Not Good Enough

That’s exactly what I am.

See, in class, Mr. Bryant touched on the concept of grace vs. works when we discussed such atonement theories as Moral Influence and Christus Victor. He wanted to show us how a Christianity rooted not in the concept of paid debt, but of new moral strength and motivation thrived for over a thousand years. He referred us to Matthew 25:31-46:

    “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

“Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

We were then asked if we would like our salvation to be hinged upon this, if we would be comfortable with believing that what we have or have not done unto those need will determine whether we recieve eternal life or eternal death. He went for a show of hands, and I can tell you no even dared stretch.

So if your question is why not, Mr. Bryant, I have a very simple answer for you. I’m not good enough.

If that’s all you need, then really, this blogpost can end right there, because if this is what everything hinges on, I don’t have it in me. Not with those stakes. And truly, how could I know my fate? Where is the line drawn between enough people saved for eternal life and just missing the cutoff by giving that one man some food? We can’t know that. None could know they were saved. Life is eternal doubt and fear, generosity born of nothing but the sheer horror of hell’s flames. Does one who gives in order to be saved qualify as a cheerful giver? I have no answer to these questions. But I know that I wouldn’t make it.

And yet, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself here. I read and reread that passage more times than I can count, and finally I realized something. Look again at the first few verses:

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.”

The sheep have all helped those in need, and ultimately done so for Christ, while among the goats no such claims can be found. And yet Christ defines the sheep as “you who are blessed by the Father” who have an “inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world”. The sheep are metaphorical children of God, ones who recieve his inheritance and blessing. This is all established before Christ ever identifies them by their works.

And it is in this that I realize this passage follows the same careful balance the entire New Testament does. It is only through the work of Christ and the grace of God that our place as His children, His sheep, His saved is secured. And yet the works that follow, the compassion, the determination to do as Christ did, deny yourself in favor of others’ well-being will be the result, the evidence of your salvation and grace’s work in your life.

It is with this realization that I find strength to do what is right and good, to take long strides, to soar higher toward Him because I know His grace will be there to catch me when I may fall.

I’m not good enough. But thank God that my Shepherd is.

 

(sorry for the shorter post guys, let me know if I missed anything)

One Shot

Hey guys, you’ll never guess what this post is. Yup, another one of those where I have zero answers to anything.

Welcome to the quality blog.

Anyway, time to look like a real-deal teenage guy, here. See, I’ve got some buddies who are real Modern Warfare 3 fans (a popular first person shooter), and so, despite not even owning an Xbox, I can’t help but pick up some of their lingo. Oddly enough, Hebrews 6:4-6 brought some of that vernacular to mind. Before I delve into that  dark and button mashing place, though, take a look at the passage for yourself.

It is impossible for those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, who have shared in the Holy Spirit, who have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the coming age and who have fallen away, to be brought back to repentance. To their loss they are crucifying the Son of God all over again and subjecting him to public disgrace. -Hebrews 6:4-6

Paul has said that we are alive in Christ because we were first crucified and slain in Him. But in light of this passage, it sounds like a twisted game of One in the Chamber. Bam, gamer speak when you least expected it. What, I hear you say, O reader, is One in the Chamber?

Quite what it sounds like, really. Its a way Modern Warfare can be played, in which each player gets one shot- literally. Every player starts with a single bullet in their weapon. This means that, when you encounter an opponent, you get a single chance. To me, Hebrews seems to be calling our conversion the exact same thing, with a hint of metaphorical Russian roulette thrown in. If Paul tells us that sharing in Christ’s victory requires our own spiritual death to the world, Hebrews 6:4-6 goes and flips the game mode right over to One in the Chamber. You have to die to the world, and you get a single shot at it. Better hope it lasts you all the way to Heaven.

If you’re saying “Whoa, wait, but-” at this point, then I’m with you. In fact, we’re saying the same thing. If I were a breakout pop singer with strep throat and the words “Whoa, wait, but” were the lyrics to my smash single, I’d be lipsyncing your very words at every concert- yet not even the most skeptical critics would realize. In short, I feel exactly the same way, because, in my mind, this causes a whole host of problems, and raises just as many questions. What if a teenager accepts Christ, but then leaves it all behind in college? Is he damned to hell? Is the other kid lounging beside him who has invested himself in every breed of debauchery since childhood in a better position than he is because his college roomy once believed in Christ and can now never return to that deliverance? That college student sounds a whole lot like the prodigal son, who was welcomed back home. Jesus was the master Teacher, the master Storyteller, and most of all, God Himself- even if you say the tale refers only to a sinner’s first return to a loving and waiting God, would His analogy be so weak? Would the Rabbi agree that, if the prodigal’s old instincts ever came back to haunt him and took control, if he ran off once more and got a mere two days off before returning, realizing his mistake, that the father who once so joyfully welcomed him would now disown him, passively watch as he pleaded forgiveness, even as he slowly starved and finally died? How is the repentance of one who has lived all their life in ignorant sin a cause for joy in Heaven while a fallen Christian searching for forgiveness and a second chance is a ‘disgrace’? Would the God who demanded we forgive 7 x 70 times stop after 1? What do we do with this?

The most I can say is we really don’t know how to define “being enlightened, etc” and “falling away”. Would our college kid partying it up have fit the bill Hebrews charges for Christianity? Would his “falling away” at college be a testament to the fact that he truly never was all the things Hebrews describes? Or perhaps he was a Christian from his first confession, and his Godless debauchery is not truly “falling away” but a pattern of sin, a bad stumble in a much longer walk? And even more importantly, how can we know? Also, I have to wonder, how does this speak into election and effectual calling? Because Hebrews seems to imply that there will be people who, for a time, truly are living in the sacrifice of Christ, filled with the Holy Spirit, in short, children of God, who will actually not reach Heaven. If all who accept the sacrifice of God are actually chosen by Him, called up and out only through His will and power, if man has no actual say in his salvation, then what is to be made of the fact that the real mark of God’s elect can apparently be so easily destroyed, cast off, and made null?

So do you want answers? Do want the truth?

 

…Well, so do I. (and you thought I was about to say you couldn’t handle it)

 

Make It Interesting?

[Good grief Mr. Bryant, you've gone and forced me to do this. (It DOES actually have an applicable point. Uh, I think.)] [Oh, and, see bottom of post for a glossary of terms!]

“With the highest of respect, sir, perhaps you should reconsider.”

“There is nothing to consider, Droit, and I suggest you remember your place as Dextereaux.”

Brass Droit breathed deeply into the wet night air, staring out at the cool dusk that slowly whispered by the carriage lanterns, as he attempted to reason with the young aristocrat wedged into the cab’s far corner, leaving not only a chill of disagreement but a good three feet of space between them. Exasperation and disappointment held his gaze to the window, but for all the world he could not hold his tongue. “My office as your Dexter is exactly why I cannot remain silent.”

“Your office demands your loyalty to me. I hardly see how a betrayal like this fits your job description, Brass.” The response faltered only slightly, but the Dexter forced himself to look at the boy, because truly, for all the black of his coat and the black of his hair and the shining black of his shoes, Auxiliator Florence Abalto XII was only a boy of 15- a boy who really shouldn’t have to the bear the cumbersome title his similarly bothersome ancestry demanded. The older man softened.

“I should have waited for a chance to talk to you privately, Jack-” He had always called him Jack, because how in the bloody bogs does one banter around ‘Florence’ is typical conversation-”I realize my mistake now, and I’m sorry. This only puts you in a more dangerous situation.” He paused, even as Jack mirthlessly laughed, as if to say he already knew all too well the extent of that danger. “But,” Droit went on, both sympathy and apology now gone from his voice, “you should have granted the Vallisades’ request.”

“They are my people,” came the almost sullen response, “and I have never done them any wrong.”

“Folly and trespass are not always actions.”

“And that is supposed to mean?”

“It isn’t always what you do, Jack, it’s what you don’t do.”

“So I really am to let them all go? Leave and go who knows where? You always speak of gaining respect with the other Rooks, Brass, but then you start telling me to eliminate even my own chances of survival!  If I abandon even what land is rightfully mine, how can you expect-”

“But it isn’t rightfully yours, can’t you see that?” The Dextereaux nearly shouted, and the valley rains began a quiet percussion on the thin windows. The sound might have filled the sudden silence almost pleasantly, if it weren’t for the tension in the air, or the dark glares of both man and boy. Long seconds later: “I’ve always said you were the only reasonable Abalto I ever met, Jack, don’t make me take that back. You haven’t done a thing to the people you now call your own, of course! We both know that. But we both know what your great-grandfather did do. Lord Florence Abalto IX, Baron of the Highlands in the ‘Du’senex, posthumously titled High Auxiliator of Vallis by his son and successor, and most importantly, a raving madman and blackest sinner. He carved out bloody miles of this continent , slaughtering until the survivors surrendered to his reign. The fact that he’s named the place Vallis and died doesn’t change the simple fact that the land belongs to the Vallisades. Not us. I won’t blame your ancestors’ sins on you, Jack. But,” the man lowered his voice, silently thankful that Jack’s gaze finally held his own, “I will hold you accountable for your refusal to right their wrongs. And, more importantly, I fear the Maker will too.”

Only the rain spoke, then, for quite some time. Applause or death march, it was impossible to say, but still it played on the windows, the roof, the sodden lowlands of Vallis spread beneath the darkness in every direction. Finally, Jack spoke.

“Where would we go to? ‘Du’senex is ashes, or close, by now.”

“We could stay, you know, if they would let us. One can live among others without ruling them, Jack. I realize we can’t fix everything. One rarely can. But I pray that never stops you or I doing what we can, with-” he smiled the true smile of a Dexter, “-caution and awareness.”

Jack grinned back, despite himself, at his adviser’s cautionary instincts, the words identical to those he heard almost daily since taking head of the Rook. They might have provoked bored indifference any other time, but now, so forcibly imposed into an otherwise bold rebuke, they broke the tension, at the very least. They didn’t change his decision though.

“Alright.” Without stopping to read the man’s face, he threw the carriage door open, pulling himself from the corner of the bench and leaning out into the rain, he called up to the sodden driver to turn the carriage around.

There would be a lot to figure out, but by the Maker there always had been. The Dexter allowed himself to fall back into his seat. Might as well get comfortable. To turn around now would mean quite a wait. But to him, the swears of the driver were far sweeter than even the music of the rain, because, for all the uncertainty, they were finally moving in the right direction.

[So in case you didn't really catch it, this is all to say that sin isn't just doing something wrong, personally. Sometimes its allowing evil, or failing to do good. Sadly, its rarely clean cut. Sometimes avoidance of one sin leads straight into the waiting jaws of another, or at the very least, it can. God does not judge someone for the sins of their fathers, but those sins often leave them with a unique set of their own to deal with. Maybe that's a big part of what it means to be a fallen human being. No matter what we do, sometimes, every option leads us into wrong-doing. Sometimes we sin without ever personally doing wrong. But its important that we acknowledge our brokenness, its important we try to understand it, because if Christ died to free us from sin, we sure better do our best to know what it is.]

[GLOSSARY OF TERMS]

Auxiliator- loosely translated as “helper”, it was a title made common among the first aristocrats and warlords who set up Rooks in the Mundu’nova, because of their supposed role as educators and settlers. The title was once simply a name for those who journeyed to the Mundu’nova, but eventually became a title for the rulers of Rooks in the culture that arose there as contact was lost with Mundu’senex.

Dextereaux- loosely translated as “he who stands to the right” in Mundu’senex, it is a type of adviser/personal guardian employed by Auxiliators. Frequently known simply as Dexters, Dextereaux typically work in areas of social matters, diplomacy, and in-house affairs within their Rook. They are typically contrasted by a Sinistreaux (he who stands on the left), who handles the hiring of mercenaries, policing, subterfuge, and other military affairs, though an Auxiliator may choose to only employ one or the other. Both types of advisers are the only members of a Rook not actually related by blood to the family, and can be anything ranging from favored slaves, to hired foreigners, to members of a friendly Rook.

‘Du’senex- see Mundu’senex [place].

Mundu’nova- a continent, one of two known by the civilized world, and now the only home for that civilization. It was once all a frontier, where empires vied for resources, luxuries, land, and power through Rooks, but after the Eschaton, slowly became its own world, a warground for both the Rooks of Mundu’senex and the many cultures native to the land. The name given to it by the settlers from Mundu’senex, however uncreative, means “new place”.

Mundu’senex [language]- language of the ancient culture dwelling in the continent of the same name, that gave rise to the many nations and cultures of the recent past.

Mundu’senex [place]- cradle of civilization, and long ago dominated by culture with a language of the same name, the title roughly translates to “hallowed place” or “ancient place”, it was home to most of the known world’s population until, in a mysterious event known as the Eschaton, the entire continent ceased communication with the colonies. Any and all voyages back have never returned since, and it has become widely degarded as totally razed.

Rook- an aristocratic family, all related to varying degrees, with proximity to the Rook’s original Auxiliator’s direct geneology determining standing within the clan. A Rook is an ethnic, political, and military entity. They are the only trace of Mundu’senex in the new world, and possibly the only of their ethnicity still alive, and as such, each defends their bloodline with ferocity and pride. Each includes both an Auxiliator, flanked by such advisers as Dextereaux and Sinistreaux, and a registry, or group of armed men, ranging in numbers from a personal guard to a standing army. Other members flesh out many widely ranging roles and occupations within the Rook. A Rook is generally too small to act as a self-sufficient community, but is powerful enough to subject various territories to its rule, thereby securing food and other necessary resources, causing them to struggle against each other constantly for control of these territories.

Vallis- the wet low-lands and bogs held by the Abalta Rook since its founding in Mundu’nova.

Vallisades- those native to Vallis.

Lose the Luggage

I once met a man who played the saxophone. Its a strange way to define someone, a human being with a heart and soul, but I can’t say I know his name. Sometimes I wish I did. And so, sadly, the only way I can identify him was by what he did. That said, I might be tempted to call him a magician rather than a musician, becomes the notes he pulled from his instrument were magic.

Was we a proffesional performer? Was he a student of the greats? Was his saxaphone of the finest quality?

No, no, and no. He wasn’t even in a band. In fact, he was all alone. His clothes were dirty, his tennis shoes dull with age. He played not in a concert hall, but right beside entrance B to the O’hare airport, only a couple yards from the cold air of the massive concrete parking garage. The cold click of shoes was his only applause.

His playing was not flawless or proffesional, yet every note mingled with the mechanical passersby. Stiff shoulders relaxed beneath suit coats and winter coats, as his music worked a wonder no small talk or smile could. Fixed stares become roving gazes, brisk strides casual steps. Every time he took a run into the high register or fell back into the rich beat, it would echo into the sterile, white halls, roll over the rivers of white tile, and bounce around a thousand feet in a thousand fine, black, dress shoes. His notes were life, and they brought the same to a very loud, very busy, very dead place. I’d just walked past countless people, and of all those people, only one looked me in the eye.

The man playing the saxophone.

Beneath his feet lay a few dollars, crumpled in his instrument case like fall’s first leaves, and I realized that what I saw of this man was likely most -if not all- of what he could call his own. Ripped jeans, old Nikes, t-shirt, baseball cap, saxophone, a grocery bag of clothes, five dollars and assorted change. All around him were business men in fine suits, staring intently at their Blackberries, women in fine, warm coats, pricey shoes on their feet, teens in Northface jackets with iPods and cellphones in their pockets. All carried luggage, to last for days or weeks, all returned to homes with heating, washers, dryers, warm water, several bedrooms, a host of appliances, sports equipment, one, two, three TVs, internet access, laptops, desktops, iPads, a garage housing hybrids or SUVs or sportscars. And still each held more mony in bank accounts of all kinds. This man stood with everything he owned in his hands, thrown over his shoulders, and around his feet. The passersby would be loath to lose their luggage, belongings for travel that cost more than everything the man playing the saxophone owned. And it was only a fraction of their wealth.

They looked cold, distant, disinterested, bored, miserable. Everyone stared into the cold blue of a handheld device as if maybe there they could find something worth smiling about.

He grinned around the reed, adding something beautiful to the white hall ringed with winter cold and the smell of gasoline.

And in that moment, as I stooped beside him to drop in what money I could, I realized something. As I straightened, as he smiled, as he called “Thank you!” in a voice that was real and with words that mattered and carried the thoughts of one human heart to another, I realize realized that even though compared to them, he owned nothing,  he truly had something they could never hope to find. He had everything that mattered. They had everything that didn’t.

Mary and Zachariah are both recorded as reacting with prophetic songs of worship after learning of their children’s births from the mouths of angels. Each just breaks into this reaction of joy and hope, an overflowing of what their hearts told them. They both had a lot to say about the poor, the needy, those who found nothing in the world, and both seemed convinced that they would be at the heart of what was starting in the small, arid countryside of Judea. These are the parents that would be raising John and Jesus, teaching them some of their earliest theology. The Bible tells us that Jesus “grew in stature and wisdom”, implying there were things that his parents really did teach Him. It shows, when Jesus stands to teach in a synagogue as His ministry begins.

“When he came to the village of Nazareth, his boyhood home, he went as usual to the synagogue on the Sabbath and stood up to read the Scriptures. The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where this was written: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for he has anointed me to bring Good News to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free, and that the time of the Lord’s favor has come.’” (Luke 4:16-19) Jesus essentially makes a mission statement that a big part of His ministry is about the poor. Those who haven’t found what they’re looking for in this world, because they have nothing.

There’s more than just that, though. See, here in America, we have sickening ammounts of money, while at least half the world is on the brink of starvation. We wonder what the church in America might be doing wrong? Look at the huge projectors, the massive sanctuaries, the fine architexture, look at the nice homes, the sporty cars, the iPads, the iPods, the computers, the TVs the absolute MOUNTAINS OF USELESS WORDLY CRAP. And then look at the half of humanity that subsists on about 2 dollars a day. I’m guilty of this. So sickeningly guilt of this. I write this to you from a laptop with a two hundred dollar graphics tablet sitting on the desk beside it and an iPod in a dock beside that. An electric keyboard stands behind my plush office chair in my own room with a made bed in a warm house. See, Jesus didn’t just say he was going to raise up the poor.

“Looking at his disciples, he said:

‘Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, when they exclude you and insult you    and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.

‘But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort. Woe to you who are well fed now, for you will go hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.’” (Luke 6:20-26)

Reading that, I feel a cold conviction crawl at my heart. Listening to Mr. Bryant’s lecture I felt the same. And its exactly what I felt as I walked away from the man who played the saxophone. Woe to you. To hear that come from the mouth of Jesus Christ, and know that truly, you fit the bill? There are few things more chilling.

And so, I know we can’t all just ditch everything as followers of Christ. But let’s get rid of whatever might start to take the effort, the love, the attention that we should reserve strictly for others, and God. I’m not saying let’s burn down the house, but let’s at least do some serious spring cleaning. Why would Jesus single out the poor as being at the heart of what He was all about?

My best guess is that its because the world hasn’t pulled them in. They have nothing that doesn’t matter. He wants to give them everything that does. Truly, if God sees the heart he knows that all the wealth coursing through the cold veins of that airport couldn’t touch the joy in the music of the man playing the saxophone.

So maybe, just maybe, we could learn that material things really don’t matter. And though we aren’t selling everything and hitting the streets, let’s realize, both you, blog reader, and me, that there’s a whole lot we could afford to part with.

Let’s be a little bit more like the man playing the saxophone.

We’re Going Down

We are.

You really think the Fall was Adam and Eve chewing on some fruit?

No. It was much more than that. It was man, looking at his Father, straight in the eye, and saying, “No. I don’t need you. I can be you.”

And it had begun.

See, if God is total perfection, then suddenly, we weren’t. We were the antithesis of perfect. One sin placed us totally seperate from God. That’s why we call Him holy, I guess. “Set apart”.

But like I said, it gets better.

We were only warming up. Cain didn’t only reject God. He hated his brother for loving Him. He hated God’s holiness. And it filled him with the same black wrath that had welled up in the heart of the archangel Satan himself.  It filled him, it twisted him, and it controlled him. And he struck his brother down. Call it morbid interest maybe, but I have to wonder, what would be like to be so filled with rage that you did something you didn’t even know about- to initiate violence when you didn’t even know it existed. What would it be like? Did he use his bare hands, or a tool? Did he hesitate when he saw the red, or heard the screams? Did he even know he could end his brother’s life? And more chillingly- did he even care?

Many legends call Cain the father of all monsters. In a way, you could say they were right. We destroy men, women, even children all the time now. No one’s suprised by the long list of fatalities that crawl across their TV screens anymore. We recognize it as wrong, sure. But some aren’t stopped by that. Most of the rest are used to it.

Cain was nothing compared to what would follow him. Families, clans, states, races, empires, continents, all living and breathing and reveling in their own unceasing debauchery, because mankind has done what the cosmos couldn’t fathom:

gone

against

God

And we have made ourselves evil, a total violation of everything God is. He is HOLY. And yet we oppose him with every passing moment, existing by His own goodness, His own provision, as His creations. The closest example I can think of is a son that curses and disgraces His parents constantly, insulting them, hurting them, all the while ungrateful depending on their own provision to avoid ending up in the streets. And yet, even here, the abuse is not literally constant and manifold. The parents themselves are not perfect. And the child’s dependance is not total. In our situation, it is, He is, and we are, respectively.

By our abuse of everything He is, does for us, and made us to be, we totally violate His holiness, his perfection. It is a wound that cannot be undone, finite acts infinitely shattering perfection and total justice.

When we try to percieve ourselves from God’s perspective, it would be unjust to punish an act with eternal implications, an act that violates an eternal God, to be temporary. To say that what we have done only warrants a singular time of punishment looks only at the finite nature of our rebellion, while insulting the holiness of God. How could a loving God mete out eternal punishment? How could a holy God not?

From our perspective, it seems totally unjust. But would we ever have understood Christianity in the slightest looking only through our eyes? The Bible declares again and again that He has given us new sight, so let’s use it here too. We seem to have realized his love is far beyond what we can fathom, and yet this uncomprehendable infinity is just as true of His holiness. I’m not saying its easy to come to grips with or even understand eternal punishment. But annihilists reject God’s explicit statements that Hell is eternal in some attempt to “qualify” Him as loving enough. To do so is to disregard the very foundation of our faith in an attempt to shrink God down to an easily manageable size.

Many call it prideful and presumptuous to claim any who don’t adopt your way of life are doomed to an eternal punishment, but God says that to those who do not believe we fools. The Bible makes it clear how much our sin costs, and what we deserve. To abandon that same text in order to fit God into our own ideas is what would truly be prideful. Realizing just how much we need Christ’s work is not pride, but humility.

Without Him, as a certain song goes, “yeah… we’re going down.”

Little g

Its always the qualifier we spit out when we refer to any sort of god other than the One True God, YHWH, the Lord of Heaven’s Armies. Little g, little god, they can’t  compare to Him, we reason. Definitely true. But chatting about the little-g-gods of the ages can get a bit deceptive. Why?

Well, here and now, its easy to forget, but to be regarded a god -no matter how small you are compared to THE God- generally you means you’re going to be respected, revered, and feared by hundreds, thousands, countless people, with power over their minds if not their lives. They were just people to God, but they were God to people. And sometimes we forget just how much fear they could command.

Take, for example, Caesar Augustus, originally named Octavian.. Posthumously named son and heir by Julius Caesar, he was immediately plunged into a bloody 17-year long civil war for the reigns of power in Rome against two calculating opponents. Finally, Lepidus was driven into exile, Antony committed suicide amidst the ashes of defeat at Actium, and the young Octavian emerged with hands smeared red as the true leader of Rome. Honors were piled upon him by the puppet Senate he created, even as the military pledged their allegiance. He quickly became the sole ruler of Rome, and by extension, the sole ruler of the known world. His borders stretched from Spain in the west to Persia and Judea in the east. He sat on a throne crafted of finer materials than a man could hope to buy in a life time, behind a troop of the finest and most loyal guards, in the midst of a city known across the world that commanded dozens of legions of soldiers, with not one ever destroyed in combat, and his word was law. The title was not given to him until after his death, but he was a godking, and acknowledged by almost all as such. His reign was supreme, and his “father” Julius was already worshiped as divine. He quickly become known as the “Son of God”. Coins were minted, stating that “Caesar is Lord”, and propaganda cried that there was “no salvation under heaven but Augustus.” Virgil’s politically loaded epic, the Aenead, set Augustus up as some sort of expected savior, and he was likely the single most powerful human being living on the face of the Earth.

Now cut to Mark, finally putting down an account of the life of Jesus Christ, a 33-year-old rabbi who was born in Bethlehem, raised in Nazareth by a carpenter, and began a ministry that ended only a few years later after he got in trouble with the local authorities and was crucified. At least, that’s all most people knew. And Mark, the Holy Spirit whispering -and, I have to believe, quietly laughing- in his ear, leads him to bring this rabbi’s story out using almost every title that once deified Caesar to proclaim this Jesus as the TRUE God. See, to Rome, Jesus was just another Zealot leader who never got off the ground, might have showed up in a report or two. To them, he was dead and gone, while the legacy of their godking lived on. Since his death they had crushed Jerusalem and his people. But from those ashes, Mark declares that things are  really quite to the contrary. Jesus was a servant on Earth, but He was God. Jesus was Lord, not Augustus. There is no salvation under heaven but Jesus, the Christ. See, He made himself small, and yet He was the ultimate power, and that was something Rome couldn’t understand. Jerusalem was rubble, a veritable genocide brought down on Judea, but Mark screams this gospel from the ashes about a man that Rome couldn’t silence with the sword. Mark takes all of Caesar’s claims and lays them on Christ, and says that even in oppression, victory can be found. He isn’t even another Zealot though. You don’t have to fear us, Rome, our King Jesus says we owe our obedience to you. But tremble nonetheless, and know that our God is Lord over you, godking, powers of this world, all who boast, and He sees your heart. You can have your power, but know that you will fall away, one day you will crumble, but what the real God started here cannot be stopped.

Also interesting to note, the body of government that Roman legionaries left behind in their conquests was called an ekklesia, a body of civilians that swore “Caesar is Lord”. The word Jesus used to talk about the Church He wold create? Ekklesia. A body of sinners that swore “Jesus is Lord”. The first is now trivia in history books. The second is a world-wide fire burning in countless hearts. Hmm.

Jesus is Lord. And praise be to God for that.

 

 

 

P.S. Anyone else have visions of Mark checking in with Luke: “Awwhhh dude, why did you have to go and dignify Augustus with a cameo? I never even bothered to mention the guy.”?

Ante Up

Something was different about him that day. It wasn’t a fit of lashing convulsions or screamed threats or even a high fever with shrouded eyes. No, he had already been through all that. For the first time in weeks, the beaded sweat had finally dried, and the twitching muscles gone still. No, he wasn’t dead. That would have been far more merciful. And yet the struggle was gone when the sun rose that day. Few, however, could fathom how fiercely it had raged in the night, a desperate warfare locked into a single man’s skull, fierce, desperate, but brief. He had fought if for weeks, but that night its insidious attack had been unstoppable. He had tried. He had resisted. He had fought until none of him was left. And then it was quiet. Those living nearby were used to the screams. But the silence frightened them.

For the first time in weeks, he rose with the sun. For the first time is weeks, his feet hit the cool floor, and he rose from the splintered wreck of his dirty cot. But he wasn’t himself. He was it. Totally and fully.

It descended the short flight of stairs, walked across the room, and walked into the light of day. Eyes dilated against the sudden brightness, skin crawled with sweat again, but it was unfazed. Passersby in the street eyed him warily. There was something in his eyes, the way they stared, a strange determination in his gate.

A sudden detour, and it walked him into the synagogue. It was nervous. But it would not stop. The cool darkness should have relaxed the wild, almost unseeing eyes, and for a moment, it did. Only until it saw who had come for though. The moment it‘s gaze reached the teacher it‘s eyes dilated wildly, as if gazing deep into the sun itself, fear etched into their deep brown. Sweat began to soak it‘s form. Something about this man made the old host fight again, wildly tearing at it, somehow unchained. Terrified, it would finish what it came for, nonetheless. Already losing it‘s hold, it forced him two trembling steps forward, then threw him at the teacher’s feet, pumping all it‘s grating fear and accusations through his lungs. The words tore out of the host, shaking his body with the effort.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH US, JESUS OF NAZARETH? HAVE YOU COME TO DESTROY US? I KNOW WHO YOU ARE– THE HOLY ONE OF GOD!”

Not so much a question as an ultimatum. A warning.

But the teacher, the Holy One of God, was not shaken. He spoke few words, but they were words of power. “Be silent!” It was. “Come out of him!” Screaming, it did.

And as the Teacher helped the shaken man to his feet, who can say what happened to it? One thing is certain though. It had delivered the message. A message from something far bigger than itself. Prepare for battle. We know who you are. The war has begun.

 

Now some of this is just my imagination at work- but I believe it happened. I truly believe that in a small Middle Eastern town, two thousand years ago, two men entered a small synagogue. One was God incarnate, and one was a demon walking in a human’s feet. And I believe that before it was cast out, that demon screamed forth a sort of declaration, a taunting question that always precedes war. And I believe that even though God couldn’t even be scratched by all the demons in Hell, I sure can. I believe they can tear me apart like a ragdoll. I believe they can take the darkness in me and twist it until up is down, down is up, and sin is my sanctuary,a familiar friend. And to be honest, I think they have. But just as he did to the Samaritan woman at the well, Jesus Christ has found me. But there is a cost. “Leave your life of sin,” He told her. Just like James and John, He has called me out, He has put me on the spot. He has demanded all or nothing.

And here I am now, saying I’m not giving everything. Here am now, confessing sin to my brothers and sisters in Christ, just as He calls us me to do. I have procrastinated. I have lied. I have held grudges. I have been jealous. I have been apathetic. I have let thoughts and images into my mind that never should have entered. And most of all, I’ve been afraid. Afraid of failure. Afraid of being wrong. Afraid of letting people down. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid to rethink everything. Afraid to radically change. Afraid to give up everything. Afraid to lose what I want. Afraid to make myself vulnerable. Afraid to give God everything. Afraid to work His will. Afraid of what people will think and do. Afraid of what the demons can do. Afraid He isn’t there.

But He is. He starts there and I swear sometimes I can practically hear Him. He’s there. He’s by my side. And if I can only keep walking with Him then the rest of my failures and sins will fall farther and farther behind.

I believe that two thousand years ago, that demon made a declaration of war. But I also believe that Jesus, the Christ, called people out of the carnage of life to walk with Him, to stand against evil’s claim on every man and woman on this earth. I believe that he’s called me into a war zone, offered me a hope I could never earn. And I’ve got to trust Him. I’ve got to let go of all I am and want. I’ve got to stand against all I fear.

I pray I can.

You Are Not Alone In This

So a lot of times, I’m not quite sure what exactly to write on for this blog, especially on so ambiguous a command as “have fun!” And almost just as many times, something I read, something I find, something I listen to clicks, and I have to believe its the Holy Spirit’s quiet way of pushing me along. Today is no exception. I was undecided, until I heard this song.

In my mind, this song speaks of a group that stands together, that cannot do everything, but will sacrifice what they can. A band of brothers that will stand by each other through the pain and trials that life brings becomes there are some things that are worth it.

Chances are, I will relate this song to the disciples of Jesus Christ for the rest of my life. Because, to me, that’s pretty dang close to how the Twelve (minus 1) must have been. Let’s look at their lives, a bit backwards, if you will.

Its pretty obvious they had something they knew was worth everything, because truly -as the song says, “death is on your doorstep now, it will take your innocence, but not your substance”- they suffered for it, even died for it, almost to the man, never once renouncing the truth they knew.

James was the first to fall, beheaded 11 years after Christ’s crucifixion. Simon Peter was crucified in Rome, reportedly upside down by his last request, for he felt unworthy to die as his Lord did. Thomas was impaled on a lance in India, totally separated from his old brothers. Jude, Phillip, Simon the Zealot, and Andrew all suffered the same death as their old Rabbi, crucified under Roman authority, with Andrew reportedly pinned to the tree diagonally. They skinned Bartholomew alive before giving him the mercy of death by beheading. Matthias was stoned then beheaded. Matthew fell to an axe, and James, the son of Alpheus, was stoned and then clubbed to death, an old man. And every time they killed one, it was like a rock hitting still water, with ripples spreading through Israel, Asia Minor, India, Greece, and even the great city of Rome itself. Their faith spread like wildfire, even as they accepted what that same faith doomed them to. Even in death, they could not be stopped, not really. And so, by the time only one, John, old and alone, remained, they didn’t kill him.

They exiled him, to an island called Patmos. Walking the same rocky beaches, staring out across the same uncrossable water again and again, I imagine he thought of his brothers. His brothers in Christ, his brother James, and all they had gone through together. The years of ministry, the founding of churches, the ceaseless brushes with authority. Miracles, worked, by God’s grace, through their very hands. Surely he remembered how even as the gospel spread, he had lost each of the others, the first to know, one by one. His own brother James, the older, the one who had always known what to do, had been the first. Beheaded, and like that, he was gone. Perhaps that’s when he had first started to really realize how much this would cost them all. Maybe he remembered Thomas, and smiled at how they had all joked with him about if he was sure about setting out on his own, and taking the good news with him into the far East. He had been a good sport about it, and eventually, they had sent him off with prayer and love, the doubter now a man of powerful faith. It was the last time they had ever seen him. Maybe, sitting alone on Patmos, John would recall how amazed they had all been on that day when the Holy Spirit first rushed through them, pulling words from their mouths they didn’t know they had. And maybe, just maybe, he thought back, way back, to when it had all begun.

See, he probably would have only been a boy, a child, the day he first saw Him. (His eventual old age would be pushed almost into the realm of impossibility if he weren’t, and in Matthew 17:24-27, Jesus only makes provision for Himself and Peter to pay a tax that, instituted in Exodus 30:14, required payment from anyone 20 or older. Either the other destitute disciples were intentionally left to fend for themselves, or they would have been too young to be required to do so.) The fact that he was already working with his father and brother is indication that he had not excelled enough in biblical education to remain there, attending only basic instruction in the Torah before dropping out of the system, along with his older brother. Nothing special. Just a pair of kids with nothing to bank on but their father’s old trade. But then He had walked by, and He had told them to come. Told him, John, just a son of Zebedee, just a muddy kid pulling on the fishing nets, to follow Him. A rabbi, the greatest religious thinkers, who only the truly great students of the Scriptures would be allowed to follow, wanted him. So he did, glad that James wouldn’t make him do it alone. How much more than a Rabbi He was, though. There were many times John hadn’t understood, just as the rest of the disciples hadn’t, and yet Jesus had explained everything to them. But the Christ had inspired a passion in the young boy that stilled burned even as the old man spent his days on Patmos. A “son of thunder”. Its what God incarnate had nicknamed him. How it had filled him with pride then, just a kid. How it did now, a founder of the Kingdom.
In light of Matthew 17:24-27, and Exodus 30:14, it seems reasonable that all the disciples but Peter were teenagers, with John, the youngest, practically a child. I can’t claim to know the details of what the apostles went through together, all I can do is tie together events. That’s just me, trying to imagine what it might have been like, being in John’s shoes. Because there are some thing we do know from the Bible, beyond just their youth. They were often totally baffled by Jesus, taking his metaphors literally and his commands metaphorically. They argued over who was the best. James and John, brothers, really were nicknamed “sons of thunder” by God Himself, just as Simon became known as “the rock”. That same “rock” vainly claimed he would never renounce Jesus, but He did. Thomas refused to believe Christ had risen again, even after all He’d seen. They were very normal. They were a just a bunch of guys, with all the strengths and weaknesses and quirks we all have.

But Jesus called them. He chose them. He loved them. He never gave up on them, despite their failures and misunderstandings. And in time, they would start to reciprocate. Jesus never sat them down for lessons in basic church-building. But He entrusted them with laying the very foundation of His Kingdom before most parents today would give their kid the keys to the car. He trusted them, He reminded them He would always be with them, and He told them to go make disciples of all the nations. And what’s so beautiful to me is that those eleven normal guys, still young, with no true experience did it.

So maybe we should start taking our God seriously. Maybe we should start acting. They had each other, they had God, and that was all they needed to change the world, even in death.

We have each other, we have God. I believe that’s all we need to do what they did, even unto death.

“But you are not alone in this, you are not alone in this, as brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand, hold your hand.”

“…And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:20b

The Last Piece of Pi

Now let’s just get this straight RIGHT UP FRONT. I am in no way qualified to speak on mathematics, nor is this blog taking a sudden detour into the horrendous lands of such scholarly shenanigans, but I’d like to share with you a piece of dialogue, wherein a boy and his robotic companion discuss that same ominous number looming in my title. So please, bear with me.

“That’s right. I am a machine, and therefore I can keep like billions of calculations or whatever all humming away at once. I tackle stuff in background processes that you could only dream of wrapping your exquisite looking head around, even on a great hair day. You know pi?”

“What about pi?”

“Yeah, the thing is, I solved it.”
“What do you mean you solved it?”
“I mean that’s what a hotshot I am. I freakin’ solved it. Like, calculated it so much, I got to the end.”
“Bullcrap.”
“You wish it was. The last number is 4. Read it and freaking weep.”
“It’s not 4 you idiot, its nothing. There is no end.”
“Said the smug organic matter with a lifespan.”
“Look, I know you’re just messing with me because for some reason I decided to program my own personal troll three years ago, but this stuff was proven. Actually demonstrated with unassailable mathematics, like a long time ago.”
“Well, I just assailed it. It wasn’t even that hard. Like I just kept hacking those digits so furiously with my sick ‘rithms, the whole number just cried uncle.”

So hold on Benjamin, you’re likely crying, what does this have to do with anything? Good question. Maybe I can explain. Directly above, this certain machine is convinced that he has (quite impossibly) found the last digit of pi. The response he receives is not only incredulous, but downright irritable, because, by its very definition, pi is infinite. And all the sudden, after years upon years of mathematic consensus, someone is claiming to have somehow reached the end. Fully defined it, from first digit to last. Obviously, this is all just played as a joke, an obscure machine cracking pi and casually bragging to his creator about it. But as I read it this morning, I was suddenly reminded of our discussion in Theology class, where we talked about another man casually dropping some pretty inflammatory- not to mention seemingly impossible- claims. The difference is, this man was very real, and his subject of choice was a whole lot more incalculable than pi.

You might’ve heard of him. This man was named Mark, and his claims were far more ridiculous than almost any others. He sure didn’t let that trip up his writing though. Maybe you’re familiar with his work? He wrote something we call a gospel, and from the get-go, he comes out swinging. Take a look at how he opens.

Mark 1:1-4 reads: “The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God, as it is written in Isaiah the prophet: “I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way”— “a voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.’” And so John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

Now if you’re like me, you probably read that, thought it seemed like a fitting, and likely familiar beginning, but not anything absolutely redefining or groundbreaking. But that probably has a lot to do with the fact that we’re all familiar with this gospel. What if we weren’t? What if our scriptures ended with Malachi, and we lived under the control of Rome, which is, by the way, the fourth nation to have owned you, me, and the rest of “God’s people”, since the prophets went silent. In the generations since, it has become clear that God will surely send some deliverance. The prophets all spoke of it. But no one knew for sure what to expect. Some thought it was the Maccabeeans, others, Alexander the Great or even Cyrus. But everyone expected it would be someone. A Messiah is what they called him. Anointed One, it meant, and was used to describe many different people in the Scriptures. But the word quickly took a meaning of its own. The Savior. The one who will restore Israel. The Romans don’t know much, but they fear him, or at least our talk of him.

And then you and I, chronologically juxtaposed into the 1st century A.D. as we are, come into possession of a certain piece of writing. It says its good news, a proclamation. The term is Roman, and we’re already suspicious. A EUANGELION. That’s what they called it when they captured Jerusalem, too. Its “good news” about some guy named Jesus. But not just Jesus. Jesus, the Messiah. That word would mean everything, because suddenly this author is either a filthy liar or, truly, a bearer of the good news you’ve waited most of your life to hear. Already, you’re looking over your shoulder, because hailing someone -anyone- as the Messiah is enough to attract the unwanted attention of Rome. This is a written account, and chances are, you’re already praying they haven’t already gotten to him. It goes on. Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of God. The word used there is often translated Son of Man, a term you and I would probably recognize, but only vaguely. And that’s probably because we’ve only seen it one place, if at all. In the book of Daniel, chapter 7, this same term is used a single time. Appearing at the tail end of a vivid prophecy about 4 beasts, it says this:

“As my vision continued that night, I saw someone like a Son of Man coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient One and was led into his presence. He was given authority, honor, and sovereignty over all the nations of the world, so that people of every race and nation and language would obey him. His rule is eternal-it will never end. His kingdom will never be destroyed.” (Daniel 7:13-15)

All the Jews knew for sure was that the Son of Man would come after four great earthly regimes, and that he would receive glory, honor, and power from Yahweh, so, unlike Messiah, a term for which everyone had a different set of expectations, Son of Man was a very undeveloped title, a role Jesus could, and would, help define- but rooted directly in Scripture nonetheless. So, as Jews, we would already have before us both our expected Messiah, and someone unknown. But Mark isn’t even done with his first sentence.

From there, he continues to quote Malachi and Isaiah, both of which speak of a messenger to come, preparing the way for the Lord, and then immediately names John as that messenger. A man that we might remember hearing about. Some crazy, lived a life of simplicity in the desert, until he got himself tangled up with the authorities and killed. But Mark says he’s the one preparing the way for God. He’s preaching a gospel of repentance. Wait, a EUANGELION? That’s about this Jesus guy, right? Here, like any Jews, we would likely be appalled, because the way the beginning of Mark is written already starts to equate Jesus with not only the Messiah, but Yahweh Himself. Blasphemy most foul. And yet Mark just puts it out there. Take it or leave it. But this is the joyous proclamation of Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of Man, even God Himself.

But the gospel is only beginning, because not only does Mark redefine the nature of the Messiah, he redefines the nature of God. John and his ministry are briefly described, before, in verse 9, Jesus is suddenly being baptized by him.

“One day, Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee, and John baptized him in the Jordan river. As Jesus came up out of the water, he saw the heavens splitting apart and the Holy Spirit descending upon him like a dove. And a voice from heaven said, ‘You are my dearly loved Son, and you bring me great joy.’” (Mark 1:9-11)

I’ll drop my “what if you and I were Jews” act at this point, because, in all honesty, I couldn’t start to describe what this would mean. I’m just a white, Gentile, Christian kid, sitting on my bed, trying to crank out a weekly blog post about an idea that totally redefined YHWH, I AM, Lord of Heaven’s Armies, Ancient of Days, Elyon, Jehovah, THE God of Israel. I have only known Him for a short time, and I love Him. How much more the Israelites, who, for generations, were caught in a sort of dance with God Almighty? How much more would God mean to them? No matter how close He dwelt among them, however, they could never really know Him, His ways, His nature. As it says in Isaiah, “Just as the heavens are higher than the earth, my ways are higher than your ways”.

And then here comes Mark, hundreds and hundreds of years after Malachi, and suddenly, with no forewarning, he reveals God’s nature in its totality. Not only Father. Not only Son. But Father, and Son, and Spirit. God is One, as you have known. But at the same time, He is Three. Later, John the Apostle would take the time to explain this triune Godhead, but Mark just throws it on the table. He seems to be claiming the impossible, just like some mathematician confidently reaching the end of pi, calculating the number so endlessly that it just gives up and ends. To the Jews, Mark would sound far more unbelievable. Because as he begins his narrative of this Jesus, he just offhandedly “sums up” God. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to come off as irreverent, nor do I want to claim that in any way, ANYTHING we can imagine even scratches His surface. But what I want to make clear is that a God whose nature has only been hinted at, ensconced in the depths of the most cryptic visions, is suddenly accurately portrayed in His totality. Mark has, in fact, procured the last piece of pi.

So what does all this really mean? Somewhere in these ramblings, I’ve stated that Mark 1:1-11 introduces a gospel about a man named Jesus, who is the much-anticipated Messiah, the mysterious Son of Man, and God Himself. It confirms that He is the subject of a message of repentance, and He was foretold by the prophets. And suddenly makes it clear that God is now being seen in His entire divinity, a trinity of which Christ is one.

Mark’s a short beginning, to say the least, yet it does what any great beginning does. It makes it clear that this is a new chapter. A new gospel is going out. God is redefined. And He’s on the ground, in Israel, somehow a man. But its also the same story. John’s message, Jesus the Son of Man, the revelation of the Trinity, it was all foretold, hinted at in the words of Yahweh in generations past. And truly, it makes you wonder what will happen next. God spent hundreds of years and prophets across generations foretelling the time when He would return to Israel. I’m sure they never expected Him in the skin of a 30 year-old Nazarene carpenter. But He’s here. He’s poised for action.

So let’s be honest. How could we not turn the page?

In Which Benjamin Talks About Ethnic Dining

Ladies, gents, and ruffians of both genders, I give you today something the likes of which have never been seen before on this blog: an uplifting post.

Yes, yes I know, it seems almost as paradoxical as a both delicious and authentic English meal, but to be fair, we’ve got to go through a little blood pudding before we get there. So please, roll up your sleeves, grab your fork, tuck in that napkin, and lets get down to business, eh?

First, a little background here, for those who don’t know. In class, Mr. Bryant decided to shake things up a bit, and, rather than pacing the room and spitting out probing questions faster than Americans would pork tripe in an English pub, he instead ventured to bring in some back up, sip water pensively, and provide implied moral support along with, of course, an overwhelming air of gravity and learning to the class. So what does this mean for you and I, oh blog reader? Well, it means that our guest speaker, a certain Mr. Mahoney (I think? D:), left us with two questions to answer.

The first was, “Is Lamentations right to end on such a despondent note?”

In order to answer that, however, I would need to define some things.

What, exactly, does “right” mean in this case? Because in my mind, the answer varies depending on it.

If we say “right” as in morally sound, then to say no would be to suggest Lamentations is, in fact, not the authoritative word of God. I would not consider Lamentations a tome full of poetry that undermines the truth and message of the Bible. To me, its a contrast, rather than a contradiction- but more on that in a moment.

If “right” means a justifiable and understandable action, then this has to be another resounding yes. We don’t get the aerial view. We’re down in the thick of it, and so were they. By the very fact that I consider it the “God-breathed” message from the Lord, it seems like their grief and despair is well understood by God. Think of it this way: If a suffering people that has seen tribes fall, mothers eating children, sieges turning communities against themselves, and the prophets calling it the judgement of the Lord write a poetic tapestry painting what their own eyes see, and that same God takes their words and essentially says “This is truth”, then it would seem that their mourning, their doubt, their brokenness are not unfounded or wrong. If God’s mission is to bring man out of the shadows he has so willingly wrapped himself in, Israel is where that salvation starts. The stakes are the highest the world has seen or can really truly know, so I believe when God told Israel he had set before them blessings and curses, I believe He meant it. Lamentations is the punishment, the justice, the correction. The curse. I believe that for the Israelites to respond in anyway other than they did would have been superhuman, and to expect them to is to not fully understand the weight of God’s judgement. To not the know the weight of God’s judgement is to not know the stakes, and to not know the stakes is to not know God’s goodness and love. When you look at the Biblical message as a whole, Lamentations’ total despondency is a testament to God’s unfaltering, unstoppable love. Israel is sent through the very flames of hell because on their shoulders rests the covenant that will save the nations. Because He loved, He disciplined, with disease, famine, and chaos, and they had every right to break beneath His rod just as we do overwhelmed by His grace.

And finally, if we define “right” as correct in their “predictions”, then its more of a mixed bag answer. Lamentations essentially ends with a question to God: “Will You bring us out of this, will You end this exile, or are You still angry with us?” Were they “right”? Was He still angry with them, did the captivity continue long after the events described in Lamentations? Well, to answer that, I might as well jump to question number two.

Did the exile end when Zerubbabel and the remnant returned and created the Second Temple?

To this, I would actually say no. Why, you ask? True, there was another Temple, and there were Israelites returning to the land after being freed from their captors. But that wasn’t what the exile was really about, in my mind. On Monday, Mr. Mahoney talked about how almost every idea about the exile ending involved not only political and physical restoration, but a return of God to His relationship with Israel, dwelling again in their Temple. Only a slim ten percent of the people of Israel made it back then, and they too were soon conquered, and thrown into bondage once more. We know from the Old Testament prophets that God promises that despite the coming exile, He will return to them, He will raise them up, He will make them a nation once more… so could this truly be called His great deliverance? A small remnant, an empty Temple, and short years of freedom? Surely not. I’ve heard it suggested that the exile ended with the coming or Resurrection of Christ. This takes a bit more thought, but in my mind, I would still disagree. Surely it was the beginning of the Church, and the blessing of all the nations, because it is by His work that I, certainly not of Jewish descent, can be saved. The blessing of the nations, yes, but where is that blessing unique to Israel, the blessing specifically to Abraham’s descendants? Christ has begun what I might call the era of the Church, but honestly, I would say He still has some unfinished business with Israel. And this is not just a hunch, but rather, me trying to make sense of all the talk about Israel in Revelations. About the Lamb coming to Zion, about the nations making a stand against Israel. It talks about how those who trust in the Lamb will be saved, but it takes special mention of those chosen from the twelve tribes of Israel, about how they will sing a unique song with the Lamb. Of course I’m falling deep into the realm of speculation here, but, in my mind, the full promise God made to Israel is not yet fulfilled, and likely won’t be until He returns.

So when the Israelites wondered if God was still angry with them, its hard to really answer that. To this day, He has not brought Israel back to Himself as the prophets foretold. And yet, the hopelessness, the sting, the terror of the “exile” is gone, because there is a way to be made right with Him once more. As God’s uniquely chosen people, they may have to wait to see His plans for them made complete. But the evidence of His love for them is clear, because the same hands that “bent a bow against them, as an enemy” now stream with blood for them. We all share in His great, unfailing love. But Jesus is coming back. And I believe Israel’s story is far from over.

“The Lord says: “Shout and rejoice, O beautiful Jerusalem, for I am coming to live among you. Many nations will join themselves to the Lord on that day, and they, too, will be my people. I will live among you, and you will know that the Lord of Heaven’s Armies sent me to you. The land of Judah will be the Lord’s special possession in the holy land, and he will once again choose Jerusalem to be his own city. Be silent before the Lord, all humanity, for he is springing into action from his dwelling.” Zechariah 2:10-13