it well: 

Am I a soldier of the Cross

A follower of the Lamb

And shall I fear to own his cause

Or blush to speak his name?

Must I be carried to the skies

On flowery beds of ease

While others fought to win the prize

And sailed through bloody seas?

Wilderness

February 17, 2020

It’s my favorite Scripture text, although I must admit that I don’t always like the implications it carries. It’s from Luke’s gospel, chapter three, verses 1 and 2.

“Now in the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate being governor of Judea, Herod being tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and the region of Trachonitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene, while Annas and Caiaphas were high priests, the word of God came to John the son of Zacharias in the wilderness.” —Luke 3:1-2 NKJV

It’s a classic instance of God turning things upside down. Instead of the houses of political or religious power, God chooses the unlikely people and places to reveal his purposes. In the first two chapters of Luke, it’s to a virgin peasant girl, to shepherds on the hills outside a small village in a remote Roman province, and now we have this litany of the rich and famous who are once more overlooked as the Word of God comes to John in the wilderness.

We are more enamored with power and prestige than we often realize. Jesus taught us to eschew titles and honors, yet in my denomination, when someone has earned a doctor of ministry degree, it is unthinkable for him or her to be introduced merely as “reverend” or “pastor.” Oh, no—it has to be “the Reverend Doctor....” 

I once wondered before the Lord what I might have accomplished had I been sent to someplace other than a little backwater village. God quickly put me in my place, telling me that he did the best he could with what he had to work with. The part of this text that appeals to me is what also gets under my skin. I like that God pays so little attention to the things we deem so significant. Big buildings, big budgets, big programs are ok, but are not necessarily indicative of God’s blessing. When by comparison you’re in a small setting, there is great comfort in this. 

On the other hand, most of us don’t relish the thought of spending much time in a wilderness. We scorn the simplicity, the sparseness, the barrenness of such places, particularly when it’s a barrenness of soul or of results. We want our faithfulness to count for something, to be recognized and honored. When given the opportunity, we get out of the desert as quickly as we can, even when that is where we hear from God.

I’ve spent my share of time in the desert, but I can’t claim to have suffered as have so many of God’s saints. Perhaps if I didn’t resist it so much, I would hear more clearly from God. One thing for sure: longing for better watered gardens probably won’t serve me any better than they did Lot. Desert trees may not grow as tall as those in a rain forest, but they have a resiliency that can weather droughts, sandstorms, and the blazing heat of the sun. Their roots go down deep, or they die. I’ve learned to keep sending the roots deeper. The wilderness may be hot and dry, but it’s not a bad place to be if you want to hear from God.

Investment Returns

February 16, 2020

Friday it was a serendipitous time with eldest granddaughter Alex; today was a planned afternoon and evening with next in line Abi at Fredonia State’s Bassfest. I asked the same question of each of them: “Does it seem odd to have your grandparents so involved in your lives?” We have been blessed to have our three children and their nine grandchildren living within walking distance of our home. They grew up with cousins who were more like siblings, a big extended family. It’s not all peaches and cream; we have our differences, on occasion, we get under each other’s skin; but we work together, listening, laughing, loving, and yes...forgiving.

Both granddaughters gave the same answer to my question: “It may seem odd to others, but for me, it’s normal.” I remember my grandparents as being old, but Linda and I are in good enough health that we don’t seem that way to Alex and Abi. The same may not be true for our youngest, who is only eight. 

Saturday I was given the opportunity to connect with Alex, talking about life, her dreams and plans for her future, and about the relationship that has sustained Linda and me for nearly fifty years. Today I had the same gift from Abi. We talked music, but also of life and of our faith in Christ. The Scriptures tell us if we cast our bread upon the water, it will come back to us, “pressed down, shaken together, and running over.” If I was able to bless my granddaughters in any way these past two days, it came back to me, overflowing many times over, giving me great cause to give thanks tonight.

Daddy’s Boy

February 15, 2020

Was he spoiled as a child, only to fall in with a bad lot as he grew? Had he been a prodigal from the start, with a father longing and waiting for him to come home? With only bits of the story, we’ll never know, but we do know his name—Barabbas, “bar—son, abba—father,” i.e. “father’s son,” or “daddy’s boy.” However he started out, by the time he appears on the scene he is an insurrectionist, a guerrilla fighter captured and on trial for murder, wayward and lost, but still a father’s son.

Did you catch the subtle contrast? It’s intentional. The very first words of his gospel have Mark proclaiming “Jesus, Son of God.” As the end approaches, this son is praying in a garden, “Abba, Father,” yielding himself to the power of Rome, while this other son is snarling in defiance of that same power. Barabbas, released by Pilate, while the Son of the Father is condemned to die. Don’t miss the irony. But even more importantly, don’t miss the rest of the story. Barabbas is me, son of my father Adam, an insurrectionist rebelling against my spiritual Father, wandering in murderous rage against an authority I refuse to acknowledge, while the Second Adam (as St. Paul calls him) rebels against that authority on his knees.

Mark’s gospel is a tale of two sons, one of whom is me, the other Jesus Christ. The first son angrily rebelled and was imprisoned, waiting the death sentence when the Second Son stepped forth, bound an bloodied, to die in his place, setting him free. It is a story that never grows old, that echoes through history as THE Story. The prodigal’s father waited at the gate for his son to come home, and he did...in Jesus Christ. In him, I wear the robe; my finger bears the ring of ownership, and the fatted calf has been killed. Daddy’s boy has returned. Let the party begin!

Be Mine

February 14, 2020

It might have been a Facebook post; it might have been a comedian's comment; whichever it was, it went like this: "Have you ever noticed the Valentine's cards for young men in love? "You make my heart sing;" or, "I have the hots for you;" and stuff like that. When you get to the married men's section, they read, "I know I don't tell you as often as I should..." Comedy sadly mirroring real life. 

Buying cards for Linda is usually somewhat stressful. I like the funny ones, but the funniest ones usually aren't the kind we can leave sitting out on the kitchen table. Besides, although they're fun, they don't convey what I really want to say at Valentine's Day. Unfortunately, neither do the romantic ones. I don't know who they get to write some of the drivel that gets printed in these cards. The card companies must hire as their quality control, people with pre-pubescent emotional development. If it can be recited in a sing-songy way and rhymes at the end of each line, it's good to go. It takes some real searching to find anything with the maturity level of even an adolescent. For an old-timer like me, the search can reach expeditional proportions. On those rare occasions where I happen to find more than one that fits the bill, I stock up. Better to have an extra in the dresser drawer than to have to stoop to some of the schtick on the shelves.

That being said, I always prefer short and simple. It's a bonus if it doesn't rhyme. Forty nine years of marriage is enough to know that love isn't always syrupy sweet. It only occasionally rhymes. But those years have tested the mettle of our patience, stretched the resiliency of our commitment, exposed the flaws of our character, and revealed the mysterious glory of love. I am blessed beyond measure that forty nine years ago, Linda thought I had beautiful eyes. Hers were certainly clouded, and I was able to pull the wool over them long enough for her to say, "I do." Best bit of hocus pocus I've ever done, and the magic still mystifies and charms me today.

Who Am I?

February 13, 2020

The fifteenth chapter of Mark is filled with tragedy, but even more, with tragic people. It begins with the chief priests, the scribes, and the religious council, all determined to rid themselves of Jesus, once for all. Enter Pilate, the ethically bankrupt weasel of a governor, questioning Jesus with pompous air before caving to the crowd, weakly hoping to appease them. “Daddy’s Boy” Barabbas (that’s what his name means), a ruthless guerrilla bandit who shockingly gains freedom at Jesus’ expense. I wonder if he ever mused over the gift of life he was handed that day. The crowds clamored for Jesus’ blood, the Praetorium soldiers mocked and abused him, while Simon they conscripted to carry the cross. Acts 13:1 tells of Simeon “the Black” who was from Cyrene, probably the same man, who years later was one of the leaders of the Antioch church. Did carrying Jesus’ cross lead to his conversion?

Soldiers drove nails into his hands and feet, then gambled for his clothes while passers-by taunted. An anonymous person held up a sour wine-soaked sponge for Jesus to suck on to ease his agony while others objected to even that small act of mercy. A centurion watched and understood, and while his disciples were hiding, the women watched, horrified at what they saw. Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Salome are named; high honor in that long ago day. Lastly, Joseph of Arimathea worked up nerve enough to finally come out in the open to ask for the body of Jesus, so he could place it in his own tomb.

So many people, some brutally hostile, some cowardly, some just “doing their job,” some risking their own safety to do what little they could, and still others just watching. I suspect Mark is inviting us to place ourselves in the story. If so, who would I be? Preening Pilate, the ruthless Barabbas, one of the religious leaders, a soldier, Simon, one of the women, Joseph? Jesus hung on that cross for every one of them, for every one like them, including you and me. I’d like to think I could be one of the heroes, but fear too often I am the villain, one of many whose stories played out that day. Wherever I am at any given time, Jesus hung on that cross for people like me, for which I give thanks tonight.

Mark 14

February 12, 2020

Mark 14 was the Gospel reading for today. I reflect upon it here.

On distant hill the rooster crows,

Rending silence of the night.

Warmed hands weakly shaking,

Eyes wide with hellish fright 

Meet the Master’s; He knows, he knows.

Words with confidence earlier spoken

Now with shame ring empty, hollow;

bragging tongue no longer making

Bold promises to follow.

They fall silent, vainly broken.

Darkness yields to rising sun,

But tear-dimmed eyes cannot yet see

Hope on distant hill is breaking

High on a Cross on Calvary.

Death gives way, new life begun.