Death and Taxes

I recently received what should be among the last pieces of documentation I’ll need to file my taxes this year. This, for no reason, happened to coincide with a crippling winter storm; school was cancelled for the week; nonessential employees were encouraged to stay home. I am sure New Englanders and anyone who has ever seen lake-effect snow would laugh at our quasi-southern reaction to a little bit of crystallized rain, but regardless of the appropriateness of the local reaction, life in Louisville was nearly as frozen as the icicles on my eaves. Despite all of that, some things continued, the mail still ran (most days), somewhere my W-2’s still printed out, and the calendar still soldiered on toward April 15. So as I held that W-2 in my hand, I thought, “There you have it: Death and Taxes.” It seems there is no avoiding either one.

Or, is there? Is there a way out? Can I get off the hamster wheel?

A day or so later I was rereading an old letter. It’s a missive offering advice on a variety of topics: watching what you say, practicing what you preach. It is, in a nutshell, guidelines for living a quiet and peaceful life. In light of my bleak thoughts on death and taxes one statement jumped off the page at me. The author, giving guidance to his readers about making a daily plan (or yearly, for all it matters), said, “You don’t know the first thing about tomorrow. You’re nothing but a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing.” (Jas. 4:14 Mess.)

How’s that for encouraging? This guy seems to be saying, “Hey. Listen everyone, don’t get off of that couch. Really, don’t bother. Life is short. It’s a waste. You’re going to die. You could be run down by a bus before you even make it to work. Just stay home.” In fact, he really goes farther than that. “You are but a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing.” Not only are we all as good as dead the moment we arrive on this rock, but it all lasts a pretty short time in the grand scheme of things (it makes sitting down to file my taxes seem pretty insignificant…even unnecessary).

Poof, you’re here.

Poof, you’re gone.

I don’t know about you, but that’s not the sort of thing I need to hear to lift my spirits. I want to know that I am here for more. I want to know that I am here to make an impact. Some impact. Any impact. Even a little difference. But this dude is telling me I’m a mist – a vapor. What gives? I’ll tell you what gives. There are two certainties: Death and Taxes. Everything else is irrelevant. Right?

Wrong.

You see there is a third certainty; one that consumes both death and taxes. To understand what that is you need to know about the author of the letter and his frame of reference. His name is James; he’s a fairly insignificant man apart from one fact. He happened to be the younger brother of the most sought after man of his time – of all time for that matter. James is the half-brother of Jesus. They share the same mother – Mary – but, while Joseph is James’s dad, God is Jesus’ father. (Mk. 6:3 NIV; Lk. 1:35 NIV) Yes, that Jesus. As in, the Christ, the Messiah. So, what is James’s hang up? Why, is this half-brother of the King of all kings writing this forlorn epistle on woe? Well, he’s not; there is more to his message. Check it out:

“And now I have a word for you who brashly announce, ‘Today—at the latest, tomorrow—we’re off to such and such a city for the year. We’re going to start a business and make a lot of money.’ You don’t know the first thing about tomorrow. You’re nothing but a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing. Instead, make it a habit to say, ‘If the Master wills it and we’re still alive, we’ll do this or that.’” (Jas. 4:13-15 Mess.)

What James is really telling his readers (and us if we are careful to listen) is the eternal truth that God is in control. God alone is in control. We can plot and scheme. We can plan and conspire. But in the end, only what the Sovereign of the Universe wills and designs will come to fruition. That is not bad news. Really! It means that our contrivances are neither limited by our abilities or subject to our foibles. Will we fail? Yep. Will thing always be easy? Nope. But His ways are not our ways. (Is. 55:8-9)

Do you need an example? How about three? Before the twins Jacob and Esau were born, God forecast the superiority of the younger over his older sibling and it came to pass, despite apparently insurmountable odds. (Gen. 25-27 NIV). Joseph was sold into slavery by his own brothers, endured significant hardship in Egypt, but ultimately said with confidence (to the same brothers who had sold him), “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” (Gen. 37, 39-41 NIV; Gen. 50:20 NIV). Even Jesus, while residing in human flesh, had desires divergent from God, but Jesus understood the superiority of His Father’s design; He obediently allowed Himself to endure the most painful of deaths in order to act as our substitutionary sacrifice. (Lk. 22:42 NIV).

So, what does all of this have to do with death and taxes? Is it hopeless? Is life meaningless? Solomon – who had everything he wanted – said, “Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done, and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.” (Ecc. 2:11 NIV) But, I still don’t think it’s meaningless. Solomon was merely reflecting the same worldliness that James is imploring his readers to shun.

Both Solomon and James understood that this life can be radically changed by connecting ourselves to the will and plan of the One on whose index finger spins the Universe. We can understand that the vapor-like existence we endure on this orbiting orb is not all there is. God has always had a plan for all of us; for each of us…and, not only does it involve our daily triumphs and tribulations, it also covers death. It was humanity’s shortsightedness that introduced death into the equation. (Gen. 2-3 NIV) We can blame it on the cunning serpent. We can blame it on Eve’s naivety. We can even blame it on Adam’s lack of leadership. But, in the end, we all would have made the same or a similar choice. Doubt it? How many times have you violated another piece of James’s advice just today: “Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins.”? (Jas. 4:17 NIV) Too many times to count? Me too.

But it doesn’t have to be that way because God, in His infinite wisdom, had a plan from the start should we fall. (2 Tim. 1:8-10 NIV) And, because of that plan, for the follower of Jesus Christ there will be a restoration of His original design. “[Jesus] will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Rev. 21:4 NIV)

Did you see it? Look again if you didn’t…

No. More. Death. (And – I’m willing to go out on a limb here – no more taxes, too)

Frailty

Its three days before Christmas and I find myself asking the same question I’ve contemplated each year for as long as I can remember.  As I sit here, far too late on a Sunday night – Monday morning – it is my annual spiritual/mental wrestling match.  Not with God.  With myself.    

 

Why did the Son of God have to come in the way He did?  Homeless.  Dirty.  Poor.  Disgraced. 

Why?

Do I have the answer?  No.  Not really.  I know what the Bible says.  I know the theological discourses.  Still, that is not why I think I know the answer.  It’s far simpler.  I know what I know by what I’ve…not felt, that sounds too emotional…experienced. 

Grace – the willingness of the mighty crafter of time and space to step into my circumstances, wrap himself in human flesh, and live the difficult life of a “Genesis 3” human being.  All without falling to any of the temptations that so easily ensnare us.  He was one of us, without failing like one of us.

You see this is not what we were made for.  We were not made for frailty and weakness of heart.  We were not made to toil and fight the earth for our daily bread.  We were not destined to decay and die. 

We were made to walk in communion with the King of the Universe.  We were made to walk and talk with the Holy Ruler of Heaven.  We were made to be with him.

Instead, we blew it.  You see through Adam we all have fallen. (Romans 5:12).  And I know that we are sometimes tempted to think, “man, if I was in Adam’s shoes…I wouldn’t have done it.”  Really?  How many times did I have the chance to do the right thing today and choose the wrong.  Sometimes the more difficult wrong.  That is rebellion at its purest.

Of course we all have our reasons for rebelling.  Finances.  Disappointment.  Betrayal.  Failure.  Lust.  Greed.  Self-esteem.  You name it; someone somewhere has blamed their sin on it.  But, at the end of the day it is still the same choice.

Eat of the Tree of Life or eat of the Tree of Knowledge. 

And, sometimes we succeed and choose Life.  But, even the best of us still choose Knowledge…

David wanted to know Bathsheba.  (2 Samuel 11)  Moses wanted to know he helped the Israelite slave. (Exodus 2)  Peter wanted to know he was safe. (Matthew 26)

They all wanted to know something.  They all traded (at least momentarily) Life. Why?

So, another “why.”  But the answer to this question belies the answer to the initial question. 

They chose out of frailty.  Human frailty.  Broken, weak, but fixable.  Human frailty.

Paul called himself the chief of sinners (some days I know that I might not win the title hands down, but I sure could challenge).  (I Tim0thy 1:15-16)  But, Paul also said that the grace was sufficient for him, that the power of Christ was prefect in Paul’s weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Did you see it?  Don’t miss it.  Paul (we) are frail.  Jesus (God) is Power. 

He did what He did so that He could show us – would we have really believed Him if He just told us – that He understood our frailty.  He does understand our frailty.  He lived in it for thirty-three years.  He became weakness so that He could show us the fullest extent of his power.  His life was a perfect life of choosing Life. Not merely because He had all knowledge, but because He understood the greatness of life as it was meant to be lived; life as Life.

And there it is.  I am frail.  I don’t always choose what I ought.  But Christ is perfect.  And this grace is the very thing that allows me to “grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.”  (Ephesians 3:18) That same love that, despite my failings (and they are many) allows me to be “filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3:19)

So that is Christmas.  The Sovereign of All became the lowliest of all to show that we who are frail may be made perfect through Him.

So that He who was born perfect, who lived a flawless life, would die a sinner’s death.  So that redemption might come.  So that, even before the sacrifice, David the adulterer may still be called a man after His own heart.  So that Moses the murderer may lead the nation out of bondage.  So that Peter the disloyal disciple may be the rock upon which the church was built.  So that I may rise from my ashes to…well that is unwritten.  But, redemption is always available.  

So, this Christmas remember the homeless, dirty, poor, and disgraced Son of God sleeping in a feeding trough.  And then remember that for those who fall on His grace, we no longer remain homeless, dirty, poor, or disgraced.

Remember the grace that turns our frailty into might. 

Merry Christmas.

Backstage

I have a perception problem. It has nothing to do with my eyesight and everything to do with my attitude. I find myself, in the midst of a struggle, asking, “why me?” But, in the interest of full disclosure, my question is not a random articulation of despair thrown like liter to the ground. No, I often level my expressions of frustration at my God. So, the real question I’m frequently asking is, “why would You let this thing happen to me? If you love me and want the best for me, then why am I facing this difficulty?” Recently, though, I received an inadvertent lesson in God’s providence through His careful and clever arrangement of even the most insignificant details of my life. Let me explain.

Like many churches, my family’s church has a regular worship program for pre-school aged children complete with puppets, actors, storytellers, and an assortment of other Biblically oriented info-tainment geared toward children. Of course, the focal point of all the activity is the stage. Ours is a garden-variety twenty-foot wide rectangle with a clever backdrop consisting of three facades decorated to resemble houses – miniature houses – each having its own front door, faux yard, and white picket fence. It is a carefully fabricated piece of Americana. Behind each door “lives” a different felt-skinned character who imparts Biblical wisdom in lively and engaging fashion (so engaging that my children are more likely able to tell you what virtue an orange hued puppet extolled three Sunday’s ago than what chore I asked them to do three minutes ago).

Not long ago, my son – newly graduated to Kindergarten – accompanied me on an errand to church on a Thursday afternoon. Our task required us to venture near the children’s worship area and, as Thursday afternoons tend to be rather quiet in even the most robust church, the pre-school worship room was deserted. So, when my son, with his explorer’s heart, requested that we look around the room, I agreed. And, though he didn’t intend to, he taught me a lesson.

Oh! If you could have seen the wonder in his eyes as we stepped through the threshold of the first house and he peered behind the scenery at the meticulously organized, yet dreadfully plain rear of the stage. “Daddy! It’s all one room. They’re all connected. I thought there were three houses!” And, while it didn’t strike me at that very moment, as I later shared the event with my wife, I recalled the words God spoke to Jeremiah as He explained His divine protection and plan for the nation of Israel. “For I know the plans I have for you…plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,” (Jeremiah 29:11 NIV).

In those words, my perception problem met the precise preparation of the Almighty. I began to understand the inordinate amount of preparation and skillful choreography that my Father in heaven puts into each minute of my life. Despite my wonderings. In spit of my tantrums. My God has plans for me. If He has a plan for the destiny of a nation, how much more does He have a plan for me. In those moments when life seems to get the best of me I shouldn’t behave like a pre-schooler watching a performance gone astray. I ought to remember that, backstage, the Director is directing. But, most of the time I don’t.

That, of course is when the real problems begin. When I chose to see life as a cosmic free-for-all the results are never pretty. In the best of circumstances, I become a petulant child, throwing myself to the ground and expressing rage at my Father for not making things go my way. I stomp my feet, clench my fists, and flail. I scream. I pout. I thrash about. I see my life and my situation as an audience member witnessing a performance gone horribly awry. I have paid good money for these tickets and this is not the performance I expected. I quickly forget the work done behind the scenes, believing that what I see is what I get.

Worse, still, I sometimes decide that the only effective course of action is my course of action. So, with utmost haste, I (attempt to) take control and direct the play and its players myself. The problem is I have no directorial experience. I have no production experience. I am an actor of the worst kind; I lack any serious talent and have a diva complex. I often forgets my lines, skip rehearsals, and require only the finest bottled water. I pout and throw fits, and because I think I am in charge, I expect people to respond. I am, after all, the center of the Universe and if God can’t remember that, well…everyone else better.

What’s amazing is that the Master of all Universes – my minuscule one included – is not amused, but somehow manages to be patient. While either of my approaches is horribly glorious in its myopic humanness and neither acknowledges that the same God who thought me into being might have an idea as to how to handle my current situation, the simple truth is that He has His eyes on me now as much as when He does when life is easy. And, though God doesn’t seem to use His “Easy Button” as much as I think He ought to, the Bible teaches that our Heavenly Father “works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Rom. 8:28 NIV).

Simple words. Profound message. God works for good…

Career quagmire? God works for good.

Poor prognosis? God works for good.

Fractured family? God works for good.

Disabling debt? God works for good.

Some say that there are no atheists in foxholes, but it may be that foxhole situations only reveal our true leanings. For every unbeliever who cries out to God for his salvation, I imagine there is a Christ follower who simply cries or worse cries out to himself for salvation. Nevertheless, while it is easy to thank God in the midst of comfort and peace, we are compelled to recall that in times of despair God works for good.

Don’t agree? Ask Joseph. Sure, he had a little bit of a superiority complex. Still, did Joseph really deserve what his own brothers did to him? If you think the sneers you tolerate across the Thanksgiving table are bad you might step into Joseph’s hole (literally). After tossing him in a pit, his brothers began debating whether they should kill him. Lucky for him, cooler heads prevailed and they only sold him into slavery – sarcasm intended. But it doesn’t end there. After being poked and prodded on the slave-house auction block, he had to suffering the indignity of an attempted rape at the hands of his owner’s wife only to be tossed into an Egyptian prison after she accused him of the same crime, a crime he didn’t commit! Still – and it’s a long story – it didn’t last forever. When famine forced his brothers to travel to Egypt in search of food they found themselves pleading at the feet of none other than their scorned sibling. Instead of Joseph the slave or Joseph the prisoner, however, they find Joseph, Pharaoh’s chief of staff. And better still, he welcomed them saying – don’t miss it because here is the lesson – “…it was not you who sent me here, but God.” (Gen. 45:8 NIV). How did that happen? God works for good.

Still not sure? Ask Paul and Silas. They were in jail…again. After being beaten in the brutal fashion sanctioned by a Roman government determined to keep the peace, they were chained to and hung on a wall. Aching. Injured. Shattered. Battered. But, not defeated. Instead of lamenting, Paul and Silas sang, and not in a figurative sense. They literally opened their mouths, the same mouths that had been bloodied by the beating, and praised Jesus the Savior in song. In prison, in want of rescue, they praised a Savior who allowed them to be in this situation. That is faith. That, of course, is when it happened. In the flash of a miracle that could only have come from God, “all the prison doors flew open, and everybody’s chains came loose.” (Acts 16:26 NIV). Earthquakes might open doors, but earthquakes don’t loosen chains – that’s God’s handiwork. When the jailer entered, sword drawn, prepared to commit hari-kari rather than suffer the inevitable beating (one similar to what Paul and Silas had just endured) that would be visited on him as punishment for the mass flight of his prisoners, what did he find? Two Jesus freaks more interested in evangelism than escape. That night, the jailer – and his entire family – was saved. If not for Paul and Silas’ imprisonment, what would have become of the souls of the jailer and his kin? No telling, but one thing the jailer, his family, and Silas would say (and Paul did say); God works for good.

Need more proof? Ask Jesus. Not long ago He had entered Jerusalem amidst shouts of “Hosanna!” The people thought Him to be the king sent to save them from an oppressive occupying force. Instead, He went from hero to zero in less time than it took a Pharisee to wash his hands. From celebrated to reviled in less than a week. Why? He claimed to be more than a king, He claimed to be the King of kings and those in authority would have none of that. One has to wonder, though, did they not witness miracles done in the name of the Most High God? Did they not see Him fulfill prophecy after prophecy with their own eyes? They did, but this was how it had to be done. In order to become an atoning sacrifice He had to endure and ultimately die in the most shameful and painful of manner ever devised; stretched naked, skin in ribbons, suffocating, and ridiculed, the Maker of Heaven and Earth was made to hang on a cross. In that moment along with an innocent carpenter from Nazareth all of humanity hung in the balance. But, before His last gasp the divine Director of life, clothed in humanity and nailed to a cross, asked the same question we all ask in the most difficult of circumstances, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt. 27:46 NIV). He did not have a perception problem. He knew what was and is and is to come, but He asked it anyway. Though there are certainly a myriad of theological explanations as to why the Son, who knew the plan, asked the Father this question, I believe it was to show us that the question is not out of bounds. We hear it from Jesus and it resonates in our souls. He knew it then and we understand it now, though it was horrific this was the only way we could be redeemed. Our sin required a permanent atoning sacrifice of an unblemished lamb and only Jesus had the credentials. His death was tragic, but is was also triumphant. Though His lungs no longer inflated and His heart no longer beat. Though He died. Now, He lives. Dead men don’t walk and they don’t talk. Jesus did both. Three days after His shocking and gruesome sacrifice, Jesus stepped out of the grave. The murder of God on the cross of Calvary turned out to be the hinge of all history, the glorious redemption offered to all of mankind was born in His resurrection. Even in the deepest dark, God works for good.

There is more to Romans 8:28 than God’s promise to work for good. The passage goes on to tell us for whom God’s good work is designed – “those who love him” – and for what aim – “who have been called according to his purpose.” Joseph. Paul. Jesus. Me. You?

The good news is that God is at work in all we are and all we do. Yet, that is not all. His work is for His objective. Surely, Joseph would have liked to be Pharaoh’s number one advisor without the trials that brought him there, but without those trials Joseph would not have been the man he was when his brothers found him. Paul and Silas, too. Missionary work is hard work and, despite Paul’s writings regarding the joys of suffering for the Gospel message, there is little doubt that he, like the rest of us, would have gladly preached without ever-present danger lurking around every corner. Even Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” (Lk. 22:42 NIV).

But, if you are His. If you have placed your trust in the Suffering Savior who left the palatial glory of Heaven to endure the hardship of this Earth and the scorn of His creation you can rest assured that whether life is good or bad – in the noise and in the silence – He is looking out for you. As the Psalmist tells us, “the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” (Ps 121:8 NIV). The same Creator that hung each star in the heavens, who formed each water molecule in the oceans is the same Weaver who stooped down from Heaven and created your inmost being, who knit you together in your mother’s womb. (Ps. 139:13 NIV paraphrase mine). There it is, the God who created all things large and small, is the same God who takes interest in each of us. He did not set the Earth in motion only to sit back and watch us spin out of control. He is not asleep at the wheel. (Ps. 121:4 NIV). He is at work. He is backstage directing.

So, what’s your problem, is it perception?

Until We Go Home

There is a house I often pass when I run. It is a non-descript, one story brick home. It blends in with the other houses on the street in the quaint and quiet manner befitting middle-American suburbia. The hedges are trimmed, not ornately, but neatly. The roof needs mending, but is far from disrepair. The driveway’s cracks hint at gradual, but graceful, aging. Beyond those details, however, I can describe little else. I can’t tell you the color of either the shutters or the trim. I don’t know the house number and I can’t recall if it has a garage. Is the drive asphalt or concrete – I don’t know. It is so plain – so gleefully ordinary – that, except for one distinct feature, I would not have given it a second glance.

Out in front, pulled by an unseen wind, waves a worn and formerly yellow flag with lettering that only hints at ever being red. Its satiny cloth flaps ever-so-slightly in the autumn breeze. While I watch, it falls without a puff of air to bolster it and slowly, hesitantly, rises again with a weary sigh of a hard day’s work as the light wind resumes. With each movement carrying with it the appearance of a Herculean effort, the banner shrugs its shoulders and quietly billows on. But, even with its hushed voice, this flag shouts a message to all who care to listen.

And, with my eyes, I listen.

I see the flag and hear the groans of the slowly growing heartache of the family inside the four walls. Immediately, I understand that this is no ordinary family. This is a family with firsthand knowledge of longsuffering. These people are acquainted with waiting, accustomed to wanting, anxious and worried. But, while they suffer in silence, with only the muted yellow banner to serve as the family spokesman, all who pass this way behold the lingering sting of loneliness. Like a routine loser, their poker face is substandard. The flag tips their hand. The slowly droning “pop…pop…pop” of the tattered edges gently whisper that the wait has been long. Their pain and pride are manifest.

Pain from the empty seat at the dinner table. Pride for the sacrifice.

Pain from the backbreaking burden of concern. Pride for the service.

I don’t know them, but I know about them. They are a military family and, as their loved one wages a distant war, each member of this household engages in an inner-war of personal disquiet. Each one can attest to sleepless nights and restless days. Is it a son or daughter, cousin or nephew, father or wife who is absent with leave? I don’t know. Are they missing an Airman, Sailor, Soldier, or Marine? No idea. All I know is that their longing is abundant as long as their family member is in short supply. The flag tells me as much.

It’s message is simple, ” ‘Till they come home.”

But, as I look upon this monument to a warrior, I can’t help but think of another partially empty house missing a host of combatants and bearing a similar banner. This house, though, is unlike the simple ranch in nearly every way. This house is anything but nondescript. It has more rooms that a downtown high-rise. The bushes appear to have been trimmed by DaVinci. The roof is in fine shape, but most people don’t even notice it as they are too busy gaping at the gilded gateway to look up and notice the roof. The sheer perfection of it is nothing less that glorious. It is majestic. It is simply supernatural.

But, the exterior is only the start, do you know who lives in this place? That information will tell you all you need to know. This is the Heavenly house of a doting Daddy – Abba’s abode. The mansion of the Maker and manor of the Messiah. This, this is the “crib” of all “cribs” for the King of all kings. This is better than Graceland it is the Grace-land.

But, even as I picture the splendor of this dwelling and the majesty of its occupants, I find my mind’s eye wandering to that one thing this magnificent palace in this magnificent place must have in common with that humble ranch on that humble street. The flag. Like the family in that one-story residence, the Father, Son, and Spirit have empty seats at their dinner table. Though many of those previously unoccupied have been filled by saints who have completed their tour of duty to the adulation of a glorious reception. Still, many remain vacant. Each vacancy represents a war weary participant entrenched in the daily conflict we call life. Still, we can be comforted as we pause each day to “put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, [we] may be able to stand [our] ground.” (Ephesians 6:13 NIV). “For [the Christian’s] struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Ephesians 6:12 NIV).

But the hardship of a hard-fought battle is not always dramatic explosions and chaos. Certainly there are believers on the front lines of persecution and violence. However, many of us skirmish in monotony. We mêlée in the mundane. As we “do” life, it is often difficult for us to imagine our impact in the battle for the souls of men. We yearn for something bigger, something with meaning. We long for significance, for a life lived past the edges, for time spent coloring outside the lines. We want to be men and women consumed by a holy fire. Instead, as we wait, we wonder why the war goes on while we toil in mediocrity?

As Mordecai said to Esther, “who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14b NIV). And there it is; we are neither forgotten nor are we mere cogs in the mechanism of an uncountable army of the King. Dispensable and disposable. Rather, we, as believers in the redemptive grace of Jesus Christ, have been so redeemed. We are new and so are our assignments. Whether our participation is in the fray or the fringe, we are assigned a only one of a kind task. Each soldier is also an envoy with a unique pilgrimage, designed to carry a distinctive message of deliverance to those appointed by the Maker of Time and Space to occupy our company in given time and space. And that is our duty, our role. That is our privilege.

For our Father in his Heavenly home, despite our mission on His behalf, each absentee brings Him equal pain as He longs for our company in His presence. Like the picture provided by Jesus of the father waiting for his prodigal son to return from the far country, our Creator longs to see us crest the hill of Heaven. He misses walking and talking with each of us and, because of that, there is a banner waiving in Heaven, an indication of His yearning to be reunited with each us.

Though there is no decay in Heaven and moth and rust do not destroy, I would not be surprised if the celestial flag bore the same appearance of age as the other. (Matthew 6:19-20 NIV). Somehow it would not seem out of place if it were to heave under the burden of waiting and bear the tell-tale signs of longing. If the red letters had the tinge of a washed out pink, I would not question the truth of the perfection of Heaven. In fact, if our Father runs to His reckless and irresponsible children when they understand His grace, how much more will he welcome us as we wander home weary from a life of warring with our flesh and with the Enemy.

We can rest assured in the promise of our Lord, Jesus, who said with all authority, “In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” (John 14:2-4 NIV). And, I imagine that the first thing He did in His divine preparation was raise a flag to remember his warriors on the front lines, in the trenches, and even adrift in the seemingly commonplace.

Let us continue to bedevil the Devil with our steadfastness and rest on the promise of Jesus. Let us, like soldiers in a distant land or ambassadors to a far country, dream of the day when we can enter our Father’s house and watch as He lowers the flag and say as Jesus said to the church at Ephesus, “[y]ou have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary.” (Revelation 2:3).

Mercy and Grace

Grace and Mercy
Is there a difference between Grace and Mercy?

To answer this question, we must first understand each of the terms individually. Webster defines Grace as, among other things, “unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification” and “disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency.” Mercy is “compassion or forbearance shown especially to an offender or to one subject to one’s power” and “blessing that is an act of divine favor or compassion.” At first blush, the two terms seem to be interchangeable and, muddying the waters further, Webster also uses each as a synonym for the other.

However, upon closer examination of both the modern definition and Biblical usage of each word we find that there is a fine line of difference. The distinction being that where Mercy is the act of forbearance from deserved punishment, Grace has the additional additive of “assistance” (interestingly Webster understands this assistance to be divine in nature – but that is another issue altogether).

To gain a fuller understanding of these ideas, let’s look at a few scriptures referencing these concepts.

Mercy
In I Kings 8: 21-61, King Solomon dedicates the Temple to the Lord. Near the end of his prayer, Solomon speaks of the frequent rebellion of the Israelites and the oft-repeated pattern of destruction and redemption, making a clear statement that all have and will sin against God. (See I Ki. 8:46). At the end of this section, Solomon asks for Mercy for the people saying, “And forgive your people, who have sinned against you; forgive all the offenses they have committed against you, and cause their conquerors to show them mercy; for they are your people and your inheritance, whom you brought out of Egypt, out of that iron-smelting furnace.” (I Ki. 8:50-51). The prophet Micah takes a similar view of God’s Mercy when he says, “Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy.” (Mic. 7:18). In Romans Paul makes the following statement regarding Mercy and sin, “Just as you who were at one time disobedient to God have now received mercy as a result of their disobedience, so they too have now become disobedient in order that they too may now receive mercy as a result of God’s mercy to you. For God has bound all men over to disobedience so that he may have mercy on them all.” (Rom. 11:30-32).

What we see in all of these passages (and many others in both the Old and New Testament) is the juxtaposition of Mercy and sin. This is no mere coincidence resulting from careless word choice on the part of the particular author. What these passages reveal is that Mercy is not getting what one deserves. It is the removal of punishment where punishment is due.

Grace
Grace is certainly difficult to distinguish from Mercy. This is especially true as, while in Biblical terms Mercy is frequently tied to sin as its opposite, Grace is linked to either to God as a loving God or to Jesus as an atoning Savior. For example, John tell us, “For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” (Jn. 1:17). Further, Paul reminds us in Romans, “[S]ince we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.” (Rom. 5:1-2).

Still, Romans 5 more clearly fleshes out the concept of Grace from Mercy where Paul tells us

But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many! Again, the gift of God is not like the result of the one man’s sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification. For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.

The law was added so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

(Rom. 5:15-17; 20-21). What we see in this passage is that Grace, while related to sin, is not tied to sin in the same direct manner as that of Mercy. Rather, Grace is the free gift offered to us through Jesus Christ that would be unnecessary but for our sin. Unlike Mercy, which we only receive because our God is “patient [ ], not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Pt. 3:9) and is necessary to free us from our sin, Grace is simply bestowed on us to further purify our unrighteousness. The famous phrase (apologies for any unintended plagiarism here) is, Mercy is not getting what one deserves and Grace is getting what one does not deserve. Both are gifts, but one is the removal of punishment where the other is the gift of God’s favor.

The Confusion
Confusion arises between Mercy and Grace because of the closeness of the two concepts and the frequent use of one where the other might make more sense to us. We see this most clearly in passages such as Isaiah 26:10 where the prophet tells us, “Though grace is shown to the wicked, they do not learn righteousness; even in a land of uprightness they go on doing evil and regard not the majesty of the LORD.” Even Jesus tacitly approves of the use Mercy where we might expect to see Grace. In the legal expert’s response to our Lord’s query at the end of the parable of the Good Samaritan, “‘Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?’ The expert in the law replied, ‘The one who had mercy on him.’ Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise.’” (Lk. 10:37).

This confusion need not be confusion at all. What we really have is two-fold. On the one hand, we have clear examples of how the concepts of Grace and Mercy are so closely related to one another that they are in many respects interchangeable. This does not take away from the uniqueness of either. On the other hand, we also see that each, while an independent and important idea in its own right, is bolstered by the existence of the other. Ultimately, what we see is that in the combination of Mercy and Grace the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

The Big Question
Do we really need both Grace and Mercy? In other words, since Mercy removes the consequence of our sin, do we need Grace? While it may not be clear, the answer must be “yes,” but if the answer were “no” it would not diminish God’s loving-kindness as He would be giving us an unnecessary and undeserved gift. Still, it appears to go deeper than that. While the need for God’s Mercy is clear and the need for God’s Grace might not be as clear, Grace is equally necessary to bring about our complete redemption.

Maybe a more mundane example than our eternal soul will shed light on the issue. Let’s say your adult son is home from college and, in the course of trimming your hedges for some money, destroys your neighbor’s prize-winning rose bush (it was close to the property line and he happened to get a little over zealous). Now, from a strictly legal point of view, she has a number of legitimate (and winnable) claims against your son. But, because you have a good relationship with this particular neighbor she forgives him and decides not to pursue any legal action nor does she ask for any money from him to replace the bush. That is mercy. Even given this Mercy, she is without a rose bush and unless someone replaces it she will continue to be without a rose bush (and, quite likely emotionally hurt by the action and the consequent loss). So, despite the fact that she has decided not to press the issue, you replace the bush. That is grace. Your son was off the hook. The neighbor’s forgiveness made it (at least from his point of view) as if no harm had been done, but the scar remained. Mercy removed the consequence, Grace fixed the error.

Now, imagine the mercy of a perfect and loving Father. Jesus merciful sacrifice removed the consequence of our sin, gracefully paying our corresponding debt as well.

Just Jesus

You’ve heard it before, maybe you asked it. You might have even had it asked of you, “if you were walking down an isolated and dark street late at night in the sketchiest part of town and suddenly saw a cluster of men coming toward you, would you rather they be carrying beer bottles or Bibles”? The question usually comes as a well-meaning response to an accusation that Christians are no better than non-Christians.

It is a curious query, both subtle as a summer breeze off the ocean and obvious as a chimpanzee in a powder blue tuxedo. Obvious in its intent to press the respondent into admitting that Bible-studiers are generally better that the Biblically illiterate; subtle due to the tacit implication that outward appearances of devoutness equal inner holiness – that merely looking and acting the part is all that is necessary to enter through the narrow gate.

But, take hold – with both hands – of the question while standing in the shoes of the questioned. Sneakers worn thin in the toes, with long absent tread from nights spent running with the Devil. Wingtips scarred and scuffed on the remnants of ruined relationships in an attempt to climb the staircase of success. Stilettos more closely acquainted with a stage and pole than any board room or business suit. For the wearers of these shoes, the unwitting lost, the question belies the heart of the questioner, and, in a broader fashion, their perception of all who would call themselves followers of Christ. It is the inquiry of the self-righteous, of the perfect and pious. The message, not-so-subtly communicated, is one of immediacy, “your physical person will benefit from contact with holy rollers, but not rock-n-rollers.” What goes unsaid – but shouted in the swift undercurrents of the question – is that the answerer’s eternal soul is not the issue.

But, shouldn’t it be? Should not the issue be reframed so as to pinpoint the interminable rather than the terminable, only without the sprinkled accusation of impiety?

If immediate physical well being is the central concern, midnight Bible thumpers always prevail. However, if flesh and blood are ignored, and the focus shifted to soul and spirit, the inquiry becomes far more difficult to answer – at least for those outside our stained glass curtains come Sunday morning. If we are painfully honest, we would have to admit that, for those not in our “Jesus-club,” Christians are a scary bunch. Maybe we are not outwardly hypocritical or overtly judgmental, maybe we attempt understanding and reach for accepting, but, from the perspective of those in need of new shoes and new souls our compassion is often fleeting but more often absent. To them, our demeanor oozes it. Our attitude exudes it. Our actions exalt it. We are sanctimonious, we are first-class, we are Grade-A.

This is the World’s view of the Christian. While we may rightly protest the perception as based on generalities, until we embrace the truth that, either because our Enemy has planted his poisoned seed or because some among us act out these stereotypes daily, Christians appear far too self-assured. And that self-assuredness is the heart of the problem. We ought not be self-assured, but Christ-assured. We are to derive our deliverance from depravity in light of the death of the Divine. We are to be humble enough to present, not our rules of religiosity, but Jesus.

Only Jesus.

Just Jesus.

Don’t agree? Check out the Savior as he walks from Jerusalem to Galilee. It’s what Jesus did when he found one whose soul was in need of healing but had been scorned so often that she avoided both hellions and healers. She stalked to Jacob’s Well alone in the oppressive mid-day sun. Was it possible that she had heard a similar inquiry those thousands of years ago, only, instead of barroom brawlers and Sunday school teachers, the central characters were Levites and Samaritans? And the probing pained her even that much more because she, well, she was Samaritan. Maybe that’s why, when Jesus set out to ask a for a sip from this woman who had so often missed the mark that she had, long ago, stopped aiming, he, and he alone, came to her. No disciples. No crowd to overhear the conversation. No one.

Only Jesus.

Just Jesus.

See the scene, drink it in (John 4:1-38 NIV). The sun is high in the sky. It is hot. It is not a time for outdoor activities – work or play – if they can be avoided. Jesus, perched atop the precipice of this ancient well, is resting his feet. He is alone, his companions have gone into the city to gather provisions. A lonely, lowly, Samaritan woman heads up the sandy street to Jacob’s Well. All she wants is to draw her water and return home – remain invisible. Unseen. Unnoticed. Under the radar. In her path she sees this man and, as she draws closer, her heart drops, but not because this is a dark and secluded street. Rather, because he is a traveler, and obviously a Hebrew. Despite the fact that, in this culture it is unlikely he will even utter a word to her, she can only wonder what his expressions will have to say, what judgment lies in his glance. Or worse, will he simply pretend not to notice her, giving her a position on the social ladder just below a gnat? Her sprit sinks, it drops to depths low enough to give the well a run for its money, because she contemplates a critic. In this era of segregation, she sees a Jewish judge. Little does she know she has just caught a glimpse of her heavenly Healer.

What she doesn’t realize, is that the designer of the universe, crafted this moment. He designated this one-on-one. She needed a face-to-face encounter with Christ; he knew it. And so, he made it happen. At the moment her Maker made her, he penned this meeting on his calendar. He who had imagined her into existence before human existence existed had heard her heart cry out in the pain of loneliness.

Yet, he appreciated her apprehension. So, he set up this meeting in a manner that would allow her to muster the requisite courage to confront him. Jesus knew that she would be able approach Him because He was alone.

And she did.

And He asked her for Jacob’s water.

And she drank Jesus’ living water.

But, note what Jesus omitted from his invitation. He told her of her sins. He noted her failings. He told her all that she had ever done. (John 4:29 NIV). But, the Creator of water offered her his wellspring before he required repentance. Jesus did not call out to her as she crept slowly up the path, “woman, come no further until you repent and agree never to sin again.” Make no mistake, to truly follow him, we must throw down our pride, admit our failings, make a one-hundred-eighty degree turnabout and sprint away from our sin. To follow Jesus, we “must deny [ourselves] and take up [our] cross daily.” (Luke 9:23 NIV). Nevertheless, Jesus’ routine was to offer acceptance and forgiveness before he required change. (John 8: 1-11 NIV).

He, as the author of salvation, as the one who bought our ransom understood what we don’t. Jesus knew and knows that the only escape from our corruption is a deep and abiding relationship with him. (John 14:6 NIV). Salvation is immediate but redemption is ongoing; but both are active and passive. We are told to “continue to work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in [us] to will and act according to his good purpose.” (Philippians 2:12-13 NIV). And for us to require the wayward to completely change their lifestyle before offering living water is, at best, hypocritical and, at worst, counter to our Savior’s model and purpose. It positions stumbling blocks where none need lie.

Instead of piously bludgeoning with Bibles and slinging scripture, railing for righteousness, we ought to be removing religious requirements and offering up a pure Savior. We must lead the thirsty to quench their thirst from the water flowing from the fountain of Living Water; the cool cascade that imbues those who drink with the Holy Spirit of God. Then, the Spirit can and will “work in [all who would accept him] to will and act according to his good purpose.”  (Romans 8:28 NIV)

We need not present anything more than Jesus and need not require less than complete surrender to His lordship – in that order. And that is where the metamorphosis occurs, in the acceptance of Savior Jesus the Sacrifice and relinquishment to King Jesus the Redeemer. We must be willing to trust that if we present the unadulterated Christ, all who come to him will be changed in the process of his everlasting grace. We are obligated to present the wanderers with a perfecter who is in the business of perfecting the imperfect, not a critic who condemns the cracked and broken. Then, and only then, we encourage, we teach, and we guide – but all with the aim of glorifying God. We do this while allowing him to do the work for which he came – to heal. (Mathew 9:12 NIV). We must present Jesus.

Only Jesus.

Just Jesus.

A Connected Heart

As I was driving with my three year-old daughter a few days ago we were listening to Chris Tomlin’s song “Let Your Mercy Rain.” If you are unfamiliar with the lyric, the first verse is:

God, You have done great things
God, You give grace to the weak
And bless the brokenhearted
With a song of praise to sing
You reached down and lifted us up
You came running, looking for us
And now there’s nothing
And no one beyond Your love

Being the inquisitive toddler she is, she asked, “Daddy, what is brokenhearted”? And, like the dutiful Father that I am, I gave her the answer I thought her young mind could understand. “Brokenhearted means sad. The song is saying that God will help brokenhearted people become happy again. He fills them with joy.” That was the end of it, and as we drove along both belting out the newly understood song in a harmony of tone deafness only pleasing to God and ourselves, she didn’t ask anymore questions about it. Good job dad. Another question in life laid to rest and a lesson about the sovereignty of God to boot. You rock!

Wait a second. Not so fast, Mr. Answerman. She was about to – in the way only a child can – teach me a lesson about God that was both sublime and simple.

About thirty minutes had passed since the initial query, we were back in the car on the return trip home from finishing our errand. I had not thought about her earlier question, which was probably good as I might have bruised myself if I had patted my own back any more. Then it happened. In the most matter-of-fact manner and tone I heard from the backseat, “Daddy, a connected heart is when it’s not broken.” Bam! There it was. In less than ten words, she had summed up all sixty-six books of the Bible; thousands of years of theology in a thousandth of a second. It was Bible for Dummies authored by a pint-sized apologist.

A connected heart is when it’s not broken.

Now, with that sort of insight, I don’t know whether she’ll be an evangelist or an English teacher, but she knew what I hadn’t thought to tell her. The uncomplicated fact that a heart connected to its Creator, to the Almighty God, is a heart filled with joy – joy unspeakable as we sing in Sunday school. But, lest we forget in our trite (and often tired) repetition of certain age old truths, Jesus, himself, said the same thing when He said, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5 NIV). And we later learn that the fruit of the spirit, among other things is joy. (Galatians 5:22 NIV). So, put the two together and you have “a connected heart is when it’s not broken.”

I am not sure if the 2 ½ foot tall herald of Heaven in my Honda Accord was trying to tell me this, but the Savior of all mankind said as clearly as he could, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33 NIV). There it is, the plain truth that if we are humble enough to place our trust in the One who was able to walk, of His own volition, from a tomb. Despite our daily difficulties, in the face of our fearsome foes, we who hold court with the King, by the grace of His Son, can rest assured that “our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” (2 Corinthians 4:17 NIV ). And, lest we fail to understand the weight of this statement, we would be wise to remember that the apostle who penned these words had been imprisoned, run out of town, rejected by his fellow believers, shipwrecked, snake bitten, and beaten and left for dead – these were his “light and momentary troubles.” Ah, but he was connected to the Lord of Everlasting Life and in his connectedness, he was able to understand the truth that this sort of supernatural connectedness does not merely repair our brokenness it erases it. This connectedness to the giver of life is regeneration; it is being made new. Not fixed, but fresh.

Whether your bills are piled high or your doctor has delivered the grimmest of prognoses, for you who are connected to the giver of life everlasting, there need not be a spirit of fear. Rather than wring your hands in worry or mourn the loss of a temporary treasure, by connecting your broken heart to the Spirit of the Joy you are free to rejoice. No matter what the burden, you may rejoice. No matter how absurd it may seem, rejoice. Be connected to the vine, bear the fruit and rejoice!

Beatitude Exclusivity

Someone recently asked, “are the promises of the Beatitudes exclusive to Christians or to everyone who ‘lives right’ ?” It seems that the andwer would have to be – with an appropriate amount of equivocation – yes and no. Let’s begin.

A. General parameters.
The Beatitudes can be viewed from two basic perspectives. First, there is, for lack of a better word, what we can call a Temporal Perspective. Looking at the Beatitudes from this perspective, the blessedness and the corresponding promise are of and for this world. For instance, when Jesus speaks of mourning, according to this perspective, he is speaking of mourning with an eye toward the things of this world (i.e. physical loss of a loved one or the fallen nature of our world, etc.). Second, there is the Eternal Perspective.  Here, rather than concentrating on this world, the heart of the matter is the spiritual realm; God’s eternal kingdom. When, for example, mourning is viewed from this perspective, what we see is mourning for the brokenness of one’s own or for another’s soul. This sort of mourning is the mourning that comes when we truly realize that “the wages of sin is death.” Ultimately, each perspective bears some validity (at least to a point, as we will see upon further reading). However, this does not answer the question; it only sets the groundwork for answering the question.

B. An argument against exclusivity.
The issue is whether the promises of the Beatitudes can be called claims exclusive to Christians. First, we need to set ground rules again. For instance if we look at the mourning/comfort grouping, we know that unbelievers can be comforted by other people or at least feel a false comfort in ungodly things (see for example, Zec. 10:2). The issue is whether God offers godly comfort to the unbeliever who is in mourning. Zec. 10:1 speaks to this issue with the message being that God allows good things to happen to the just and unjust. This is tricky, though for a couple for reasons; (i) that passage is speaking to a specific situation wherein the Israelites had just returned from exile and (ii) this more of a universal statement of God’s good nature and goodness than it is of His blessing on those who do not know Him merely because they call on Him.

Second, we have to look at context. In Matthew, it seems that Jesus primary audience is his disciples (whom he has just chosen Mt. 4:18-22), but in the parallel passage in Luke (Lk. 6:17-19) Jesus seems to be teaching a large crowd. Thus, there is not indication that the message of the Beatitudes is solely for believers as we can reasonable surmise that it was delivered to both the die hard followers as well as some with less than a stalwart faith in his messianic nature. That, while neither the only nor the most persuasive evidence that the promises are not exclusive is, at least, some evidence.

Third, and more persuasive is that when we view the Beatitudes from a Temporal Perspective (TP) we know that our God is mighty enough to reach out to both believers as well as unbelievers. More clearly, again using mourning/comfort as an example, we know that God can and does comfort the Christian as well as the non-Christian. Clearly we can, through intercessory prayer, ask God to comfort those who do not know him in the hope that He will use that comfort to work in their lives to seek Him. Ultimately, though, this is not the same as the peace which is given the believer through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit (Phil. 4:6-8).

Further, our discussion has only examined mourning/comfort and, while there are other Beatitudes bearing promises that might fall like rain on both the just and unjust or might be delivered through the intercessory prayer of a believer, there are others still that do not lend themselves to this sort of non-exclusivity. But see below for that discussion.

C. An argument for exclusivity.
First, examine the Beatitudes from a TP.  The above seems to (merely) point to God’s uncompromising goodness in that He allows good things to happen to “bad” people. It does not seem to indicate that the promises are unilaterally non-exclusive.

Second, even from a TP, some blessings may happen (from an earthly perspective), but are not what we know Jesus was speaking of in the Beatitudes. By way of example, let’s look at Gandhi – a Hindu, unbeliever. Gandhi was a peacemaker. Some say Gandhi was a “godly” (little ‘g’) man – i.e. a son of god. But, do we really believe that is what Jesus was talking about? Really?  The Gospel as a whole sets a higher standard that mere godliness (again, little “g”).  We must understand that the promises given by Jesus in conjunction with having the proper spirit before the Lord are bigger than mere worldly recognition of righteousness. While it might be nice for this world to hold us in the same high esteem as Gandhi, how much better would it be to have someone understand that we are striving for Godliness (big ‘G’)?

Third, some of the Beatitudes simply do not lend themselves to a TP understanding. How does one gain a place in God’s eternal kingdom without entering into Christ’s saving grace? Certainly, we can rend the meaning of a phrase like “kingdom of heaven” to mean something less than entering into God’s eternal glory, but does that really make sense when we understand the depth of being “poor in spirit”? When we understand that our realization of our own spiritual poverty is a realization that only Jesus’ atoning death on a cross can save us how can we make the reward any less magnificent than His sacrifice? It just does not seem appropriate, in light of His sacrifice for the Kingdom of Heaven mean anything other than the eternal Kingdom of Heaven.

With that said an examination of the Eternal Perspective (EP) is necessary. While some of the Beatitudes can be examined through a TP, all can be seen through an EP. This was the crux of last week’s lesson. By looking at the Beatitudes with an EP, we see that they are a picture of the progression of the Christian life. We can begin our journey to Christ only after an understanding and admission of our own wretchedness without Him – i.e. we must know and freely admit that we are poor in spirit. Such spiritual bankruptcy and the accompanying admission are necessary to enter into His eternal kingdom. The beauty of this is in the next promise, the promise of comfort. For, one who realizes the depth of his depravity can only react by understanding that his soul is as good as dead – i.e. mourning. And, while the logic is not flawless (the effect ought not be used to prove the cause) comfort of a magnitude equal to the previous promise (i.e. the kingdom of Heaven) must have mourning of an equal an opposite size. And, when viewed through the lens of scripture as a whole, this perspective fits neatly with Rev. 7:17, “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Thus, at least from an EP, the promises only make sense when viewed as exclusive to believers.

Summing up, it appears that non-exclusivity can only be espoused with regard to the promises of the Beatitudes when they are viewed as promises of earthly gain. It is also important to note that God allows good things to happen to unbelievers as well as believers. Thus, what we might see as a promise of the Beatitudes may be God merely acting out His nature in this temporal realm. Like allowing rain to fall on both the worthy and unworthy, God allows kind people to act in the lives of all types of other people. But, from an eternal perspective the Beatitudes must be exclusive to the believer; anything else, at least with regard to the first and last promises of the Beatitudes, would fly in the face of John 14:6, “Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”

Kingdom of Heaven or Kingdom of God

Is there a difference between the “Kingdom of God” and the “Kingdom of Heaven”?

It seems that there are three (legitimate) schools of thought.

A. Of all the gospels only Matthew uses the phrase Kingdom of Heaven. This is somewhat curious and some believe that this is a direct attempt to avoid using the Greek word for God. The rationale is centered on Matthew’s audience. First, you have to remember the esteem and reverence that ancient Jews held the name of God (i.e. they would not speak it nor would they spell it out in full so as to avoid misspelling it – no comment by me as to misspelling it is better than abbreviation). Since Matthew was written specifically for the Jews, those adhering to this philosophy argue that Matthew is merely avoiding offending his audience. This seems plausible. But, using a generic Greek word for god (Theou) would not be as offensive as a grammatical butchering of the actual name of God, i.e. using a replacement word ought not be any different than using an abbreviation. (Note: the last sentence is my opinion – you can decide if it bears weight). More significant, though, is the fact that Matthew also used KOG on occasion (see Mt. 12:28; 19:24; 21:32; and 21:43). Thus, this is not a position I can agree with.

B. The second debate centers on the issue of current (KOG) and future (KOH) kingdoms. And, a plain reading of the text of each verse could reasonably lead to this conclusion. For example, in Matthew 8:11 KOH is used in conjunction with the Wedding Feast of the Lamb. And, KOG almost always seems to refer to Jesus ministry on earth as in Mark 1:15 wherein John the Baptizer tells those listening to him that the KOG is near – i.e. that Jesus is beginning his earthly ministry. However, I also think that this interpretation does not hold water when other verses are taken into account. In Mark 14:25, when Jesus institutes the Lord’s Supper, he says, “I tell you the truth, I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it anew in the kingdom of God.” Despite arguments to the contrary, it is clear that Jesus is not speaking of an earthly kingdom (at least not in the sense of this earth – i.e. he is speaking to the kingdom to come when there is a new Heaven and a new earth). Also, KOH, though more debatable than the previous verse regarding KOG as a future kingdom, can be read as part of Jesus ministry on earth (see Mt 18:3; 23:13 – this one is particularly forceful as Jesus uses the present tense in referring to the KOH). Finally, see Matthew 19:16-24 (esp. vv. 23-24), the passage regarding the Rich Young Ruler. In verses 23 and 24, Jesus uses the phrases interchangeably. So, again, in my opinion (fell free to study further and disagree), this position, though better than the previous, is not the best position.

C. For those keeping score, this is the argument that I believe bears the most weight. KOH and KOG are not different. The evidence is this; when placed side-by-side there are a number of places where Gospel writers other than Matthew use the phrase KOG where Matthew uses KOH. (See Mt. 11:11-12 and Lk. 7:28 [Jesus proclaiming the greatness of John the Baptizer], Mt. 13:11, Mk. 4:11, and Lk. 8:10 [Jesus’ explanation to the disciples of his teaching methods], Mt. 13:24 and Mk. 4:26 [Parable of the Scattered Seed], Mt. 13:31, Mk. 4:30, and Luke 13:18 [Parable of the Mustard Seed], Mt. 13:33 and Lk. 13:20 [Parable of Yeast], Mt. 18:3, Mk. 10:14, and Lk. 18:16 [Being Like Little Children], Mt. 22:2 and Lk 13:29 [The Wedding Feast of the Lamb]). The conclusion, then, must be that context determines the meaning; i.e. we can not assign a wholesale approach to either the use of KOH or KOG.

Lastly, I said there were three legitimate schools of thought on this topic. In other words, there are other ideas floating around, some from Jehovah’s Witness, others from feminists, and still others from a universalism perspective. I merely mention those to you so that you may do as Peter directed, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” (I Pt. 3:15)

Love is…

Anyone who has been to a wedding purporting to be even remotely christian (little “c” intentional) has probably heard a reading from I Corinthians chapter 13. It’s been so often repeated that the passage has stepped out side of the bounds of Christendom and into the realm of American pop culture to the extent that it has been quoted on television sitcoms in a not altogether positive light. And, while some could or would argue that “any publicity is good publicity,” the fact remains that one of the Enemy’s favorite traps is not to turn good into evil or even evil into good. Rather the Deceiver, in his cleverness, is far more eager to turn holy into commonplace. And so it has become with this scripture:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7 NIV)

If we step outside of presupposed – and somewhat unfairly deemed – commonality of the passage and really digest the words in the way one might examine the Mona Lisa upon visiting it in the Louvre, we would discover the true beauty of the passage. The very construction – inspired by the ultimate imagination of the Lover of your soul – breathes life into the word by infusing personality and inculcating action. The word, as your high school English teacher would tell you is a noun – a thing, an emotion – it can not act. It can not do. But to the believer, to the heart weary and wounded it is as an embrace by his heavenly Father like a child with a scraped knee is brought into the bosom of a doting father after a spill from her bicycle.

The world often gets it wrong, assuming that Love can me “made” or that Love can be “done.” On other occasions some may even graze the true meaning of the word by showing hints of love through actions or deeds. Those who don’t know the Savior may show Love by being patient. Or by an act of kindness. But for the true believer, Love is these things. One who follows Jesus becomes these things through the spirit that dwells within him. The Spirit of God does not do patience; He is patience.

The result is that the believer – living a life empowered by the Spirit of the Holy One – does not merely show Love for others by a casual act of celebration in the face of a genuinely righteous act, rejoicing in the truth. The Believer is the celebration. She is the outcast who must shout to he neighbors the joyous news that the Lover of the world has just told her everything that she has ever done. (John 4:39 NIV) He is the tax collector that can do nothing other that throw down with a ho-down when gripped by the spirit of Love. For the person in the clutches of the sort of Love that this passage describes, there is no choice to act there is only action.

But, make no mistake that these are not the mere responses of mindless automatons. Yes, the believer is the servant of the Most High God, but, unlike one who has been drafted into servitude, the Christian is a free-willed follower of his Master. An apprentice to the artisan craftsman. A student of only one holding His Ph.D. in Creation. The voluntary follower of Christ is an eager participant in the work of his Savior. That work requires more than mere action it will require the very life of the servant. Love is the core of the Christian. With the Spirit of God as the fuel that powers it, Love is the engine that drives the Believer to have a heart resembling the God who sought reconciliation rather that revenge.

Love is Patient. Love is kind. Love is the evidence of a life infused with the essence of the Author of Salvation. Love is the believer.