King Jesus, the Heartbroken--November 7, 2024

King Jesus, the Heartbroken--November 7, 2024

"When the days drew near for [Jesus] to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, 'Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?' but he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village." [Luke 9:51-56]

Sometimes I think it just had to break Jesus' heart how completely misguided his closest disciples could be. 

Not just the casual listener at a distance, and not just the overtly hostile Roman Empire, but the people who spent day and night learning at his feet--the ones he called by name and chose to be his followers.  When the random townsperson misunderstood Jesus or walked away from his message, that was probably not so big a loss.  When the hypocrites among the Respectable Religious Leaders scorned Jesus, it was an expected move, so it probably didn't sting as much.  But when the ones who had been with Jesus for years, who had committed to walking his way and learning to see the world from Jesus' perspective, and who were coming to pin their hopes on him attaining God's long hoped-for victory, when THOSE people so completely missed the point of Jesus' message, it had to hurt.  And yet, Jesus seems not only prepared for that kind of disappointment, but willing to continue on his way unthwarted once he has set those disciples straight.

This scene from Luke's Gospel is one of those moments where it almost seems mind-boggling: how could James and John possibly think that it was in the character of Jesus to want to call down fire to burn up these Samaritans?  Even if they had declined Jesus' offer to come, speak, heal, and share time with them, shouldn't it have been clear after, I don't know, about five minutes of listening to Jesus, that he wouldn't EVER want them to call down fire on somebody else?  Didn't it just seem so blatantly obvious that it would have been insulting for Jesus to have to say it out loud: "We don't do that kind of thing?"  And yet... here they are, these two guys we name churches after, proud of themselves for thinking of the idea of calling down hellfire on the ones they see as unworthy because they haven't said yes to Jesus yet.  You get the sense from this story that Jesus is more incensed at James and John for their suggestion of fire from heaven than at the Samaritans (who didn't know better and had their reasons for being suspicious of a rabbi headed toward Jerusalem) who had rejected him in the first place.

Of course, this isn't a one-off or an exception for James and John--nor for the rest of the disciples.  As the gospels also tell us, James and John are the ones who corner Jesus a bit later in the journey asking him for the Number 1 and Number 2 spots when he comes in his glory.  And once again there, Jesus has to tell them, "That's not how we do things here!"  Over and over again, Jesus' own disciples--the ones who should "get it"--are the ones who most disappoint Jesus by failing to see how his kind of "kingdom" works.  They keep thinking of Jesus' kind of victory as a destroy-your-enemies show of force.  And they keep expecting Jesus to aspire to the usual seats of power and displays of glory.  And Jesus has to keep telling them that this isn't how the Reign of God operates.  It never was, and it still isn't... no matter how many times James or John or you or I miss the point and want to baptize our own selfishness, spite, and cruelty, we cannot make Jesus endorse that agenda. It surely breaks Jesus' heart when we so completely betray his kind of kingdom, but he is able to correct us, to say firmly and clearly, "No, that's not my kind of victory," and still to go on his way.

Look, I get it. Sometimes the most heart-breaking moments for us as followers of Jesus are when we see and hear things from others who proudly (and often angrily) brandish the label "Christian" but seem to completely miss the actual character of Jesus. (It's Gandhi's line all over again: "I like your Christ. I do not care for your Christians--your Christians are so unlike your Christ.") And surely, if it breaks our hearts, it breaks Jesus' heart to see "his people" conflating his kingdom with greed, violence, bigotry, and selfishness--and doing it with cheers and smiles like James and John here. And yet, as painful as that has to be for Jesus to endure (repeatedly!), Jesus bears that pain, corrects his followers, clearly vetoes their hateful agenda, and then moves on.  He is still teaching us, even today, that his kind of victory is different from the world's terms.  He still reserves the right to correct us, rebuke us (if need be), and to get our heads on straight again, and to be his own kind of king with or without our approval or permission.

So on the days when we are the ones who have it pointed out to us that we've missed the mark on what Jesus' kind of victory looks like, there is grace here to see that Jesus still is willing to start again with James and John, regardless of how completely wrong they were about his agenda.  And on the days when our hearts are broken at how un-Christ-like others who name the name of Jesus seem to be acting, there is comfort in knowing that Jesus is heartbroken, too, already.  And for every time we break his heart all over again by giving into hatred, spite, self-centeredness, or the misguided impulse to call down fire on our "enemies," even our worst choices cannot undo Jesus' victory.  Jesus overcomes, not by giving into the hateful and violent impulses of those who claim to be his disciples, but precisely by his refusal to play by those rules.  

Sometimes, folks who claim to be close followers of Jesus completely get it wrong and misunderstand his kind of victory. It's true. Sometimes that's us. That's true, too, and hard to face. When he corrects us and shows us we are at odds with his way of overcoming, we can start again and strive to do better, seeking to follow in the footsteps of our Lord, King Jesus... even when he is heartbroken.

Lord Jesus, where we have gotten it wrong and tried to make you fit the mold of the world's meanness and selfishness, correct us.  Lead us to follow after you, and to share in your kind of victory that outlasts and endures our meanness.

When The World Doesn't Look Different--November 6, 2024

When The World Doesn't Look Different--November 6, 2024

[Jesus said to his disciples:] "The hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each one to his own home, and you will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone because the Father is with me. I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have overcome the world!" [John 16:32-33]

At midnight, it is officially a new day--but it will still be dark outside at 12:01am.

On December 21, we will have reached the last of the shortening days in the northern hemisphere, but we still have all of winter to get through before it really starts to feel like the warmth of spring.

And for that matter, as I write, the votes are still in process from the 2024 election and by the time you read this, it's likely that the votes will all be cast--but the counting won't be done or confirmed.  So while a winner is, in a sense "out there," we don't know who it is, and the world is still the same anxious place it was yesterday.  

All of this is to say that we actually have a fair amount of experience with situations where something has decidedly changed but it doesn't feel different yet.  We have a way of expecting all the big events in our lives to feel like watershed moments or obvious turning points, but sometimes it takes a while for us to see or feel any difference arising from a change that has already happened.  There are a lot of times in our lives where the clock says it's 12:01 am of a new day, but the darkness outside the window sure feels like it's still the middle of the night.

I think it's important, and helpful, too, for us to remember that as we consider Jesus assurance of "victory" over the powers of evil, sin, and death in the world.  As we have seen already in this month's devotions, the Christian hope is centered on an accomplished fact--the death and resurrection of Jesus.  We are people who believe that God has won against evil and death, not merely that God "might" or "could" or "should" win.  And as we have also seen, the assurance of God's victory doesn't come from a win on a battlefield, an opinion from the judges in a court case, a hostile corporate takeover in the business world, or even from the tallying of votes.  It comes from an even that, to just about all of its firsthand observers, looked like defeat--Jesus' death on a Roman cross.  That's God's victory, breaking the power of death from the inside out.  Or, as the powerful wording of the Orthodox tradition's liturgy puts it, "Christ trampled death by death." 

And yet, without denying that we are assured of Jesus' victory as a present-tense fait accompli, Jesus himself also acknowledges that we will continue to struggle with the powers of the world. Or, as John's Gospel puts it, "in the world you face persecution" even though at the very same time the very same Jesus says, "I have overcome the world."  It's not one or the other--it's both at the same time.  Jesus, the Crucified and Risen One, has overcome, outlasted, and withstood all the worst that the world (and that includes us!) could throw at him--he overcame our evil with good.  And yet at the same time, we live in that same world, which is up to its same old tricks even though it has been defeated.  That, of course, is part of what makes the rottenness and sin in "the world" ultimately so pathetic--it doesn't want to concede a loss it's already been dealt by the Risen Jesus.  So it still makes as much of a fuss, still insists on its power, and still rages against its defeat by Jesus for as long as it can.  And we still live with that immature temper tantrum from the powers of "the world" all the time--so yeah, we will still find ourselves in trouble and even, as Jesus says, "persecuted" in the world, even though it is the very same world that Jesus has overcome.

In a sense, though, it shouldn't surprise us that the followers of Jesus will be called to live out the same kind of suffering love as he lived out for us, since Jesus' WAY of "overcoming" evil in the world wasn't to zap the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, but praying, "Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they are doing..."  And, at least as Mark's telling goes, the centurion who had just seen the way Jesus died was transformed from an enemy into someone who could cry out in faith, "Truly this man was God's Son!" Jesus' way of overcoming the world isn't to conquer and intimidate, but to endure and absorb even the worst poison the world could dish out--and still to respond with love.  So of course he will call us as his followers and witnesses to endure persecution and suffering in the world, too--that's sort of Jesus' calling card.

The bottom line, then, is that we should expect that our lives of faith will still involve tension and trouble, and we'll still find people upset at the ways we witness to Jesus.  Sometimes they'll even insist that their anger and hostility is in the name of Respectable Religion.  So following Jesus isn't some ticket to an easy or pain-free life where we ride on the coattails of Jesus' victory into some cushy positions of power or prestige. No, it's precisely because Jesus' way of overcoming the world was in the self-giving love of a cross and empty tomb that we should expect our witness to look like suffering love and "good trouble."  Yes, Jesus has overcome the world--but exactly because of the way he has overcome it (enduring and exhausting the worst that evil could do) we are called to share the same persistent love in the face of hatred. We don't get to die on a cross for the sins of the world like Jesus does, but we are called to respond to the rottenness and sin of the world with the same kind of non-retaliating love of Jesus.  Like the apostle puts it, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good" (Rom. 12:21).  Where do you suppose he got such a notion but from Jesus himself?

So yeah, you and I will step out into a world that doesn't look any more "overcome" than it did before.  And sure, there are some days (maybe a lot of days) where it looks like the powers of evil, the rottenness of sin, and the grip of death still get the last word.  But we trust in Jesus' assurance that he has already overcome the world. But because Jesus' way of doing it doesn't come from a conquering army or a dictator's decreed, but rather from a cross, we still go out into that world ready to face its nastiness, cruelty, and hatred and to endure it the way we have learned from Jesus.  After all, that's how Jesus says he has overcome the world--and if it's good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for us...

Lord Jesus, enable us to live this day in the confident assurance that you have overcome the world, so that we can reflect your victorious love into the world, too, right now.

Already Won--November 5, 2024

Already Won--November 5, 2024

Then one of the elders said to me, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.” Then I saw between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth. He went and took the scroll from the right hand of the one who was seated on the throne. When he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. They sing a new song: “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God saints from every tribe and language and people and nation; you have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving our God, and they will reign on earth.” [Revelation 5:5-10]

The victory is already won.  At least, the one that matters most in the cosmic scope of things is already won.  The victory of God over the powers of evil is not an open question or up for debate, and it is not even on the ballot today (no matter how many demagogues want us to think of this year's election as a battle of "God's candidate" versus an "evil" one, and no matter how tense we may feel about this year's election).  The victory that reframes all other contests in all of history is already a done deal, and you can count on it.

I know that as I write, and as you read, the actual process of voting is still ongoing, and ballots will continue being counted through the night and maybe far into the future for days to come.  And I know that you likely have strong feelings about the candidates and issues for whom you are voting. I do, too.  But, as much as I care, worry, and hope about which human beings will be elected to serve in leadership roles for the next two or four years here in the place where I happen to live, my hope as a Christian does not depend on the outcome of the 2024 election, nor or any previous or future election, either.  My hope depends on the clear word from the Scriptures that God has already won the ultimate victory over the powers of death, sin, and evil--and that the decisive moment in that conflict is at the cross and resurrection of Jesus.  The victory is already won there, and it cannot be undone even if your preferred candidate loses.  God has defeated the powers of evil and death in a definitive sense, and God accomplished it without the assistance of door-knockers, TV pundits, billionaire donors, or people waving flags. It did not require an invading army, a barrage of cruise missiles, a vast fortune spent on attack ads, or a mobilization of the military against some ominous "enemy" lurking in the shadows. The scandalous and still compelling claim of the Gospel is that God in Christ "has conquered"--as in, an already accomplished fact--through dying on the Empire's cross and rising from a borrowed grave.

That surprising turn of events is actually at the heart of this scene from the last book in the Bible, which was actually written to offer hope to anxious Christians in a time of fraught political tensions with the powers of the day (the Roman Empire).  In this scene, a voice announces that a hero is about to step onto the stage: "The Lion of the tribe of Judah" is the one who has "conquered" (also translatable as "won the victory," and that this makes him worthy.  So we're getting psyched up for a "tough" guy, someone like a roaring lion--maybe someone strong and muscular, or big and intimidating, or who projects "strength" and bullies his enemies into submission.  You know, somebody like Caesar... or Herod... or any of the other kings and Big Deals throughout history. But that's where God turns things upside down--because just as this "Lion" announcement is made, someone very different actually appears: "a Lamb, standing as if it had been slaughtered."  Christians will immediately recognize this as a symbol for Jesus, and that the mortal wounds on the Lamb are a shorthand for the cross and resurrection.  We keep getting hyped up for powerful, intimidating Lion to come and save the day and "win"... and God instead has already WON the victory through the death and resurrection of a Lamb.  That's God for you--turning the tables on us by revealing to us that the victory is already won, and that God didn't need any of our expected strategies to do it.  God saves the world through Jesus self-giving love that went to death and back, not by intimidating opponents, not by marching in an army, and without firing a shot or riling up a riot.  And it's already accomplished.

When I take that assurance seriously, it has a way of reframing everything.  When we let ourselves forget that the ultimate victory is already won, it has a way of filling us with fear--and when we human beings get scared, we start justifying horrible things in the name of fighting off our fears.  When we forget that Jesus the Lamb has already defeated the powers of evil, it is tempting to demonize our opponents or rationalize doing rotten things in the name of furthering our cause, because we assume that it's up to US to achieve the "win." It is tempting to think that we need more "Lion-like" tactics to get things done, and it is easy to forget that even the people we disagree with are people for whom Christ died.  When we remember that the victory has already been won--by a cross and resurrection--it has a way of disarming us and bringing us back to clarity.

So today, cast your vote (if you haven't done so already), and do so with the seriousness that such decisions call for.  As a follower of Jesus, let yourself be guided by Jesus' own concern for the love of neighbor, the needs of the vulnerable, the blessedness of the lowly and the poor, and the importance of justice and mercy over power, privilege, and profit.  Take the questions we vote on with the gravity they deserve, and make your choices as an expression of your deepest, most honest understanding of the common good.  But also, remember that even a hotly contested election is not the Ultimate Battle of Good and Evil, no matter how much the Angry Voices On Screens want us to think it is.  For followers of Jesus, the ultimate victory has been assured already, even before the polls close today, because Jesus defeated death at its own game on the cross and broke the power of sin and evil in the resurrection.

The victory is already won--the one that matters most.  Remember that today, take a breath, and then step out into the world living in the victory of the Slain but Risen Lamb.

Lord Jesus, give us the clarity of remembering you have already won the victory that matters most--and let that reframe the way we face anxious days like this one.

Whose Victory?--November 4, 2024

Whose Victory?--November 4, 2024

"And when you were dead in trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive together with him, when he forgave us all our trespasses, erasing the record that stood against us with its legal demands. He set this aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and made a public example of them, triumphing over them in it." [Colossians 2:13-15]

The question--maybe the definitive question of faith for our time and place--is, "Who is the winner when you look at the cross?"

Rome looked at the cross of Jesus and smiled approvingly, convinced it was a sign of the "greatness" of the empire.  Rome looked at the cross and declared itself the winner.

Ask Caesar. Ask Pilate. Ask all but one of the centurions there on the scene at the crucifixion of Jesus (one of them seemed to be reconsidering his allegiances there at Golgotha, at any rate). Ask any of the crowd who were persuaded by Rome's show of might and military muscle what they saw when this homeless, friendless rabbi got nailed to one of their many death stakes, and they will all say to you, "This is proof of our victory. We saw a threat. We didn't like him. We didn't like the idea he proclaimed that our Empire was not the last word on things. And so, whether or not he had actually committed any kind of crimes worthy of execution or not, we got rid of him. We killed him. It shows our power, our strength, and our way of winning. So we won, and this Jesus fellow loses. End of story."

Now... ask the New Testament community the same question.

The followers of Jesus look at the cross and kneel in awe-filled worship, convinced it is a sign of the true greatness of Jesus. It is the very victory of God.

Ask the voice of Colossians, or any of the first followers of Jesus, and they will tell you that the cross is not Jesus' near-defeat, but is in fact the very point of God's great victory. Ask the thief on the cross next to Jesus', the women huddled at the foot of the cross, or that one very perplexed-looking centurion, and they will say to you, "This is evidence of Jesus' victory. Rome thought that greatness was in killing your enemy, and here this weaponless rabbi with nothing in his hands but nails exposed that all as a lie. The Empire did its worst to Jesus, and yet still he does not give in to Rome's power, its demagoguery, its cruelty, or its indifference to justice. He still lays down his life for us, for people who have not met him yet, and even for his enemies. Rome did its worst to Jesus, and even that was not enough to break his spirit and defeat his love. Jesus wins, precisely at the point it looks like he loses. Death is not the end of this story."

Two very different takes on the same precise moment in history. And so the question remains: whose victory occurs at the cross of Jesus? What do we see when we look there?

The New Testament does not allow us to pick both Rome and Jesus as the victors there. In fact, in a rather startlingly bold passage here from Colossians, the New Testament sees the cross--not just skipping ahead to the resurrection, but the cross itself!--as the point at which the powers of the day, the "authorities and rulers" of the way of Empire, were themselves unmasked as puffed-up bullies, and exposed as impotent blowhards. The point that looks most like defeat is actually the point of victory, because Jesus' death is exactly what his way of triumphing looks like, and nothing Rome can do will stop his kind of love from laying its life down for all.

This is a really important insight from Colossians, because we often treat the cross like it is the "low" point of the story of Jesus--almost like it is the point at which it seems like God comes closest to defeat, but then, in the nick of time, Jesus gets back up off the mat on Easter morning like a boxer narrowly avoiding a knock-out decision against him. But that's not how Colossians sees it. The cross is not the cliffhanger moment; the cross is not the place evil almost wins out over the power of God. No, just the opposite--the cross of Jesus is itself the place where all human authorities, all coercive power, all empires, and all of history's Caesars, are disarmed and revealed to be empty suits. As theologian John Howard Yoder once put it, "The cross is not a detour or a hurdle on the way to the kingdom, nor is it even the way to the kingdom; it is the kingdom come." Colossians would have us believe that it is in the way Jesus lays his life down, praying forgiveness on his executioners and refusing to return Rome's hatred or intimidations back at them, that the powers of the world are just not strong enough to defeat his love. The "rulers and authorities" are not triumphant between Good Friday and Easter Sunday until the stone rolls away--their undoing has already been accomplished in the way Jesus gives himself away. The powers of the day just don't understand that they've already been had. This is the truly radical, upside-down way of thinking and seeing the world that the New Testament dares us to make our own.

And if we do, if we really do take up that new way of seeing the victory of Jesus at the cross, it will change everything else about how we live and how we understand "victory" in our own lives, as well.

It will mean rejecting once and for all the notion that all that matters is "winning" against others, even at the cost of losing our integrity, our decency, our honor, or our humanity.

It will mean that we come to see strength as the willingness to keep on loving even when it is difficult--not in giving up on love because it looks "weak" to the watching world.

It will mean we are no longer bound by some obnoxious need to look "tough" to get the last word in every internet feud or take up every situation and make a fight out of it.

It will mean we are less impressed by who has more money or how high the markets close, and more moved by the willingness to do good to others without getting anything in return. In fact, we will deliberately choose actions that we know will help others more than our own little group.

It will mean that we will not assume God is on the side of whoever is bigger, stronger, richer, or louder, but will see recognize God present in what the world calls weakness, in suffering love, and in compassion.

In fact, we will no longer assume that God wants us to be "tough" but rather that God would have us be good... as Jesus shows us what goodness looks like.

So, today, friends, the Bible itself is challenging us. The voices of Scripture are pushing us to see the world differently--differently from the way the "rulers and authorities" see it, and differently maybe even from how we used to see it ourselves. The voice of Colossians wants us to see the cross not as God's nail-biter of a near-loss, but the very point of Christ's victory that unmasks "the rulers and authorities" as frauds once and for all.

Will we dare to see the world this way, and to see Christ's victory in this upside-down way?

What do you think you see when you look at the cross?  Who is the victor there?

Lord Jesus, we praise you for your victory... and we are in awe to discover that you have won at precisely the point the world thought was your defeat.

Sunlight, Moonlight--November 1, 2024

Sunlight, Moonlight--November 1, 2024

"We love because he first loved us." [1 John 4:19]

On a recent evening when I was walking my dog through the neighborhood after dark by the light of a full moon, I had a realization.  I was actually walking by the light of the sun. I had just forgotten.

And in an instant, I was transported back to some elementary school classroom where we first learned about the sun and the moon and the planets, and how the sun gives off its own light by constantly fusing hydrogen into oxygen (okay, we didn't learn those details until junior high, maybe). Meanwhile, the moon only reflects the light it gets from the sun.  The moon, the Apollo astronauts had confirmed for us, was just a pile of dull rocks.  It doesn't generate its own light, and it isn't even terribly shiny on its own.  But the light from the sun is so bright, so powerful, and so strong, that even when it falls on the dusty gray rock of the lunar surface, it illuminates the moon enough to reflect light onto the dark side of the earth.  It is a wonder of creation unfolding before our eyes, just outside our doors in the night sky.

So I have found myself thinking, since noticing the additional darkness from the new moon these last few nights and darkened mornings, about what an amazing thing it really is that the sun's light hurtles through space and hits a dull rock, bounces off, and hits my eyes.  And I cannot help but think that something like that is going on at every moment of our lives in Christ.  The love that radiates from God--the love that "is" God, as First John reminded us in yesterday's verses--meets us where we are, even though we, like living moon rocks, are not terribly shiny or reflective beings.  And yet that love, as powerful as it is, reflects off of us and into the world around us--so in a true sense it is ours and God's at the same time, just like we talk about the lovely hue of "moonlight" when it is, properly speaking, actually sunlight that has bounced off the moon's surface.  (And when you are in your bathroom brushing your teeth in the morning, you know that the light from your reflection isn't "mirror light," but comes from the light bulbs above your vanity that are giving off light that bounces around the bathroom, off the glass, and into your eyes.)  In other words, as First John puts it so simply, "We love, because God first loved us." God's love shines onto us, and from us, that love radiates into the whole world, in all its dark places, like the sun's brightness hitting the moon and illuminating my nighttime walk with the dog.

If you really want to get scientific, in a sense, the sun's light isn't merely a product the sun makes, but it actually and literally is the sun, since the fusion reaction that makes the sun's light actually transforms some of its mass into energy (it's literally Einstein's E=mc² in action).  In other words, the sunlight isn't merely something that the sun "makes," but it is the sun's own self-giving, converted from matter to energy, and hurtling out into space at the speed of light.  To be hit by the sun's light is, in a sense, to be hit with the sun itself.  And in theological parallel, to be touched by the love of God is to be touched by God's own being, since God IS love.  That love creates our capacity to love, and to give ourselves away to others like a light in a dark place.  In a sense, then, we are like the moon--receiving a light that is not our own, but as it touches us we then offer it out into the world in our own coloring, like the slightly cooler bluish tinge of moonlight compared to the warmer yellow of the daytime sun.

All this month we've been talking about "the love of Jesus" as our focus for these devotions, and you might have noticed that sometimes we've zeroed in on God's love for us, while at other times we've centered on our love for others following Jesus' example.  And that wasn't a matter of being sloppy or disorganized--it's because there is an organic connection between God's love for us and our love for others.  God's love is the SOURCE of our love, like the moon's light really comes from the sun in the first place. And that means that the character of God's love becomes the character of our love for others--as we have seen over the course of this month's focus, because God's love includes enemies, strangers, foreigners, and outsiders, we are called to love enemies, strangers, foreigners, and outsiders.  Because God's love is given without condition and without earning, our love for others is meant to be unconditional and without earning.  And because God's love is not a transactional "deal" meant for God to get something in return, we are freed from that kind of petty transactional thinking, too.  We love--and we love the way that God loves--because God's love has first come to us.

The one other thing I want us to note here, both from our verse in First John and from the analogy of the sun and the moon, is that because the sun is the source of the light, it doesn't wait for the moon to do its part first.  The moon cannot reflect light until the sun has shone first--in fact, because the moon is 90-odd million miles away from the sun, it takes about eight minutes for the sun's light to get to the moon in the first place.  But the sun doesn't make its light conditional or contingent on the moon doing its part first.  And similarly, as I hope it's been clear so far in our devotions this month, God's love isn't dependent on delayed based on our loving God first.  God's love comes first.  God doesn't calculate and guess, sitting up in heaven, whether we'll reciprocate enough love back to God to make it worth the investment on God's part, but rather God loves first, before we've done a thing, and in a sense running the risk that we will not reflect it back.  God's love initiates relationship with us--God is not, in other words, waiting around twiddling divine thumbs on a cloud, to see if we'll take the first step, make the first move, or pray the right prayer to invite Jesus into our hearts.  

That is critical for us to be clear about in a time when so much of pop religion boils down to saying, "You have to take the first step and ask God, invite God, profess your faith, or whatever, in order for God to then love and claim you." But that's as backwards as saying that the sun is waiting for the moon to shine first--it isn't, because the moon's light only comes from the sun's light shining on it first.

And at the very same time, the moon almost cannot help but reflect the light it receives because the sun's light is just that compelling.  For us as the people of God, there is no option in which we merely absorb God's love self-centeredly without giving it back in all directions to the rest of creation.  There is no version of Christianity in which we are permitted to claim God's love as our personal and private possession, and then hold it back from other people.  There is no way to arrange our relationship with God such that we only ever have to think about "Me and My Group First" without in the very same breath reflecting God's powerful love back out at everyone around.  You can't keep God's love limited to "Me and My Group First!" any more than the moon can hold onto the sun's light without radiating it outward in all directions to all places, including the people walking their dogs in darkness on the night-time side of the earth.  God's love cannot help but go beyond us to others.  It is never our possession to clutch; it is only and always a gift to be received and then shared.

That truth guides every decision we make, ever choice we encounter, and every opportunity in front of us, every day.  When I consider what I do with my day, how to spend my energy, who I take into consideration when I act, and even how I make choices when I step into the voting booth, the question I cannot shake--precisely because I know I am loved by God already--is, "How could God's love move through me to reach ALL people in this situation?"  It's not about behaving well enough or acting holy enough to earn God's love as a prize. It's about letting God's love flow through me because I know it isn't ONLY for me.

So... how could God's love reflect off of you and me today, and into the lives of all people with the day that is unfolding before us?

Lord Jesus, let your love shine on us, and let your love reflect from us into every corner of the universe.

Another Day, Another Exorcism--October 31, 2024

Another Day, Another Exorcism--October 31, 2024

"God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love." [1 John 4:16b-18]

To live by the love of Jesus is to make the conscious choice to let Jesus kick fear out of the driver's seat of our lives. If Jesus, who embodies the love of God, is going to "take the wheel," as the old line goes, then fear cannot be the one calling the shots any longer in our lives.  As First John tells us, the followers of Jesus do not live our lives driven and dominated by fear--not fear of "those people" out there deemed threats, not fear of some ominous "THEM" that might get labeled "enemies" or "invaders," not fear of not measuring up to someone else's expectations, and not even fear that God might zap us for not being "good enough."  Love kicks fear out of the front seat and throws it out of the car altogether.

Or, to use the imagery of First John, love "casts out fear."  That's not just the language of being in the driver's seat--it's the language of exorcism.  Literally.  The same way the New Testament talks about Jesus "casting out demons" and exorcising unclean spirits from people who are plagued by the legion of diabolical powers out there in the world is the very same language that this passage from First John talks about fear being "cast out" by love.  And, of course, First John has also reminded us at the start of this passage that none other than "God" is love. The same divine power that expelled demons from the sick and troubled people who encountered Jesus is the same power that casts fear out from us--not just telling it to pipe down, but kicking it out altogether.  First John is clear: the people of God are not to be people who see the world primarily through the lens of fear, precisely because we are meant to see the world through the light of love.

And yet... here we are, living in a culture that is steeped in fear and which only seems interested in amping up its volume until it drowns out every other sound.  The messages in countless ads on countless screens all prime us to be afraid of whomever they have decided to target as "the opposition."  We are ingrained with messages that train us to see other people, particularly the ones we see as different or "other," as threats.  The voice over narration reminds us to be afraid of what will happen if "those people" get their way, and that we need to be willing to resort to increasingly extreme measures to stop them.  It's easy to believe that we're under constant threat of invasion, occupation, and domination from some ominous "them" out there.  And it's easy to believe that "those people" will take away our livelihoods, our comfort, our way of life, or our happiness."  Once we give fear an inch, it grows by leaps and bounds.  It swells like a rolling snowball. It metastasizes like a cancer.  

And by contrast, First John says, "But for who us who are claimed by the God who is love, fear does not get to direct us or control us.  God's love exorcises that fear like the diabolical spirit it is.  It does not have power over us any more."  The trouble is that we have a way of letting fear back in the door the moment God's love has banished it.  We keep inviting fear to take the wheel and color our vision, and we keep needing God's love to cast it out all over again.  Every time we sell ourselves out back into the grip of fear, the presence of Jesus in our lives puts up a protest and calls us to say "No" to fear's power.  Every time we slide back into letting fear make us hate a neighbor... every time we are lulled back into the familiar well-worn ruts of our "what-ifs" that keep us up at night... every time we choose to see other people around us as threats to be fought off rather than siblings made in the image of God... we need Jesus to show up and cast out the demonic presence of fear again.  It can feel like we keep taking a step back for every step forward, like every morning we wake up to meet another day and another exorcism, because we keep giving control of our hearts and minds to the grip of fear.

The good news, of course, that in every story of a contest of wills between Jesus and those demonic spirits, Jesus outlasts and outperforms the unclean spirits.  There's never a time when they can hold on with greater strength than the power of his own authoritative word that casts them out.  Even when we keep giving control back over to fear again and again, Jesus proves stronger and more persistent.  Even if it means every day begins (and ends!) with the prayer that Jesus come and pry the grip of fear from the steering wheel of our lives once again, he does it. And in its place, he directs us himself in the way of his kind of love.

Today, when you hear those voices peddling fear out there--coming from tv screens, tablets, smart phones, and big fancy podiums--the Scriptures remind us that we do not have to invite them in, and we do not have to give them control.  The people of God will keep relying on Jesus to cast out fear like the diabolical thing it is and instead to be indwelt by the One who is love.  It is not a choice we make just once, but a daily decision not to be driven by fear, but to be animated by Love himself.

In this day, let that be the voice that guides you, even over all the fearful noise around.

Lord Jesus, come to us again and cast out the power of fear from its perch trying to dominate us, and fill us with your kind of love, now and always.

Outside the Chinese Buffet--October 30, 2024

Outside the Chinese Buffet--October 30, 2024

"For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another." [Galatians 5:13-15]

You know what the beauty of the Chinese buffet is?  You can try something new, serve up a helping of your favorite entree, and go back up for seconds if you are still hungry, all with a side of dumplings or egg rolls.  In other words, you are free to choose what you eat there, knowing that they will put out plenty for everyone and that you can have a little of many kinds of entrees rather than being stuck with just one.  That's lovely.

On the other hand, we all know what you are not supposed to do at the Chinese buffet.  You are not supposed to smear the sweet and sour sauce all over the wall (that's a waste!), and you are not supposed to take ALL the Szechuan Chicken to your table but then only eat a bite of it and then dump the rest on the floor.  You are not supposed to take food off of the plate of someone sitting at the next table over, and you are not supposed to fling lo mein noodles at the cashier.  In other words, there is a certain freedom to eating at the Chinese buffet, but that freedom is never separable from a certain basic decency toward the other customers at the restaurant and the serving staff.  You are free to choose which appetizers and entrees you want to eat, but you are misusing that freedom if you hoard, throw, smear, or steal the food.  

All of this restaurant protocol seems so obvious that it shouldn't need to be said, right?  And yet, we often have a problem understanding the same when it comes to conversations about "freedom" in the rest of our lives outside the Chinese buffet.  Inside the restaurant, we all know that being "free" to scoop your own servings of cashew chicken and egg drop soup does not mean that you are entitled to abuse the abundance, waste the food, or take from someone else.  If your understanding of "freedom" is expressed in the angry insistence that "You can't tell me what to do or not to do because I'm free!" you are missing something.  If your definition of "freedom" leads you to cover your ears when the server reminds you not to steal wontons from the strangers at another table, you have fundamentally misunderstood how "freedom" works.  And if you think that "freedom" allows you to weaponize the chopsticks and throw them like darts at other customers while you protest, "But they can't limit what I do--I have a right to do whatever I want with these!" well, then, you are likely to get yourself banned from the place before you can say, "Mu shu pork."

We know all this at the restaurant, and yet, so often we settle for a distorted and shriveled understanding of "freedom" that is emptied of concern for "love." And when the apostle Paul addresses a situation like that, he responds by saying, "Real freedom always leads us to love for others, not selfishness."  He says that from a Christian perspective, we are abusing the notion of freedom if we end up using it to justify self-indulgence.  And I suspect he would also say that we don't really understand freedom if we let it lead us to indifference or apathy toward others.  For Paul, true freedom is inseparable from loving neighbors and seeking the well-being of the people around us--anything else is a counterfeit attempt to baptize self-centeredness.

It's worth keeping that in mind, not only as we come into the homestretch of an election season, but for the way we face every day of our lives, year-round.  We live in a country that prides itself on its freedom, and yet all too often, we can only see that freedom in negative terms--in the language of "You can't tell me not to!" and "Nobody can stop me from doing what I want to do!"  What we are less used to is the kind of discourse that moves us beyond what we are "freed from" and frames the conversation in terms of what we are "freed for."  But that's exactly what the Christian way of life leads us into--a deeper understanding of freedom that is so much richer than saying, "Nobody can tell me I'm not allowed to dump the wontons or smash all the fortune cookies, because I'm FREE!" Followers of Jesus are people who find our freedom through serving others and discover our deepest satisfaction and fulfillment by caring for the needs of neighbors around us.  Rather than living our lives by constantly shrugging off our obligations to others, we find ourselves freed... to attend to their needs, to care about their stories, and to put their interests before our own.

I'm reminded of an insight of our older brother in the faith, Martin Luther, who began his famous treatise on Christian freedom with these two seemingly contradictory premises:

"A Christian is an utterly free person, lord of all, subject to none."

"A Christian is an utterly dutiful person, servant of all, subject to all."

Luther gets it:  our way of being free is also our calling to love and serve others.  The rest of the world will think it sounds like nonsense, but we know it is the God's-honest truth.  We know that freedom that isn't expressed through love is really just childish self-interest dressed in the garb of respectability. 

Today, the question to ask is, "How can I exercise my freedom through love for others?"  And then, just see where the answers you come up with lead you.  Your way of loving others might look different from the next person beside you, and you might end up with a whole sampler platter of different ways to express Christ-like love. That's just how it's supposed to be--that's what freedom really looks like.

Lord Jesus, remind us of our freedom as you remind us of our calling to love like you.