Does Christ "worry?"

This has been a long couple of days. Couldn't get to church yesterday, and I had a lot to do after being woken up Saturday night at 1 am. Worked through the evening last night, and finally am sitting down...

Sometime yesterday, a thought occurred to me. I had been worrying over a personal point in my life. Part of my worry was to try to make my point eloquently enough that the person about whom I am worried will see my point and amend behavior that is detrimental.

That took me a couple of hours to write a letter. A letter that I knew I would not send, but could not help but write it anyway. Those two hours were time I could have taken to rest in the Word and reflect, and write a bit that might actually matter.

As I was driving to work, I realized something. I had chosen worry over worship. The fact that I had done that really put the value of worry at the forefront of my mind. How could I have gotten lost in an activity that meant so little, relative to writing something worshipful? I am glad that I did, because the pain of that realization of NOT worshipping made me really focus hard on the concept of "worry."

I have been praying to "die" lately. Not physically, I have too much left to do and give, but to "die" to myself, so that Christ can fill what remains. As I reflected how I had spent the afternoon worrying about a point of communication, I realized how far away from that "death" I am. If Christ fills me, then my faith, like His faith, should become stronger and stronger. Christ did not say, God is going to kick your ass. He said, God will take care of you. As a matter of fact, He says this over and over again.

Faith, then, becomes a belief in the fact that God *will* provide. And not just for me, but for everyone, including the one I had been so worried about "convincing." So, it seems to me that the more that Christ is in me, the less I have to "worry" about, because the stronger my faith is. Once I thought about the answer to the question, "does Christ worry?" I realized that if Christ is growing in my, my faith is growing, and therefore my worry is decreasing. The more Christ is in me, the greater my faith, the less my worry.

I can still have concern, and I can still work for justice, and I can still pray as hard as I can for people, but with faith, I can let go of things and know that God WILL provide. So, when I need to draw boundaries and walk away, I no longer have to worry. God WILL provide. Often, just walking away creates the opportunity that God needs to do better that which I had been trying to do. In other words, my presence becomes counterproductive to a better plan that God has. But gently, He has let me know these things.

So, as I have been praying to "die," I am starting to realize what this means. Losing my identity in Christ has always seemed so foreign and so threatening. I am now starting to realize how *fulfilling* actually is. Does Christ "worry?" No. Should I "worry?" As Christ grows in me (and my faith gets stronger and stronger), the answer is also no.

The NT reading for yesterday dealt with Christ's command over a fig tree. Very matter of factly, he describes the power of faith. And part of the faith promise He gives is "If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer."

As my faith and belief continues to grow, I very much feel myself becoming a testament to this statement.

An hour in the garden

This has always been one of my most favorite parables. Christ tells a story about a landowner who hires men to work in his field. Over the course of the day, he brings in more workers, and even up to an hour left in the day, he brings in workers. At the end of the day, he lines up the workers, starting with the most recent hires first, and he gives the most recent hires a full day's wage.

As the others in the line see this, they get excited, thinking they will get that much more, but when they get their reward, it is the same as those who worked for just an hour. They do not understand, and the explanation from Jesus is that this is how the Kingdom of Heaven is ordered.

This has so many ways to be examined. First, can one attribute relative levels to perfection? In other words, if there is an "ultimate" gift, that of eternal, everlasting life, how can it be parsed into varying levels? If it is "ultimate," then by definition, it is the best that it can get, and there can be no varying level of "superlative." So, in this example, without saying it, Jesus shows the relative gift that is being offered. That there is no parsing of the ultimate gift. That the gift of the Kingdom of Heaven cannot be made into a variety of levels, so that some who work "more" get "more." It just is what it is, and relative to human effort, is perfection that cannot be fractionated.

Second, there is the rejection of the "rational" by the parable. The "rational" man thinks that if he works more, he gets more. But in this example, we see the "irrational" aspects of the Kingdom of Heaven again being preached. From a human point of view, eternity is irrational, and the relative value of the reward of the Kingdom of Heaven is irrational, especially as it meted out so generously in an "irrational" fashion.

Third, and the part that has always spoken to me, is the joy of the man who has worked the least, but gotten just the same. Being a late-in-life Christian, this speaks to me. Not only is the reward a wonderful idea to ponder, but the gift for the limit of what I have done is also amazing to me. I imagine the man, not tired from only having worked an hour, who gets a full wage. It was not his idea to be hired late, it just happened. And he gets a full day's wage. Do you think that will make him incredibly grateful? Do you think that will spur him on to work even harder?

I certainly have. The joy of that gift, in its irrationality and irreducible perfection, has always made me want to give more, to work harder. All this, from just my single hour in the garden. And that seems to speak most to me about the fundamental, underlying logic of this entire creation experience.

Inversions

It seems like there are multiple examples of inversions in the text. We see the disciples try to shoo away the children, and then we see Jesus saying that the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as those.

We see a rich man live an apparently Godly life, yet we see him sent away by Jesus when He won't sell all for His ministry.

We see those who give up anything for His sake will receive a hundred times as much as a reward.

And we hear that the first shall be last, and the last first.

We hear the inversions of human "rationality" over and over and over again, that I wonder why it is that we try to use "rationality" to understand "better" than others, and in so doing, create a hierarchy by which we can condemn others.

It seems like one of the fundamental tenets of the faith is the faith in the irrational. With God, all things are possible, like a dead man coming to life. But, at the end of the day, the act itself is irrational. So, why create a "rationalized" faith system upon which so many of us hang our hats in order to belong?

Are we being true to the faith, by working it so hard, "rationally?" There is worship, there is the belief in Christ, crucified, and risen. But what else does there need to be, and do we need it enough to create such divisiveness that drives the moderate away from faith?

I don't know. I read Jesus' words, knowing they are translations, and yet knowing that they are there to describe fundamental concepts, nuggets of wisdom that are the true fundamentals of faith, and which translate relatively poorly into the rationality of verbal description and understanding. It just seems a shame that the words become the tools of faith, rather than that which the words seem to be representing.

Oh well, I will stick with the irrationality, and enjoy my faith in it.

the pain of dissolution

Last night's sermon was very enlightening. Although it was delivered by a pastor I had only heard once, and was not too sure of, it was a very great message. It concerned the command of God for Moses to throw down his staff in order for Moses to see the power of God.

The theme of the sermon was that we need to let go of things we are holding onto if they keep us from seeing God, or being filled with the Holy Spirit. Moses's staff was something that Moses clung to very tightly, and when tested by God, we wonder if he actually argued with God about it before he threw it down. But when he threw it down, it became a snake, and in that way, Moses was filled with the awe and knowledge of God. By losing that to which he clung, Moses could suddenly see God. Moses, having spent 40 years in the desert, had to lose himself, to die to himself, before he was tempered enough to receive God's instruction. By losing his identity as an Egyptian, and even as a slave in Egypt, Moses became a vessel for the message of God, but he first had to throw away that to which he was clinging, his staff, his identity, his pride, and maybe his unbelief.

In the same way, Paul writes that he no longer lives, that he has been crucified with Christ, and that Christ lives in him. Essentially saying, again, that one has to completely let go, and Christ will fill one in one's place.

I took that sermon very seriously. I prayed extensively about it. I have not been of use to Christ as myself. I have been hung up on "issues" I might have, and things about "me" that keep the focus off of where it needs to be for true healing and effective Kingdom work. I have been so sad and upset at times, that I knew how Elijah felt in 1 Kings 19:4, when he prays to die, saying that he has had enough. Last night, I prayed to die, but in a different way. Not to be relieved of burdens and sorrows, but to be open anew to be filled again. Even though I have had the joyous moment of being found, I have not lost myself enough in faith to be an effective worker, and so now, it's time for Philip to go, to make room for Christ in me that I have not yet made.

And not only for Philip to go, but whatever staff he is clinging to that keeps him from experiencing God's joy and Holy Spirit. Those words echoed around in my head all night, as I tried to find that in my head and heart which was the most pressing thing that keeps me, right now, away from God. I prayed, and in my reading today, I got my answer, and answer to let go.

So, in that spirit, I read today's lesson, and tried to understand things from a perspective that is not my own, but as much Christ's as I can understand. I have tried to understand it outside the framework in which it was written and tried to see what truths lie behind the words.

Divorce is painful. Dissolution of love is one of the saddest things that anyone can face. Yet staying in a painful situation in which one is betrayed is not the life for which we are intended. Betraying a love, by pursuing divorce, is as wrong as being betrayed. As sad as it is to face the end of a love, sometimes this pain is the staff which we have to throw down before we can truly see what God intends for us. Suffering our own earthly pain without feeling hope of healing can twist and blind us. We may not know how tightly we are clinging to this pain of loss, unable to let go, but God uses this, when we let it go, for His benefit. Jesus knew of the power of human love, and knows how this power can shape an entire life. He was doing logic 360's around the Pharisees using small human arguments trying to trick Him, and even then, they were too foolish to see His deeper meaning. The loss of love is so painful to humans, that all kinds of proscriptions and advice need to be attendant on the act of loving another. In this way, God defends His people, protective of their hearts. Anything less is legalistic wordplay, barely worth recognizing. It's the love, united in God, which matters.

It's hard to let go, but I have faith that God will use this. I am hoping He has already started.

the lost sheep

Another one of my favorite images of the spirit of God.

"If a shepherd has one hundred sheep, and one wanders away and is lost, what will he do? Won't he leave the ninety-nine others and go out into the hills to search for the lost one? And if he finds it, he will surely rejoice over it more than over the ninety-nine that didn't wander away!"

I've always grown up with the idea of God having a "Godly" perspective on things. That if natural disasters come up, or people are born deformed, or any other host of terrible things, He knew the reason for that, and it somehow made sense, so in a calm, detached, and non-judgmental fashion, He is weighing all things and simply letting things go, if necessary, as part of a greater plan at work. So, if someone wanders off, and loses his or her soul, it's the same as if a nation is pounded into rubble by an earthquake. It's just the cost of doing business, in Heavenly terms, that is.

But when I first came across this section, years ago, it really hit home. I had wandered through life with no spiritual guidance, having never been brought into a church home or given any positive church experiences. I began to read the bible back then, as a way of finding a way to a home I only had the barest inkling that I was missing. I had a sense that there was something wrong, and it was part of a greater spiritual quest to find an answer for the pain I was enduring by trying to live life on my own terms. Worship always seemed to me to be about drearily losing myself as I payed homage to that God who presided over our pain and suffering so dispassionately, probably moral, and possibly mildly interested in the day to day stuff, but only as it served some greater long-range plan He had already developed.

What I was unprepared for, when I read this section, was the image of joy on the shepherd's face when he found his lost sheep. Of course the lonely, scared sheep was happy, but the shepherd is beaming with joy as he hugs the stray sheep to his chest. Feeling so lost at the time, I definitely identified more with the stray than the other ninety-nine who did not stray, and so I imagined the scene of the man looking all over and finally finding the sheep and rejoicing. Rejoicing! Giving thanks for finding the stray and bringing him back into the herd. The happiness of that reunion! Needless to say, I wept when I read this the first time. Remembering that still makes it hard to hold back tears.

That's why I have so much interest in deconstructionist thought and accountability. It seems like once the sheep goes back into the flock, he has to learn how to behave the "right way" in order to belong to the flock, so he doesn't get lost again. And in order to behave the "right way," then there are some "sheep-ly" interpretations which may or may not be, in fact, what the shepherd intends for the flock, but being sheep, we don't understand it all. Instead, we lean on our own understanding, maybe getting it "right," maybe getting it "wrong," but at the end of the day creating a set of rules and regulations that distinguish our flock from other flocks, so we don't get "lost" again.

Soon, then, we lose sight of the shepherd, and huddle around the "sheep rulebook" and use our interpretations of the rules to tell other flocks how they are doing it wrong and how they will not find favor with the shepherd because they are not doing it the way us "correct" sheep are doing it.

Eventually, the sheep go to war over issues of "sheep doctrine." There's a "sheep inquisition," and soon maybe even a wholesale slaughter of other, weaker herds, while the shepherd just looks at us from the hill with tears in his eyes because we forgot something vital.

We forgot the joy of being "found." And not just our joy, but the real joy of the shepherd. We lost sight of that simple moment of pure love when it all happens, and we are reunited with the shepherd. We don't remember that moment, and instead life's moments crowd around, and we forget.

There is a yin-yang between ideals espoused in the critical thinking of the deconstructionist versus the legalist's approach to accountability. In that to-and-fro of meaning versus non-meaning, a psychic pain can develop. What's right? What's wrong? How much is too much, and how little is not enough? The pain of those arguments always, always chases me back to the only answer I have ever found for myself.

The moment of joy when I was found. I find that if I stay in that moment, the rest of the questions don't really matter. And I remember the moment of joy was not only my joy, but also was God's joy for my being found. Because that reminds me of what He feels when the opposite occurs, and someone goes missing, or a nation is pounded to rubble. His joy of finding someone reminds me of the flip side, His anguish and pain on losing a person or a nation. And that reminds me never to get too far away from that moment in my beliefs.

From an intellectual point of view, if I talk this way, and espouse what some might brand as non-legalism, have I tempted legalists who might be strained in faith to head into a life they might consider "sin" by "sinning" against their cultural identity, and straying away from their church's edicts? And, if in so doing, am I the person that ought to have a large millstone tied around his neck for tempting others to "sin?"

I don't know the answer to that, but I do know that compared to the joy of the finder and the found at that moment of reconciliation, all the rest loses importance. When someone asks me what denomination of Christian I am, I try to answer as honestly as I can.

The very first moment you finally believe, and all the cares go away, and you are filled with joy and forgiveness. I'm that kind. I try to be. I try to remind myself of that, despite the pain of life. I try to be that person I was when I first read this section, and wept on being found.

Why didn't I listen to my teachers?

The empiricism of life is something that has always surprised me. We grow up, and if we are blessed, we get to go to school. We spend hours and hours in class, learning what we need to know from teachers. Then we go home and we study, and then come back and take a test. We cycle through this process over and over in our lives, in an incredible array of subjects. English, Math, History, Biology, and on and on. We have example after example of learning something vital from a teacher, something we will use to build on and go forward in life, to learn and practice bigger and better things. Our success depends on how well we get through this process of "learning from others."

But what happens if nobody teaches you about life? Or what if they teach you the wrong things? What if the society rejects "instruction" in life? What if society says, it's okay to learn "school stuff" in a "school" but you should really learn life by trial and error? What if the society has abdicated its role of life instruction in favor of a politically correct methodology of "freedom" and "letting people choose?"

And even if society doesn't do that, why can humans not generalize from success in the classroom, by learning from teachers, to success in life, by learning from "life teachers?" Why is life lived empirically? Why do so many people say, "if I knew then what I know now, it would have been different?" Is it because nobody is teaching, or is it because there is no way to learn life without living it. Can life be learned from a book? Can life be learned from a teacher?

As the writer of proverbs likens folly to a prostitute, and admonishes his readers to stay away from folly, will the person who stays away always know, to his core, that he did the right thing, or will he feel "cheated" somehow by never having gotten the experience that other people have had, who now carry scars, but have "wisdom" from the pain? Is there something necessary about experiencing life?

I grew up in this laissez-faire attitude, where if it feels good, do it, was the prevailing cultural norm. Accountability has always been a "bad word" in this society. We can't hold poor people accountable for being poor, because they come from a bad environment, and never got the education to rise above it. That's probably true, and I am not doubting that whatsoever. We can't hold evil people accountable for being "evil" unless they commit a crime, because, well, maybe they were raised horribly and have no differentiation between right and wrong, so they can't know any better. I've had to deal with that personally, and learn to forgive for that exact reason, just as other people have had to forgive my wrongdoing for the exact same reason. But why did any of that pain have to happen? Accountability, since it cannot be enforced, must be learned by empirical methods, so that the only person learning the lesson is the person doing the deed. Accountability is not "taught" in this morally vague, politically correct world, it is only "experienced."

And in this world, the teachers are all gone. When accountability and morality cannot be taught, then nobody can teach it.

So who teaches it? In the setting of a codification of beliefs, then those who have a similar set of interpretative skills come together to teach the codified set. Raised outside of church, I have no framework to understand these things, and through 45 years of blind alleys, painful decisions, and hurtful acts, I am, once again, alone. It's just me and my faith.

And, that's enough. It's really all anyone truly has. As Jesus said, faith, even as small as a mustard seed, is enough.

Rather than be self-pitying, I am very thankful for the struggles. Empirically, I know, given every horrible mistake I have made, that faith is all there is. But there is a part of me that wishes I was not so scarred. I know I wish I had not hurt others by my mistakes, even my most recent ones, and the ones I know I will make in the future. It's a painful way to learn something that would have been better taught. I hope people have more sense as the culture moves forward.

...a human point of view...

That was a pretty harsh rebuke. Jesus tells Peter, "Get away from me, Satan!" when Peter, thinking about the impossible concerning Jesus' fate, tells Jesus "This will never happen to you."

Satan? Really? Was it a Satanic thing to speak wishfully: surely this cannot be, surely this cannot happen? There are a couple of things here. First, Peter is corrected by his limited vision. Similar to the "yeast of the Sadducees" comment, Jesus is rebuking Peter for his limited perspective and informing Him that there are other factors in God's plan besides our own comfort. The ministry of Jesus is that He had to die in a horrible fashion in order that the rest of the world might live, not just temporarily, but permanently, eternally. Life is not ours to keep. It is not for our comfort. The time we have is set aside for His plan, and His design, and what we, in our free will, choose to do with that time, is what defines us. But even if we try to design ourselves, we have to remember that no matter what, we are simply tools and our actions may be for naught in our eyes, but quite a large part of an overlying plan. How do we know? Faith.

The other thing that I found interesting was the black and white nature of the response. Earlier Jesus had stated that anyone who is not helping Him is actively working against Him. The nature of sin is a willful disobedience to the work and law of God. Anyone working against Jesus would therefore be working in a sin against Him, and if this work were to threaten the greatest Gift ever given to man, then the nature of the sin would be as maximized as it could get. Who is the representation of the maximal amount of sin against God? Satan. So, by misunderstanding the larger reality of what was going on, due to a limited human perspective, Peter's words worked counterproductive to the greatest Gift ever bestowed on man, maximizing his sin in the eyes of God (Jesus), creating a satanic comment when one was never intended.

Indeed, Peter had probably the best of intentions by his comment, but he was likened to Satan in the execution of that well-intended comment. So, how do we avoid our good intentions making us somehow, by mistake, seem Satanic.

Put aside your selfish ambition, shoulder your cross, and follow Him. So easy to write, and so hard to understand. Where does God's plan come into play when we simply can't see it? When we give, and are taken advantage of, do we keep giving, or exercise accountability by giving no more to the person taking advantage. Is that just a "human point of view?" Have I fallen so far away from God's point of view that I, too, am become Satan? Or is turning away, holding someone accountable for bad decisions, a Godly thing to do?

I have no idea. That's one faith question that needs serious prayer.

Hidden meanings

All this talk about food...

Feed 5000 with 5 loaves, 4000 with 7 loaves...

And still we are hungry. Stomachs grumbling, we forgot our food.

"Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees."

Oh yeah, yeast goes in food, right? What's wrong with their yeast? I don't get it...

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And so it goes. Our lives crowd in on us, creating the constraints of our thoughts. If all we have is our lives, and all we think about is what is happening, then all we see or hear is defined by the constraints of what we think and what we think we know.

But then something happens to remind us that this is not all there is. A deeper meaning is at hand. And the fact of the matter is, a deeper meaning is *always* at hand. That deeper meaning is forgotten about during the trivialities of every day living, but it is always there, and really it is always within our reach, if we turn our eyes away from the ordinary, and open our eyes with faith to what is in front of us.

We may be thinking about food, and we may hear a warning about yeast, and not connect the two into its deeper meaning. By learning about yeast in the spiritual context, we can backtrack and think about not only food, but everything in our lives, every test, every joy, every failure, every event in its deeper spiritual meaning.

And when we know there is that deeper spiritual meaning, we loosen our hold on our interpretation of these events, we loosen our hold on the illusory feeling of control we have over these events, and we keep, with that loosened hold, our eyes open for the meaning the events will impart to us.

Bad things are happening to me, even now. They occupy my thoughts, and they constrain my focus and my perspective, making me forget that this is not all there is. There *is* more, and how I put these events into a higher spiritual context reveals who I am and who is my God. So, I have to trust, have faith, and let go, and know, beyond all doubt, that He is in charge. "The yeast of the pharisees" is the example of not letting my focus become to narrow, and in fact, the yeast of the Pharisees is an example of narrow, unGodly, focus.

...by what you say and do...

It seems that today's NT reading contains within it the crux of legalism vs non-legalism.

The Pharisees come to Jesus and ask why the disciples disobey the "age-old traditions," in this case, ceremonial hand-washing. Jesus responds with another question about why the Pharisees disobey, by their traditions, God's commandments.

Every worshipful act has a symbolic representation. The symbolic representation is designed to give honor to a particular item of faith, whether it is a promise from God, a place where God showed Himself, or any other manifestation of God functioning in our lives. The act is not the important part. The important part is the presence of God, and the act is the symbolism that we assign to any ritual that we use that forces us to remember God's manifestation in our lives or in the lives of our ancestors.

Over time, the symbolic representation of faith, designed for a remembrance of God, becomes a ritual. As time passes, performance of the ritual, unless constantly reminded of its meaning, loses its symbolic meaning in favor over exact reproduction of the ritual. That is, the ritual becomes the thing to be "worshipped," not what the ritual represents. When we start worshipping rituals, and forget the meaning, we have the seeds of legalistic sectarianism and a loss of true faith in God's manifestation in the lives of our ancestors. As we perfect the ritual, we use our limited human rationality to create a group of "ritualists" who do it "more right" than other ritualists. That can be ourselves, saying we are doing it "better" than another group of Christians, or it can be a pastor, who seems to interpret scripture "more rightly" than another group of pastors. The downstream effect of this is sectarianism, or a process by which one group feels right to exclude another group from the Kingdom of Heaven, because they are not following the correct "rituals." Not questioning their faith, their choice of "ritual" is what will exclude them from the Kingdom of Heaven.

As this progresses forward, ritualism begets further ritualism. Such as, worshipping in a certain way must be attended by a certain dress code. This dress code becomes a further ritual we might use to exclude others from our "faith." If all we have is faith in the "ritual" (if we have lost faith in what the ritual was designed to represent) then we would be "right" in doing so, because others who don't follow that ritual would be outside our ritual faith. But as new rituals offshoot from old rituals, there can be a perversion of the original meaning of the manifestation of faith.

In this instance, the original manifestation was to honor one's father and mother. Phariseeical ritualistic and legalistic derivations resulted in a perversion of that commandment, saying it was okay to do so as long as money was given to church. The downstream effect of a good idea (ritual) whose meaning has been forgotten is a legalistic environment that obscures meaning and separates man from God.

Jesus obviously understood this, being God and all, and so His words were designed to remind us that it is not ritualistic obeisance that matters, but rather what comes out of one's heart. The heart controls the mouth, and what comes out of the mouth (evilness, slander, lies) is what makes a person unclean, not what goes into it.

However, how far can we go with this? Can we abandon all "form" of religion? As long as I am a good person, doing good for other people, why do I need "Christianity" if it is just a "ritual?" Isn't this just as valid as Buddhism, or any other "moral" human construct?

That comes down to a matter of faith. But, once accepting that faith, we see that even Jesus is not constrained by "ritual." He is constrained by faith alone. When the Canaanite woman comes and asks for help, He initially says no. He says He was sent for salvation of the people of Israel alone, and He tells her He will not help her. Had He stayed with this idea, He would have proven that blind adherence to a "ritualistically" set apart people, just because of their genetic bloodline, would be a valid approach.

Instead, after a short discussion, He says He will help her, but the reason He gives for helping her is not "mercy," or "proof for others" but He helps her because her "faith is great."

Faith, then, becomes the deciding factor. Faith to God is what allows us to see the symbolic meaning behind the ritual, and not be faithful to the ritual in an of itself, outside of God. Faith to God keeps us from derivation of ritual that leads us away from God. And faith to God results in our salvation.

Ritual has meaning only in what it is designed to represent. Outside of that, it is a tool by which we can be led away from God, unless our faith keeps us centered on God. Ritualism, and legalism, are the tools of the wolves in sheep's clothing, the false prophets. They are the things that Jesus speaks against when He quotes Hosea 6:6 over and over again. But, the bible reminds us that it is not a free-for-all, and that we can abandon all pretense at organized religion, just because ritualism can be misused. Faith matters, and even the Gentile who shows faith is of God and will be saved. Jesus even stated that it is the original intent that matters, and our faith-affiliated social organizations, our churches, can keep us strong in that faith, as He quotes one of the commandments.

By honoring the commandments, we participate in a ritual that keeps us faithful and reminds us to worship the God of our ancestors. Our identities as Christians are derived from our worship. Who we are is what we worship. So, even though deconstructionists my deny meaning due to the inadequacies of language combined with the inappropriateness of ritual, Jesus gives a clear indication that there are "things" which do matter (the commandments) and that it is faith that saves us all, in the end.

Save me, Lord

This will be the fourth time I have read the one year bible, and I always cry on today's reading. Always, at the same spot, even though I know it's coming.

When Joseph reveals who he is, finally, to his family, he states, "But don't be angry with yourselves that you did this to me, for God did it. He sent me here ahead of you to preserve your lives."

It could have been easy for Joseph to have been bitter, but Joseph never lost sight of God's actions in his life. It would be easy for Joseph to have assumed domination of his family, but by never losing sight of God, he learned how to have humility in his dealings with his family. He also learned enough to test character, to learn how his family had truly fared in his absence, but he did not practice cruelty. And at the end of the day, by never losing sight of God, his perspective had changed to have utter faith in the actions of God to preserve the nation of Israel.

He did not lean on his own accomplishments, but rather he gave credit to God having a greater plan for the salvation of Israel, and that he was simply a conduit for that plan, not the fulfillment of the plan.

A family reunites. Words of forgiveness are spoken, but the most important meaning in the words of forgiveness is the statement of faith. Family, forgiveness, and faith, all come together in this one multi-layered statement, one of the most profound points, for me, in the entire text. I cannot help but cry, it's all together in that family drama. And from this springs forth the entire nation of Israel, progenitors of all we know today. And all given with faith in the glory of God.

The two faith stories in the NT reading today show more descriptions of the power and lessons of faith. An "impossibility" occurs, 5000+ are fed from five loaves of bread and two fish. An "impossibility" occurs, a man walks on water. Our modern day mind rejects these stories, or struggles to come to some rational explanation for them.

So many "unexplainable" phenomenon have been explained by science, surely there is some explanation for this? Or it's simply a lie, a false story told to that never happened. Sure, think that way, but then look around. Do you see greater calm and peace in that thought, or do you look around and see the high waves and feel yourself starting to sink?

Why put limits on God? If God exists, why can't this have occurred? Faith is what stops my disbelieving mind from trying to find an answer to the "impossible." Peter's walking on water is such a compelling story, and so much has been written about this one short section already. I just find it a good example of two incredibly important things. First, what happens when one's faith wavers... One sinks... It's that simple. But even more sublime and orders of magnitude more important, what can we do when we start to sink? We express our faith again, and we will be answered. "Save me, Lord" and He does.

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

Ever heard that saying?

How about this one?

"A prophet is honored everywhere except in his own hometown and among his own family."

Kind of a corollary, isn't it? I guess it is a very interesting thing, as most things seem to be in the Bible, how it relates to other sections of the Bible. Say, the OT reading for today. We are reading the story of Joseph.

Joseph was clearly a prophet. He had multiple dreams, but among his own family, these dreams were disregarded, and he was sold into slavery. While enslaved in Egypt, he continued to be faithful to God, and God stayed with him, so that he could prosper. And not only did he prosper, but he was much honored as "a man who is obviously filled with the spirit of God," as Pharaoh describes him. Among his own people, in his own family, he was ridiculed and beaten, but among enemies, while staying true to his faith, he was revered.

It's one thing for Jesus to tell a reader how a prophet is not honored. It's especially helpful when we see this in the OT story for today. What do we learn from this?

Where you think you may be the safest, may actually be the least safe. And where you think the greatest danger may lie, you may be able to do the most good. Don't be afraid to journey, either physically or spiritually. It is okay to step out, while keeping God at the forefront of your walk. He will guide your path, and He will provide. Home is not always the right place to be. And, when we apply these lessons to ourselves, and the way we treat others, we see that maybe the people we know really aren't all that bad. Maybe they truly are touched by God, and our familiarity with them keeps us from seeing that. Our rationality, of what we "know" of them, becomes our pride-driven downfall in our interpretation of them, and their place in the Kingdom.

Does it actually say all these things in the bible? No, but one is able to interpret, if interpretation is allowed, that this is part of the underlying meaning. Again, it is an attempt to find wisdom, and to approach the meaning with humility, not pride.

What am I supposed to learn from this.

Please, God, tell me.

...is like...

The Kingdom of Heaven is like...

A field of grain and weeds
A mustard seed
Yeast in bread
A treasure hidden in a field
A pearl of great value

Is "like..." Like...

Not "is" but "is like."

Again we are given an opportunity to interpret, and through the interpretation, we grow as Christians. Rather than being told that there are good people mixed in with bad, and the bad will be separated at judgment day, we are told we are like grain, and God is the benevolent farmer "growing" us, as a way of adding to the story that we are always being tenderly cared for, even when we feel crowded by difficulties and evil around us.

Rather than being told that a little of God's love will eventually change and fill us, we are told that it is like a yeast that will change us and make us rise.

Rather than being told that it is a small thing that will become great, we hear how it can be the most dichotomous of things, the smallest seed that becomes the biggest plant that then "shelters" birds.

But even then, even with the richness of added meaning from the utilization of the parable, we are told that the Kingdom of Heaven is only "like" that, suggesting that there is so much more, but we lack the fundamental human knowledge and language to describe it, so we have to use a simile, just as a pale approximation of it.

In essence, Jesus is giving a brand of non-legalism by refusing to lay a specific characterization on it, but rather tipping his hat to the inadequacy of human understanding, and providing a simile as a way we might have a way to begin to understand. If words fail in their descriptive power, then how can words themselves be used as tools by which faith doctrines can be separated? If the entire intent of the ministry of Jesus undermines the validity of language, why then do we humans use language to differentiate ourselves from each other? Why do Baptists feel one way, about doctrine written in language, when COC members feel another way about another doctrine in the same language that Jesus Himself showed was incapable of adequate definition? How could we, by hearing Jesus, so miss the mark of what He is saying.

Heaven is what it is, but our understanding of it is only approached by an "is like" methodology, because language is weak. If language is so weak, why do we use it to denigrate people who are "not one of us?"

A belief in the deity of Christ, God on earth, in flesh in our time (2000 years is, geologically speaking, a moment ago), is the fundamental aspect of Christianity. It is the idea that God physically, today, loves us in a limitless fashion, and just the barest whiff of that belief, once it takes hold, will definitely spread and permeate an entire lifetime, as yeast makes bread rise.

Faith, even faith the size of a mustard seed, is what matters.

Invitation to Interpretation

Today's reading was all about interpretative meaning. The OT reading was pretty obvious, but had an object lesson that is important. Joseph was given the gift of interpreting dreams, and he interpreted dreams so accurately that he was redeemed from prison.

In the NT reading, the disciples ask Jesus why He tells stories when He talks to the people. His response is that those who are open to the teaching will have a greater understanding, and that those who are not open will have even more taken from them.

In this method, rather than teach people directly, Jesus is teaching in parables so that his human listeners can ponder and wrestle with the meaning. Again, the act of wrestling with the meaning hearkens back to a prior reading when God changed Jacob's name to Israel, or "one who wrestles with God."

By contemplating the words, and the meaning behind the story, we have to use our intellect to try to understand the nature of God. It is in the process of thinking about God that our minds become attuned to God. What you feed in your mind is what grows. By meditating on the word of God, our minds grow to be more richly in tune with God. This is not only a desired goal in worship, but is also a way Jesus is protecting His flock. Storms will come, bad things will happen, but a mind that is richly in tune with God will be like a house on a stone foundation. It will survive, with much more of its structure intact, than will a house built on sand.

So we are asked to meditate on the word and interpret it. Does that mean that we can interpret it any way we want, as the deconstructionists would say? Or that there is no meaning at all? Well, we see in the OT reading a clear method for interpretation.

Before Joseph interpreted any dreams, he stated, only God can do such a thing. By giving credit and glory to God in all we do, we automatically have a guide for interpretation. If He is our fixed point of reference, then we can do things that others don't understand, and can't believe.

Similarly, meditating on the word of God requires placing faith in God's ability to lead us to an interpretation that makes sense according to His will and nature.

So how do we know how to do it? The Proverbs reading gave another clue. The Lord mocks at mockers, but He shows favor to the humble. With an approach of humble desire, we seek to understand. Not necessarily to teach, but to learn. It's those that try to say they "know" for sure what He means, that try to "Lord" their knowledge over others, it's those people who will be "put to shame." The proud will fall.

So, we are given license to interpret. But, we are also given a guide on the tools we need to interpret. Faith, humility, and desire seem to be those tools. But faith, most of all.

No middle ground

Every so often, there is one of those sections that makes you scratch your head, until you think more about it and see the end result of the thought process.

In today's NT reading, Jesus says "Anyone who isn't helping me opposes me, and anyone who isn't working with me is actually working against me."

But, when the disciples tell Jesus that they stopped someone from casting out demons in Jesus' name because "he was not one of us," Jesus reminds them (Luke 9:50) "Don't stop him. Anyone who is not against you is for you."

What if someone isn't doing anything? In the first instance, that person is working against Jesus. In the second instance, that person is not necessarily against the disciples.

It seems that there are a couple of ways to look at this dichotomous philosophy. Either Jesus has different rules for himself than he does for the disciples, brooking less complacency than he would allow for followers of his disciples, or Jesus is trying to create a yin/yang approach to the commands He is giving. The inherent push/pull of interpretative attempts again creates in the user the need to hold two opposing viewpoints in his mind at the same time. This can definitely broaden one's perspective and help one to grow spiritually and intellectually, but unfortunately, it can create legalistic pitfalls, especially in the issue of complacency.

Jesus clearly brooks no middle ground. He says, flat out, that someone who is not actually for Him is against Him. Looking at our interaction with our deity, I fully believe in that. If you don't believe in God, then you actively disbelieve in Him. Non-belief is disbelief. There is no middle ground. And if you actively disbelieve in Him, then (if He exists) you are working *against* Him. But if you believe in Him, you are working for Him by your faith that He exists. There's no getting out of it.

But with man, things get muddled. If man is imperfect (he is), then man can have imperfection in the understanding of theology/divinity. And complacency, therefore, can be protective because one may not be "getting it right" and you can be allowed to be a little complacent, figuring things out, as long as you are not actively working against another man.

Either approach one takes to this dichotomy yields great meaning, I think. But, at the end of the day, there is no middle ground of faith.

Law vs Instruction

Another inspiring sermon today. Our pastor discussed the translational difficulties of the bible and pointed out the struggle between legalism and intent which was occurring at the time of Jesus ministry.

Apparently, the original sacred texts had been recorded in Hebrew, but at the time of Jesus, the common tongue of the translation was Greek. Therefore, there was a dichotomous approach to the bible. The "learned scholar" studied the original Hebrew translation, but the common flock had only a Greek translation by which to adhere.

The disparity of this approach created, in itself, an in-group and out-group of the faithful, breeding by itself its own brand or legalism. The "correct interpretation" of the sacred text became more important than the deeper meaning behind the text. Judaism could be seen at the time to have been frozen into this legalistic top-down approach, where authority was given to those who had the intellectual gifts and opportunities to translate the bible the "right way."

In one translation, Torah could mean "instruction." In another, it could mean "law." As society spreads and cultures rise and fall, languages change, and ideas evolve, we see that there is a constant struggle to understand. In one of the the earliest messages given to us by God (in yesterday's reading), we see that God changes Jacob's name to Israel, meaning, one who wrestles with God. One of my great friends tells me that this is why his religion (Judaism) reveres the intellectual and moral responsibility to wrestle with the Word, so that the Word creates a meaning in our lives, personally, for us to keep in mind in all our daily activities.

So, we see this struggle being played out in today's NT reading. The Pharisees, representatives of this legalistic, top-down, approach to religion, try to trap Jesus in several ways. They ask Him if it is right to harvest grain on the Sabbath. They ask Him if it is right to heal a man on the Sabbath.

His responses hearken back to something He had already stated, that it is the intent which guides us, that which is in our hearts, that matters, not necessarily the representation of the "law." He once again quotes Hosea 6:6, reminding the Pharisees that God wants mercy, not sacrifice. He also reminds them of the story of the great hero of their faith, David, who ate sacrificial bread when he was hungry. By giving these replies, Jesus once again shoots down a heartless legalism in favor of tenderness and mercy in one's heart.

Society will always struggle with legalism and emotionalism, translational difficulties, the rational vs the irrational. And as in yesterday's scripture, we see the validity of the effort by the results which arise from it. If David created a nation even though he broke a "law," and that nation were just and moral, how does one judge his actions? If a man's hand gets healed, even though a narrow minded interpretation is violated, how does one judge that action?

How does one judge any legalistic vs non-legalistic approach? What benefit to the poor and suffering do nihilistic deconstructionists espouse? What benefit to the poor and suffering do heartless religious legalists, more concerned with doctrinal purity than mercy of heart, show?

It's interesting that the psalm of David describes who may enter God's presence, those, "...speaking the truth with sincere hearts..." Not only is an attempt intellectually to understand God's word important (truth), but the engine of that intent is equally important (sincerity of heart). What are the fruits of a labor such as this? What goodness will grow by this discipline?

It's a constant struggle, and it seems that this struggle is important, because it is in the struggle, if that is where my mind is focused, that I grow more toward God in my actions and my words. If I don't concentrate on this, I become complacent and fearful. Wisdom is shown to be right by what results from it. Comparing those two sets of results, I think that the former, the struggle, is the wiser course.

...what results from it...

I skipped my entry yesterday. I got caught up with meaningless household chores on the last day of my vacation, and the time just got away from me. The purpose of this process is as a mitzvot, a task designed to bring one closer to God. By allowing "chores" to supersede the time I spent on this, I gave over to my own brand of idolatry. I would like to say I am over-reacting, but having been raised the way I was raised, I know that I am not. Making chores, things, more important than people, or relationships, corrupts the soul and leaves one isolated. My past can attest to that, and my hope is that this process could make some changes in me. Of course, if this becomes just another "task," then I will have fallen far short of the change I was hoping to make.

In the NT reading today, Christ touches on a truth about wisdom, and without being too glib about it, we see echoes of this in such culturally diverse representations as Beavis and Butthead.

Christ says that "wisdom is shown to be right by what results from it." In much the same way, He had previously given a warning about which we may know false prophets in the same way we know a tree is good or bad by the fruit it creates. To know something as "good" by the downstream effects of it creates an opportunity for interpretative license. I was brought closer to God when my marriage fell apart, does that make the divorce "good?" Was it "right" for us to get divorced, as the marriage was not a haven for me spiritually? That really begs the question of what is the more important thing. Personal salvation or an adherence to religious custom? The comic end expression of such a thought process is the Beavis and Butthead ideology of "we like things that are cool, we don't like things that suck."

The definitions, the interpretations, of things then create the opportunity for a re-interpretation, or for millions of re-interpretations, one for everyone involved in viewing it. Given the number of re-interpretations, it's no wonder that deconstructionists fail to find moral authority, or any meaning at all, in the Bible. One day, Jesus talks about bringing a sword, the next He says how humble and gentle He is. However, it is this simple truth that appears to tie it all together. At the end of the day, it is what results that counts. Consider the world response to Haiti. People are in anguish over an island that is populated by the poorest of the poor, that has no infrastructure, and is afflicted yet again by disaster. Prayers are offered up all over the world for these poor people. It is something in our hearts that is stirred when the defenseless are beaten down even more. It's the best part of us, throwing aside division and strife, and responding to those humans who simply have the greatest need. It is pity, tenderness, and love, and I believe it is the downstream effect of the teachings of Christ.

"Thank you for hiding the truth from those who think themselves so wise and clever, and for revealing it to the childlike." Jesus often speaks of the most faithful as the most like a child in faith and belief. By not honoring the powerful or the clever, Jesus creates in us a humility and a soul of a servant. In this way, when disaster strikes, we see the good results of the worldwide response to it and understand the wisdom of His words and His life given for us. Even though we may become complacent to suffering, and allow such poverty to exist, we still can react, when shocked, and become the best parts of ourselves, because it is in times like these, that we truly know how to act.

I wish I could do more. I know we all do. But I am comforted to know that my contribution is just one small contribution of many, and that the motivation of that contribution arises in a world shaped by this philosophy. I am thankful that I at least can witness it.

On a personal level, I have to seek what is "right" and hope for the best results. I can only hope that by being honest, good things will follow, for others and for myself. I used to think that wisdom was following everything back upstream until I figured out exactly what I was, but now I know that it's the results that matter, and it's whether there is goodness being shown at the end of the day that determines the validity of the process, or the wisdom of the search.

Don't change your tune

This NT reading has always been one of my favorites. I have often found myself in a situation where the people I am with do not understand or believe the things I am saying, and I wonder how long I am supposed to stay. Twice in this section, Jesus tells the disciples to leave rather than face martyrdom. He tells them not to leave angrily, or with hostility, but to shake the dust from that place of their feet as they leave. Sure, that can be a symbol of disrespect, but it is also a warning to take no part of that village or that village's life with them as they go.

He also tells them that when they are persecuted in one town, they should flee to the next. These seem like pretty straightforward proscriptions against martyrdom, if it is avoidable. However, He also warns that they will be arrested and they will be beaten for following Jesus. And He promises them that the appropriate words will come into their mouths for their defense at the appropriate time. That these words of defense will come from the Spirit of the Father.

One thing missing in these warnings is a recommendation to change one's story. That is, Jesus states that God's words will come to a disciple's defense, and that they will be punished for their faith, and if they can they should flee. But He does not tell them to change their story to avoid punishment. It seems easy to "get along" by changing one's faith story to fit the crowd one is in, but changing the faith story too much is clearly not encouraged. Christ-followers will suffer for their beliefs, but in the end be saved as they endure to the end.

So clearly, there is a warning against changing the story, for that could be interpreted as not "enduring to the end." But then the question arises, what facets of the story are the most important, and if one minimizes one facet, does that create a "different enough" story that clearly runs against the intent of the command to endure and not change one's tune? And if the act of minimizing one facet of the story causes another Christ-follower to think that the story is too far changed, has a sectarian division been created?

So, anti-sectarianism seems to be a Christian approach, for it maintains purity of the faith story, and keeps human divisions and rational domination of the story at bay. And in the end, maintenance of the purity of the story, despite all obstacles, will result in salvation.

The prince of demons...

It seems like today's reading had lots in it to exemplify deconstructionist criticism.

Jesus healed men of their blindness and then warned them not to tell anyone of this. Yet, earlier, He had given the command, "Let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father." I have thought about my purposes in writing this in such a way that others might read it, and again, I would want others to read it mainly so that they could have a few more minutes in contemplation of Jesus and the meaning of biblical literacy.

So, in a way, I try to make a daily thought on this both for myself and to serve as a "good deed" that could inspire thought in someone else if they took the time to read it. Yet, Jesus admonishes two formerly blind men not to tell anyone about the miracle. He gave a similar admonishment to a leper he healed. It seems that these are contradictory statements, and in the setting of contradictions, one sees an openness to interpretation. That is, if these statements are contradictory, then one must be right, and the other wrong, so let's use our intellect to parse out this theological doctrine and figure these things out.

Leaving this open to interpretation has an unfortunate side-effect, because openness to interpretation can then go far beyond what is truly meant so that one tries to bend the nature of the miracle to one's own take on reality. As Jesus was threatening the established power-structure of Phariseeical domination, the reality of the Pharisees was that they were scared by what Jesus represented, and therefore they used their own intellect to "interpret" what Jesus was doing:

"'He can cast out demons because he is empowered by the prince of demons.'"

In this section, we see the opposite end of the spectrum of an open interpretation of Jesus' life and acts. Motivated by fear and jealousy, the Pharisees used evil intent as the core of their interpretation of Jesus' behavior. And we see the outcome of that interpretation. They stated that Jesus was in league with Satan.

Where is our "heart" when we interpret Jesus? Are we like Him and feel great pity as he did for the crowds? Do we feel tenderness and mercy when we come across contradictions, and then seek guidance in our interpretation from that standpoint? Or do we come at the bible as the Pharisees did at Jesus, with fear and preconceptions that blind us to the reality and gifts of faith?

The greater the faith, the greater the story of its salvation. A woman knows that merely touching His robe will heal her, without Jesus' conscious awareness. Yet, unbeknownst to her, Jesus does feel her, recognizes the depth of her faith, and heals her. It's good to remember that the negative interpretation of the Pharisees results in their eventual downfall. The positive interpretation of the woman results in her salvation.

Contradictory statements are often found in the bible. The statement about the Pharisees seems to underscore the notion of where open interpretation, if led by fear and jealousy, will end. But if led by faith, we see, as in the story of the woman, that interpretation result in amazing healing.

For I desire mercy...

Today's reading was complex to me.

On the face of it, it seems difficult. Here is the man, one of the main progenitors of Judaism, Jacob, who is shown not only to be crafty, but also dishonest. "I am Esau," he says, which is a clear lie. And through this lie, he gains his father's blessing, making him lord over his brothers.

The literalists must shake their heads at this example of the reward of dishonesty. What lesson are we to learn from this? But there seems to be a larger lesson to learn. Jacob does these things at the instigation of his mother, and we clearly see a twice-told story in Genesis of how Abraham's servant is told to go find a woman for Isaac. This servant asks God for the favor of meeting Isaac's future wife in a very specific way, that she be the first to greet him and fetch him water for his camel's. The woman that greets him this way turns out to be Rebekah, the woman he had been sent to get as a wife for Isaac. God clearly puts this woman into the life of Isaac, creating the downstream effect of channeling the birthright and blessing away from Esau and into the life of Jacob. It's the story of Rebekah that we hear, not so much the story of Jacob. Through the miracle of Rebekah's presence, we are instructed of God's plan for the life of Isaac, Esau, and Jacob, and the heritage of the Jewish people. Even thought the specific example may seem to be an example of dishonesty on the part of Jacob, it is really a fulfillment of a prior gift of faith by Abraham's servant. God has done several things in our life prior to today that have fruits and consequences in today's life, and for our future life.

Opening one's perspective to a larger view allows one to encompass, perhaps, more of God's vision. Maybe that is the point of Jesus' discussion with the Pharisees. As Jesus is partying with the tax collectors, He is repudiated by the Pharisees. And so Jesus again lets us know that a larger perspective is necessary. It is easy to live by one's rationality, and hate those who have harmed us. The wickedness and the corruption of the tax collectors were well known at this time. They were the reviled agents of Roman occupation, Jewish "collaborators" who worked as agents of the Romans and profited themselves by this. So, it was easy to turn one's back on their behavior and create an outcast group. But does turning your back on someone bring them back to you? The message of Jesus is that it does not.

His lesson in perspective is that God desires mercy, not sacrifice. He quotes Hoseah 6:6, reminding the Pharisees of God's desire for mercy. In other words, ritual, for ritual's sake, becomes hollow unless it is representative of a healing heart of tenderness, love, and compassion. It is the intent of the inside of the heart that matters to God. By being with the outcasts, yet not condoning their sin, Jesus offers the light of a way back. He brings Matthew back in this way, by offering Matthew a place at his side, when probably nobody else would. While deconstructionists can parse linguistic inaccuracies until they try to remove all meaning, the inclusion of this book in the tome of the Christian sacred text underscores the meaning of mercy and sacrifice. The presence of the first book of the Bible has a concrete example of mercy.

So while we get hung up on our rational, human understanding of lessons and ritual, we are reminded of broadening our perspective, as we had to do in the story of Rebekah and Jacob. As Jesus states, new wine belongs in new wineskins. It has no place in older wineskins, for if one tries to shoehorn a new faith perspective into an older faith custom, one ruins both. For a new covenant, there must be a new perspective, and as confusing as it is for all of us who try to orient our actions and reactions "rationally," faith becomes key to our behavior.

Tomorrow's reading shows Isaac's mercy toward Jacob. Jesus preaches about God's requirement of a merciful heart over blind ritualism. Re-orienting ourselves to have a wider perspective seems to be the message. A richer meaning comes from this wider perspective.

All this is interesting, but what should it mean to me? Should I "rightfully" turn my back on those who have harmed me? Is that what it means to be a Christ-follower? I don't think that is the perspective I should have from this reading. All of this is meaningless wordplay unless it makes a change in me. Showing mercy and love, keeping steadfast in His commands, and above all, maintaining faith... That's a hard mission.

Short term gain, long term loss...

It seems that life is filled with the types of choices that hold the promise of short term gain against long term loss. In today's OT reading, we see a rather extreme example of that. Esau trades his birthright away for food when he is hungry after a hunt. For the short term gain of assuaging his hunger, Esau loses his place in the lineage that was rightfully his. The short term gain is so little relative to his long term loss that the point is made very concretely. Wisdom and patience would have kept Esau from so great a sacrifice, but instead he proceeded with his decision, indifferent to its consequences. If he had known what the consequences would be, would he have done the same? Probably not, who would? But often we do not know the consequences of any decision we make, and therefore wisdom and introspection should precede most decisions. A pursuit of wisdom would have allowed Esau to know the gravity of his decision, but instead, he chose to spend his days hunting.

In the NT reading, Jesus gives two examples of "short term gain, long term loss." The first example is in the negative. When one of the teachers of religious law says that he will follow wherever Jesus leads, Jesus makes sure to remind him about the hardship of that life, saying that He has no place even to lay his head. He is reminding the man that his request will result in a short term loss (of comfort, security, etc), but that the reward is a long term gain.

Conversely, Jesus warns the disciple who wishes to go bury his father to "let the dead bury their own dead." By saying this, he cuts short the man's request for his short term gain (inheritance, etc.) and admonishes him not to pursue a course that will result in a long term loss. Following Jesus is not convenient, or something that can be "gotten around to" when everything else is accomplished. Following Jesus is a derivative of His earlier command to "make the Kingdom of Heaven your primary concern." The end result of that command is an inversion of our normal earthly priorities, so that all our actions are secondary to our pursuit of Christ.

Does that mean I don't have to pay my bills, or go to work? No, but one needs to understand that *everything,* every action, every reaction, absolutely every part of one's life, must be interpreted in light of one's involvement with God. God is FIRST. Period. End. Only in realizing this do we come awake to the fundamental realities of life, and rise again from our spiritual deaths. To do anything else is to eventually die again, to be the dead burying their dead.

In the last part of the NT reading, we see an entire village give an example of short term gain, long term loss. Upset at the loss of a herd of pigs, and afraid of the power of Jesus, they ask Jesus to leave their village.

"Jesus, go AWAY and leave us alone!" Who says that? Who would ever say that? We turn to Jesus over and over in our lives when our lives fall apart, and we are left standing in the rubble. We may casually ignore our spiritual responsibilities, hoping to fall back on Jesus when we need Him, but do we ever demand that He leave our lives? If He came into your house, and you knew it was Him, by reputation and acclaim, would you turn Him away, and ask Him to never bother you again?

Again, for the short term gain of decreasing discomfort of fear and anger over the loss of a herd of pigs, the village created the long term loss of Jesus from their lives.

How many decisions will we make today that result in a long term loss, just because there is an immediate, short term gain? And at the end of it all, how many times is the short term gain overshadowed by the awesome nature of the long term loss it produces? When we find ourselves hating, because loving seems so hard, or when we are afraid, because we do not choose to live in faith... From Jacob and Esau to our own present day, every day, how do we ever, ever learn?

Even a Roman officer

This is one of the most compelling NT reads so far as it relates to my interest in legalism and deconstructionist thought.

We read about three separate healings. First is a direct request for healing, couched in the simple terms of "If you want to, you can make me well again." The second is an expression not only of Jesus' willingness to heal, but the extension of His supernatural ability to heal. The Roman officer clued in to the simple fact that since Jesus *can* heal people, once one accepts that faith, that suspension of rational disbelief, then there are no limits on the thought process to which that faith leads. That is, if one accepts the ability of Jesus to heal "magically," then why put limits on it? This Roman officer, a representative of the despised occupiers of the land, showed ultimate faith in the infinite power and reach of Jesus, far more faith than Jesus had seen yet in the land of Israel. The final healing is not even requested. We read of a woman lying in bed with a high fever, but we don't read of a request for healing. We don't know if there were a request, but no request is documented. The meaning behind the healing with the lack of a documented request seems interesting to me.

First, there is the request of the leper. A simple cause and effect statement. You can heal me. This simplest example seems to represent an early description of the faith process.

Second, there's the issue of the Roman officer. Here is a man, a member of the hated ruling police force, who expresses a faith in the power and authority of Jesus that is far beyond what the natives of the land are expressing. And Jesus uses this fact to prove a point about faith versus religion. Jesus states that many Gentiles will eat with Abraham and Isaac in the Kingdom of Heaven, and many Israelites will be cast out. By utilizing the word Gentile, Jesus is describing those who are not part of the religious or genetic heritage of the Israelites, essentially those who are not, by legalistic interpretation, Jews. And by specifically naming the Israelites, He is using a convention of legalism to describe a group of people not only bound by genetic lineage, but also a shared attestation of faith.

So, those who adhere to this attestation, the legalistic interpretation of the Torah handed down by their ancestors, then can become excluded from the Kingdom of Heaven. And those who express faith in Jesus, regardless of legalistic approaches toward their faith otherwise, can be included in the Kingdom of Heaven.

But to me, here's the rub. The Jews believe in a written word and congregate in groups in contemplation of that word, as it represents the nature of God. As we Gentiles pursue our faith, all we have are written attestations of that faith, or our own "words." The generational assessment of these words can create their own legalism, much the same way that Judaic legalism could be created. The words our ancestors use to teach us about faith may be what we find faith in, not that which is represented in those teachings. And as we pursue interpretative meaning in the text, we begin to lose sight of the power and authority of Jesus, so that emphasis on the interpretation can blind us to the awesome power of Jesus, as the Israelites seem to have been blinded, and only someone with a fresh perspective, this Roman officer, could see the far reaching extent of Jesus' power.

But if words are all we have, and we choose to believe in Jesus, then we blind ourselves by insistence on our own legalistic interpretations of specificities of the bible. There was a definite "in-group" and "out-group" as it regarded Gentiles vs Israelites. Sectarian religion, or fundamental differences created by differing interpretations, creates its own ability to blind a person to the far-reaching redemptive and healing nature of Christ. So, after the initial simple expression of faith from the leper, we see a much more in-depth issue created by the Roman officer.

The final healing episode, to me, seems to resonate remarkably when contemplating the first two healing episodes. Peter's mother-in-law was healed, and there was no documentation of a request to heal. Does this mean that words are not necessary, as it immediately follows this assessment of faith versus legalism? Will Jesus heal, even regardless of words? Is this an ultimate expression of faith, starting with a simple request, leading to an example of faith vs legalism, and then finally on to a wordless request.

Is this too far to stretch this reading? Have I over-interpreted this? Is there any meaning to the way these episodes of healing are documented, and in this particular manner? If one says no, then is one guilty of an over-legalistic interpretation, telling me that my interpretation is invalid? If one is espousing such legalism, does then one belong to the group of Israelites who will be cast out?

It seems to be a continuous spectrum and a constantly growing, living document. But at the end of the day, putting wordplay aside, faith seems, yet again, to be the key ingredient. When we try to figure all these things out, we are reminded:

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will direct your paths."

Good advice for those of us who are confused.

Assumptions

How often do we make assumptions that turn out to be invalid. And how often does that process of assuming lead to pain.

Again, Abraham states to his neighbors that his wife is his sister. Although we find out that this is partly true, as they are half-brother and half-sister, the greater truth is that they are, indeed, married. That is the truth that Abimelech fears the most when it is revealed to him. When God tells Abimelech of the true relationship between Abraham and Sarah, Abimelech asks Abraham why he said such a thing.

Essentially, Abraham had assumed that he was living among godless people who would kill him and take Sarah. This assumption nearly cost Abimelech dearly. So, the process of assumption was a possible sin not only against his marriage, but also against an innocent man, Abimelech. Because of the lack of intent on Abimelech's part, and God's enduring protection of Abraham, God steps in to right a wrong before it occurs.

Sarah assumes that she will never be able to bear a child for Abraham, and so she introduces a complication into her own life by having her servant Hagar act as a surrogate. Out of this union comes Ishmael, and then there are further downstream consequences when Sarah banishes Hagar. As Hagar wanders aimlessly, putting Ishmael down to die, the tragedy of Sarah's assumption is almost finished, but again, God steps in to put right these consequences of inappropriate assumptions.

I am sure that Abraham assumed that God would want him to keep his son Isaac, but when God tells him to offer Isaac as a sacrifice, one thing that Abraham does not do is protest. For Abraham, following the commands of the Lord puts aside all assumptions. The abandonment of assumptions, in favor of faith in God, is greatly rewarded. Not only does Abraham keep his son, but he is given the promise of an incredible heritage of faith.

Jesus warns against false prophets. In so doing, it seems He is making a backhanded warning against assumptions. Just because someone sounds good, and seems persuasive, and is speaking in Godly terms, one should not cavalierly assume that they are a "true" prophet. He asks the listener to judge the speaker. And He states that the false prophet is detectable by the way he acts, as you can identify a tree by its fruit. Blind, assumptive following is not espoused, for it will create the opportunity for pain and failure when the false prophets really turn out to be wolves who attack them. Instead, discernment and judgment must be applied to what one hears, in order to ascertain if the speaker is a "true" prophet. And in this case, judgment is based on the actions of the individual in question.

Assumptions always get one into trouble. Assessment of a person by judging how the person behaves, not what they say, seems to be an appropriate response. It's all too common in human behavior, especially behavior driven by fear, to rely on assumptions before all the facts are in place. And again, faith seems to be the answer to the question of decreasing one's assumptions.

...make the Kingdom of Heaven your primary concern...

There seemed to be an awful lot of bargaining in today's reading.

As God announces His plans to eradicate Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham asks God for mercy. He is allowed to use a rational, human based, thought process to keep God from visiting justice on both the just and the unjust without prejudice. He bargains God from 50 men down to 10 good men that would be enough to spare the remainder of Sodom. The point seems to be the number of times that Abraham is allowed to ask God, plus the mercy the God shows to continue to decrease the relative threshold He has for the conditionality of Sodom's destruction.

We go from there to Lot's request as he is being ushered out of Sodom. He asks for mercy in his instructions to flee to the mountains. He asks, instead, if he can go to a closer village. He is granted this request.

Two men of faith ask for special dispensation and it is given to them.

As we see in the New Testament reading, Jesus also describes the fruits of faith. You don't have to worry about material gain, for you are greater than that which God already blesses. You don't have to worry about tomorrow. You don't have to worry about "fixing" your brother, but you do have to remove the log from your own eye.

All these promises come without a request similar to what we see from Abraham and Lot, but they do come with a condition. And any condition implies a bargain...

"...and He will give you all you need from day to day if you live for Him and make the Kingdom of Heaven your primary concern."

The conditional "if" clause implies the fulfillment of a bargain. If we live for Him, our needs will be met. Our human brain, or mine at least, always pays more attention to the conditional "if" clause. How can I live for Him? What will I do? What will I give up? I have to remind myself of the non-conditional statement, "He will give you all you need..."

That awesome concept seems to be lost in the noise of man's insistent bargaining. What if, what if, what if..., as Abraham asked. It's not the "what if," it's the promise that you will receive all you need. Your focus, your primary concern, needs to be the Kingdom of Heaven, and He will give you all you need. He *will.* Concentrate on that, and the "what if" questions fade in their immediacy, or their relevance. The "He will" supersedes everything.

In the OT reading, we see examples of two women who fail at bargaining. Unwilling to wait for the fulfillment of God's mercies, they do something which touches on one of Christ's reasons for the evilness of divorce, that it forces another to sin.

By getting their father drunk, the daughters remove free will from their father, and he has no choice to avoid sin. The sin becomes greater by the daughter's "forcing" their father into doing something that he otherwise would not have done. The seed of that action becomes the Moabites and the Ammonites. How the deconstructionists or Chinese menu-ists choose to interpret the this "fable" as the twisted origin of a hated clan becomes less important, at least to me, than the underlying destructiveness of one person forcing another into sin. The downstream effect of their actions becomes a destructive influence.

Two further admonishments from Jesus for following the conditional path of the Kingdom of Heaven include a command to stop judging others and we will not be judged, as well as a command not to give that which is Holy to unholy people.

How often do I read the words and start to consider myself among the Holy, just because I am reading them. But, how often have I taken what is Holy from others and then done just as a swine would do, and turn around and attack them. Had I truly been following Him, I would not have taken what is Holy from someone else in the way I did. The words are not for others, they are for me.

In all of these points, I am yet again reminded of the need to seek His will, and wait for things in His time frame. He *will* grant me all I need.

Perspectives

It seems today's reading has a lot to do with perspectives. Given my interest in post-modern deconstructive influences and their erosion of the moral authority of biblical teaching, this theme has particular resonance for me.

Sarai's desire to take things into her own hands is one example. Not content to wait on God's plan, she sends Hagar in to have a surrogate child by Abram. From her perspective, God's plan was either coming to slowly, or was not going to be fulfilled by her, even though Abram had been promised by God that his seed would be more plentiful than grains of sand on the beach. So, Sarai sends in Hagar, and the product of that is painful to her. And not only is it painful to Sarai, but it is also painful to Hagar and Ishmael. Pain is created in multiple lives by failing to wait and live in God's promise. How often do we "take things into our own hands" and then find out later that that was not what God had intended for us?

And then there is the perspective of covenant representation. God expressed favor to Abram, and Abram expressed faith in God. The representation of this faith (faith being the prime idea) is the physical representation of circumcision. However, circumcision is essentially a "hidden" covenant, as we don't often wave that part of our anatomy in the air for all to see. Our faith in God is a private matter, and the physical representation that follows the expression of faith is also private. Covenant representation by "actions" are also admonished to be private by Jesus in the NT reading. He warns against public displays of religious affectation, and commands to give in secret. These actions, also representations of covenant, should remain for our own perspective. Much like this mitzvot. So faith, then, becomes a private matter between us and God.

However, what about the legalists who demand structured external representation in order to define whether people have the right "faith?" As a way of drawing boundaries around what is "right" and "wrong" by making sure that people adhere to the covenant representations described in the bible. Are we only God's child if we are circumcised, and then the external "form" of faith becomes more important than that greater ideal which it is designed only to represent. Who decides what is more important, faith or its covenant representations?

The answer to that leads into my favorite section of today's reading, which appeals to what has always stimulated me most about perspective.

"A pure eye lets sunshine into your soul. But an evil eye shuts out the light and plunges you into darkness. If the light you think you have is really darkness, how deep that darkness will be!"

"...you think..." above defines the issue of perspective. What happens when you have one view of the world, and do things according to that view, and someone else has another view, and does things according to their view, and their actions cause you pain? In their mind, they are being true to their perspective, so how can you fault them? I used to think this was always what was wrong with "others." For example, behavior leading to a divorce seemed "evil" to me, but the person who was doing it felt absolutely justified in their behavior, because from their perspective, it was "right" in their minds. How I wish "others" would get it right and do things the "right way."

I say that tongue in cheek, because, as we will see in upcoming sections, Jesus tells us to remove the plank from our own eye before worrying about the speck in our brother's eye. How long I thought this applied to "others" and how much sorrow do I have now, late in life, knowing that it applied to me all along. How the light I thought I had was really darkness, and how dark that darkness became. How many of God's gifts have I lost by insistence on my own perspective, on the "...you think..." part of my life.

So what does one do? Well, I think this is it. Pray. Seek God. Seek wisdom. Do not lean on your own rationality, but search out meaning. Don't get hung up on your own "light" but rather look to God with a pure eye for His sunshine.

Perspective is a killer.It can make you do things that cause pain to you and to others. It can cause you to demand legalistic purity to make sure that someone else is "appropriate," blinding one to the person's inner heart. And it can lead into a darkness out of which lifelong regret can follow.

But at the end of the day, when private covenant representation becomes the way you live your life, you have a chance.

In order not to be trapped into our own perspective, we seek wisdom. With wisdom, we avoid those traps, as long as we keep a healthy understanding of who is in charge.

"Cry out for insight and understanding. Search for them as you would for lost money or hidden treasure. Then you will understand what it means to fear the Lord, and you will gain knowledge of God."

At the end of it all, what else is there to live for other than a greater knowledge of God. When you come to the end of your life, and you are facing the future, beyond the end, what else is there?

...righteous because of his faith...

So many great concepts in the reading today...

"And Abram believed the Lord, and the Lord declared him righteous because of his faith."

Immediately following this declaration by God, Abram begins to question and ask for proof. Does faith, then, mean that we cannot ask for proof? If the absolute next concept, following the declaration of Abram's righteousness, is that he is acquitted for asking for proof, then how may we also be acquitted for our fears and our desire for proof of God's loyalty to us. Our search then is part of our faith process. We don't have to have "blind faith" but we are encouraged by this to ask God, "how will we know," or "how can we be sure?" Going to God in prayer and asking for that is not an admission of a lack of faith, but rather a declaration of that faith by the expectation of the answer. Would you ask a wall to talk to you? Of course not, your belief, your faith, is that the wall will not talk. But asking God to answer you is a declaration of the belief that He exists, is your God, and will answer, and that is a profound declaration of faith in Him.

Abram was willing to see God's vision, despite its "darkness and horror." While the end result of God's promise was a bounty to the seed of Abram, the intermediate life experiences of the Jewish people, prior to the deliverance promise from God, was pain and enslavement. Four hundred years of pain and enslavement, which, through a tempered faith in God, would result in the manifestation of God's glory in his chosen people. This strikes home to me very seriously. Does following God's promise mean it will always be wonderful? Absolutely not. It can result in terrible earthly suffering. But God's promises will be fulfilled. Faith, and the righteousness of humanity through faith, will not only endure, but will overcome and prosper.

Abram was also a wise man. When he gave back all to Sodom that he had recaptured from Sodom's enemies, he stated to the King of Sodom that he did so so that the King could never say "'I am the one who made you rich.'" Give freely, and be careful lest you ever give anything with strings attached, for then you will be associated with Sodom. Be careful of accepting any generosity from someone who may use it against you in the future. And be careful to draw a clear definition against that person so that person knows that you will never allow such an accusation. In so doing, Abram separated himself and his descendants from Sodom for all time.

The NT reading was also very enlightening.

In regards to divorce, it is interesting that Jesus chose to put it this way, "I say that a man who divorces his wife, unless she has been unfaithful, causes her to commit adultery." People can deconstruct this text until it holds no meaning for them. People can also interpret unfaithful in many ways. But at the end of the day, the proscription against divorce is stated in a way that suggests that the biggest evil from it is forcing another to sin. While divorce is bad, creating the situation in which someone else is forced into a life of sin is worse. Giving someone no option but to live in sin is the worst thing you may do to another human. Conversely, doing all you can to remove sin from another's life becomes the highest aim of the Christian.

This admonishment reconciles well with His earlier statements. "If your eye causes you to lust, gouge it out..." Again, the post-modern deconstructionists and the Chinese menu followers can salivate over this nugget of translational difficulty. But the subtext is similar. If you force another to sin, that is terrible. If something forces you to sin, that is also terrible. Do what you need to do to eradicate sin from your life, and from other's lives, and don't force, or be forced, into sin.

I believe that the method in which this thought process blends with the downstream manifestation of "turning the other cheek" gives a wonderful insight into the very nature of God. How does turning the other cheek not encourage someone to sin? How does mercy not encourage sin? Mercy is a tremendously hard concept to reconcile with "justice." Justice is rational. Justice can be applied to human endeavor, and has its roots in ethics and morality, and in human interpretations of such concepts in specific social situations. But at the end of the day, human justice is a reliance on our own intellect, which, left uncontrolled, leads to a pride which leads away from humility and obeisance to God. Emphasis on an irrational response to violence reminds us that our rationality is not, at the end of the day, in charge. Our astounding intellects may trick us into thinking we are in charge, but God has control of the situation. Following an irrational course of action reminds us of God's love in our own lives. Do we deserve God's "justice" (in human terms) for all the evil we have ever committed? I hope not, because by that account, I am damned over and over and over again. But we pray for God's mercy, and as we saw in the Old Testament reading, we receive it. And Jesus reminds us that this irrational approach is definitely, therefore, God-like. "In that way, you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven."

God's nature reconciles mercy and justice. Contemplation of that and fervent prayer for guidance as a declaration of faith, brings us closer to God. Manifesting God's love by acting in His mercy, creating that human tension and drama with "justice," defines our human existence. How do we set ourselves apart unless we behave this way?

How should I respond but with mercy and love?

...be reconciled...

Wow, what do you do with today's reading? Apparently, it's okay for a 75 year old man to trade his beautiful young wife into prostitution and profit by her services in the Pharaoh's harem. I mean, after all, Abram did it. And when the Lord visited plagues on the Pharaoh, Abram was allowed to leave with the earthly spoils of his dishonest dealings with the Pharaoh. It seems that the seeds of the worldly treasures of the Abrahaminic dynasty came from this initial act of prostitution.

Is that it? Or are we supposed to learn a lesson about God's mercy about our human intent? Clearly, there is no intent for prostitution on Abram's part. The intent is to decrease the risk of someone else committing sin (murder agains Abram). Even though Abram knows he will be treated well because of Sarai's beauty, the original intent is to avoid murder, or suicide from Abram's perspective.

So, even though we do the best we can with what we know, and the end result can be described as a failure according to God's law, God will come through in the end and protect His chosen. Is that just wishful thinking on my part, that even though I failed in heeding His call, I can still depend on His mercies to me? My intent was to avoid a greater sin because I was afraid, well, I knew, I would fail. Now that I am looking at my past with new eyes, and seeing who I was and who I wish never to be again, I can depend on God's mercy to grant me what it is I need, as long as I continue to serve and have faith?

And even though one of Christ's effects was to break the political power of the legalistic Pharisees, He clearly espouses legalism in His words "...even the smallest detail of God's law will remain until its purpose is achieved. So if you break the smallest commandment and teach others to do the same, you will be the least in the Kingdom of Heaven. But anyone who obeys God's laws and teaches them will be great in the Kingdom of Heaven." Mk 5:18-19.

So then if legalistic interpretation of biblical teaching is espoused by Christ, then should we legalistically interpret the worldly benefits of prostitution?

I don't think so. The Lord set right the sin that Abram committed by dishonesty and prostitution. That Abram was saved is an example of mercy, not necessarily of justice. It's the latter part of the story that needs assessment, not the former. And divine guidance cannot be taken away.

I heard what I was supposed to do, and this morning I realize that if that is what I am supposed to do, and God wills it, then there is nothing that I can do, or not do, to make His plan not happen. Letting go of self-recriminations and moving forward has to be the lesson learned. Go, and sin no more.

Yesterday's reading discouraged mocking. In today's reading, Christ says, "God blesses you when you are mocked and persecuted and lied about because you are my followers." People might say this exercise is foolish, but it's my mitzvot, and really just designed to bring myself closer to God.

The last section of the reading is an admonishment not to abjure wisdom. What is wisdom? I have prayed for it, and I have sought it, and I have turned over a lot of rocks in my search. But the answer is in this reflection on the bible. Sure, there may be critics like Derrida who state that there can be no ultimate meaning in any written language, but what tool did they use to make that point? Language! So, obviously, meaning can be attributed to language, and so they disprove their own point. Meaning can be found in the bible, yielding a moral authority to biblical teachings. Wisdom is in the bible. It is in the search.

So, mock away. Go ahead. But where is your ultimate meaning? What is your rock, your island upon which to stand?

Christ tells us to go and be reconciled to those to whom we owe something. To drop our sacrifices and run to that person. At some point in our lives, we choose, either by action or inaction, to take on or *not* take on, the mantle of being a Christ follower. When we make that choice, we have made a choice from which all other choices determining the remainder of our lives will flow. The central point of existence then becomes this initial choice, and as imperfect humans, we owe our healing and salvation to the product of our choice, to our God, to Christ. How can we not then, go and be reconciled, to Him to whom we owe every point of our existence?

It seems wisdom is there.