Lent 2016: February 13 - Day 4 (Luke 5:33-39, Luke 6:1-16)

“What kind of teacher are you?” the Pharisees ask. “Your disciples don’t do what our disciples do – what all disciples should do.” Jesus chides them a little, “You wouldn’t ask them to throw a party and tell them not to dance, would you?”

Throughout His ministry, Jesus tells his disciples that bad trees are easy to spot. “Look at the fruit! Is the teacher a fraud? Look at his students.” So, if a rabbi’s ministry of peace and love is supported by disciples engaged in racketeering… Do the math. No wonder Jesus was horrified at James’ and John’s suggestion that they call down fire on the Samaritan village.

The Pharisees and scribes – the “Rabbis” – had a rich culture of Torah instruction and study. Many of them devoted their entire lives to it and were rightly respected for doing so. A “Rabbi” – “my teacher” – inspired devotion, loyalty and affection. Yet, one man’s humble Rabbi was another man’s marching Mao. The cult of personality was a very real and present danger, so much so that the Pharisees drew up rules dictating how far disciples could go in service of their “masters.” John the Baptist thumbed his nose at them when he proclaimed that – with Jesus – their rules did not apply. There was nothing he would not do for Him.

In offering His homespun parable about new patches and old clothes, Jesus plays to their expectations. “This is good stuff!” they think. “Somebody write this down – we can use this.” It echoes with the tones and intent of Leviticus and seems like good old fashioned rabbinical advice. “Shabbat shalom!”

Jesus lifts the metaphor and carries it over to a few bottles of wine (“Will you look at this guy? What a mensch!”). He does a little soft shoe and sings that old and new don’t mix (“We know this song! This is kosher! We wrote the book on kashrut!”). Then, with a completely straight face, He quotes the old proverb: “The old is better.”

You can almost hear the needle scratch. You can certainly hear the mic drop. The Pharisees are left standing in the middle of a game of musical chairs they didn’t even know they were playing and wondering, what just happened?

Another day – another Sunday, Luke is careful to add – and those pesky Jesus freaks are at it again. “Get off my lawn!” the Pharisees yell. “Get your hands off my stuff! That’s not lawful – we should know, we wrote the book on that!”

Jesus, completely mindful of who it was that wrote the law, can’t resist another zinger. “Have you not read what David did when he was hungry?”

The Pharisees are stunned. Did He…? He did, didn’t He? He actually… who is this guy? 

"Read?!" they sputter and snarl. "Of course we’ve read! We’ve studied and discussed and discoursed! Rabbi Carl knows David like his own soul – he counts three books, two videos and an upcoming Lifetime movie to his credit! Rabbi Bob makes artisanal shewbread, has authored six cookbooks and hosts “Matzo Much” on KMEH-AM radio morning drive! We have street cred – who are You?"

Jesus, who has fond memories of their father, Abraham (and could potentially have been the one to invent s’mores while babysitting a precocious Isaac to give Sarah and Abraham some “me” time), gently offers, “Just because it is lawful, doesn’t mean it is best.”

Like the Pharisees, we, too, have good intentions. We build monuments to our vanity (Societies! Guilds! Ministries!) and try to legislate mercy by stuffing our creations chock-full of rules to guarantee access to the poor and oppressed. But when we point at the rules, shrug and say, "Sorry, no exceptions; (my hands are tied!) that's why we have rules", we cheapen mercy. We put a dirty, tattered ribbon on it and call it “fairness” and never stop to wonder: just who is the oppressor here? Is it not ourselves?

Jesus reminds us that human need is real. He agrees with the Pharisees that it does not outweigh the law. In fact, the law was created because of human need. But mercy – true mercy – comes when the law fails to satisfy our true needs. But to obtain true mercy for ourselves, we must give it to others first.

“Why can’t I just put that new patch here?” ask the Pharisees. “Why can’t I use what I have and make do? I’m comfortable, I don't  like change. OK, I admit it. I HATE CHANGE. You don’t actually expect me to DO something with all this information, do you? Isn’t it enough that I know it? Isn’t knowing “it”, knowing God? I love the Lord with all my soul and all my mind and all my strength. My every waking moment goes into thinking about Him, talking about Him, writing about Him! I was told that that’s enough!”

“But,” Jesus gently interrupts, “do you ever spend a moment just to listen to Him?”

The Pharisees turn as one to look at Him and slowly clap, “Oh, bravo!” they sneer, “Bra. Vo.”

“We can agree to disagree," they nod, "the world is big enough, isn’t it?”

Someone passes a bottle of the new and pulls down a bottle of the old. “Let’s get buzzed. Why does it have to be either or?”

“It’s not either or,” says Jesus (Lord of the Buzz Kill), “It’s all or nothing.”

Lent 2016: February 12 - Day 3 (Luke 5:1-32)

Two fishing boats – empty – are “standing by the lake.” The fishermen are “washing their nets.”

“Here come da preacher,” Simon thinks as he spots Jesus at the head of the crowd. “Is He coming for me? No? Good. I’m busy. I have things to do, mouths to feed, and nothing to show for all my efforts. I’m never gonna make it. Never gonna get ahead.”

As Simon broods, Jesus has the audacity – the utter GALL – to take Simon for granted by commandeering his boat. Without so much as a “Hey… ’sup?” He climbs right into it and tells him to push off. In fact, He pretty much ignores him by sitting down in the boat and teaching without waiting for Simon to respond. But when He’s done, the great preacher dangles the prospect of a reward in front of Simon’s nose. “Thanks for being so patient and cooling your heels while I rattle on,” Jesus says. “Let me give you something for your valuable time, drop your nets.”

Simon is a little stunned. “Is He messing with me? I’m being punked, right? Jonas? Zeb? Is this for last week? You’re getting me back for that Dead Sea salt-bomb I put in your matzo, right?”

This has to be a joke, he thinks. The nets aren’t even in the boat. Andrew, James and John have just finished cleaning them and spreading them out on the shore to dry. Do what?

Simon might be expected to protest (“Aw! The nets?!  C’mon!  I just cleaned those!) but instead he humbly (passive aggressively?) points out that he’s worked all night long for nothing but twigs and garbage, he’s just finished all the prep work he needs to do before he can go fishing that night, he wants to go home and go to bed for a few hours – but, hey, for You, Son of Man? I’ll drop the nets – and proceeds to make a fortune.

With a single throw of the net, Simon has probably scooped up more fish in that moment than he has all week – maybe all month. After all, the catch is large enough to fill both boats and cause them both to start sinking. The promise of overwhelming abundance with Jesus is clear. As Simon stares gobsmacked at the biggest score of his life, Jesus whispers in his ear: “It’s still all twigs and garbage, Simon – and you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.”

Simon can only gawk at Him in horror and hiss, “Get away from me or I’m a dead man.”

Simon speaks for all of us as he prays on tired, aching knees, wringing cracked and bleeding blue-collar hands. Always impatient, always running just a little too far ahead, he reaches up and says, “What are You doing here? What do You want with me, Jesus of Nazareth? I know who You are, the Son of God. I adjure you: don’t torment me. Don’t call me to follow, don’t send me. Don’t ask me to do something we both know I’m not capable of doing. I’m not that guy. I’m not nice. I’m not good. I’m full of rage and sin and anger. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t give you what you deserve – loyalty, obedience, faithfulness, the works. I AM NOT THAT GUY.”

Jesus, unfazed, chuckles and says, “Of course you’re not!” and promptly names him Peter.

Turns out, Simon was right: he was a dead man after all.

Lent 2016: February 11 - Day 2 (Luke 4:16-44)

Jesus – knowing precisely who He is – grabs the people’s attention by holding up the promises of God in one hand while smashing their expectations with the other. Hungry for true food, the crowds keep asking, “Who are you?” but Jesus, knowing their hearts, will only (somewhat playfully at first) respond by saying, “Who do you think I am?”

As He continues His journey to the cross, Jesus will ask that question with increasing exasperation and frustration. But the people are so wrapped up in their traditions, rituals and rules that they cannot see, hear or abide the truth. When Jesus warns them that their failure to recognize, acknowledge and accept the truth will eventually lead to the gift being bestowed elsewhere, the people explode. They want it for themselves, and if they can’t have it, no one will.

This, more than anything, demonstrates that they had abdicated their future identity and designated role as priests of God to the Gentiles. They had completely lost touch – physical, spiritual and emotional – with the true nature and character of God. And yet, they were completely convinced of their own righteousness. They didn’t understand that being “good” or being “right” on their own terms – having a perfect morality of their own devising – had nothing whatsoever to do with the righteousness of God.

Jesus never blamed the people for this disconnect. He blamed the priests, the Pharisees, Sadducees and scribes – men who knew better; men who were charged by God to teach the people and keep them safe. Men who were leaders, who led the mad scramble for the best seats, sat down and proceeded to do very little that fit within their job description.

In the beginning, God moved across the face of the waters of a pool far more glorious than any of Olympus. On one end, the water was deep and blue and cool, and the prophets would amaze the crowds with their acrobatics off the deep end. “Look here!” they called. “Look at how great and wide and deep our God is!” and then they would take a leap of faith into the air, tumbling and spinning in breathtaking arabesque until they struck the surface of the water with explosive force and energy and – with eyes wide open – slammed into God without so much as a splash.

The people, meanwhile, would watch as they waded in the shallow end, enjoying how the cool waters of God eased tired feet and lifted their spirits. Some just sat down, fully content to stay put. Others were scared of the water so they fled the pool. But a select few became enamored of the beauty and power of the high platforms, the rushing plunge deep into the truth and the simple, sweet pleasure of floating on one’s back, safe in His arms with the universe spinning and unfolding up above. 

At first, the priests – lifeguards, instructors and strong swimmers themselves – taught the people how to swim, how to dive and float. They explained that the platforms, pool and water (the everlasting mikveh) all were God together – that the experience of wading, paddling, swimming and diving were all a part of knowing God. One could dog paddle, breaststroke or backstroke. All were welcome. All were taught to study God and enjoy His rest by walking on and through His waters. God was and is and will be good, they said.

But over time, the people and their priests lost interest in being swimmers. Some became more interested in sunning themselves on the deck chairs around the pool. Others became judges of the high-diving prophets and refused to listen to them, scoring and scorning them in the process. One lonely day, the pool was closed and the people were sent away for 70 years.

When they came back – in trickles, then a torrent – they remembered stories about the pool, but they didn't remember exactly what it was for. With the best of intentions, they studied the pool and sought to understand it and relate to it in the proper manner. Above all, they saw it as dangerous – a child could drown! A man could lose his life! So they put up a fence around the pool and chained it shut. They closed off the deep end and tore down the platforms. They restricted everyone to wetting their toes at the shallowest end and drew up long lists of rules about water wings, inner tubes and shower caps. 

Meanwhile, no one truly cared about or for the pool. The people were not taught to respect the awesome pool for what it was – the lifeguards lied and said it was just a place to wash their filthy feet. Neglected, abused, the beautiful, deep blue waters of God turned muddy and green.

And then one day, Jesus came with a pair of bolt cutters and a handful of chlorine tabs and called – sincerely, enthusiastically and inclusively – “Let’s ALL go swimming!”

Lent 2016: February 10 - Day 1 (Luke 4:1-15)

It’s said that the baptism of Jesus marks the beginning of His ministry. Actually, His baptism marks the beginning of the end of His life. What a difficult and confusing time that must have been to feel so amazingly “right,” so connected to God, so completely aware of His identity as the Son and yet so equally aware of His purpose: to obey and, in obeying, to be a sacrifice for sin and so, be not. Hamlet had it easy, eh? 

Jesus knows who He is but does not have to testify about who He is because He has many witnesses who testify for Him, including Simeon, Anna, the shepherds, the Magi, John the Baptist and God. 

The witness statements of God the Father (“You are my beloved Son”) and God the Spirit (“and the Holy Spirit descended on Him in bodily form, like a dove”) are bookended by the double witness statements of John the Baptist. When John was in the womb and Mary, already pregnant, came to visit John’s mother (her cousin, Elizabeth), he “leaped in the womb” when Elizabeth heard the sound of Mary’s voice. As an adult, John testified again that he “saw the Spirit descend from heaven like a dove, and it remained on Him.”

Fresh off these testimonials, full of the Spirit, Jesus – like the Israelites from Egypt – heads out to the wilderness. Not to wander, but to win what may have been the battle of His life. Left alone, hungry, thirsty and probably not a little loopy from lack of food and rest, He is dogged at every step of his pilgrimage by Satan.

Luke shares three temptations, but there were many, many more. The three are a distillation of all the others and give a hint as to what must have been a non-stop natter patter of negativity and almost-truth.

In the first, Satan tsks disdainfully at the dust on Jesus’ sandals, wets an ethereal handkerchief with a sizzling tongue and scrubs at a smudge on Jesus’ cheek. Then, taking both of Jesus’ hands in his, he looks Him in the eye, sighs, and says, “I just don’t understand why You – the Son of God – would want to throw that all away, just to suffer. No one is going to understand or appreciate what it is you're doing, so why should you choose to suffer? What’s up with that? You don't have to give anything up. You don’t have to be hungry. Eat! There’s nothing wrong with having a snack!”

Jesus, remembering how He never did like quail, responds with a scriptural standard: “Spiritual food is much more important than physical food.”

Satan, hardly daunted, neatly sidesteps, shakes his head in pity, pats His hand and asks, “But why should You, of all people (the very Son of God mind You) do without? Why don’t You let me help? Here, You can have all this. All You have to do is ask nicely – talk nice to me for a change, won’t You? – and I will be more than happy to help You out. I’m just that kind of guy.”

Jesus, remembering just what kind of guy Satan is (a knife collector), responds while standing atop a scriptural foundation stone: “Only God is God. Only He is worthy of – worthwhile to – worship.”

Satan, realizing his error, takes a different tack. “Let’s go out. Let’s get you cleaned up and hit the town – paint it red! (my favorite color) – and have a ball. Screw ‘em. Who cares? You’re the Son of God, baby! Take the day off – show everybody just how much they really need You and then they’ll really listen when You CRACK…THAT…WHIP!”

Jesus, remembering just how altruistic Satan really is when it comes to negotiating labor contracts, responds – as always – from a refuge of scripture: “God’s plan is bigger than Me. He wants to use Me, but He doesn’t need Me. I am not the plan. I am the man of the plan.”

Luke says Satan left until a more opportune time. “I’ll pencil you in for Thursday next,” he promised Jesus, but he never showed. He did, however, set a reminder for the end of Passover week in another three years’ time. He just didn’t realize Jesus was already fully booked.