Out with Purpose

When they found Him, they said to Him, “Everyone is searching for You.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” (Mark 1.37-38)

Celebrity

Some of us can remember when celebrity automatically inferred achievement. Celebrated people accomplished something worth celebrating and we regarded those who enjoyed fame without earning it as anomalies. They served no real purpose, and as a rule—which holds true even now—they tended to overstay their welcome. Lacking a substantial legacy, they were forgot before they were gone. With media now tasked to feed our bizarre, postmodern obsession with non-notables, anyone who surrenders personal privacy and pride to a camera crew can be famous. We’ve created a new brand of fame that severs the vital link between celebrity and celebration.

This is of little consequence going forward. Whether we’re onboard or not, the famous-for-being-famous ship has sailed. Yet its costs are felt in reduced appreciation for celebrated figures of the past. Prior to now, people set out with purpose and became celebrated in the process. If anything, fame was a burden, not a prize, and it challenged those it favored to harness its power for greater good. As we see in Sunday’s Gospel, Mark 1.29-39, celebrity increased one’s responsibility to wear it lightly and use it wisely.

Fame-Faithfulness

The Gospels operate on the pre-modern supposition that Jesus’s fame indicates substance of character—so much so that they don’t even bother with explaining how the provincial carpenter’s Son comes to grips with His destiny. Luke alone gives us a glimpse of Jesus as a boy, suggesting He may have known as early as 12 that He’d been born to save the world. Other than that, however, the Gospels’ unfortunate disinterest in the “lost years” from 12 to 30 encourages us to imagine He’s an overnight sensation—an assumption the writers would no doubt find laughable. Ancient life isn’t conducive to sudden fame. Word doesn’t spread quickly enough to support publicity campaigns or faddish followings. Daily existence is too arduous and time-consuming to chase after up-and-coming stars. In first-century Palestine, one achieves celebrity by embracing a heightened sense of purpose and applying oneself to realize it. In other words, purpose breeds performance. Or, as the proverb goes, “the proof is in the pudding.” Any time the Gospels mention Jesus’s fame, they expect us to connect it with His life’s purpose and His ability to act on it.

The fame-faithfulness connection is particularly crucial to Mark, which presents Jesus as a Prophet of unimpeachable integrity Whom God endows with divinity at His baptism. This is why Mark isn’t concerned with Jesus’s birth and youth; in Mark's eyes, the real story begins when Jesus is “adopted” as God’s Son at 30. Thus, once he records Jesus’s baptism, Mark rushes to demonstrate He’s a prophet unlike any other—as seen in last Sunday’s Gospel, where Jesus’s teaching and cure of a possessed man astonish synagogue worshipers—while this weekend’s Gospel enlarges on the fame theme. In essence, Mark cites Jesus’s celebrity as de facto verification of His divine claim. Jesus’s purpose breeds performance that, in turn, puts proof in the pudding.

The Message is the Miracle

As Mark tells it, no sooner does Jesus leave the synagogue than He learns that Simon Peter’s mother-in-law has taken ill. He heals her and word of the miracle spreads so rapidly that the entire town crowds around Simon’s door by sundown, bringing its sick and disturbed to Jesus. He spends the evening curing many of various physical and emotional diseases. The next morning, before sunrise, Jesus finds a solitary place to pray. When the disciples discover He’s missing, they hunt Him down and tell Him, “Everybody’s looking for You.” Apparently time didn’t permit Him to heal everyone and many have returned. Our stereotype of the infinitely caring Christ hits a snag with Jesus’s reply, however. Instead of agreeing to meet those He didn’t heal the previous night, Jesus tells the disciples it’s time to move on. “Let’s go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also,” He says. “For that is what I came out to do.” (Mark 1.38) For Jesus, the message matters more than the miracles.

Reaching people with the Good News of God’s love is His life’s purpose. The miracles merely make Him famous; in what must be record time, He’s celebrated for His ability to perform supernatural acts. But being a famous miracle worker is only useful to Jesus inasmuch as it expands His reach. It opens doors for Him. Verse 39 informs us, “He went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.” Today, we might say reports of miracles cause the Jesus phenomenon to go viral. Yet celebrity and recognition that come from such rampant attention are only a means to deliver life-changing truth to multitudes. Because Jesus’s words overflow with healing and freedom, the message is the real miracle. No one who hears and believes it is ever the same.

By All Means

Central to following Christ is our faith that God creates each of us as unique reflections of the divine nature, to fulfill specific purposes. The traits, passions, and vision we possess have been placed in us to work miracles. While our capacity for good works admittedly falls short of Jesus’s scope and standards, we are all famous for amazing talents and abilities. Some of us are known as peacemakers. Some have gifts of wisdom and kindness. Some are driven by selfless compassion for those without light and hope, others by courageous desires to restore righteousness where injustice prevails. The list of attributes we're given goes on and on. But once we accept the uniqueness of our making and its purpose, we can make miracles happen wherever we go. We don’t really care about fame or celebrity. Instead, we recognize that the reputation God blesses us to acquire opens new doors to deliver Christ’s life-changing, utterly miraculous message of unconditional love.

“This is what I came out to do,” Jesus says. Coming out with purpose is what we do as His followers. It really doesn’t matter how we’re perceived. In 1 Corinthians 9, Paul essentially describes his approach to fulfilling God’s purpose as a chameleon-like endeavor. “While I’m free to act and think on my own,” he writes, “I place myself in service to others so that I might reach them. To Jews, I am a Jew. To those who don’t abide by the Law, I have no use for it. To the weak I become weak.” He sums this up in verses 22 and 23: “I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.”

We’ve been given everything we need to live lives of purpose. What’s asked of us is setting aside short-term gratification and questions of adequacy so that we can apply and master our gifts for greater good. Proclaiming Good News and working miracles can be exhausting and challenging. Yet we do it, because that’s what we do—not for fame, but for the sake of the Gospel, which advances on works we’re known for. So what makes you famous in your world? What talents and proclivities are at your disposal to further Christ’s message? Whatever you’ve been given to fulfill God’s purpose, by all means, use it. Be who God created you to be and when necessary become what others need you to be so that you can pass along the life-changing Word and share in its blessings.

All Wise and Loving Creator, envelop us with a heightened sense of purpose. Embolden us with self-honesty to celebrate our unique traits and talents. And empower us with the will and wisdom to use our miracle-making gifts for Your kingdom’s benefit. Amen.

God endows each of us with gifts that make us famous in our worlds. But fame is merely a medium, not a reward, for realizing God’s purpose in our lives.

Podcast link: http://straightfriendly.podbean.com/2012/02/05/out-with-purpose/

Come and See

Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found Him Whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” (John 1.45-46)

Out of Nowhere

How we Americans love yarns about people who rise to greatness from lowly beginnings! Indeed, when it comes to winning our hearts and respect, privilege can be a curse—a phenomenon sure to play out in sharp relief when GOP nominee apparent, Mitt Romney, goes head-to-head with Barack Obama. Deservedly or not, Romney epitomizes the rich kid whose cushy upbringing and lifestyle thwart his ability to identify with ordinary citizens. Meanwhile, President Obama is the postmodern Lincoln, the unlikely hero who surmounted impossible odds to clear our nation’s highest hurdle. And while this isn’t the year for a character referendum, for many, it will come down to a classic American dilemma: Go with a guy who had everything handed to him—or one who fought hard to get where he is? Should the candidates’ backgrounds become a decisive factor, Romney hasn’t a chance.

First-century residents of Palestine would predict differently. They couldn’t imagine a scenario ending in Romney’s defeat. Where they live, nobody comes out of nowhere and rises to greatness. Case in point: in Sunday’s Gospel (John 1.43-51), after Philip first encounters Jesus of Nazareth and tells Nathanael that he’s found the Messiah, Nathanael’s asks, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” It’s a baffled, maybe even scornful, reaction—a polite way of saying, “That’s crazy talk!”

Red Flags

Nathanael can’t conceive any good coming from Nazareth because there’s nothing good about it. It’s an out-of-the-way town without distinction. Having found nothing more than a cluster of simple homes where ancient Nazareth stood, archaeologists estimate its population at less than 400. It’s a farming community comprised of a few close-knit families who—based on discovery of a large pit comparable to a fall-out shelter—seem mainly concerned with surviving unstable times. And it appears they aren’t overly optimistic, as we find no signs of public architecture built to last—no marketplace, synagogue, or other common space. Instead, they rely on nearby Sepphoris for their social, consumer, and religious needs. About an hour’s walk from Nazareth, the city is a booming metropolis steeped in Greco-Roman culture and reputed to be a hotbed of social activism. Nathanael’s low opinion of Nazareth probably reflects its insignificance as a rural outpost, as well as its close proximity to an urban center that welcomes diversity and harbors non-conformists. And he may be shocked that none of this raises red flags to Philip.

Apart from concerns specific to Nazareth, Nathanael’s dismissal would be the same if Jesus hailed from any nondescript village—even his and Philip’s hometown of Bethsaida, a fishing hamlet near Capernaum, another alleged cauldron of dissent. Nothing substantial comes out of these places, because no one of substance lives there. Hearing Jesus is a Nazarene tells Nathanael He’s gravely unsuited for Messianic office. His family obviously has no major wealth or connections. If He’s had any formal education, it can’t be very good. Other than joining holiday caravans to Jerusalem, it’s likely He’s traveled no farther than Sepphoris; so He’s got no experience or sophistication to speak of.

Then, add to Jesus’s personal deficits the toll of small-town life. Spots like Nazareth are notoriously insular, intolerant, and often in-bred. Living where everybody’s your uncle never turns out good. What are backwater villages known for? Rushing to judgment about issues they don’t understand and attacking anyone who bucks a system they hate, but don’t have the nerve to change. Naturally, Nathanael shrugs Philip off. In their world, nobody important—least of all, the Messiah—comes from out of nowhere, especially a great big nowhere like Nazareth. But Philip doesn’t take offense at his friend’s cynicism. He doesn’t defend his convictions or dispute Nathanael’s reasoning. All Philip says is, “Come and see.”

Christ’s Offer

What we witness in Philip happens repeatedly in the Gospels. People meet Jesus and rush to tell friends and family, “Come and see!” Have we not felt the same impulse? A true encounter with Christ is unlike any other. In finding Jesus, we are found. When we follow His ways, lesser paths lose their appeal. We become aware of our place in the world and our fit in God’s plan. How can we not rush to tell those we love, “Come and see!” That’s when we find out how many Nathanaels we know. “What good can come from this?” they ask. Whether big-city skeptics or small-minded villagers, their assumptions about Jesus don’t jibe with the Savior we know. Lest their scorn twists us into knots, we avoid pointless bickering when we echo Philip’s gentle reply. Come and see.

With discipleship comes expectation we’ll spread the Word and make disciples—a dicey proposition if we’re enamored with competition and proving points. Christ’s offer of new life begs no defense and wins nothing from debate. We’re not called to recruit converts to our team; we’re privileged to invite others to discover what we’ve found. Nathanael agrees to check out Philip’s Messiah only to learn Jesus has already checked him out. As he approaches, Jesus says, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” (John 1.47) Nathanael’s stunned. Christ’s acknowledgement of Nathanael’s integrity turns him around. His doubts fall away, enabling him to discover that Jesus is God’s Son.

A marvelous epilogue turns up in Early Church chronicles. Nathanael (whom the other Gospels call Bartholomew) travels the farthest of any Apostle to extend Christ's offer of new life. In fact, he’s the only disciple known to cross Roman borders, when his calling ultimately lands him in India. Because of Philip’s modest reply, Nathanael achieves legendary status as Christianity’s first missionary to Asia—a feat he can’t possibly anticipate when he decides to go and see what Philip’s raving about. Inviting those who question our faith to meet Christ for themselves asks nothing of us. We don’t have to defend our belief. We don’t have to trump their reasons why following Jesus isn’t such a good idea. All we have to say is, “Come and see.” And if they take our offer to heart, they too will discover that following Jesus opens up amazing possibilities. You want to know what good can come from Nazareth? Ask Nathanael.

Gentle Savior, like Nathanael, we’re stunned that You saw worthiness in us—even when we doubted You were worth seeing. Stamp “come and see” in our hearts. Keep it in our mouths, so we may lead others to what we’ve found. Fix our eyes on far horizons and open our minds to amazing possibilities. Amen.

Christ’s offer of new life begs no defense and wins nothing from debate. We answer questions about our faith with a modest suggestion: Come and see.

Podcast link: http://straightfriendly.podbean.com/2012/01/15/come-and-see/

Harvest

Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.” (Matthew 9.37-38)

Harassed and Helpless

Anyone practicing or raised in evangelical Christianity knows this text by heart. He/she hears it and immediately—almost reflexively—associates it with a call to ministry. And that it is. But Jesus says it as a direct result of an observation that troubles Him more so than as a strategic appeal to recruit workers. Here it is in its fuller context (Matthew 9.35-38):

Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.”

What moves Him is what He sees at present, not what He envisions for the future. Everywhere He looks there are harassed and helpless people. They’re incapable of defending themselves. They have no sense of direction. They follow whatever passes their way and fall into trouble without intention.

Matthew muddles the passage somewhat by introducing a herd metaphor just prior to quoting Christ’s description of what He sees as a field of ripe grain. Yet the juxtaposition also adds urgency to what Jesus says. An untended crop will go to seed and survive by reproducing itself the following year. Untended sheep, on the other hand, will dumbly lead themselves into oblivion. They’ll get lost, wander aimlessly away from healthy pasture, and fall to sickness and predators. Isaiah 53.6 says, “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” The compassion Jesus feels for the strays He finds everywhere comes out of His sensitivity to the sin and ignorance steering them in unhealthy directions. He feels the weight of iniquity they don’t even realize they carry.

Unorthodox Approaches

If we take another step back and look at Christ’s call for harvesters in even wider context, we find something particularly enlightening. Matthew places it at the end of a chapter laced with religious controversy. First, Jesus draws fire when He ministers to a paralytic by first telling him, “Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven.” (v2) This gets the legalists in a twist. Who does He think He is to forgive sins? (Well, He knows Who He is.) So Jesus asks, “Which is easier: to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up and walk’?” (v5) To prove His authority to forgive, Jesus uses His power to heal. The lame man walks away and His critics slink back into the shadows.

They don’t stay gone for long. When Jesus calls Matthew, a tax collector, to follow Him, the Pharisees corner His disciples in verse 11: “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and ‘sinners’?” referring to social and religious outcasts. Jesus steps in. “It is not the healthy who need a doctor,” He says, “but the sick.” (v12) Next, He bumps heads with disciples of John the Baptist. They’re irritated that they and other Jews fast, while His followers don’t. Jesus talks about patching old clothes with new fabric and storing new wine in old skins to explain what He’s doing doesn’t fit the legalist paradigm. Finally, in quick order, He breaks all kinds of taboos. He heals a hemorrhaging woman, a comatose girl, and two blind men—all of them “unclean” and all of them healed by His touch. He rounds things off by loosening the tongue of a mute allegedly possessed by a foul spirit. From first to last, Christ’s unorthodox approaches baffle crowds who’ve been taught those Jesus helps are beyond help. In verse 33, they say, “Nothing like this has ever been seen in Israel.”

Our Field of Service

In perspective with all that precedes it, when Christ mentions the plentiful harvest, we see something quite the opposite of amber waves of grain billowing in the wind. Our field of service reaches beyond presumably healthy stalks standing in orderly formation. It spills over to stunted lives overshadowed by fear and prejudice, knotted people growing inward due to shame and powerlessness, malnourished souls weakened by cruelty and self-abuse, and tender shoots trampled by peer pressure and conformity. Before they can be harvested, they need our care—our light to reactivate their growth, our caress to turn their focus away from themselves toward God, our nurture to restore their strength, and our protection to withstand the stampede of the crowd.

People we first need to save in order to “save” surround us. Christianity isn’t a numbers game based on collecting more points for our side by halftime. It’s an organic process that demands extraordinary, unorthodox approaches that tenderly assess every person we meet on a case-by-case basis. We forgive in order to heal. We find the sick and wounded, rather than build a practice in hopes they’ll find us. We ignore paradigms to infuse new life into old doctrines. We touch untouchables and enable the tormented to speak freely. Will traditionalists challenge us? Of course—that’s what they do. Will we be criticized for hanging with the wrong crowd? If not, we’re doing something wrong. Will other believers who don’t understand confront us? We can expect that. But if we truly want to answer Christ’s call to harvest, we can’t permit third-party observers to hinder our commitment. What He asks us to do is unlike anything they’ve ever seen.

Our field of service goes beyond the amber waves to reach the ignored and abused that first must be saved in order to be harvested.

(Tomorrow: Speak to Me)

Plugged In

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.

                        John 15.5

Metaphors and Mediums

Throughout His ministry, Jesus refers to Himself with a variety of metaphors: the Light of the World, the Bread of Life, the Water of Life, the Good Shepherd, and so on. A pattern emerges when we place them side-by-side. In every one, He is the Source and we are the mediums. His meaning is conveyed in the thing He conveys to us—enlightenment, nourishment, refreshment, care, etc. What’s most interesting about this, I believe, is an overarching message that what we seek from Christ is already present by virtue of our relationship with Him. Furthermore, all we find and receive is given to us so others can find and receive it also.

If we need illumination He is our Light. “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life,” Jesus says in John 8.12. Meanwhile, in Matthew 5.14, He also says, “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.” His light shines on us to shine through us. In John 10.11, Jesus declares, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” Later, in a conversation with Peter, He asks, “Do you truly love me?” Peter tells Him, “You know I love you,” to which Jesus says, “Take care of my sheep.” (John 21.16) Jesus cares for us so we can care for others. The moment we receive what we need it becomes something we share. Life we gain is life we give, and so on. Nowhere is this principle more evident than in the vine metaphor.

Attached for Life

“I am the vine; you are the branches,” Jesus teaches in John 15.5. Because the statement sounds so elementary, we’re wise to look at it closely. How do vines work? One seed takes root and sprouts, giving life to dozens of shoots that grow into sturdy branches. While the branches burst forth with blooms and fruit, the vine serves a different function. It feeds the branches, guaranteeing they receive sufficient nourishment and moisture to continue to blossom and bear fruit. In the most literal sense imaginable, the vine and branches are attached for life. The branches can’t survive without the vine. Yet, on the other hand, without branches to produce fruit, the vine has no reproductive potential. Seeds for future growth exist exclusively in the fruit, which the branches—not the actual vine—produce.

Thus, Jesus uses the vine-branch metaphor to explain the symbiotic nature of our relationship with Him, and His with us. “If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit,” He says. Bearing fruit is vital because that's how the vine protects itself from extinction. The fruit gets picked and after its eaten, its seeds are replanted in other gardens and vineyards to produce more vines, which succor more branches, which produce more fruit, which yields more seeds, and the cycle repeats. More people are nourished. More vineyards are planted. Unless the branches are tightly plugged into the vine, there will be no fruit, no seeds, and no future. “Apart from me you can do nothing,” Jesus tells us flatly. Without a direct connection to Him—a conscious reliance on Him for life-sustaining nourishment—our lives are fruitless. Implicit in this statement, however, is Christ’s recognition that without us, His gospel of love and reconciliation won’t reach those hungering for it. And since the Gospel’s survival and proliferation are most important of all, Jesus’s vine metaphor also introduces a third party, The Gardener.

The Gardener

Before defining our role as His branches, Jesus tips us off to the role God plays in this system: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” (John 15.1-2) Branches too loosely connected to produce healthy fruit will not last. In verse 6, Jesus tells us, “If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned.” To put it bluntly, if we think our relationship with Christ is solely for our benefit, our efforts will go up in smoke. Lovely as they are, vines are meant to produce, not decorate. Anyone casually attached to Christ simply to belong to “something beautiful” won’t thrive. The life we draw from Christ is provided to make life possible for others. If we don’t yield seed-bearing fruit, we’re dead weight. We wither and waste strength more productive branches can use more productively. The Gardener removes barren branches so others can flourish.

The Gardener also prunes thriving branches to make them more fruitful. He attentively monitors their growth to prevent expending precious resources on unproductive pursuits. As we branch out in our faith, newer, more productive endeavors overshadow lesser ones that once sapped our time and attention. Our potential to bear better fruit can’t be sacrificed to continue producing less satisfactory results. Often before we realize it, The Gardener prunes desires, attitudes, and relationships we’ve outgrown. Yet even when we’re aware of what He’s doing, we submit to His wisdom. Fruitless efforts drag us down. They stall our progress and, worst of all, they pull against our connection to the Vine. Staying attached to Christ for life is our top priority. Bearing fruit comes first. “If you remain in me and my words remain in you,” Jesus says in verse 7, “ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.” All it takes is remaining tightly plugged in, plus a little pruning now and then, to make that promise a reality.

The quality of fruit we bear—and our effectiveness in spreading Christ’s gospel of love and reconciliation—depends on how tightly we’re plugged into the Vine.

(Tomorrow: Workers Among Us)

Tenure Trouble

“These men who were hired last worked only one hour,” they said, “and you have made the equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.”

                        Matthew 20.12 

Staffing Issues

After college, I spent my first decade of employment falling into jobs offered to me. One put me in a university dean’s office. Let’s just say it didn’t sit high on my list of exciting jobs. The only suspenseful stretches came in the weeks leading to the tenure committee meeting, as professors jockeyed for one or two appointments. A blizzard of forms, reprints, and research blanketed my desk and my phone rang constantly with requests to see the dean. Following its sequestered deliberations, like cardinals leaving a conclave, the committee dropped a sealed envelope containing its choices on my desk so I could type the dean’s congratulations to those who “made tenure” and better-luck-next-time notes to those who didn’t. For a week or so, the halls buzzed with speculation about the choices. Once, while talking to a department head, I referred to tenure as job security. He immediately corrected me, saying, “Tenure isn’t a right of seniority. It’s a reward for service.” I still didn’t get it, and can’t say I do now.

Jesus’s story of vineyard workers (Matthew 20.1-16) may be what he tried to explain, though. Jesus likens the kingdom of heaven to an employer with staffing issues. He goes out early one morning to hire day laborers for his vineyard, promising to pay each of them one denarius—a day’s wages in Roman times. About nine o’clock, he hires more laborers, does this again at noon, and finally adds more workers around five p.m. He promises every worker the same wage. At the end of the day, those who worked 12 hours expect more than those who worked less and they’re outraged when they watch the foreman give every worker the same pay. “You’re paying those who worked only an hour the same wage you’ve paid us,” they protest. The owner answers: “I am not being unfair to you. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the man who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money?” (v13-15) Jesus caps this story with a moral: “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” (v16)

Too Much Work, Too Little Time

Christ’s teaching focuses on two kingdoms—the kingdom of God and the kingdom of heaven. Both areas deserve rigorous exploration. For our purposes, however, we can delineate them broadly as responsibilities and rewards. Any time we hear Jesus speak of “the kingdom of God”—“Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and these things will be added to you.” (Matthew 6.33; NKJV); “The kingdom of God is within you.” (Luke 17.21)—He’s speaking of our duty to embody the presence and love of God here on earth. When He talks of the kingdom of heaven, as He does with the vineyard story, He’s discussing eternal rewards for service. In other words, the kingdom of God is more like our job description, while the kingdom of heaven is God’s tenure policy. And this story may surprise some of us, because it confirms that God’s tenure is based entirely on service without regard for seniority. He rewards all of us equally, despite respective length of service. And there’s a good reason for this.

The landowner looks at his vineyards and sees there’s too much work to do with too little time to get it done. The laborers he hired at dawn are doing an excellent job, but they need more help. He continues increasing the staff through the day, right up to the last minute to help them. Yet if he only offers latecomers a fraction of the day’s salary, he’s less likely to get the service and commitment he needs to finish the job. So he wisely decides to offer everyone equal pay—not for equal time or results, but for equal service. The first worker and the last one receive the same reward by meeting the same standards. When Jesus says, “The last will be first, and the first will be last,” He means we should expect to be judged equally no matter when we answer His call to serve. He needs all of us to finish His work.

The Burning Pier

I make my living as a communications consultant to sales and marketing leaders. In the process, I pick up a lot of business metaphors. One of my favorites is “the burning pier”—an analogy for urgency to respond to shifting business conditions before it’s too late. It’s wise for all of us to adopt this mentality regarding our commitment and service to Christ. It’s urgent we act on our duty to love God and others without reservation. Our “vineyard” is ripe with people who need to know God’s love and forgiveness. Lives have stalled in shadows of darkness we can eradicate with our light. Waiting for believers with more seniority and experience to arrive may end with services we were called to provide undone.

In Ecclesiastes 9.10, we’re told: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.” When we leave this life, each of us will be evaluated by how well we fulfilled our duties to the kingdom of God. If we do our best with what we find to do, we’ll be rewarded the same as any other worker. In the vineyard story, the landowner tells the second group of laborers, “You also go and work in my vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.” (Matthew 20.3). He says the same thing to us. We can’t afford to do less on the premise we’ll receive less than those who’ve been on the job longer than we. He will pay what’s right. Tenure trouble doesn’t exist in God’s vineyard. Everyone who answers His call is granted immediate tenure. Everyone’s job security and rewards are ensured on par with everyone else’s. Worrying about time on the job wastes time we need to get the job done.

Everyone who answers God’s call to service receives immediate tenure; He rewards all equally, regardless of time on the job.

(Tomorrow: The Grace Correlation)

Under the Influence

When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus.

                        Acts 4.13

A Plan Falls Apart

A late, great friend had a saying I miss: “I love it when a good plan comes together!” Our little group worshiped at the same church, and after service Dwayne would saunter up to see whether we were going to brunch or an impromptu potluck. If we hadn’t worked it out yet, he’d plead, “Somebody make a decision,” and walk off. If we knew what we wanted to do, he’d bring smiles all around by delivering his trademark line with gusto. “I love it when a good plan comes together!” Dwayne's mantra returned to mind recently while reading the Acts 4 account of Peter and John being summoned before local religious leaders. The Apostles have no plan at all, while the leaders had what seemed like a good plan to end this Jesus business once and for all. But the hearing only confirms their plan didn’t come together. It's come totally apart.

Not long after Pentecost, Peter and John attend Temple and a lame man begs them for money. “We don’t have any,” Peter says. But he has power to command the beggar, “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” (Acts 3.6) The man is healed and runs into the Temple, leaping and rejoicing. Everyone’s curious how it happened. The Apostles proclaim Christ, which gets them reported to the authorities. They question Peter and John about their authority to heal. Peter boldly explains, “It is by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified but whom God raised from the dead, that this man stands before you healed.” With the poise of a trained scholar, he cites Psalm 118.22, saying Jesus is “the stone you builders rejected, which has become the cornerstone”—adding Christ alone has the power to heal and save. The plan to remove Jesus from the picture hasn’t worked. As long as His followers preach and perform miracles in His name, He’ll never go away.

No Denying

Conceding their plan’s failure, the leaders contemplate next steps. Here’s where the story gets really interesting, because Peter and John don’t mean to create problems. They meet someone in need and help him. People wonder how they do it, so they tell them. The religious authorities ask similar questions and Peter, whom verse 8 says is “filled with the Holy Spirit,” answers on their level with a prophecy they know very well. The healed man comes to court to corroborate their story. Nothing the Apostles do or say intends to corner Christ’s opposition, yet that’s what happens.

Peter and John are obviously “unschooled, ordinary men,” which is why their courage—i.e., audacity—takes the learned council aback. “They took note that these men had been with Jesus,” Acts 4.13 tells us. With the healed man beside them canceling any chance to dispute his healing, they’re sent away while the council discusses the matter privately. Verse 16 says they’re at a loss about what to do with Peter and John. News of the miracle has spread over the city. It’s too late to refute it. Even so, this needs to stop. They tell the Apostles not to speak or teach in Jesus’s name. Peter and John refuse, saying, “Judge for yourselves whether it is right in God’s sight to obey you rather than God.” (v17) From the council’s side, there’s no denying the miracle and Apostles’ bold testimony. But more, important, where Peter and John stand, there’s no denying their authority to speak, teach, and heal in Jesus’s name.

Unconscious

Peter and John don’t draw attention on purpose; they’re noticed because they’ve been with Jesus. They’re under the influence of His example and teachings. Listen to how they answer the order to cease talking about Him: “We cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.” (v20) Christ’s love and grace have overpowered them. Restoring the man’s mobility is what Jesus told them to do: “they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.” (Mark 16.18) Talking about Christ is second nature; in verse 15 of the same chapter, Jesus told them to “go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation.” The hearing happens exactly as Jesus said: “When you are brought before synagogues, rulers, and authorities, do not worry about how you will defend yourselves or what you will say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that time what you should say.” (Luke 12.11-12) The Christ inside comes out of them. It’s unforced and unprovoked—to the point of being unconscious.

Christ’s power and love don’t come bottled and wrapped for easy consumption. If we truly want to live under His influence, we first have to take time to be with Him. We need to talk to Him, study Him, listen closely to what He says and how speaks, and observe how He behaves. The better we understand His character and teaching, the more influence He has over us. His thoughts crowd out our thoughts. His love removes our fear. His will conquers our willfulness.

Did Peter and John suspect healing a man in Jesus’s name would cause trouble? It’s hard to imagine not. They were at the Temple, home of the plot against Christ. Still, they spoke strength to his frailty. Did they know preaching Christ would stir controversy? Of course. But they couldn’t disobey Jesus’s command just to avoid criticism. Were they concerned about the council’s charges? Naturally—but they weren’t worried. They’d been with Jesus. They were under His influence. They had every confidence He would live up to His promises. He did. And He’ll do the same for us when we reach out to others, speak to them about God’s love and mercy, and allow God's Spirit to guide how we respond to challenges. Living under the influence is how we rise above weakness and opposition.

Two men under the influence. (Peter and John Running to the Tomb: Eugène Burnand; 1898.)

(Tomorrow: Back to the Garden)

The Light of Day

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

                        Genesis 1.3

Act I

Our drama begins in pitch black. We peer through the darkness for the tiniest glimmer of light—a distant glow, a tiny pinpoint—finding none. Absence of sight tunes our ears to hushed undulations of a vast body of water. We think we’re at sea on a starless, moonless night. Tension builds for what’s to come. The delay lasts an eternity. As our hearing sharpens, we’re convinced it’s not the sea. No waves swell and recede, tides wax and wane, or currents break and swirl. The water is still, silent, with no life of its own and none below. The sound we hear is a gentle whisper brushing the water’s surface. Though we can place its position and follow its sweep, it mysteriously sounds as if it’s everywhere at once.

Our curiosity turns from the water to what hovers above it. Hearing becomes secondary now. We’re gripped by the sense of presence—a Presence, an Emanation of unparalleled gravity and substance that also contradicts gravity and matter by occupying all time and space. Mere intuition of this Presence heightens our awareness It is Life Itself. We’re lost in It but neither confused nor afraid. We belong to this Presence. We come from It. Once we understand this, the movement stops. Silence hangs in the darkness, anticipating the Presence’s opening line. It pierces the stillness with authoritative, infinite power: “Let there be light.” Brilliance shines forth, chasing the darkness below the far horizon to illuminate what, as of this moment, remains an endless aquatic expanse. The Presence calls the passing darkness “Night” and the rising light “Day.” With daylight, we look for the Presence only to find It nowhere in sight yet inarguably visible anywhere we look and revealed in everything we see.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. In him was life, and that life was the light of men.

                        John 1.1,4

Act II

Day follows night and night follows day in an endless, predictable cycle. The first six of them burst with creativity as the Giver of Light transforms the aqueous cosmos into a universe, lavishing one planet with an extraordinary array of life forms that includes a human uniquely designed to reflect His presence and serve His purpose. Everything He creates is perfect and remains perfect until the human’s arrogant attempt to be like God introduces a new kind of darkness to the story. It lingers day and night, causing humanity to stumble blindly from crisis to crisis, trying to hide from God and hoping to find Him at the same time.

Out of bottomless compassion, God repeatedly issues laws we must obey to dispel the night we created. But each new edict compounds human error and the darkness thickens, compelling God to devise a better solution. He visibly enters our drama as a man named Jesus, fulfilling an 800-year-old pledge He made through His prophet: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.” (Isaiah 9.2) He honors His word by becoming The Word, which John describes as Life and Light Incarnate. Jesus shatters death’s power and our darkness, closing this second act on a triumphant note—and opening the question of whether we will see the light of day and choose eternal life. The choice may seem obvious, but Jesus says it’s not: “Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.” (John 3.19) New life and light require new attitudes and habits. After playing supporting roles in the first two acts, the third places us center stage.

For you were once darkness, but you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.

                        Ephesians 5.8

Act III

The curtain rises on crowds of people searching for shadowy corners to act on base impulses and pursue dark pleasures. The brightness and reach of Christ’s light depends on how well we perform. When we shine, He shines. And when He shines, those intent on harming others and themselves suddenly see what they’re doing. They hear the Voice that first called for light speaking directly to them. We need not be told this; we’ve experienced it first-hand. We were once darkness. Now we are light in the Lord. It’s our privilege and responsibility to live as children of light. 1 Peter 2.9 describes us like this: “You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belong to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” Choosing to see the light and answering God’s call away from darkness ends in being chosen and called to bring light to others. Our drama isn’t over. God alone will decide when it ends. But whether the final curtain falls tomorrow or ten thousand years from now, we play decisive roles in how it ends. Wherever we go and whatever we do, we conduct ourselves as children of light, emulating our Father and echoing The Word. Let there be light!

As children of light, we call for light that chases darkness from sight.

(Tomorrow: Going Through)

Note: Two online Bible studies are happening THIS WEEK. Click on the link at the top of the right column to find out more.

The Beauty of Witness

But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.

                        Acts 1.8

Keep the Fire Burning

It’s been a tough, funky week. I pulled my back out and have stumbled around in a fog of limited function and muscle relaxers. Ordinary tasks like brushing my teeth and typing have become Olympic events, while challenges I work hard to conceal—lousy time perception, for example—have become looming hurdles. I’ve frustrated a lot of people, myself more than anyone, which has strapped me with mounting concern friends and colleagues may think I’m indifferent about letting them down. This has added emotional anguish to my physical discomfort. But, on the upside, it also reminded me we’re at our most human when we’re at our worst. It’s a scary place to be, too, because that’s when we feel most impotent and incapable. The mundane turns monumental; the incidental seems insurmountable. 

After 33 years in mortal flesh, Jesus is about to leave the world fully acquainted with how readily human frailty spawns resignation to defeat. As He charges His followers to carry on His work, He’s keenly aware they won’t succeed without divine help. A couple setbacks and they’ll quit, presuming they’re not cut out for the job. If their fervor wanes, His message will fade, His mission will fail, and He’ll reside only in the annals of historical prophets, rather than live in the hearts of humanity. Thus, Jesus spends His last few visible minutes with the disciples reinforcing their need for the Holy Spirit. “The Spirit will give you power to be my witnesses,” He promises, shoring their confidence they can keep the fire burning.

Living Proof

We are living proof that Jesus lives. We testify to His sacrifice and resurrection in how our lives bear out His purpose—reconciliation with God and one another through faith. In Romans 5.1 we hear, “Since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” By disavowing compulsions to please ourselves and turning our hearts toward pleasing our Maker, we evidence renewed peace with Him. We fulfill Christ’s law to love God entirely—with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength. In the same way, our determination to love our neighbors as ourselves manifests the living Christ. In Ephesians 2.4-7, Paul teaches: “God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when were dead in transgressions… in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace.” Not only are we crucified with Christ, as Paul says in Galatians 2.20, we’re resurrected with Him. And we validate His existence, “showing the incomparable riches of his grace,” by loving others as He loves us—unconditionally and sacrificially. “By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another,” Jesus says in John 13.35.

Witnessing Christ’s life and love is a daunting responsibility that asks more than we can accomplish on our own. Thus, the Holy Spirit strengthens and inspires us to overcome our weaknesses and fears. That’s Its main objective and, as we’ve hopefully seen in the past week’s posts, It’s fully equipped to provide what we lack to present the living, loving Savior to the world. The Spirit empowers us, activates our faith, generates our joy, seals our inheritance by adoption, secures our access to God, and teaches us what to say. We’re given the Spirit as a single, comprehensive resource we can draw from to make Christ visible to those around us. Our love attests to His love. Our forgiveness exemplifies His grace. Our tolerance reflects His acceptance. And our faith ratifies His truth. Since the Spirit makes this (and much more) possible, the beauty of witness rests in obedience, not ability.

Bullhorns and Doorbells

If today finds you in New York City’s Times Square or on Chicago’s State Street or strolling down Market in San Francisco, I guarantee you’ll meet someone in hand-painted “repent-or-else” sandwich boards, clutching a bullhorn. If you’re at home, two strangers may very well ring your doorbell, hoping for a few minutes with you to share their beliefs. If you ask these earnest, well-intentioned people what they’re doing, I also guarantee the answer will be “I’m witnessing.” And they’re not wrong. They’re following a precedent Peter and the apostles inaugurated immediately after the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. Nearly every chapter in The Acts of the Apostles finds an Early Church leader publicly preaching the Gospel or entering homes to speak about Jesus. But there’s more to witnessing Christ’s life and love than bullhorns and doorbells.

“After the Holy Spirit comes upon you, you will be my witnesses,” Jesus tells us. Our witness surpasses talking and doing. It’s being, which means it’s continuous and unintentional. How well we reflect Christ is measured in passing more often and effectively than any focused gesture or effort. Indeed, we say more about Jesus when we’re not talking about Him than when we do. This is why He instructs us in Matthew 5.16: “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.” We’re “on” 24/7. People watch us closely to see if our lives square with our witness. Trying to sustain Christ’s reflection without the Holy Spirit’s assistance is folly. It ends in our witness being perceived as a ruse. Long before Jesus tells us the Spirit will empower our witness, God speaks in Ezekiel 36.27: “I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws.” The Spirit in us makes sure what comes from us proves that Jesus lives and loves.

There’s more to witnessing than bullhorns and doorbells. We’re “on” 24/7.

(Tomorrow: Together in One Place)

Stay

I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.

                        Luke 24.49

Something’s Coming

West Side Story, the Sondheim-Bernstein breakthrough musical about urban gang life, kicks off in cool gear: “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day.” There’s a tug of sadness beneath the bravado, however—a tang of wasted youth—that doesn’t lift until the next song, “Something’s Coming”. Tony, the Romeo figure, defies his limited circumstances in a burst of optimism: “Something’s coming. I don’t what it is, but it is going to be great. Around the corner or traveling down the river, come on, deliver to me!” As the disciples brace themselves for Christ’s momentary departure, they also face the prospect of becoming a group of rebels without a cause. But Jesus takes care to reorient their thinking. “Something’s coming,” He tells them in Luke 24.49.

Luke’s Gospel ends with the Ascension, recording Jesus’s final words as, “I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.” In his sequel, The Acts of the Apostles, Luke repeats it as the vital bridge between Christ’s ministry and the formation of the Church, embellishing it slightly: “Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.” (Acts 1.4-5) Clearly, Jesus is concerned the disciples will mistake His ascension as the period ending the last sentence of the story when, in fact, it’s a semicolon; there’s much more to tell. If they disband and resume their previous occupations, they’ll miss what’s about to happen. “Don’t go anywhere,” Jesus instructs them. “Stay here. Stay together. Something’s coming.”

A Power Source

Jesus has alluded to the Holy Spirit numerous times before this, yet the meaning of the promise apparently hasn’t stuck. His mentioning it here puzzles His followers. They assume His absence will be temporary and His directive to wait in Jerusalem for a few days indicates He’ll rejoin them soon to start a new phase in His ministry. “Is this when You’ll restore the kingdom to Israel?” they ask. (Acts 1.6) On this side of history, knowing what’s going to happen and why Jesus instructs the disciples to stay, their question sounds odd. At the time, though, it makes sense. Although Jesus has definitively triumphed over death, His resurrection hasn’t changed the political and religious landscape. Israel remains occupied by Roman forces. The legalists retain control of the Temple. His doctrine of love and forgiveness is more unpopular than ever. And the disciples are highly sensitized to their vulnerabilities as His associates.

Jesus’s reply to their question tips us off to the disciples’ anxieties. He tells them to leave the restoration of Israel to God, Who’ll take care of that in His own time. “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” This expands on the quote in Luke’s Gospel: “Stay… until you have been clothed with power from on high.” In His previous references to the Holy Spirit, Jesus calls It a Comforter, a Teacher, a Guide, and an Inspiration. But He explicitly describes It as a Power Source here to remedy His followers’ feelings of powerlessness. When the Holy Spirit comes, It will endow them with authority and strength to stand on their own, to take charge of Christ’s mission, to speak His message with boldness. Furthermore, they’ll spread the gospel “to the ends of the earth.” In essence, Jesus is saying this story is bigger than Israel—it’s global—and the power you’ll need to contribute to it will arrive in a matter of days.

Days of Promise

In anticipation of next Sunday’s Feast of Pentecost, when all of Christendom commemorates the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, we should regard this time as days of promise. Just as Advent focuses our thoughts on the miraculous gift of the Christ Child, the coming week affords us the opportunity to ponder the equally miraculous gift of the Holy Spirit. Exploring various aspects of Its nature and details leading up to Its delivery will deeply richen our appreciation of how It applies to our lives.

First, we should note Jesus identifies the Holy Spirit as a promise from God the Father. It comes to us and remains with us by divine pledge. And second, It is given to clothe us in power. The Holy Spirit mitigates our weaknesses and fears, enabling us to represent Christ to the world. Having followed Jesus this far, walking with Him, learning from Him, mourning His death, and rejoicing in His resurrection, it’s essential we stay, waiting and receiving the Father’s promise of power. The story of Jesus doesn’t end with His ascension. New chapters get written every day. When we accept God’s gift of the Holy Spirit we become part His story and our responsibility exceeds restoring order within our boundaries. The Holy Spirit’s power changes us, enabling us to change the world.

Accepting the gift of the Holy Spirit makes us part of Christ’s story.

(Tomorrow: The God of Hope)

Active Faith, Full Understanding

I pray that you may be active in sharing your faith, so that you will have a full understanding of every good thing we have in Christ.

                        Philemon 6

Believing and Behaving

“Faith without works is dead,” James famously wrote, encapsulating dozens of other apostolic admonitions for us to put some muscle behind our mouths. The purpose is overt. Grace is given to us not only for our personal benefit, but also to encourage us as ambassadors of reconciliation with God. Whether or not we assume evangelical responsibility to “spread the Word,” our lives bear witness to God’s unconditional love and acceptance. In Paul’s letter to Philemon, however, we find an equally important, yet less obvious, reason why believing and behaving perfectly complement one another. Paul writes that actively sharing our faith brings us “full understanding of every good thing we have in Christ.”

This brief note—just 25 verses in length and the oldest Pauline epistle on record—broaches a very delicate, personal matter in which Paul seeks to persuade his good partner in Christ to do something very unusual, unheard of, actually. And it’s important to note Paul’s prayer that Philemon “may be active in sharing your faith” specifically refers to deed, not declaration. In the previous verse, Paul remarks that Philemon’s “faith in the Lord Jesus and [his] love for all the saints” is well known. In recognizing Philemon’s renowned faith and love up front, Paul frustrates any possibility his plea might be read as an appeal to his friend’s vanity or concern about public reputation. “Everyone knows you’re a true believer and good man, Philemon,” Paul says. “Consider this as a way to increase your understanding of Christ.”

A Prime Opportunity

We know only enough of Philemon and the epistle’s back-story to want more. Paul addresses the letter to him, “Apphia our sister”—perhaps Philemon’s wife—“Archippus our fellow soldier and to the church that meets in your home.” Since Paul also includes a personal message to Archippus in Colossians 4.17, it’s assumed Philemon is also Colossian and the reference to his home as the church’s meeting place lends credibility to his image as a man of means. As a matter of fact, property sits at the crux of Paul’s note in the person of Onesimus, a runaway slave of Philemon’s who now serves Paul during his imprisonment in either Ephesus or Rome. The epistle functions as a transmittal letter: “Dear Philemon, enclosed please find Onesimus…” Paul entreats Philemon to ignore legally sanctioned punishment for Onesimus, begging him to welcome the fugitive into his household as a free man and fellow believer. In this context, “active in sharing your faith” means forgiving and accepting one who has grievously—criminally—wronged him. Onesimus’s return provides a prime opportunity for Philemon to share his faith in the highest, most sincere manner by transcending laws of man to fulfill the Law of Christ.

Useful

The name “Onesimus” translates as “Useful,” which Paul underscores in verse 11: “Formerly he was useless to you, but now he has become useful both to you and to me.” Paul blatantly states the proposed reconciliation with his master redefines the former servant’s status and usefulness, however. In verses 15 and 16, he writes: “Perhaps the reason he was separated from you for a little while was that you might have him back for good—no longer as a slave, but better than a slave, as a dear brother. He is very dear to me but even dearer to you, both as a man and as a brother in the Lord.” Onesimus’s return goes beyond restoring property. He comes back to Philemon a changed man, a brother and equal in Christ. He’s back for good, for Philemon’s good. He returns as more than a useful domestic. He’s useful in opening his former master’s full understanding of Christ’s love and forgiveness beyond principle. Through Onesimus, Philemon can grasp the totality of Christ in practice—actively sharing his faith via an unprecedented act of mercy.

Active faith brings full understanding of Christ’s goodness because it compels us to behave in keeping with our belief. The grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation we accept by faith gains tremendous meaning and gravity when our faith obliges us to offer the same to those who wrong us. It’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s not natural. It’s not supposed to come naturally. Actively sharing our faith requires uncommon—unheard of—sacrifice. It asks us to overlook our humiliation and resentment and outrage to embrace those who, knowingly or naïvely, caused it. It turns our thoughts away from justifiable retribution to fix our hearts on merciful reconciliation. It asks us to replace expectations based on past performance with hope for future improvement. Onesimus’s faithlessness gave Philemon no reason to anticipate he was worthy of trust and respect, yet Paul’s letter makes an airtight case against the one man’s failures costing the other’s fulfillment. We get a taste of how difficult this idea must be for Philemon to stomach near the end of the letter when Paul personally offers to repay for any debt or wrong Onesimus owes, adding, “not to mention that you owe me your very self.” (v19) When we fully understand the goodness of Jesus, debts owed and wrongs done to us pale in comparison to our indebtedness to Him. Active faith recalibrates our sense of scale. What looks so impossible to do for others seems like hardly enough to compensate for what Christ did for us.

Actively sharing our faith is useful to enrich our understanding of what reconciliation means and how it works. (Maurice Harron: Hands Across the Divide, Craigavon Bridge, Derry, Northern Ireland)

(Tomorrow: Hannah and Her Sisters)

Postscript: Dedicated to the Moms

He Knows How Much We Can Bear – Mahalia Jackson

This being Mother’s Day weekend, there’s only one appropriate gospel artist to feature—Mahalia Jackson, gospel’s great matriarch. Though not the first great female gospel artist (Rosetta Tharpe, Sallie Martin, Clara Ward, Roberta Martin, and a half-dozen other legends precede her), Mahalia gave gospel to the world at large. As a young feisty gospel fan growing up in Chicago, I was blessed to hear her sing live a number of times. No surviving film or video comes close to capturing her forcefulness and spirit. Beyond her talent, Mahalia’s local reputation was built on her being the “real deal.” She sang with great conviction because every word and every note expressed her soul. There will never be anyone to equal her.

I dedicate this clip to every wonderful mother who gathers here—and there are so many of you, including my own mom! God bless you for all the love, strength, and wisdom you’ve given to your children. How we love you!

Lyrics (Roberta Martin)

We are our heavenly Father’s children,

And we all know that He loves us one and all;

Yet there are times when we find we answer

Another’s voice and call;

If we are willing, He will teach us,

His voice only to obey no matter where,

And He knows; yes, He knows,

Just how much we can bear.

Tho’ the load gets heavy

You’re never left alone to bear it all;

Just ask for strength and keep on toiling,

Tho’ the teardrops fall.

You have the joy of this assurance;

The heavenly Father will always answer prayer,

And He knows; yes, He knows,

Just how much you can bear.