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.”
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
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?
“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?
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Lent 2016, Day 35: March 15 (Luke 18:1-14)
The disciples – challenged by the command to forgive others
without reservation – have just asked Jesus to increase their faith. It is
appropriate that Jesus provides two quick parables on prayer here. However,
they are for overlapping (if not concentric) audiences.
In His first parable about the widow and the judge, Jesus urges the disciples to pray with faith without fail. His brief story reminds us of Proverbs 30:8-9.
Remove far from me falsehood and lying; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is needful for me lest I be full and deny you and say, “Who is the Lord?” or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.
As a successful, prominent member of his community, the judge is clearly “full.” He professes no need for God. “Who is the Lord?” perfectly captures his attitude and serves as his life motto. The widow, on the other hand, has very few options available to her. She has no close relative to defend her (a goel), no income, no social standing. However, she is determined to stand up for herself and seek what is needful lest she be poor and take matters into her own hands, thus profaning the name of her God.
It’s almost as if Jesus is saying, get into the moment of your need and live with it for a while. Understand what it takes to struggle for something worthwhile, to strive for justice. God is not a genie. God is not an ATM. Stop expecting Him to grant your every whim and wish with the snap of His fingers. He has promised to deliver you. He is faithful. Pray persistently, knowing He will provide in His own time. Wait upon the Lord – He alone is sovereign!
In His second parable, Jesus singles out “some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and treated others with contempt.” These individuals, too, are “full” and deny God by failing to acknowledge their need for Him. After all, they are oh so righteous – whatever would they need God for? We may think He is speaking to the Pharisees, but He is still speaking to the disciples. He is now calling out those within His own circle who believe God owes them blessing. It’s a poignant lesson in the proper attitude for prayer.
As we listen to the Pharisee pray on the steps of the temple (out loud and in public, mind you), do we see the disciples cringe? Where did Jesus get this righteous resumé? Wasn’t it from overhearing the disciples’ many arguments about who among them was the greatest and why?
Undoubtedly, the disciples are embarrassed. Their proud accomplishments – their pedigree, tithing and fasting – sound so petty because they are. Jesus gently chides them here as if to say, “If these things sound so flimsy to your ears, how do they sound to the Sovereign God of creation?”
Comparing ourselves to others is never a good idea, Jesus warns. And when we boast in the ways we seem to outpace them, it sets us up for a long, hard fall. We seldom compare ourselves to our betters. Instead, we zero in on those who do exactly what we do but to a different degree.
When it comes to sin, Jesus warns, guilt has no degree. You must respect the fact that God is a catalyst: approach Him in humility and He will honor and exalt you. Approach Him with pride, with no need for His mercy, and you will be lost indeed. If you think you’ve encountered the Living God but come away unchanged, you never encountered Him at all.
In His first parable about the widow and the judge, Jesus urges the disciples to pray with faith without fail. His brief story reminds us of Proverbs 30:8-9.
Remove far from me falsehood and lying; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is needful for me lest I be full and deny you and say, “Who is the Lord?” or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.
As a successful, prominent member of his community, the judge is clearly “full.” He professes no need for God. “Who is the Lord?” perfectly captures his attitude and serves as his life motto. The widow, on the other hand, has very few options available to her. She has no close relative to defend her (a goel), no income, no social standing. However, she is determined to stand up for herself and seek what is needful lest she be poor and take matters into her own hands, thus profaning the name of her God.
It’s almost as if Jesus is saying, get into the moment of your need and live with it for a while. Understand what it takes to struggle for something worthwhile, to strive for justice. God is not a genie. God is not an ATM. Stop expecting Him to grant your every whim and wish with the snap of His fingers. He has promised to deliver you. He is faithful. Pray persistently, knowing He will provide in His own time. Wait upon the Lord – He alone is sovereign!
In His second parable, Jesus singles out “some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and treated others with contempt.” These individuals, too, are “full” and deny God by failing to acknowledge their need for Him. After all, they are oh so righteous – whatever would they need God for? We may think He is speaking to the Pharisees, but He is still speaking to the disciples. He is now calling out those within His own circle who believe God owes them blessing. It’s a poignant lesson in the proper attitude for prayer.
As we listen to the Pharisee pray on the steps of the temple (out loud and in public, mind you), do we see the disciples cringe? Where did Jesus get this righteous resumé? Wasn’t it from overhearing the disciples’ many arguments about who among them was the greatest and why?
Undoubtedly, the disciples are embarrassed. Their proud accomplishments – their pedigree, tithing and fasting – sound so petty because they are. Jesus gently chides them here as if to say, “If these things sound so flimsy to your ears, how do they sound to the Sovereign God of creation?”
Comparing ourselves to others is never a good idea, Jesus warns. And when we boast in the ways we seem to outpace them, it sets us up for a long, hard fall. We seldom compare ourselves to our betters. Instead, we zero in on those who do exactly what we do but to a different degree.
When it comes to sin, Jesus warns, guilt has no degree. You must respect the fact that God is a catalyst: approach Him in humility and He will honor and exalt you. Approach Him with pride, with no need for His mercy, and you will be lost indeed. If you think you’ve encountered the Living God but come away unchanged, you never encountered Him at all.
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