Pharisees

Jesus In Me, The Hope of Glory

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“It is no good giving me a play like Hamlet or King Lear, and telling me to write a play like that. Shakespeare could do it — I can’t. And it is no good showing me a life like the life of Jesus and telling me to live a life like that. Jesus could do it — I can’t. But if the genius of Shakespeare could come and live in me, then I could write plays like this. And if the Spirit of Jesus could come into me, then I could live a life like that. This is the secret of Christian sanctity. It is not that we should strive to live like Jesus, but that he by his Spirit should come and live in us. To have him as our example is not enough; we need him as our Saviour” (John R. W. Stott).

We miss the point when we make the Christian faith a matter of behavior modification or merely championing causes. It’s not about following rules or fighting for the right social injustice. It’s about being transformed by the indwelling Christ.

That’s what I need. I need Jesus to live in me and to live through me because I can’t live like Jesus on my own. I can’t be holy as God calls me to be holy. But Jesus can. My righteousness can’t exceed that of the Scribes and Pharisees (or anyone else for that matter), but Jesus’ righteousness exceeds them all and His righteousness is now my righteousness if He is in me.

So I don’t need more self-help books. I don’t need more Bible studies. I don’t need more Christian events. I don’t need more coffee (but I sure would like more). I need Jesus. That’s it. That’s all. Just Jesus.

It’s Friday But Sunday’s Comin’!

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I can’t remember a lot of what I’ve done in the last week or so, but I can still remember a sermon from Tony Campolo that I heard when I was a student at Union University way back in the early 90s. It was close to Easter that year, and I seem to remember we were getting ready to go on our spring break.

I remember the sermon was based on the text by an old black preacher named S. M. Lockridge with the refrain of “It’s Friday . . . but Sunday’s comin’!”

The gist is that Friday was when everything looked hopeless. Jesus was dead and buried. The Pharisees and other religious leaders were celebrating. The disciples were crushed and defeated. But Sunday and the empty tomb were just ahead, unbeknownst to those who were witnesses to the events on Friday.

Here’s the text from the original sermon that set my world on fire:

“It’s Friday. Jesus is arrested in the garden where He was praying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The disciples are hiding and Peter’s denying that he knows the Lord. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is standing before the high priest of Israel, silent as a lamb before the slaughter. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is beaten, mocked, and spit upon. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Those Roman soldiers are flogging our Lord with a leather scourge that has bits of bones and glass and metal, tearing at his flesh. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The Son of man stands firm as they press the crown of thorns down into his brow. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. See Him walking to Calvary, the blood dripping from His body. See the cross crashing down on His back as He stumbles beneath the load. It’s Friday; but Sunday’s a coming.

It’s Friday. See those Roman soldiers driving the nails into the feet and hands of my Lord. Hear my Jesus cry, “Father, forgive them.” It’s Friday; but Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, bloody and dying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The sky grows dark, the earth begins to tremble, and He who knew no sin became sin for us. Holy God, who will not abide with sin, pours out His wrath on that perfect sacrificial lamb who cries out, “My God, My God. Why hast thou forsaken me?” What a horrible cry. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. And at the moment of Jesus’ death, the veil of the Temple that separates sinful man from Holy God was torn from the top to the bottom because Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, heaven is weeping and hell is partying. But that’s because it’s Friday, and they don’t know it, but Sunday’s a coming.

And on that horrible day 2,000 years ago, Jesus the Christ, the Lord of glory, the only begotten Son of God, the only perfect man, died on the cross of Calvary. Satan thought that he had won the victory. Surely he had destroyed the Son of God. Finally he had disproved the prophecy God had uttered in the Garden and the one who was to crush his head had been destroyed. But that was Friday.

Now it’s Sunday. And just about dawn on that first day of the week, there was a great earthquake. But that wasn’t the only thing that was shaking, because now it’s Sunday.

And the angel of the Lord is coming down out of heaven and rolling the stone away from the door of the tomb.

Yes, it’s Sunday, and the angel of the Lord is sitting on that stone. And the guards posted at the tomb to keep the body from disappearing were shaking in their boots, because it’s Sunday. And the lamb that was silent before the slaughter is now the resurrected lion from the tribe of Judah, for He is not here, the angel says. He is risen indeed.

It’s Sunday, and the crucified and resurrected Christ has defeated death, hell, sin, and the grave. It’s Sunday. And now everything has changed. It’s the age of grace, God’s grace poured out on all who would look to that crucified lamb of Calvary. Grace freely given to all who would believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross of Calvary was buried and rose again. All because it’s Sunday.

It’s Friiidaaaay!

But Sunday’s coming!” (S. M. Lockridge, With Thanks to Dr. Michael G. Davis for the text version).

A Mind Blowing Act of Service

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I went to the movies again. This time, I watched The Chosen episodes 4-6 of season 4. As usual, it was incredible and moving. I won’t post any spoilers in case those reading haven’t made it to the theater or are waiting for the episodes to hit streaming.

One fascinating character that had increased prominence in these episodes was Judas Iscariot, masterfully portrayed by Luke Dimyan. He captures all the nuances of the disciple most known for betraying Jesus.

I know I just said that I wouldn’t post spoilers, but this one is in the Bible, folks. It’s not like anyone who has had even a passing knowledge of Scripture and the Gospels doesn’t know who Judas Iscariot is. I know you know the phrase “Judas’ kiss” referring to the act that identified Jesus to the ones who arrested Jesus.

I was reminded of the night where Jesus instituted Communion, or the Lord’s Supper, and started off by washing the disciples’ feet. The part that struck me particularly was where Jesus washed the feet of Judas Iscariot.

It blows my mind that Jesus washed the feet of the very one who was to betray Him, knowing full well that Judas had it in his heart to betray his Rabbi and Messiah. I remember the quote that said that the true test of discipleship isn’t as much about loving Jesus as it is loving Judas.

Jesus wasn’t speaking in abstract theory when He talked about loving your enemies. He had very specific individuals in mind, including some of the Pharisees and Scribes and Judas himself. Jesus spoke from a very real place where people were actively seeking to destroy His ministry and end His life.

Jesus never calls any of us to do anything He was unwilling to do. When He calls us to forgive those who hurt us and love our enemies, we can remember that Jesus forgave the very ones who killed Him as they were in the very act of murdering Him. And now we have the Spirit of Jesus living in us to enable us to live out everything that Jesus commands of us.

My mind is officially and completely blown.

Your Identity

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Tonight, Mike Glenn spoke from Matthew 22:34-40. Those wacky Pharisees were at it again, trying to trap Jesus through one of their questions.

“Teacher,” they asked. “Which  commandment in the law is the greatest?”

As usual, Jesus saw through their smokescreen and gave a brilliant answer. Love God with everything that’s in you and love your neighbor as yourself.

For years, I never really thought about the “as yourself” part of the command. But for you to truly love others as God would have you to, you have to love yourself. It goes against a lot of what we’ve been taught about how loving yourself is wrong and prideful.

Loving yourself is simply seeing yourself the way God does.

Mike talked about how when God created you, He said, “It is very good.” Imagine a world-class chef tasting his own masterpiece and declaring, ‘Ahhhh, it is verrrry gooood” and you have an idea of what this means.

God looked at you and was pleased. He didn’t shrug His shoulders and say something like “Eh, close enough.” He said you were very good.”

Mike went on to say that when you find your identity not in what your enemies or friends or even you say about you but what God truly says about you, it changes the way you live. It changes the way you love yourself, others, and– ultimately– God.

That’s something that I’m still learning, but I’m to the point where I have days where I see myself as the Beloved of God and let that be what defines me. And those days are becoming more and more frequent.

So let me remind you once again. You are not your spotty resume. You are not your latest failed marriage. You are not the guy who’s still trying to find himself and still not having a clue about who he is. You are not whatever failures or  fiascos you’ve had in the past.

You have worth because you were created in the image of God and then prized highly enough for God to send Jesus to die on your behalf. You are the Beloved.

 

Quotes I Love Part One

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I think this says it all.

“WE CAN SAY THAT the story of the Resurrection means simply that the teachings of Jesus are immortal like the plays of Shakespeare or the music of Beethoven and that their wisdom and truth will live on forever. Or we can say that the Resurrection means that the spirit of Jesus is undying, that he himself lives on among us, the way that Socrates does, for instance, in the good that he left behind him, in the lives of all who follow his great example. Or we can say that the language in which the Gospels describe the Resurrection of Jesus is the language of poetry and that, as such, it is not to be taken literally but as pointing to a truth more profound than the literal.

Very often, I think, this is the way that the Bible is written, and I would point to some of the stories about the birth of Jesus, for instance, as examples; but in the case of the Resurrection, this simply does not apply because there really is no story about the Resurrection in the New Testament. Except in the most fragmentary way, it is not described at all. There is no poetry about it. Instead, it is simply proclaimed as a fact. Christ is risen! In fact, the very existence of the New Testament itself proclaims it. Unless something very real indeed took place on that strange, confused morning, there would be no New Testament, no Church, no Christianity.

Yet we try to reduce it to poetry anyway: the coming of spring with the return of life to the dead earth, the rebirth of hope in the despairing soul. We try to suggest that these are the miracles that the Resurrection is all about, but they are not. In their way they are all miracles, but they are not this miracle, this central one to which the whole Christian faith points.

Unlike the chief priests and the Pharisees, who tried with soldiers and a great stone to make themselves as secure as they could against the terrible possibility of Christ’s really rising again from the dead, we are considerably more subtle. We tend in our age to say, ‘Of course, it was bound to happen. Nothing could stop it.’ But when we are pressed to say what it was that actually did happen, what we are apt to come out with is something pretty meager: this ‘miracle’ of truth that never dies, the ‘miracle’ of a life so beautiful that two thousand years have left the memory of it undimmed, the ‘miracle’ of doubt turning into faith, fear into hope. If I believed that this or something like this was all that the Resurrection meant, then I would turn in my certificate of ordination and take up some other profession. Or at least I hope that I would have the courage to” (Frederick Buechner).

-Originally published in The Alphabet of Grace

DIY Christianity

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diy

I am a fan of Do It Yourself. I’m not that handy myself, but I admire those people who are. I just don’t personally think it’s such a good fit when it comes to faith.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for a better marriage, better job, better parents, and better health. But that’s not all there is.

At the heart of Christianity isn’t about a better me, but a brand new me. That’s borrowed from a friend of mine who said it better than I just did.

At the heart of Christianity is another five-step program or 12 steps to get a better life. What Jesus calls me to isn’t humanly possible. The faith he calls me to requires a righteousness that exceeds that of the Pharisees. It means laying down my rights and ultimately, my life. It means being perfect as God is perfect.

I believe that Christianity isn’t something I do, but something that’s done in me. The big two-dollar words for that process are sanctification and transformation. It’s what Jesus does in me.

I’m not saying I sit back and do nothing. I bring to the table a willing spirit, a cultivated heart, and an engaged mind. I bring sacrifice and surrender. I bring me.

Until I see that my faith is bigger than me and my well-being, I’m not seeing the big picture, which is God’s glory. The endgame of my faith is God receiving as much glory as possible. Fortunately for me, his glory equals my greatest good. It’s a win-win.

If someone comes up to me claiming to have every aspect of faith and belief figured out, I have to wonder. Even though I may sometimes act like I’ve got my Christianity neatly packaged into tidy little compartments, I really don’t. I’m still figuring it all out.

That’s why we have the Church. It’s a place where we figure it out together. In the end, we can’t live the faith alone, which is why we need each other. We can’t live out the faith out of our own strength, which is why we still need Jesus.

Hopefully, this made as much sense to you as it did in my head when I was typing this all out.

Or, to put it this way, “Did you get all that?”