Jesus has my number!

Jesus has my number!

That’s what I think as I read again Luke’s account of the “sermon on the plain.” (Luke 6:17-49) Compared to Matthew’s encyclopedic account of Jesus’ teaching, Luke presents the radio mix, the summary for short attention spans. And immediately it jumps out at me:

Jesus has my number!

Luke’s gospel is built around the idea that God is turning the tables on the world-as-we-know-it and on self-satisfied “religion.” And it’s a story of Jesus being misunderstood, not meeting anyone’s expectations, right from the start. His parents don’t get why he would stay riveted at the feet of the temple’s teachers. John doesn’t get that he actually needs to be baptized. His friends and neighbors don’t get how he could have a new interpretation of a familiar prophecy. Those who actually see him expel a demon can’t figure it out. The healed crowds don’t get there are other sick for him to go to. The Pharisees don’t get – well, ok, condemn – his table companions and his view of the Sabbath.

Jesus consistently disappoints the conventional wisdom (which is always the former and rarely the latter). The pundits of his day would have put his name next to a big down arrow on the CW watch, and said something like this:

|
\/ Jesus. Knows his law inside and out, but following it? Not so much. And his dinner companions leave a lot to be desired.

Not exactly a candidate for high priest.

Really, only Mary, who overcomes her intitial shock to embrace Gabriel’s message, gets it. And the devil, who respects that Jesus has a deep understanding of God’s message – not superficial like so many of the religious folks he deals with – and withdraws to find another way. Oh, and the shepherds in the field, whose expectations are so low that any news is good news.

But misunderstood as he is, Jesus understands them all.

And it scares me how well he understands me.

Jesus knows that I’d like to think I have it made and my worries are over. That I’m pretty satisfied with myself sometimes, and like it best when I have “control” in at least some circumstances. He knows that given half a chance I run from suffering without looking back. That I can "go along to get along." And if someone takes advantage of me, I am so not into helping them use me further.

Jesus has my number!

I know I can lead worship or teach or pray publicly and then turn around and snap at one of my kids. I can find fault with the best of them, and I’m no stranger to expecting the worst from people. I’ll tell you I don’t expect something back from my giving, but I want it to “make a difference” (in my eyes, on my time), and I think it ought to count for something. Jesus knows, too.

Jesus’ teachings from the plain (or the mount, in Matthew) show that it’s not our world that is reality, but God’s kingdom. Dallas Willard says that these teachings prove that Jesus is brilliant, and I think he’s right. Jesus has both real, deep, intimate experience with that flawed thing we call human nature and a clear-eyed appreciation for what really matters – the reign of God. But this is not theological insight divorced from real life, not psycho-babble, not control disguised as orthodoxy.

Jesus is divinity shining through real humanity. He’s authentic, he’s with people, he’s focused on wholeness and healing, not making people feel worse. His authority is so real that he doesn’t need to impose it except on demons and religious leaders (interesting combination, don’t you think?). No wonder crowds surge toward him, longing to connect with the energy that radiates from him.

If I’m going to be known, this is the guy I want to know me.

Jesus proves in these brief paragraphs that he sees past all our masks and good intentions. He can repeat all the lies we tell ourselves before they escape our lips. But does he condemn us – condemn me?

No. Jesus’s response isn’t to lecture, or to exclude, or to feel better at our expense. He doesn’t whack anybody over the head with a Torah scroll. He shows us, in ways we can’t deny, that he knows we miss the mark; and he knows that we know that. He explains and models a better way to cope with our less than ideal reality. He doesn’t tell us what to think, he shows us how to live.

Luke dutifully scribes all of Jesus’ teaching for his audience of outsiders. But he leaves in a few delightfully telling details about how this master class goes down. As Jesus and the disciples settle on the plain, crowds press in on them, delirious for the healing and wholeness that they have heard that he brings. Gigawatts of God’s power flow out of him, and Luke tells us that every one of them was healed.

Before Jesus ever utters a syllable about living generously and pouring one’s life out for others – he does it.

He keeps doing it, right to the cross.

He’s still doing it.

Jesus, help me to watch what you’re doing. And do it, too.

Author's bio

Can be found here.

Found in Translation

Since we've been grappling with "kingdom of God" language, you might be interested in this insight from Brian McLaren, from the current issue of Sojourners magazine:

When Jesus spoke of the kingdom of God, his language was charged with urgent
political, religious, and cultural electricity. But if we speak of the kingdom
of God today, the original electricity is largely gone, and in its place we
often find a kind of tired familiarity that inspires not hope and excitement,
but anxiety or boredom.

Brian says that's in part because kings are anachronisms in today's world, and in part because the term brings up images of partriarchy and imperialism -- not what Jesus was talking about. He suggests six terms that are worth consideration today:

• The Dream of God (living out God's dreams for his people)
• The Revolution of God (overturning the totalitarian regime we've created)
• The Mission of God (We're sent to bring healing to the world)
• The Party of God (I like this one!)
• The Network of God (we're all connected to God and one another)
• The Dance of God (participating in the mutual indwelling of the Trinity)

Which of these images work for you? What other images do you like to use?

Breathing in God's Spirit

The song "Better Days" by the Robbie Seay Band reminds me of our conversation last night:

where ever you are
breathe out and breath again
know that life is hard,
but its worth breathing...

grace has found me
shaken up my soul,
grace will follow
where ever you will go,
listen to me now grace, oh grace,
is calling for you just to say

here come better days
here come better days,
better days, and a better place I know.

The Church: Sin Management vs. Kingdom Living

Sin management is getting a lot of comment lately, this from a Northwest Quaker.

Sin management: God's Answer?

Postmodern Disciple posts a conservative emergent's view of Chapter 2. Here's a sample:

We are told by the Holy Scriptures that Abraham believed God (not theology, not beliefs, but God) and it was credited to him as righteousness. He didn’t merely trust in some arrangement for an eternity at some ethereal party in the sky, he trusted in a very real, personal being who interacted with his life-happenings and was truly a person. He (Abraham) was NOT concerned whether or not he would go to this “heaven” after he passed on, he trusted God to be with him in this life and he worshipped only this being. And for doing so, he was declared a friend of God. And no friend of God will be in “hell.”

Reflections on Ch. 4 -- Who is Really Well Off?

Our culture is obsessed with the question of what is the good life? and its corellary, who deserves this good life? In our rush to achieve the American dream, we've quashed the deeper question -- what makes a good person and a good life? -- that is, Willard argues, the main question that Jesus wanted his disciples to ask and answer. We've left this question to the hyper-religious, who define it mostly in terms of what a good person will not do, and to the marketplace, which simply says "it's all good."

Both these answers actually flow out of the cultural desires rather than critique them -- which is what Jesus actually did in his culture. For many Christians, the "good" question boils down into a series of things that prevent them from screwing up the good (mainly material, but not always) gifts God has blessed them with. For many other people, it is mainly "if it feels good, do it" -- both the asking and answering of which is driven by the marketplace and the false desires conjured up by consumerism.

Jesus answered all these questions in the section of the sermon on the mount known as the beatitudes -- the "blesseds." These texts are often used to comfort us in our mourning and weakness, or to spiritualize the state of the poor and broken. But what are we to really make of them today? Or as Willard puts it, how are we to live in response to them?

Willard suggests looking at these texts as an extension of Jesus' primary message: the kingdom of God is available to you here and now. He notes that Jesus proclaims and lives this message out in Matthew 4, and then immediately teaches his disciples, pointing to the crowds seeking healing who have followed them as object examples, his critique of the religion of the day. The official view of the temple was that those who keep the law and purify themselves can come near God. Jesus' message is precisely the opposite, that the kingdom of God is available to the strong, the tempted and the weak not just the legalists and spiritual supermen. In his view Jesus intends neither to excuse or exalt the states of spiritual poverty and weakness, but to imply the radical notion that God works in and through them.

• How do you read this argument? Is this just a call to pull oneself up by one's bootstraps (otherwise known as works-righteousness) or a radical inclusion of people in God's kingdom?
• Which is Jesus turning upside down -- the conception of who we need to be or our idea of how and with whom God works?

Jesus' teaching, Willard argues, uses a method by which he uses examples from daily life to indicate why the common wisdom is extremely common but not very wise. His teaching by its very nature is not designed to hand down a set of rules to follow but to cause the disciples to think, what is really going on here? He forces the hearer to go beyond his words to his meaning, which has to be thought about, probed and processed.

Take his understanding of the parable of the rich young ruler in Mark 10 (see page 108). Jesus overturns the common assumption that the rich are rich because of God's special favor, which astonishes his hearers. Yet it's too simplistic to view that as a condemnation of wealth per se. Jesus' teaching, Willard says, is that we, ultimately, have to put our trust in one place. We may have wealth and faith, but when it comes time to choose between the two, which will it be? When Jesus put that question to the rich ruler, he chose to trust in what he could control (his riches) rather than God's provision. Jesus is saying that we make these choices all the time and they have consequences.

American culture/civil religion today views the rich, the healthy, the 'together' as receiving God's special favor as well. I remember a colleague telling me of her time in hospital chaplaincy. She developed a close relationship with a woman whose child was seriously ill. The family were members of a conservative, evangelical church, and during the child's long illness (the child eventually died) the pastor of the church came only once the ordeal, and then was called away in a few minutes. As my colleague tells it, the underlying cause was the theological understanding in the church that illness was the result of some unconfessed and un-dealt-with sin.

• Where are the "rich young rulers" in our culture? How might we read this parable, in light of Willard's interpretation, in our culture?

Jesus uses this method in many of his familiar teachings, such as the story of the Good Samaritan, which forces the hearer to reconsider the seemingly obvious question of who is my neighbor?

The point, Willard argues, is to look at these teachings as proclamation of the kingdom -- not to commend states of being as the way to get to God, because there are many, but to indicate that the kingdom is available here and now. Within these and many states of being not addressed directly in the Beatitudes, the possibility of living in the kingdom of God is real -- perhaps more real than it is for those whose "having it together" makes seeing the world in a new way unnecessary and even unattractive.

Reflections on Ch. 3 -- What Jesus Knew: Our God-bathed World

What is it that God is God, if he is not God to you? – Martin Luther

This is a dense and plodding chapter, to my taste. It spends a lot of time making points that seem obvious to me; though I realize that the heaven/earth dualism has never made much sense to me. I resonate more with the Hebrew understanding, that Willard argues for here, of the integration of our world and God’s. Here’s what I think is going on here:

Jesus is well known in our culture. He is in some quarters thought of as a mostly divine being – human, yes, because the plan of salvation requires it, but not completely so. This is the “Away in a Manger” view: the little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes. In other segments he is thought of as a beacon of peace and gentleness. Yet others view him as a dispenser of platitudes – turn the other cheek, do unto others… -- that might add something to an already good life. Willard argues that we really don’t think of Jesus in the way that makes the most sense: as brilliant, as having complete insight into human nature and the human predicament, as teacher of a whole new way of living.

Reading this I realize how rarely I saw Jesus in this way. One of the drawbacks of living in a “Christian” culture is that it’s easy to see Jesus baptizing our habits and assumptions, rather than truly challenging them. Then it’s a short step to hearing Jesus’ critique of the things we and the culture struggle with: lust, personal responsibility, etc. and miss any critique of our culture’s innate acceptance of poverty, insistance on self-reliance (the Lord helps those who help themselves), war as a means of solving problems, and so on.

In this chapter, Willard begins his presentation of Jesus as a brilliant teacher whose way of life makes sense when viewed flying right side up. Here’s how he makes that argument:

Jesus knew God intimately, better than we actually can know our human parents. The Trinity is deeply connected, in constant communion. A famous Orthodox icon of the Triune God shows three beings, full of light, seated around a table, dipping their hands into the same bowl. This is a community of constant interaction, of common purpose, of shared thoughts at the deepest level.

As a result of this knowledge, Jesus describes God as a constantly present force in the world, a joyous being who cares for his children. Willard notes that God constantly experiences the scenes of immense beauty that change our lives or at least give them new perspectives, and God is present in the farthest reaches of the cosmos, the light of which doesn’t reach us for millions of years. This being, whose life is beauty, truth and awe, is not a petty watchman making sure we don’t trash our puny corner of the galaxy.

Jesus, Willard writes, “was and is a joyous, creative person” who declares to his followers that the person who has seen him has seen his Father. He was known for the joy that flowed through him. He attracted followers precisely because he was not like the “religious” leaders of the time – serious and judgmental. Jesus’ purpose was to bring his disciples to a point where their joy would be complete. And he assures us, Willard says, that “our universe is a perfectly safe place to be.”

• If those who see Jesus see God, what does Jesus’ personality tell us about God? What can we learn from Jesus about God’s attitudes toward and desires for us, his creatures?
• What is joy? What would it mean for us to have complete joy in Christ?
• Is our universe a perfectly safe place to be? How would we have to re-conceive it to feel perfectly safe and at home?

Willard notes that Scripture consistently places “the heavens” near and accessible to us. God calls out to his people – to Abraham, to Jacob, to Moses, to the Israelites – from “the heavens,” but from right here, with the sound of his voice, with pillars of cloud, with fire. God’s presence with Israel is guaranteed, even when the nation is in exile. In the New Testament, God speaks and sends a dove at Jesus’ baptism, and flames appear at Pentecost. Even more, God’s incarnation as Jesus shows that God is not only with us, but is us – takes on our flesh and limitations. In short, the Judeo-Christian tradition views the space around us, the world we live in, as filled by God.

• What does it mean to look at our ordinary, everyday worlds and see them as inhabited by the God who created the universe?

Matthew’s gospel refers to the “kingdom of the heavens” more frequently than “the kingdom of God,” – which is the term used throughout the rest of the New Testament. This is not a coincidence, he says. How we see the connection determines whether we will see God as intimately involved in our lives (and our lives as intricately interwoven with God’s) or as the Deist clockmaker of the founding fathers, who set the stage and leaves us to write, direct and act the play ourselves.

Some strains of Christianity view God as a far off being in the heavens, wherever they are, pulling the levers of the world behind the curtain of space. Others view God as only existing in our hearts. Neither of these extremes, Willard argues, do justice to the God Jesus described. Rather, God is:
• not hidden but revealed by the world and events we experience
• everywhere in time and space but not localized – all events and places are accessible to him
• “seen everywhere by those who have long lived for him”
• Possessed of unbodily personal power

God’s full world is described as “all things visible and invisible,” Willard says, and in this world human existence is good “because God is constantly poised to do ‘exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or imagine, in terms of the energy that is working in us.’” (Eph. 3:20)

In this world, however, things are not what they seem. “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” This existence is limited, seeing through a glass darkly, but eventually we shall see clearly, with maturity. “There are none in the humanly down position so low they cannot be lifted up by entering God’s order, and none in the humanly “up” position so high that that they can disregard God’s point of view on their lives.”

• “To become a disciple of Jesus is to accept now that inversion of human distinctions that will sooner or later be forced upon everyone by the irresistible reality of his kingdom. How must we think of him to see the inversion from our present viewpoint?"

This chapter reinforces an insight that I had many years ago and have struggled with ever since. Christianity is not just a set of things to believe, or even a way of thinking. It is not just a way of living, although that is closer to reality. It is at root a new way of looking at the world, new eyes to see what is right in front of us. The problem is that culture is, at it's root, a way of looking at the world as well, and it is not God's way. So I am constantly called to go beyond thinking that is compatible with the culture I am swimming in, such as knowing that God hate's injustice, and being called to the view of God's kingdom, which is that I must perceive injustice and then do something about it.

It would be so much easier if we could keep flying upside down and rest on platitudes of Jesus to make the disorientation easier to take. Grabbing the stick and forcing the plane to roll is much, much more work.

Bonus: reflections on "ordinary" life

Read them here: church.nu: Ordinary?

Reflections on Ch. 2 -- Gospels of Sin Management

There are two gospels prevalent in our culture, Willard says. On the "right" is a gospel that makes dealing with our sin problem to achieve personal salvation the main thing. On the "left" is a purely social gospel that achieves salvation by trying to right social/systemic wrongs. Both ultimately fail, he says, because they are primarily "gospels of sin management" that reduce the incarnation and the cross to bar codes that God will scan at the judgment day and admit the bearer into heaven.

Both are far removed from the message of Jesus -- "the kingdom of God is available to you, now." Both focus on superficial works (a code of personal holiness on one hand, commitment to social justice on the other) as a substitute for real Christ-likeness, which is joining him in bringing about his Father's kingdom here and now.

By focusing on these methods of managing sin, by focusing solely on Christ's atonement or by trying to atone through social action, these incomplete gospels, Willard says, both lull Christians into a false sense of security -- I'm marked with the bar code that counts -- and allow non-Christians to believe they have rejected the message of Jesus when they really haven't heard it in its entirety. As a result there is a lot of faith and religion that focuses on getting into heaven or thinking about far-off problems and yet has nothing to do with how one lives here and now, in the midst of ordinary life.

• What is the gospel to you?
  
• Does being a Christian have anything to do with the kind of person you are? Can being like Christ become a "work" that leads to false salvation?

As we mark the 100th anniversary of the birth of German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was executed by the Nazis for participating in a plot against Hitler, it's worth looking at his well-known criticism of "cheap grace." In his classic "The Cost of Discipleship," Bonhoeffer writes that "cheap grace means the justification of sin without the justification of the sinner. Grace alone does everything, they say, so everything can remail as it was before" -- essentially, grace is the bar code that God will scan without looking at the product. But Bonhoeffer notes that the price that God paid for grace means it must be costly to us as well. "Costly grace is the gospel that must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock."

Willard quite rightly notes that "grace is cheap from the point of view of those who need it." But he wonders whether God would establish a system by which the mere assent to ideas, rather than living in accordance with the principles of his kingdom, would suffice.

• Is grace costly or cheap? Or can it be both?

Most challengingly, Willard suggest that we have substituted principles of grace and social action for actually sitting at the feet of Jesus the teacher. Formal religious behavior or isolated "mountaintop" experiences take the place of the imitation of Christ. And, he says, systems of church membership, Christian education, and preaching focus on these principles and experiences rather than the kingdom of God and our role in it.

• Have we substituted little gospels for Jesus' core message about living in God's kingdom now?
• How can these "gospels of sin management" be a stumbling block to people searching for spiritual meaning or an experience of the fulness of God?
  

Luther and faith

For Luther, faith was much more than the assent to a set of doctrines, affiliation with a church, or a method of "sin management," the current maladies that Willard describes. For Luther, faith was:

1. An active response to the gospel
2. A personal relationship with God, and
3. Lived out in glorifying God and serving one's neighbors

Luther taught that salvation is God's acceptance of us through faith in Christ, and does not require us to do anything to earn or deserve it. In fact, attempting to do so proves that faith is something of our own doing, and isn't really in Christ. Yet he was equally clear that true faith would be seen not just by God but by the believer and by the world. Luther would share Willard's criticisms of theologies that require either ethereal faith or social action alone, because neither take God completely seriously.

In "The Theology of Martin Luther," Paul Althaus describes Luther's understanding of faith as an active relationship to God and trust in God's promises to us. For Luther, "faith exists only as a response to God's word ... This word is the word of "promise," that is, of the gospel." (43) He goes on to say that "for Luther then faith means accepting God's promise from the heart and taking a chance on it." (44) This implies living as if the gospel of God's grace is true and that Christ has sent us as he was sent. (John 20).

Just as Jesus approached the chosen disciples and said "Follow me!" the gospel is a summons addressed directly to me. "Faith therefore is always a direct relationship to God himself and to Christ," Althaus writes. "Faith is unconditional trust of God in his word." (44) This can't be done by assenting to doctrine, nor by being part of the church can the church have faith for you.

Luther would certainly argue with the focus of some strains of Christianity on "eternal life." "Faith is the way in which, even while living in the midst of earthly life, we transcend it and live in God, in the fulness of salvation," he says. (47) As Luther himself put it:

Wherever there is faith, eternal life has already begun. (LW 14, 88)

By this Luther doesn't mean that everything has been accomplished and nothing more need be done. Christians live in an in-between time, where God's kingdom has come "already," but has "not yet" been fully revealed. So living to imitate and obey Christ is "the practical form of hope appropriate to the condition of waiting between already having salvation and not yet having it," Althaus says. (250)

We're used to hearing Luther speak of justification by faith, without works. But his writings make it abundantly clear that Luther knew that real faith would produce fruit. Listen to these samples (emphasis added):

"We must therefore most certainly maintain that where there is no faith there also can be no good works; and conversely, that there is no faith where there are no good works. Therefore faith and good works should be so closely joined together that the essence of the entire Christian life consists in both." (WA 12, 282 quoted in Althaus, 246)

"The forgiveness of sins takes place in two ways: first inwardly, through the gospel and the word of God which is received by faith in the heart toward God; second, outwardly through works, about which II Peter 1[:10] says...: 'Dear brethren, be zealous to confirm your calling and election.' He means to say that we should confirm our possession of faith and the forgiveness of sin ... the outward forgiveness that I show in my deeds is a sure sign that I have the forgiveness of sin in the sight of God. On the other hand, if I do not show this in my relations with my neighbor, I have a sure sign that I do not have the forgiveness of sin in the sight of God but am still stuck in my unbelief. ... He takes the work and puts a promise on top of it, so that it might be appropriately called a sacrament, a means of strengthening faith." (LW 21, 149 f., quoted on Althaus, 247)

Luther did not view good works as unnecessary, he simply made it clear that we won't be saved by them. Our works can never be perfect and holy enough to deserve salvation, but even in their limited and imperfect state they can share God's love with our neighbors, and so strengthen our faith.