Posts tagged Jesus

In Matthew 5:14-16 NKJV, Jesus famously said this:

“You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

He said this, and then He went on to prophesy that the very people He had spoken to would be “cast into outer darkness” (Matthew 8:10-12) while their oppressors would keep company in heaven with Israel’s beloved forefathers.

He said He was sent to redeem “the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” yet when He sent His disciples to help in that work, Jesus told them, “Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves. Therefore be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.” (Matthew 10:16 NKJV)

He tangled repeatedly and publicly with the Pharisees, detailing their sins before a live audience (Matthew 23:1-35). He called them murderers, hypocrites, and blasphemers. The Pharisees, in turn, plotted constantly to kill Jesus without His fans finding out who ordered the hit. Because they were the ruling faction at the synagogue, and because they could.

As if that weren’t enough, Jesus went to the temple one Passover and completely trashed the booths where small businesses sold animals for sacrifice. He scattered their money on the ground and overturned their tables. Then, He McGyvered a whip with multiple cords like a cat o’ nine tails, and literally whipped the merchants and animals out of the place.

He was rough on His disciples, too, constantly criticizing them (Matthew 16:6-12) for their “duh” moments (Really? Weren’t they there to learn?), their lack of humility (Luke 22:24-27), their weak faith (Matthew 14:31), their reluctance (Matthew 16:21-26), even disloyalty (Mark 3:31-35).

And He wanted us to do … what … again?

“You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

What does light do? What is light supposed to do? What happens when you turn on the light? And how does it glorify God?

We know what Jesus asked us to do in this passage. Did He Himself do it? How? When?

They ended up killing Him — Jews, Romans, and everybody else who looked on in that great city. Did the end justify the means — then and now? Is there a better way for us to handle things today than Jesus did? If so, what is it?

Ever notice how Paul always seems to be on the outs with somebody? In Acts 11 Paul meets Barnabas and they get along like a house afire. For the next four chapters they’re the Butch and Sundance of the early church, winning souls and getting out of one scrape after another.

By the middle of Acts 15, they’re at cross purposes over the spiritual fitness of a young guy named John Mark, and “the contention became so sharp that they parted from one another. And so Barnabas took Mark and sailed to Cyprus.” (Acts 15:39 NKJV)

Wait, what?

Galatians 2 finds Paul recounting a sermonette he gave to Barnabas as well as Peter and James, the heads of the church who had known Jesus personally, giants of the faith whom Paul had just met. Paul gave them all grief for refusing to sit at the Gentile table for fear of some illustrious Jewish visitors. Then, he had the nerve to air that dirty laundry before the whole Galatian church.

There’s more. In 1 Timothy 2:19-20, Paul calls out Hymenaeus and Alexander for blasphemy. In 2 Timothy 2:17, Hymenaeus (again) and Philetus for “profane and idle babblings.” In 2 Timothy 1:15, Phygellus, Hermogenes, and “everyone from the province of Asia” for desertion (NLT), and in 4:10, Demas who “loves the things of this world” for the same. In 4:14-15, Paul says Alexander the coppersmith “did me much harm.” And, in Titus 1:10-16, Paul repeats some ugly gossip about Cretan brothers in the faith.

Yet Paul and Barnabas seem to have reconciled (Paul mentions Barnabas as a colleague in 1 Corinthians 9:6 and Colossians 4:10), as did Paul and John Mark (2 Timothy 4:11). In Philemon 10-18, Paul recounts his change of heart concerning Onesimus, who “once was unprofitable”, possibly a thief, but is now “my son”.

What’s the difference between Barnabas and Hymenaeus? Between Onesimus and Alexander the coppersmith?

For that matter, what about the guy who started all of this — Jesus? What about His treatment of the other thief on the cross, the one who kept mocking Him (Luke 23:39-43)? Where were the seventy times seven (Matthew 18:21-22) for that guy?

After Paul was sentenced to prison in Rome, “[W]e went toward Rome. And from there, when the brethren heard about us, they came to meet us as far as Appii Forum and Three Inns. When Paul saw them, he thanked God and took courage. Now when we came to Rome, the centurion delivered the prisoners to the captain of the guard; but Paul was permitted to dwell by himself with the soldier who guarded him.

“Then Paul dwelt two whole years in his own rented house, and received all who came to him, preaching the kingdom of God and teaching the things which concern the Lord Jesus Christ with all confidence, no one forbidding him.” (Acts 28:14-16, 30-31 NKJV)

How does a guy who’s so uncompromising have so many friends? How does a guy who’s always breaking up with people get so much love?

So, where’s the risen Christ, you may ask. What do baby animals, pastel colors, and candy have to do with Him? Historically? Nothing. Spiritually? Everything.

Christ died so that we wouldn’t have to be suffocated by religious rules like, say, the one that says pagan fertility symbols like eggs and bunnies were folded into Christian tradition to entice converts from the pagan camp. The one that says if we decorate with those symbols, we’re pagan, too, and the truth is not in us.

Jesus died in part so that we could say an egg is just an egg and a bunny is just a cute little rabbit that hasn’t chewed up the garden. He died so that we could understand that Easter traditions are lawful and discern, on a case-by-case basis, whether they are edifying. (1 Corinthians 10:23). He died and rose again to remove from us the curse of eternal death, which we may commemorate with earthly symbols of new life.

It is for freedom, especially in insignificant matters such as these, that Christ set us free. Happy, happy Easter, most of all because He is risen.

The Pharisees will not like this post, not today of all Days. But God has never been a fan of tradition at the expense of His will (Amos 5:21-26). Today, God’s will is for me to serve my very tiny flock with this. On the surface, this post has nothing to do with Good Friday. Then again, it has everything to do with it.

“O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” (Matthew 26:39 KJV)

Even Jesus feared something, something that caused Him to beg in those final hours for His Father and ours to alter a course of events that had been set in motion “from the foundation of the world.” (Revelation 13:8)

Instead, His Father and ours abandoned Jesus on the cross for six agonizing hours. So that He would never have to abandon us.

And yet we fear.

Remember what I said last time about wanting something so desperately for so long that we’re afraid to ask God for or about it? That’s likely the thing we fear most.

There’s more than a little bit of confusion, hurt, resentment, and even PTSD mixed up with the fear. This thing, whatever it is for us, is something that others acquire with ease — and there is always someone close to us who does it with ease.

It blesses them beyond measure, even though they may be petty, dishonest, and hateful in other venues. In fact, our PTSD kicks in when the area of our most crushing defeat blesses someone else with sweet victory. Again. And sometimes in the wake of another of our spectacular failures. “What just happened here?” we ask ourselves.

I get so very tired of asking myself, “What just happened here?” after I’ve worked and worked to make it come out right, don’t you? Even if you’re not generally obsessed with crossing your t’s and dotting your i’s, you’re zealous about it here. The old demons won’t win this time, you promise yourself, and that’s the biggest failure of all.

You lapse into behaviors you thought you’d outgrown. You fight tooth and nail to overcome. Once again you are covered with shame. You want to win, once and for all, so you say, “Never again.” It becomes your motto, your crusade, your life.

You walk the road to Damascus, breathing murder over your fondest hopes. “Never again,” when Jesus appears and says — commands, really — “Again!”

You tell Him no. In His glory you tell Him no. He didn’t die so that you could, at long last, have life more abundantly on the stage of your greatest defeat.

You crucify Him all over again. Still, in His shame, He comes to you. “Again,” He rasps, and it is no less a command coming through parched and blood-caked lips.

If you want to conquer your fears of public performance, even of this charade — and that is how you think of it — don’t imagine the audience in their underwear. Instead, imagine them failing in the one area where you succeed so admirably.

Then what? Love them? Of course you love them, and that’s often the way you distract yourself from obeying the first and greatest commandment to love God over and above all others, above your fears and your failures.

You worship, you praise, you give thanks, you pray daily, you post Christian memes in the face of constant anon hate. If that’s not loving God, what is?

“If you love Me, keep My commandments.” (Jesus, in John 14:15 NKJV)

It has been God’s intention for you to succeed all along, but in this thing, as long as you keep trying to succeed by your own power, you will fail, even if you refuse to try again. Especially if you refuse to try again.

Your testimony will not be that you’re a success, but that you are a failure and He’s a success. Your purpose is not to get your critics, your haters, your patronizers, and your Job’s comforters to admire you. It’s to inspire them to follow Him, to walk in His steps, to do what He did. To come and die.

“Most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain. He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” (John 12:24-25 NKJV)

It turns out that what you call life, this steadfast refusal to claim the treasure that everyone else finds so easily and holds so loosely, is no life at all. It turns out that the greatest thing in life is yours only if you die.

Is it worth dying to your fears, your shame, your failures, your critics, and your self-criticism? Is it worth being used by the Most High God to show a thing or two to those who love you most ardently, those who hate you most blindingly?

Skip the service tonight if you have to. The Pharisees will be there next week, next month, next year. Turn your back on Damascus and set your face toward Jerusalem.

Say yes.