Lent 2016, Day 40: March 20 (Luke 20:1-19)

It is fitting that Jesus is now teaching in the temple (after all, He’s the one who just cleaned it). Jesus has evicted the moneychangers, vendors and High Priest’s marketplace (the Annas family business) from the temple so that God-fearing Gentiles may return to their designated place to pray. In doing so, he creates an atmosphere of anticipation. The Gentiles – and the Jews – are praying and waiting upon God for…what?

It seems like everyone is on edge, holding their breath. It comes partly from Luke’s storytelling (we just spent 40 days walking to get here, what’s going to happen next?) and partly from the anxiety shared amongst the Jewish leadership, Roman overlords and run-of-the-mill crowd.

We sometimes forget that this is all happening in the middle of a police action (albeit an exceedingly lengthy one). Rome has now occupied Judea and overseen its squabbling factions for well over 100 years. Their failure to get the Jews on board with their way of life is becoming a growing frustration. Titus will vent that frustration in a most savage fashion when he stands upon the Temple Mount.

Jesus has already predicted and wept over this looming tragedy. Right now, His focus is on praying and teaching in the temple in the days that remain before His crucifixion. The Jewish leaders see Jesus’ actions in the marketplace as a great opportunity to embarrass Him in front of the Romans and trap Him in His words.

“Who gave you the authority to do that?” they ask.

The Pharisees have been sulking since He got here. Despite all their scheming with the priests and the Sanhedrin, nothing has changed. The people hang on His every word. But now that Jesus has gone and done something that appears to play right into their hands, they are downright gleeful. If He says “no one,” they can have Him charged with disturbing the peace or inciting a riot. If He says “God,” they can charge Him with blasphemy. Either answer will allow them to ultimately humiliate Him. Jesus chooses a third option and offers a deal: He will answer their question if they will answer His.

“You bet!” says an overconfident Rabbi Feldman. “Ask away!”

“Do you remember John?” He asks as the crowd murmurs in appreciation (“Great man! Godly man! A prophet from God!”). “Do you think his authority came from God or man?”

The Pharisees are livid (“Way to go Feldman!”). Jesus has made fools of them by throwing their own question – and its answers – back in their faces. While they just tried to set Jesus up to face the possibility of a Roman court, Jesus has turned the tables and put the Pharisees in front of the court of public opinion. It’s not a comfortable place to be because they can’t come up with an answer that does not condemn them in some way. In the end, they give up.

“We don’t know,” they say, all long faces and hangdog expressions (and dirty looks for Rabbi Feldman). Except they do know. They just find it too hard to admit they made a mistake with John and they (wrongfully) assume it’s too late to do anything about it. At one point, Jesus will accuse them of preventing others from entering the Kingdom because they themselves don’t have the courage or integrity to admit they are wrong.

A large part of what’s holding the Pharisees back is the combined weight of their reputation and their heritage. They are convinced that they, and they alone, are the rightful purveyors of Torah and the righteous of the nation. They cannot accept that an outsider could ever have a correct interpretation or view of the Law. The problem with that, Jesus often tells them, is that they themselves don’t even believe the Law. If they did, they would believe in Him.

To help make His point, Jesus brings out the karaoke machine and warms it up with their favorite song (and His) about the man and his vineyard – a thinly veiled metaphor for God and the nation of Israel. But just as He gets to the part where Isaiah calls on everyone to sing along ("Hey, ho!"), Jesus starts freestyling – improvising on a theme that kicks their anxiety into a frenzy.

The tenants will kill the man’s only son, so the man will destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others, Jesus sings.

“Others?” wonder the Pharisees. “What others? Surely you don’t mean the ones you just cleared a space in the temple for? Surely not!”

“What then,” says Jesus, “does it mean when it says the stone the builders rejected is now the cornerstone?”

Caught between a rock and a hard place, the Pharisees have now been backed into a corner. They can neither get over nor around the stone that is Jesus. He has humiliated them again, and on their home turf no less. Round one goes to Jesus, but they'll be back. They will make Him pay for this very soon now.

Lent 2016, Day 39: March 19 (Luke 19:28-48)

Jesus leaves Jericho (City of Palms, City of Priests) and begins “ascending up to Jerusalem.” This is an important moment, because (in larger terms) the Messiah is making His final pilgrimage to the temple. In more immediate terms, Jesus is stepping onto the last leg of His journey. He is now walking amongst other pilgrims, all of whom are on their way up the mountain to Jerusalem for Pesach – the feast of Passover.

This is also a unique moment, because it is both spontaneous and orchestrated. Jesus has gone to a great deal of trouble to make certain preparations so that others may later testify as to how He fulfilled certain signs. Close by the Mount of Olives, a donkey’s colt waits for the Lord. Zechariah has been patiently holding the donkey’s bridle for over 500 years, ready to hand him over in exchange for the password: “The Lord has need of him.”

As the crowd winds up the mountain, they move through the Songs of Ascent (the traditional Psalms pilgrims sang and recited as they made this trip). Someone realizes just how alive the words really are in this moment and sings out, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

The Pharisees are alarmed. “Are you nuts?!” they exclaim. “We’ve been talking in code about the Messiah for over 500 years for a reason – it’s called survival. Do you really want to talk about Jewish Kings in front of the Romans during a high holy day? Do you want to start a riot? Tell your disciples to shut up!”

Jesus, however, knows that this is a sign that must be fulfilled. Praise must be given.

Laughing because it feels good to see the Word of God fulfilled, Jesus says, “I tell you if these kept their peace the very stones would cry out.”

It is the briefest of joyful moments. As they make their way around a bend, Jerusalem leaps into view. But standing by the road in rags, Jeremiah beckons to Jesus, weeping for what was and is about to be lost.

“So, here we are again Jerusalem,” says Jesus. “There was a time when shepherds with their flocks came against you and pitched their tents around you. They cut down your trees and cast up a siege mound. And now? Déjà vu. For the days shall come that thy enemies shall cast a trench about thee and compass thee on every side.”

This has to be one of the most bittersweet moments of Jesus’ life. On the one hand, He is riding the triumphant crest of fulfilled prophecy all the way up the mountain – but He is going to an end that will come as a huge surprise to everyone (except Himself).

Jesus knows His death is imminent, but He is not feeling sorry for Himself. Instead, He weeps for what awaits Jerusalem. All around Him, His disciples and the crowd are caught up in the joy of Passover and the enthusiasm of something and Someone new – could this be The Messiah? 

Jesus grieves for the nation of Israel because He knows that what Jeremiah testified to – the near extermination of the Jewish people – will pale in comparison to what is coming. The Romans are here, and they don’t want another King. Come to think of it, neither do the Jews. It is one of the few things they can agree on – that and their willingness to use murder to maintain the status quo.

Lent 2016, Day 38: March 18 (Luke 19:11-27)

Zacchaeus throws a mean party – which should come as no surprise. He’s a rich man, and he has undoubtedly pulled out all the stops in hosting Jesus in his home. He is already caught up in a moment (or two) of beneficence, having declared he will give half his possessions to the poor and restore fourfold what he has obtained by fraud. Either Zacchaeus is not a bad guy after all or he is absolutely stinking rich.

Jesus announces that salvation has come to this house, and the guests respond by kicking the party into high gear. As they do, Jesus takes the opportunity to teach (notice how Jesus uses every occasion and every setting to speak truth into our lives – He is always with us, everywhere).

We know this story as the parable of ten minas. It is very similar to Matthew’s parable of the ten talents. It might be more revealing to refer to it as the parable of the King on his way to be crowned. It certainly makes it more applicable to Jesus’ immediate situation and it ties into Jesus’ reasons for telling it: because He is near Jerusalem (the city of the King) and because the publicans (like the Pharisees) suppose that the Kingdom of God will appear immediately.

This is a parable about doing business uniquely designed for this business crowd. Think of a Kiwanis or Knights of Columbus lunch – cheap paneling on the walls, chipped linoleum on the floors and rubber chicken on the menu. Put Jesus at the podium as this month’s guest politician (is this on?) and you’ve got the scene in mind.

There are extra details here that set this story of the minas apart from that of the talents. In Matthew, the man is simply going on a journey. Here, in Luke, he is going to a far country to be crowned King (presumably of this, his home country). Some of the locals, however, don't want him to be King and are unafraid to say so – loudly.

The man calls ten of his servants, distributes one mina to each and says, “Occupy – engage in business until I come.” He creates a level playing field in order to see who has the native ability and motivation to make something out of almost nothing (a mina is about $100). He doesn’t explain his reasoning behind this (he doesn’t have to), but we should remember that he is about to made King here (and a King needs many different kinds of servants).

“This is stupid,” thinks at least (though probably more than) one servant. “Why should I even bother? I won’t get much return on just $100. I’m not feeling this.” At least one (or as many as eight) of the servants wraps the mina in a hanky and sticks it in a box somewhere.

At least two (or as many as nine) of the servants, however, head off to sketch their ideas for lemonade stands, cat calendars, desk sets and other assorted Junior Achievement projects. Why? Because they love their Lord. They want to do as he has asked, and they desire to please him. Plus, after all, this guy is about to be King (ya know what I'm sayin’?).

It makes sense here to think of the man as a client or vassal King, similar to King Herod, who has been invested with authority by an overlord or ruling authority, such as the Roman Senate.

This extra detail helps to further distance this story from the parable of the talents, but it’s a non-starter – and that’s what makes it interesting. The King’s future subjects hate him so much that they send a delegation to picket his coronation – with apparently no effect. They think they have a say in who will be King – but they don’t. And just as the citizens cannot choose their King, the Pharisees cannot choose their Messiah – that’s up to God. It has always been this way, Jesus hints. Have you not read?

Upon his return, the man – the King – orders that the 10 servants be summoned. He’s only just returned, and already things have changed. Before he left, he himself called his servants. Now that he is King, he orders someone else (a chamberlain perhaps?) to summon the 10 to an audience so he can learn what they have gained by doing business. The dynamic has officially changed, and a new order is in place.

The first servant reports huge success: he’s taken his $100 and made $1,000.

“Well done, good servant!” says the King. As his reward, he is promoted – he’s now a Duke with authority over 10 cities.

The second servant also reports tremendous success: his $100 has been transformed into $500.

Then another servant steps forward, digs a wadded up used hanky out of his back pocket and extracts a single mina. “Hey boss, here’s your mina safe and sound. You know, I told everybody this would happen. Man, you freak me OUT, you know that? You’re a hard man to work for. You gave me this mina, and now you want it back. You’re taking what these other guys have made all for yourself – what’s up with that?”

Clearly, this servant has not gotten the message. Despite being in the same room and hearing the same instructions as the first two servants, he has a very different understanding of what was supposed to happen. It’s not hard to believe he may be one of those citizens who did not want the man to become King.

The servant doesn’t know it, but he’s suffering from entitlement. He doesn’t understand that the mina was assigned to him to manage – not given to him to hoard or spend as he liked. He was given an opportunity to use the mina for good (he could have given it away) but instead, he stashed it away where it has had no impact on anyone – until now.

“Take it away from him,” says the King to the bystanders. “Give it to the Duke.”

“But Lord, he already has 10 minas!” they protest. “Is that fair? Why give it to him?”

“To everyone who has, more will be given. From those who have not, even what they have will be taken away.”

A lot has happened in the short time the King has been back. He has judged his servants. Some have stood, at least one has fallen. But the King is just getting started. Things are about to get intense.

“Now,” says the Lord, “let’s talk about those enemies who didn’t want me to be King…”

Lent 2016, Day 37: March 17 (Luke 18:35-19:10)

Jesus is on the road to Jericho. The last time we walked this road, we saw the merciful Samaritan bind up the wounds of the man who fell among the robbers, carry him to a safe place where he could recover, and pay all his expenses.

Jesus is about to meet two men who, like the man among the robbers, are sorely in need of mercy. Both men have heard of Jesus but have never seen Him. Both men are exiled from their community because of their blindness (physical for the one, spiritual for the other).

Here, close by the city gates, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus is asking for mercy from passersby in an effort to obtain alms. In a few moments, however, he will no longer merely ask for mercy nor for alms. In fact, he will loudly insist upon mercy to fill a much greater need.

What does it feel like to hear a multitude of people pass by in the dark? Bartimaeus is sitting on the ground, so he may feel the ground shake a little underneath him as the crowd walks past. Certainly, he feels a change in the air currents. Do alternating shadows register as they move across his darkened vision? He hears voices, laughter, all the myriad little sounds that signify that a river of life is rolling by – but all unseen.

“Who’s there?” he asks. “What does this mean?”

The question may be one part curiosity and two parts fear. Blind men don’t do well in crowds, especially when they’re poor beggars.

Kindly, generously (but not patiently), those at the head of the crowd – preparing the Way of the Lord – tell him, “Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.”

It’s a very grand thing to say, and they mean for Bartimaeus to be impressed – as if POTUS were rolling by in a shining motorcade with tinted windows, oblivious to all who survey. Bartimaeus may be blind, but he is no fool. While he has not seen (cannot see) Jesus, he has heard of Him. And, he knows just who He is.

“Jesus, Son of David! Have mercy on me!”

The people at the head of the crowd, the ones who ought to be preparing the Way of the Lord, are merely preparing the way of a rabbi (Jesus of Nazareth). Bartimaeus – although blind – testifies that Jesus is the heir to the Davidic throne (the moshiach, the anointed one, the Messiah). He also correctly and properly calls on the heir for mercy – one of the most important things any King may grant.

The crowd reacts to Bartimaeus’ testimony by rebuking him. They shush him and tell him to be at peace while withholding the mercy that is theirs to give. Bartimaeus, to his credit, pushes them aside and ignores them. He redoubles his efforts – a lesson in itself – and is granted a brief audience with Jesus.

“What would you have me do for you?” Jesus asks casually as they bring the blind man to Him.

“Let me recover my sight,” he responds.

“Recover your sight, your faith has made you well.”

It’s a very low-key healing. No waving hands, making mud, exorcising demons. It’s almost as if Jesus shrugs and says, “So do it.”

Bartimaeus’ reaction is much more satisfying. He glorifies God and joins the crowd following Jesus, causing them in turn to praise God. Chances are, he takes his rightful place at the head of the crowd in order to testify as to just who this Jesus of Nazareth really is.

Inside the city is a spiritually blind man named Zacchaeus in want of mercy (though he does not know it yet) who wants to see who Jesus is. Like Bartimaeus, the crowd is an obstacle to his goal. But, also like Bartimaeus, he perseveres, climbs a tree and is granted the privilege of hosting Jesus in his home as a reward for his efforts.

The crowd is offended. It is they, now, that cannot see who Jesus really is. They’re having an “identify crisis,” for want of a better term. They believe that a rabbi must not socialize with a sinner. Sadly, they keep forgetting that Jesus has many identities – most of which are far more excellent than “rabbi.” He is the Great Physician who treats the sick. He is the Savior – the Son of Man – who came to seek and to save the lost.

The crowd will remember this and hold it against Him. They will continue to tell Him who they want Him to be and He will continue to tell them who He really is. In the end, they will crucify and mock Him for this when they nail Him to a cross and affix a simple sign above His head that reads: “King of the Jews.”

Lent 2016, Day 36: March 16 (Luke 18:15-30)

As His inner circle, Peter, James, John and the rest of the 12 (the Apostles) have the unenviable task of serving as a human barrier between Jesus and the crowd. As His crew, they control who gets access to Him and who is turned away – and they frequently make mistakes (like now). The crowd is “bringing even infants” to Jesus to touch. Put off by their desire, the disciples turn them away – and are rebuked in turn by Jesus.

“Let the children come to Me, and do not hinder them,” says Jesus, “for to such belongs the Kingdom of God. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”

It’s a radical statement, one that leaves us scratching our heads. How, we wonder, are we to be like helpless infants in receiving the Kingdom?

Into this moment of confusion steps the young ruler. Head of his class, bit of a brown-noser, he flashes his backstage pass (Judas sells them on the side) and tries to ingratiate himself with Jesus with little luck.

“Good teacher!” he says with a flourish (and probably a bow he practiced for the Renaissance Faire), “what must I do to be saved?”

Jesus is not about to encourage him. “Why do you call Me good? No one is good but God alone.”

In refusing “good” as a description of Himself, Jesus takes the word off the table for the young ruler as well. He does so because He knows exactly where this conversation is heading.

“You know the commandments,” Jesus says (and proceeds to rattle off half of the Big 10).

“All these,” says the smug young ruler with a flourish, “I have kept” (he places his hand on his heart) “from my youth” (again he bows though not as smoothly this time – he’s starting to become self-conscious; maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all?)

“One thing you still lack,” says Jesus.

The young ruler bolts upright. “I lack? What could I possibly lack?” he thinks to himself. “I have a righteousness I have crafted and defended from my youth. I have material blessings that testify to this. I have a beautiful home, full barns, family that loves me, I tithe, I pray – I had my act together long before I ever had my bar mitzvah. I am blameless. There is nothing I lack!”

“You have no treasure in heaven,” Jesus gently says as he rips way the wool that obscures the young ruler’s eyes.

The young man is in shock. It’s obvious he understands Jesus’ point because it stops him in his tracks. For all his conceit, the young ruler is completely honest (or is at least convinced of his honesty). He doesn’t refute Jesus’ observation, and he dreads what’s coming next. Because Jesus is always, truly, brutally honest.

“Do you want to acquire true wealth? Sell all that you have and distribute to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”

The young man walks away “very sad” because he was “very rich.” He may now wish he had never met Jesus. In a very personal yet public manner, the young man has been confronted with Jesus’ identity as the stumbling stone of the Kingdom of God. He cannot get around or get over Jesus. He only has two choices: to be broken and rebuild his life with Jesus as the cornerstone; or to be crushed and destroyed under the weight of His words.

The disciples are shocked. After all, they had vetted the guy – they thought he was a shoo-in! What is going on?

It’s only as the young man walks away in sadness that Jesus shows any empathy for him. “How difficult it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!”

We often get distracted here in trying to puzzle out how to thread a needle with a camel. In doing so, we miss the poignancy of this scene. Jesus is watching the young man – “an Israelite indeed” – walk away, deep in thought, shoulders slumped, head down, shuffling away as he visibly struggles with the implications of what he has just heard. He came to Jesus, confident of who and what (he thought) he was. He is leaving bruised and battered, his hands full of the fractured pieces of who and what he really is. As much as Jesus might want to go after him, to counsel and comfort him, He cannot. He will not.

As much as we would like God to take over our lives and “make us do” this, that or the other thing – even the “good” things, the “righteous” things – He will not. God may be a co-pilot, but He is not an auto-pilot nor is He a bus driver. We have to close the deal ourselves, make the call, take the step, sign on the dotted line. If we don’t exercise our free will to make the better – the best – choice, we will have no personal stake in our walk of faith. We will be spectators in our own lives – nameless faces hitching a ride on the Jesus bus as long as it's going our way. Jesus is headed for the cross. Are we going that way, too?