Lent 2016, Day 29: March 9 (Luke 14:25-35)

Jesus is once more surrounded by “great crowds” who wish to accompany Him as He journeys towards Jerusalem. But just as the Israelites out of Egypt had a lot of come-alongs, there are plenty of people here who are just along for the ride. Now is an excellent time to thin the herd with some straight talk.

“Good morning God-seekers!” Jesus greets the swelling crowd. “Before we get started today, I wanted to briefly review the basic requirements for becoming my disciple with you.”

The God of love then tells us all we need to hate others (and ourselves). Um, what?

Our confusion is understandable. Back then, love/hate was not a cut-and-dried either/or, pro/con concept as it is today. Today, if we “hate” someone, we would probably actively oppose them or even consistently engage with them for the express purpose of thwarting their ambitions and/or actions. In this way, hate today is a lot like love (we often have love/hate relationships), it’s full of emotional energy and can even border on obsession.

In Semitic culture, on the other hand, love/hate was an expressed preference for one thing over another. Jesus’ call to hate father, mother, wife, children, etc. would have resonated with His Jewish listeners. On hearing it, they would have lifted their heads and started humming the opening refrain of Malachi's gorgeous song (“Jacob I have loved, but Esau I have hated”) as God's testimony to His love for the nation of Israel.

Suddenly, the love/hate thing’s not so bad. In fact, it’s a pretty familiar concept. “Piece of cake!” says the crowd. “It’s all hyperbole anyway, right?”

So Jesus, being Jesus, drops a bomb: want to follow me? Pick up your cross and let’s get going. Again, um, what?

Jesus uses a shocking metaphor (crucifixion) to describe the life – or death (to self) – of a disciple. His disciple. It is shocking for the crowd because they know just what a horrific death it is. Why would anyone choose to emulate it in any fashion? It is shocking for us because it is precisely the death Jesus has chosen – weeks before His arrival in Jerusalem.

“Do you need an answer now?” asks the crowd.

“It only makes sense, doesn’t it?” counters Jesus. “Why go to all the trouble of hiring a contractor, digging a foundation, buying building supplies and picking out paint colors if you don’t have the money to install the roof? Why bother mustering an army, outfitting it with the latest in technology and equipment to take on an enemy army twice your size that is similarly if not better equipped? Wouldn’t it be better to put your time and energy into surrendering?”

This is not hyperbole, says Jesus. “Any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.”

The crowd is understandably bummed out. “This is harder than we thought. Why should we go to all this trouble?”

“Because you’re special,” Jesus comforts. “You are the light of the world, you are the salt of the earth. You are precious in God's sight.”

Salt, says Jesus, is good. It’s one of the necessities of life. It brings out the flavor of many other things. But don't take this for granted. Salt can lose its “saltiness.” So can you. You can cease being special. Salt that’s no longer salty has no use whatsoever – it’s not even good for fertilizer. It is thrown away. Can you hear? Then listen.
 

Lent 2016, Day 28: March 8 (Luke 14:15-24)

The (semi) friendly meal with the Pharisees is going pretty well. Jesus has just given his host an insider's tip on how to receive the blessing of God at the resurrection of the just: invite the poor and disadvantaged to your next meal.

Around the table, there is a silent “Ew.”

This is an awkward moment because the Pharisees have a complicated relationship with the poor and disadvantaged. The poor are poor for many reasons (not because they are lazy, corrupt or racially inferior), and they remain so in part because the Pharisees have stacked the deck against them. Some, even, are rich because they lend to the poor, charge interest and confiscate property when payment has not been made (“Isn’t that good business?” they ask).

The poor are cut off from temple worship because of their poverty (they literally cannot afford the sacrifices). Because they are not “righteous,” they are cut off from the community and suffer socially and economically. Their debt is overwhelming, and they are driven to extremes. 

God recognized the need for financial mercy when he created the Jubilee Year –a 50th year of reconciliation where all debts are wiped away and all prodigals are welcomed home. Jubilee is an extravagant grace – one which the Jews have never been able to accept or employ in full.  

King Zedekiah and the nation of Judah tried to extend it when they vowed to proclaim freedom to their people and free the slaves (Jeremiah 34). Sadly (horrifically), the nation reneged and took the slaves – their fellow Jews – back into captivity. 

When the people returned from exile in Babylon (Nehemiah 5), circumstances forced the poor to mortgage everything they had – including their own lives and those of their children – just to feed themselves. Nehemiah had to shame the rich and powerful – the people who prided themselves on being “righteous” – into showing mercy and providing financial relief to the poor by forgiving these dirty loans. 

Is it any wonder that the crowd hates the children of the “righteous” – the Pharisees?

One of the guests steps on the moment by raising his glass in a toast, “Don’t all lives matter? Blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the Kingdom of God!”

But the awkward moment just won’t die (the man has deliberately missed the point), so Jesus fills it with yet another parable.

A man once gave a great banquet and invited many…

This great banquet takes place within – and is itself – the Kingdom of God. Those invited received their invitations long ago, indeed they have already RSVP’d. But now the banquet is finally ready. It’s time to eat! Yet those who so enthusiastically responded to the first invitation are now scorning the second and sending their “regrets” via the man’s servant.

The first person excuses himself and says (with a shrug), “I’ve just bought a field, and I must go out and see it.” Only a fool would buy land sight unseen (so maybe it’s a good thing he’s not coming to the party). However, what the man is really saying is, “my wealth matters more to me than my place in the Kingdom of God.”

The second person excuses himself and says (with a sniff), “I’ve just bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them.” Only a fool would make such a large, important purchase without first examining the animals for their health and hardiness. However, what the man is really saying is, “my business matters more to me than my place in the Kingdom of God.”

The last person doesn’t even apologies, he just says (with a wink), “I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.” While the first two men are willing to be seen as fools for their excuses, this one is willing to be seen as a liar as it is very doubtful that anyone would get married at the same time as someone else in the village was throwing a big banquet. However, what the man is really saying is, “my personal life matters more to me than my place in the Kingdom of God.”

In Middle Eastern culture, this is the height of rudeness. In fact, it sends a very clear social message: we don’t want to have anything to do with you.

The banquet host, righteously incensed, tells his servant to bring in the poor, crippled, blind and lame (which he does). The needy have been brought in, but there’s still room (turns out there weren’t that many after all and there’s plenty of stuff to go around). So the host now tells the servant to search out the poor, go through the back alleys, the shantytowns under the highway overpasses, Lower Wacker Drive – compel these people to come to the banquet so that the master’s house may be filled.

And the others? Fools and liars, they have made their choice and their invitations have been withdrawn. It doesn’t matter. There’s no room anyway. The master’s house is filled – and that’s what matters most.

Lent 2016, Day 27: March 7 (Luke 14:1-14)

The days are beginning to fly by. It is yet another Sabbath. This time, the Pharisees have extended an olive branch. Having warned Jesus of Herod’s interest in Him, they now invite Him to dinner. But, whispers Luke, there is an ulterior motive here, for they are watching Him “carefully.”

Sure enough, the dinner is something of a set-up. A man with dropsy – painful edema – is there, apparently solely for the purpose of testing Jesus. Like the man with the withered hand in Luke 6, he is at the center of the question: does the Law allow healing on the Sabbath?

Jesus knows that the question is not a simplistic one, so He decides to up the ante and make things more interesting – more personal. He asks the Pharisees: if your child fell in a well, would you tell him to wait until sundown? Or would you pull him out right away?

The Pharisees do not answer because they cannot. Each of them is left with a conundrum: how does one deal with a serious family emergency on the Sabbath? At what point does sincere, respectful observance of the Sabbath turn into a 24-hour stint in a Panic Room? Is it necessary to barricade one’s self inside one’s home to legislate proper Sabbath observance? Is it really this hard? Because these men have no mercy, they cannot find a solution for themselves.

How do we know they have no mercy? Because the man with dropsy leaves without eating. He wasn’t a real guest nor was his healing the stated goal of this event. He was simply bait in yet another of the Pharisees’ legalistic traps designed to produce both evidence and accusation.

Jesus must not feel threatened because He continues to teach – although, admittedly, He is being somewhat confrontational in his choice of subject matter. This time, he quotes from Proverbs 25:6-7 (which the Pharisees know by heart) and applies it to their present circumstances. The guests are circulating around the table, trying to find the best possible seats. It sounds like a big banquet, but it’s most likely fewer than 20 guests. The Roman triclinium is very much in vogue at the moment, and those wishing to appear cultured, civilized and rich (i.e., the Pharisees) have adopted the practice.

Jesus gives the Pharisees a little zinger here by quoting a Jewish proverb as they scramble in a Roman setting. Without rubbing their noses in it, Jesus reminds them that they are in the presence of their King and gently suggests they rethink their approach to avoid humiliation. Here, finally, is a literal illustration of “the first shall be last.”

Jesus doesn’t have a problem being Jewish in a Roman society. His kind of righteousness transcends every setting and allows Him to be what He really is – Himself. The Pharisees, however, keep finding themselves choosing between what they think is right and what they find to be popular.

Jesus, just for fun, raises the stakes yet again as He turns to the host and encourages him to “invite the poor, crippled, lame and blind” to his next banquet.

The host is completely stumped. How in the world will he figure out the seating arrangements if all of the guests deserve to be in the lowest place?

How, Jesus counters, are you figuring it out now?

Lent 2016, Day 26: March 6 (Luke 13:10-35)

Another Sabbath, another synagogue lesson. We are a little closer to Jerusalem, but there is still so much work to be done. 

As Jesus is teaching, he sees a woman bent almost double. She’s been this way for 18 years. We would recognize her as suffering from osteoporosis. Luke says she has a “spirit of infirmity” but this is no exorcism, no demonic force comes babbling out of her. Instead, Jesus simply looks at her and tells her: “You are free.” Laying His hands on her, He demonstrates this fact by helping her to stand up straight for the first time in nearly two decades. She can do nothing but rejoice and praise God loudly for such deliverance. Her friends, family and neighbors are equally electrified.

The leader of the synagogue (a nameless man) is annoyed. His OCD is showing because it’s clear he does not like interruptions, and this is definitely an interruption. We are no longer on schedule!

“No, no, no!” shouts the leader. “Work is done Sunday through Friday! If you want healing, come then! NOT on a Sabbath!”

What’s unspoken here is the leader’s powerlessness. Were he and the rabbis able to provide this woman with healing, it would surely have taken place by now. His love of ritual for ritual’s sake – and his need to hide behind it – is also showing. He is not open to spontaneity not least when it serves to glorify God. His attitude toward the woman also is showing. He regards ministering to her obvious needs as work. Plus, in his mind, the woman has not yet been healed because she is steeped in sin. To him, she has what she deserves.

Jesus, who has heard this tired song before, defends the woman. “You hypocrites! This morning, didn’t you untie your ox and donkey – the engines of your weekly work – and lead them to water? Didn’t you show them mercy and provide them with refreshment on this Sabbath day of rest? You did – and rightly so! How much more then is it right to release this daughter of Abraham from her infirmity – not bound for an evening but for 18 long years – and refresh her with healing and release on this Sabbath day?”

Jesus’ use of the oh-so-rabbinical (and contemporary) “how much more” serves to humiliate the Pharisees and synagogue leaders (so much so that they now openly take the name of adversaries and opponents). The people, for their part, take delight in it (“You been served!”). This is yet another grudge the Jews will hold against Jesus and another motivation to turn this same crowd against Him.

Jesus uses this opportunity to speak truth into the situation. “None of you know what the Kingdom of God is really like. It’s indescribable. But if I had to compare it to something, I’d say it’s like a mustard seed that grows into a mighty tree for all to enjoy or a bit of yeast that leavens a whole batch of dough.”

Now they’re all stumped. Just when they think they’ve got Him pinned down on something (“Pharisees bad, people good”), Jesus counters with something that’s best described as inexplicable. Jesus’ point here is that the Kingdom of God belongs to God – not an exclusive club of men. It takes shape and grows according to God’s design and His will. Therefore, man’s understanding of it (which is often wrong) matters little in the grand scheme of things.

“Use right vision,” Jesus tells us yet again. “Look at things from God’s point of view and ask yourself: is there something that needs to change?”

As Jesus and the disciples pack up and head back out on the road the next day, a man from the crowd has been pondering these things. He has a question: “Will those who are saved be few?”

It’s an odd question, oddly asked. The short answer, Jesus says, is yes, only a few will be saved. He goes on to urge the man not to take entering the Kingdom lightly nor for granted. It is not something “to get around to.” The man’s Jewishness will not grant him automatic entrance, nor will his broadmindedness in listening to Jesus preach, nor will his socializing and sharing a meal with Him.

In fact, says Jesus, once the door closes, those outside will be categorically rejected – because they did not find it important to enter in while the door was open. Lateness will not be tolerated, says Jesus, and if you did not feel a need to enter when the door was open, the homeowner will feel no need to let you in when it is closed. You may think it’s a gamble – put off entering until the last possible moment – but it’s really a choice. Do you care enough to save your own soul?