Who That

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Last week, I was hoping you’d read this week’s letter and conclude I had lost my mind. Here goes…

 

That’s overused.

“What’s overused?”

No. That, like I said.

“What, like you said?”

I said that, not what.

“Yeah, like three times already… what are you talking about?!”

I’m talking about that – the word, t-h-a-t. That’s overused.

     With apologies to Abbott and Costello, I’d like to talk about that. Good writing coaches will insist students eliminate eighty-nine percent of that in their writing. Really good ones go ninety-plus. It’s a perfectly legitimate word, that, but worn out. And sadder than the overuse is the misuse.

     Horton didn’t hear a that. Horton heard a who. With his big old elephant ears he was able to hear what others couldn’t. With his big old elephant heart he was able to hold off destruction of the who’s long enough for the who’s to project a voice of their own.

     Conclusion: John has lost his mind. (I’m even referring to myself in the third-person… ha-ha-ha!)

     Care to go bonkers with me? Come on, try just a little bit. If fictional Horton was able to save the fictional who’s, imagine how much who-saving we might be a part of – we who are living, praying, boots-on-the-ground daughters and sons of God Most High. Who’s waiting for us to lose our minds? Who’s waiting for us to engage the mind of Christ in us? I’m only asking you to go bonkers with me because I’m going bonkers with Jesus. Watch this:

     Then (Jesus) went home, and the crowd gathered again, so that they could not even eat. And when his family heard it, they went out to seize him, for they were saying, “He is out of his mind” (Mark 3:20-21).  

     Was Jesus’ family correct in their assessment of his mental state? Of course not. But as he honored the image of God in people by putting their needs ahead of his own, he surely gave the impression of being more than a little crazy. What he was doing didn’t compute, didn’t add up to advantage for himself. So what? He was out of his mind only in the sense of – being all God and all man all at the same – making his man-mind subservient to his God-mind. We won’t match the quality of Jesus’ example, but we can’t give up the pursuit. In our time there’s more dishonor for the imago Dei than ever before. I can’t imagine God is pleased. I do imagine he would be pleased to see his people reverse the trend.

     Last week I promised insanely simple examples of honoring the image of God in people. For the sake of simplicity (if not insanity), I’ll keep it to one for this week. No doubt, you’ve heard someone say something like, “There were twelve people that came to the party.” No, that didn’t happen. Who’s happened. There were twelve people – living, eternal souls, saved or unsaved (do you know which?) – who came to the party. Subtle, no? If you missed the who/that exchange, you just made my point for me. See if you can catch it with a second reading.

     Years ago I read about a family in which pronouns were not allowed. No, this was long before the current fashion of cherry-picking and customizing pronouns for oneself. This was simply a parent-led initiative to prevent the objectifying, classifying, and dehumanizing of people within their home. Pronouns are so impersonal. The tactic was especially helpful in conflict resolution. Pronouns are so third-person. Proper names brought the parties into second-person speech together – you and I – and right into what Jesus said works: “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother” (Matthew 18:15).  Joey got into your stuff? Go talk to Joey first. If the case gets kicked up to a higher court, be advised: you won’t get to refer to Joey as the defendant, or him, and certainly not that.

      In writing this letter, I’ve had a hard time meeting the eighty-nine percent rejection rate of that – I’m not a great student of even the best writing coaches. In speech, it’s even harder, as maybe you’ve noticed. That is a crutch, a one-syllable search for a period to put on an unfinished thought, a four-letter comma looking for a better idea. On the other hand, that does a good job of bringing emphasis: that’s what I like! In any case, as an enumerator of people, I hope it gets fired.  

     I’m not expecting we’ll get a high-voltage shock whenever we say that where a who belongs. But some kind of Holy Spirit buzz would be mighty handy – a subtle reminder to recognize people as eternal, the crown jewel above creation, made in God’s own image. And maybe we’ve been bumping up against the broad side of the image-of-God issue for too long – an insanely simple approach could prove effective, and refreshing. As one of my long-ago bosses used to ask: “How do we eat an elephant, John?” The only acceptable response: “One bite at a time, Bob.”

     Uh-oh – sorry, Horton!

 

Grace and Peace (and elephant ears for who’s),

 

John    

All About Image

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

 Hear the word of the Lord:

    They came to the other side of the sea, to the country of the Gerasenes. And when Jesus had stepped out of the boat, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit. He lived among the tombs. And no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain, for he had often been bound with shackles and chains, but he wrenched the chains apart, and he broke the shackles in pieces. No one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always crying out and cutting himself with stones. And when he saw Jesus from afar, he ran and fell down before him. And crying out with a loud voice, he said, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.” For he was saying to him, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” And Jesus asked him, “What is your name?” He replied, “My name is Legion, for we are many.” And he begged him earnestly not to send them out of the country. Now a great herd of pigs was feeding there on the hillside, and they begged him, saying, “Send us to the pigs; let us enter them.” So he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the pigs; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the sea and drowned in the sea.

    The herdsmen fled and told it in the city and in the country. And people came to see what it was that had happened. And they came to Jesus and saw the demon-possessed man, the one who had had the legion, sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, and they were afraid. And those who had seen it described to them what had happened to the demon-possessed man and to the pigs. And they began to beg Jesus to depart from their region. As he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed with demons begged him that he might be with him. And he did not permit him but said to him, “Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him, and everyone marveled (Mark 5:1-20).

     We have a serious image-of-God issue in our time. There is a wholesale lack of honor – and even dishonor – for the image of God in people. It’s killing us. The flippant attitude toward the imago Dei in every human is withering our souls and destroying lives. And if we who have the mind of Christ will silence for a moment the less-than-Christ voice that’s insisting on primacy, we will hear the Father saying he is not pleased.

     Didn’t see that one coming, did you? Neither did I. I thought I could suppress it for another week or two, but no. You thought, from the Bible passage above, I would be highlighting Jesus’ authority over demons, or offering you hope for deliverance from whatever you’re suffering today – deliverance like the Gerasene man experienced (only scaled for a first-world context). Usually, you would be right. But today is not usual. From the first half of Chapter 5 in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus wants us to see the image of God in people – the way he does.

     Jesus was willing to destroy two thousand pigs to deliver one human being. I get the idea it could have been two million pigs, same result. Lying before Jesus, needing deliverance, was one who bore the image of God. One was enough. The entire porcine population of earth might have been drowned that day – whatever it took to honor the image.

     Two Sundays ago I preached from Matthew 25, the section in which Jesus describes Judgment Day, and how he, the King seated on his glorious throne, will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats (verse 32). The separation is more than a slight distinction, a 51/49 relationship – this is nothing less than heaven and hell. The sheep go on his right: the blessed (verse 34), who have fed the hungry, given drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, visited the sick, and gone to the prisoner. On his left go the goats: the cursed (verse 41), who found plenty of excuses not to. If you’ll allow it, I’ll distill the criteria down to a single line between the two groups: Those who honored the image of God, and those who did not.

     The people of God routinely forfeit moral authority by hustling moral issues into the political arena. I’m talking about you and me, Church. I used to blame the politicians, but no more – it’s our fault. You wouldn’t take your mobile phone to a blacksmith’s shop for repairs. It makes even less sense to load image-of-God issues onto a system that was never designed to handle them. Some of these need to be dealt with in more detail, so I’ll be taking the next few weeks to air them out. Unsubscribe if you must, but I’m hoping you’ll stick with me.

     To cut us a little bit of slack (but not for long), I get it: the problems are colossal. Good luck getting a handle on human trafficking, the sex trade, chattel slavery, and the denial of basic human rights in every country on earth (no exceptions). Sounds daunting when I put it that way, doesn’t it? No more daunting than it already was. Notice from the Gospel how the Gerasenes had already given up on their neighbor: He lived among the tombs. And no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain, for he had often been bound with shackles and chains, but he wrenched the chains apart, and he broke the shackles in pieces. No one had the strength to subdue him (Mark 5:3-4).  

     And then Jesus showed up – the only one who knew what the Gerasene man really needed. He didn’t need to be subdued. He needed to be delivered. What brought Jesus and the man together? Jesus called to him: For he was saying to him, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” (5:8). Looking beyond the dozens closest to him, the ones who already basked in the sight and scent and proximity of Jesus, he found the one who needed him most in that moment.

     Find one. Start there. Every Christian can honor the image of God in any human being. There’s a lot of talk about cultural and racial reckonings in our time, of revolutions waiting to be started, powder kegs packed-up tight against the bands. Don’t be scared off. It’s the language of frustration, and frustration is all it’ll produce until the people of God get it into their minds and hearts that the image of God is the issue at hand. The big work is all work that the King intends to have done. Between now and the great and final reckoning, he is providing stages of reckoning, in perfect order and scope. No believer will be left without an opportunity to honor the image, one image-bearer at a time.

     Next week we’re going to reset to Simple. The examples I’ll be giving are so simple, you’ll think I’ve lost my mind. In fact, I’m counting on it. I’m counting on you thinking I’ve lost my crooked and carnal mind – or put it on a short leash, anyway – in favor of fully engaging the mind of Christ. Pray for me… please?     

 

Grace and Peace (from the one in whose image we are made),

 

John  

Jacked Up

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Have you decided yet? It’s been a week since I asked you to start considering. Palm Sunday is coming up in just 59 days. Tick-tock, Church. On April 10 this year, we commemorate the Triumphal Entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, kicking off what will be known as Holy Week 2022. Will you be a cloak-spreader or a palm-spreader? Right now is not too soon to decide.

     Last week I wrote to you about two different perceptions of Jesus’ identity among the crowds on the original Palm Sunday. Most of the people spread their cloaks on the road (Matthew 21:8), revealing a prophetic perception of who Jesus is – “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” (verse 9) – the King himself, coming in peace to initiate his kingdom on earth. But others spread tree branches in front of him, revealing a nationalistic view – “Hosanna to the Son of David!” (same verse) – the king himself, coming to consummate his kingdom, to kick the occupying Romans out of the Promised Land… along with anybody else who was causing them grief. In the intervening years, almost two thousand of them so far, have the percentages shifted any? And if so, in what direction? If Jesus gave us a chance to fully reenact the Triumphal Entry on April 10 of 2022, would “most” Christians spread their cloaks? How many “others” would there be? Gird your loins, Cobblestone, we must, at this juncture, take a hard honest look at how the various perceptions of Jesus’ identity affect the life of Christian faith in our time.

     As an indicator of future performance, past history is hard to beat. From the account of the Triumphal Entry, move ahead to the night of Jesus’ arrest and trial before the high priest (Matthew 26:47-75), which was in our Bible reading plan earlier this week…

     Now the chief priests and the whole council were seeking false testimony against Jesus that they might put him to death, but they found none, though many false witnesses came forward. At last two came forward and said, “This man said, ‘I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to rebuild it in three days’” (verses 59-61).

     “At last.” Many came forward with hooey and half-truth. None of it matched. Even in the kangaroo court of Caiaphas, it wasn’t admissible. Finally, two “witnesses” were willing to collaborate on something the whole council could get jacked up about: the temple.

     You need to understand that the temple was the last big thing the Jews had going for them. Marginalized and politically diminished over the previous 400 years, they found themselves by Jesus’ time under the thumb of Rome, the most oppressive ruler since Nebuchadnezzar. The temple complex was the one place remaining where Jewish rule went mostly unchallenged – short of a riot, the Romans tended to not intervene. By extension, the temple rulers held sway over a fair amount of what happened in Jerusalem – culturally speaking, anyway. Making the best of a bad situation, you might say. But along with understanding what the temple meant to them, you also need to know why the temple was where it was, and what it was supposed to mean to all of God’s people.

     After the Babylonian exile, the Restoration Temple was built by Jews returning to Jerusalem. Its purpose was to restore worship in the holy city – “Thus says the Lord of hosts: Consider your ways. Go up to the hills and bring wood and build the house, that I may take pleasure in it and that I may be glorified, says the Lord” (Haggai 1:7-8). The altar was rebuilt and worship resumed in 516BC. The temple was a modest structure compared to the original, but it fulfilled the purpose. Other purposes became attached later on, though not so much to the Lord’s pleasure.

     King Herod “the Great” took hold of the project in his day. Though he moved lots of earth (if not heaven) to increase the size of the temple and its courts, their meaning was diminished. Like the Pharaohs building monuments to themselves on the backs of Hebrew slaves, Herod went about loading hardship after hardship on his own people. The ironic part: nobody stopped him. The bigger and more elaborate the temple complex became, the more national, cultural, and ethnic pride it evoked. While the Restoration temple was built to glorify God, Herod’s Temple was built to glorify the works of man.

     Jesus’ accusers were able to rally the troops around the idea that somebody was threatening to bust up their playhouse. The ruling Jews feared nothing more than losing their grip on what happened in their lives and culture – as tenuous and illusionary as that grip was – and did their best to confer the same fear on others. Anything but trust God. Anything but listen to the man standing right in front of them who, in the very next round of questioning, revealed he was the very Messiah they were supposed to be looking for, and said, “But I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Matthew 26:64). Maybe they thought the timing wasn’t optimal.

     So how’s the timing now? One of the more widely published statistics related to Christianity says that about 65% of Americans claim to be Christians. (Stick with me a second: One of the really hot studies has the “nones” outnumbering evangelicals 26 to 24%. Let’s save that for another day. The 65% includes Americans who could be classified as “cultural Christians.”) But according to the same research by Barna, only 6% of Americans hold a biblical worldview. What? Less than one-tenth of claimed Christians believe what the Bible says, and would act on it. Apparently, it’s easy to click the Yes box next to “Christian?” Far more revealing are the responses to questions about what happens where the rubber meets the road.

     I regret whenever my first impulse is to think/say/do something other than what Scripture instructs. I regret whenever the only path I see in a given moment is to put my trust in the glorified works of man. How about you? Holding a biblical worldview takes Holy Spirit-empowered grip. And the question remains: Has there ever been a good time to not listen to Jesus?

    Jesus wasn’t impressed with Herod’s Temple, but his disciples were. Leaving out of Jerusalem on Tuesday afternoon of the original Holy Week, they pointed out the majesty of the place – like eighth-graders on a Washington, DC field trip. But he answered them, “You see all these, do you not? Truly, I say to you, there will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down” (Matthew 24:2). The temple’s purpose had become so polluted there was no longer a reason for it to stand. Thirty-seven years later, it wasn’t… and hasn’t since.

     History cannot go in a way God has not ordained. Does that mean we hunker down and wait it out? Of course not. We are agents of history, under the rule of the rightful King, now and forever. Pray. Work. Repeat. At every opportunity, spread your cloak and serve him in humility. Engage the mind of Christ and work his will – the solutions that have been heretofore unimaginable. Please don’t throw down a palm branch and expect the King to validate your expectations on him. He’ll be busting up our playhouse, too, the structures and methods we’ve been lured into trusting – but it’s for his glory and our good.       

     And since Jesus is doing the busting, what’s to get jacked up about?          

 

 Grace and Peace (on the road to restoration),

 

John

Your Cloak Please

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     One of the stranger theories I have for the meaning of eternity involves being a witness to events I wasn’t there for – when time is obsolete and we ramp back into eternity, going to a certain point of history and geography to see something that changed the story of mankind. It’s not a dearly held theory; I have no scriptural basis for it (maybe because I haven’t looked very hard), and if it turns out to be bogus I won’t be terribly disappointed. Meanwhile, I use it to entertain myself.

     The scene might be one of Abraham Lincoln’s Cabinet meetings or the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, or maybe looking out the window of the Apollo 8 command module with Jim Lovell to see the first earthrise witnessed by the naked eye. I think you get the idea. By far, my favorite imaginings involve scenes from the Bible, and our reading this week has included a selection from the Top Ten list – the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. Whether you’re intrigued by my theory or sure I’ve gone completely bonkers, humor me will you, and let’s visit the original Palm Sunday.

     Now when they drew near to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying,

    “Say to the daughter of Zion,
‘    Behold, your king is coming to you,
    humble, and mounted on a donkey,
    on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden’” (Matthew 21:1-5).

     The donkey figures largely in the scene. Don’t forget about the donkey.

     The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them. They brought the donkey and the colt and put on them their cloaks, and he sat on them. Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” And the crowds said, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee” (verses 6-11).

     Plugging myself into this kind of scene is, as I said, entertaining – until it isn’t. At first I can imagine being one of the people on the right side of whatever issue is at hand, but the illusion doesn’t hold for long. It’s like, when I read the story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32), I cast myself as the compassionate father, only to find out I’m actually the honked-off older brother. You and I may be headed for a similar experience with the triumphal entry. Let’s see who the players are, and figure it out from there.

     As Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the donkey (please don’t forget about the donkey!), the whole city was stirred up; almost everybody shouted, “Hosanna (“O save!”) to the Son of David”; but not everybody placed the same item on the road in front of him. It makes a difference. Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road.  Since I’ve sucked you into this scene with my overwrought imagination, tell me: which are you spreading – cloak or palm branch? I’ll wait while you decide.

     Time’s up. The cloak and the palm branch represent two different perceptions of who Jesus is. Spreading the palm branch represents commitment to creed and country; spreading the cloak represents commitment to the king. Spreading the palm branch throws expectations onto the king; spreading the cloak means receiving his rule.

     In purely practical terms, look at it this way: Who carries a palm tree around? The people who cut palm branches – were those cut from their own palm tree or somebody else’s? And once Jesus had passed (on the donkey, remember), reckon they picked up those branches, or left them in the road? On the other hand, everybody in Jesus’ culture would have had a cloak of their own. If you didn’t have a cloak, you got one, and quickly. The cloak was your wearable camping gear, your shelter from the elements. If you reach to grab someone else’s cloak to spread, you’ve got a fight on your hands. And here lay cloaks on the road. Are you seeing a higher level of commitment? And since donkeys don’t step out of the parade for bathroom breaks, almost everybody who spread a cloak would have at least a hoof print for a souvenir, while a few lucky souls would have… well, as the sign in the barn says: Manure Happens. I told you the donkey figures largely in the scene. Pick up your cloak anyway – you’re going to need it.

     You and I, Church, we live in the time between the first appearing of Jesus and the second. All the people who crowded the road between Bethpage and Jerusalem that day, they lived at the very opening of the same age we live in. Maybe it’s easier now to see ourselves in the scene (whether my whimsical theory has any merit or not). They were living out the fulfillment of prophecy. So are we.

     Kings who come in peace come riding on donkeys – nobody among Jesus’ kin and country could have been unaware of that symbol from their history (see Zechariah 9:9). Sin and transgression and adversarial attitudes can be dealt with, and no armies have to clash… yet. The King is offering peaceful resolution – on his terms, of course. Don’t think the King is any less serious or formidable because of the donkey. The donkey is for our benefit, not his.

     We needed the palm branches on the road – for contrast, if nothing else. And while my imagination is in overdrive, I’m picturing more than a few Israelites, bedding down in their unsoiled cloaks that night, thinking, “Dang! I wish I had spread my cloak on the road.” Back here in present-day reality, I’m praying we become a whole church of cloak-spreaders, receiving the King’s rule.

 

 Grace and Peace (in His dominion),

 

John