Sometimes I Miss It by a Mile

I really do want this life with Jesus. There is a part of me that longs to genuinely enjoy the kind of experience with God, rooted in grace and empowered by the Spirit, that Jesus came to offer us through what he accomplished in and through his life and death and resurrection. But there are times when my day-to-day activity betrays that there are other wants shaping my living. And I find in my own heart and mind rationalizations and reasonings that push against Jesus’ kind of life. It’s not that I am entirely double-minded, it’s just that . . . well, I am distractable.

If I am going to be honest, that distractability is not inevitable. I am distracted, in some sense, because I want to be, I chose to be, I set my focus and the distractability follows. And what I end up doing, in those distractable moments, is to attempt to justify my choices, argue that my distractability just “happened,” and try to plead ignorance or argue relevance or . . .

Well, I do whatever I can to distance myself from what I really already know matters. I play mental games to keep from having to look honestly at what Jesus invites me into.

I know that sounds pretty twisted . . . but I do find those kind of cognitive gymnastics going on at times. Kind of like what happened in Mark 12:18-27.

Some Sadducees come to talk with Jesus. They find it very hard to ignore him, but they don’t really like him. They don’t believe in the resurrection of the dead, Jesus seems to. They don’t think God messes with people directly very much any more, Jesus seems to believe the opposite. So, they don’t really like him and they really are troubled by his growing ministry.

So, they come with a question. Or at least they pose it as a question. They ask about a woman whose husband dies before an heir can be born. That was a problem in Jesus’ day, in that property was the basis of life and family property stayed with the son(s). No child and the family property goes to another. So, there was provision in the Old Testament law for a woman whose husband dies leaving her childless; she could have a child by her husband’s brother, thus preserving the line.

Well the Sadducees suggest a hypothetical situation involving seven brothers and no children and then end this sham by asking Jesus about whose wife the woman would be “in the resurrection” seeing as she had wed all seven brothers.

The truth is, they weren’t looking for an answer. They only wanted to trip Jesus up; get him a bit off balance. They were trying to muddy things up a bit so they wouldn’t have to deal with Jesus. They wanted to be able to throw up their hands and say, “See, this Jesus doesn’t have it all figured out! He can’t even resolve this tiny problem!”

And I do the same. All to often. When I hear Jesus speak to me about something in my life that needs to change or something in my world that he intends for me to be attentive to, I change the subject, raise an objection, posit a hypothetical situation . . . all in hopes of getting him distracted enough and getting me engaged enough that I can justify not following him simply, not responding to him directly.

How did Jesus respond to the Sadducees? He informed them that they had missed it. He didn’t directly resolve their hypothetical situation. He simply told them that they neither understood God nor the Scriptures (Mark 12:24).

They were playing games. Jesus was calling for life. They were dealing in fictional hypotheticals. Jesus was breathing life into spiritually dead people. They were wrangling about words. Jesus was speaking truth. They missed it my a mile by trying to be clever and confrontational. Jesus spoke to them simply and called them to be attentive.

Sometimes I miss it by a mile, too. I play games, deal in fictional hypotheticals, wrangle about words, try to be clever. And Jesus speaks plainly to me. He asks:

Do you really want to listen to what I am saying? Will you give attention to what the Scriptures actually say? Are you inclined to rest in the power of God? Or are you going to continue to distract yourself with such games?

No Stopping Short

We all need good role models. That is, there is real value in having examples of what this life with Jesus is intended to look like.

Paul knows that. He calls to friends and followers of Jesus to find models who walk out the life in holy and healthy ways (as in Philippians 3:17). And that is why he mentions Timothy and Epaphroditus in writing to the Philippians.

After having invited those to whom he is writing to “have this attitude in yourselves which was in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 2: 5), and having explained the humble and self-giving mind-set that characterized Jesus’ life and death, Paul mentions two names: Timothy and Epaphroditus.

In an early post (“Living Commendably”), I introduced this idea of these two men serving as examples. Having extended such a seemingly high and lofty calling, it might be possible for the Philippians (and for us!) to insist that no one would really be able to live with Jesus’ attitude of heart and mind. And Paul probably knows we just might think such things, so he calls attention to a couple of guys who “get it.” In that early post, I highlighted what Paul commended in Timothy; here we need to look at Epaphroditus.

What did Paul see in him? What does he want the Philippians to notice? (You might want to read Philippians 2:25-30.)

Epaphroditus was sincere in his affection for them and for Jesus.

Epaphroditus was more concerned for the welfare of others than his own welfare. 

But there is one other remarkable thing that Paul states about Epaphroditus:

He came close to death for the work of Christ, risking his life to complete what was deficient in your service to me (2:30).

What is Paul saying here? Is he commending masochism? Of course not! Is he applauding Epaphroditus playing the role of a martyr? Certainly not.

He is saying that . . .

Epaphroditus valued service to Christ over his own well-being.

Epaphroditus was going to carry out his serving (in this case, for the Philippians with regard to Paul) to the nth degree.

In other words, Epaphroditus was going to be “all in” in this Christ-like life. He was not going to stop short of being and giving all for what most mattered. And in this, Epaphroditus was tasting the very kind of life that Jesus lived.

After all, Paul had just told the Philippians that Jesus himself served “to the point of death.” Paul affirmed that Jesus’ self-giving took him to the cross for the benefit and good of others. Paul insisted that Jesus was all in, did not stop short, of carrying out his own ministry of service on behalf of the Father on for our good.

Jesus went all the way. Epaphroditus, to the degree he could, empowered by the Spirit, went all the way. And Paul is simply pointing out: that’s the model!

I really don’t mind serving . . . within limits. I would like to minister to others . .. as long as it doesn’t cost me too much. I have experienced something of the joy of giving myself away . . . but typically still holding something “in reserve.” All too often and all too easily, I stop short. And then I wonder why my life in Jesus seems so different from the life Paul pictures, than the New Testament presents.

Maybe the only way to really experience the life of Jesus (who was all in, no stopping short) is to life all in, no stopping short, nothing held back.

I am going to think about trying that . . . if it doesn’t cost me too much.

Just Who Do I Think I Am?

We all live, more or less consistently, in line with how we conceive ourselves. That is, we live out what or who we think we are. Although we will seek to grow and develop, mature and improve, the way we think about ourselves at the core of our being, the way we imagine ourselves in those quiet personal moments of reflection, will powerfully shape how we live.

If we believe that we are unloved and unloveable, that will impact all our relationships with others. If we have embraced the view that, in a most basic sense, we are fatally flawed and broken, we will live up (or, perhaps, better “live down”) to that image.

So, how we think about ourselves–and whether the view we have of ourselves is true–is vitally important to living well.

These thoughts were stirred as I was glancing at the opening verses of Paul’s letter to the believing community in Rome. This is the “great apostle Paul” who is writing. This is the man who has been part of changing the face of the Roman world of his day. He has planted churches throughout most of the known world of the time. He has seen countless numbers healed and delivered; God has worked amazing miracles at his hands. And he is writing to believers in the city of Rome, hoping to come and see them.

As was common practice in that day, letters began with an identification of the writer. And so Paul pens these words:

Paul, a bond-servant of Christ Jesus, called [as] an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God (Romans 1:1).

Paul says three things about himself. In this opening line, he betrays a good bit about how he thinks about himself.

He is a bond-servant of Christ Jesus. He is a slave; that is what the word means. He belongs to another; he is not his own man. He lives to do the bidding of another. Paul sees himself as anything but independent, living his own life his way.

Paul is (literally) a “called apostle.” (The brackets in the quote above are this particular translation’s way of indicating that the translators inserted the word an to help make the English a bit more readable.) Let’s unpack this short phrase.

It is not that Paul is called to be an apostle; not that he is growing up to become that. And the “calling” idea is rich and deep for Paul. It carries a divine mandate kind of sense–that is the way that Paul uses the “called” idea throughout this letter. “Apostle” is less formal title and more descriptor. The word “apostle” means commissioned and sent delegate; you might think “ambassador.” So Paul is saying that he is on assignment, doing what he is doing because God has sent him to do what he does.

And then Paul says that he is “set apart for the Gospel of God.” This language of “set apart” speaks of something defined by boundaries, marked out by specific limits. And the limits, these boundaries, for Paul are defined by the Gospel.

So, how might we capture the essence of what Paul is saying in more contemporary language to make sure we don’t reduce his thoughts to cliche? Perhaps we might say something like:

I am Paul, a slave of Christ Jesus to whom I belong and at whose beck and call I stand ready to serve, a delegated and sent representative on assignment, one whose life is defined by the good news of what God has done in and through Jesus Christ.

Now I know that neither you nor I have the identical call on our lives that Paul did; that’s not only true, but it’s OK. But just how do you think about yourself? How might Paul’s thinking about himself encourage a bit more proper self-conception in us?

Do I see myself as wholly given over to another? Do I rightly grasp that I am not my own person? That, having been bought with the blood of the Son, I now belong, as servant, to him?

Do I see myself, in whatever I am doing, on assignment from the throne of heaven? Do I rightly recognize that what I do is, in the deepest sense, what I am given to do by God? Do I think of how I spend my days and hours and minutes as a stewardship granted in the service of the rightful King and as a representative of the only true Kingdom?

Do I understand that the only proper defining lines for how I live and the way I carry out this serving ambassadorship is the good news that comes to me through Jesus? Does the reality of the Gospel shape my relationships, my work ethic, my family living, my worship, my free time, my finances? Am I defined by the Gospel?

My specific call is different than Paul’s. But the contours of thinking, the way Paul grasped who he thought he was, provides healthful and holy ways to understand just who I am.

And understanding that is essential to living well.

Convergence

With some friends, I have been thinking about “listening to the Spirit.” We have discussing what it means to walk in experiential reality with Jesus and to keep in step with the Spirit when Jesus is no longer physically present on the earth and when the Spirit who dwells within us is “incorporeal” (that doesn’t mean “not real”–although many seem to relate to the Spirit that way–but it means without a physical body).

We want to be able to hear from Jesus, know the mind of the Spirit, and find ourselves–with at least a small degree of certainty–”walking with God.”

Now, of course, we can turn to the Scriptures to discern what it is that God wants for us; much of what we long to know, God addresses in his Word. But what about those issues and choices and decisions and options that are not addressed directly in Scripture? Things like . . .

Where should I go to school?

Should I take that new job or not?

Who should I marry?

Is it a good thing for me to go on that mission trip? Or change my major? Or . . .

Although there might be some general guidelines in the Scriptures that have bearing on such decisions, and although we are enjoined (in Proverbs as well as elsewhere) to make “prudent” or “wise” decisions, there are times when we long to know: “Jesus, what do you want me to do?” And, a generic answer just might not cut it.

We were discussing Peter. Here’s someone who walked with Jesus, daily and in a physical way–up until the ascension. And then, no more! Jesus was no longer physically present and Peter could no longer listen to and follow Jesus in the same way that he had before. So, does Peter just go about his merry way, oblivious to what God might want for him? I don’t think so.

In Acts 9, we watch as Peter goes about doing the things he has come to understand Jesus wants him to do. He shares the good news about what Jesus has accomplished. He heals others in a manner he has come to see Jesus do. He has a general sense of what Jesus wants for him to do, and he does it. And then we come to Acts 10.

Peter, a good Jewish-raised follower of Jesus ends up going to a Gentile’s home. That would have been a huge obstacle. (That’s clear from the discussions elsewhere in the New Testament about the challenge that faced the early church in conceptualizing the relationship that would exist between Jew and Gentile once Jesus got a hold of both groups.) But, nevertheless, Peter went; and the Spirit worked in the Gentile’s family’s lives and the household was converted.

But then in Acts 11, Peter’s Jewish-raised co-followers of Jesus raised a question: “Why did you go and hang out with Gentiles?” Great question. And Peter’s basic answer is: God told me to go. (You probably need to stop and read Acts 9-11 to make sure you understand clearly what is going on and so you are resting on God’s words and not merely these blogged thoughts!)

So, for me, the question is: How did Peter know that God wanted him to go? And, as I look at what Peter said in Acts 11 to his friends, I see a number of elements that go into how Peter heard God. (I  will probably unpack each of these a bit more in future posts, but for the time being let me just briefly list what I see to be the five basic elements.)

1. Peter had been praying. Peter uses the generic word for pray; he was “talking with God.” (As opposed to making specific requests, or offering thanks.) So, to hear from God, Peter made time to talk with him.

2. Peter was open to an experiential “interruption” from God. Some Christians seem to think God is mute; that he can’t or doesn’t communicate. If Peter had thought that “Old Testament prophets got visions but God doesn’t do those kinds of things today” he would have dismissed the moment. So, to hear from God, Peter at least needed to be open to the possibility God might communicate.

3. Peter pushed back and thought about the experience. Every “spiritual experience” is not automatically from God nor a communication from him. Had Peter thought that, he would not have questioned and wrestled with the vision he saw and the voice he heard. So, to hear from God, Peter needed to be discerning and not naive.

4. Peter was willing to step out. In response to a combination of vision and voice, Peter tentatively stepped out to go with some strangers who came to the door, asking for him. It’s clear from the record of his experience in Cornelius’ house that Peter wasn’t absolutely sure what God was up to until he got there. But, Peter was at least willing to step out on what he thought God might be saying. So, to hear from God, Peter had to be willing to take a risk.

5. Peter sought to anchor what he believed was happening in what he was already sure Jesus had said and taught. Peter, looking back on his experience, sought to root his subjective “hearing” with what he knew, clearly, that Jesus had already said. So, to hear from God, Peter sought to understand his “leading” in light of Jesus already revealed word.

Not a formula. Not a method. Not “five steps to hearing from God.” It’s just Peter’s retelling how he knew what God had said. And, in the convergence of those five things, he ended up being sure.

All In

I’m still thinking about Bartimaeus. He was the blind man who was healed by Jesus as he was making his way to Jerusalem. Bartimaeus heard Jesus was passing by. And what then happened intrigues me (Mark 10:46-52).

Bartimaeus cried out. And the crowd tried to silence him.

So, Bartimaeus cried out loudly all the more. And the crowd realized that Jesus was calling to him.

So, Bartimaeus sprang up and ran toward where he thought Jesus was. And the crowd apparently stopped hindering him.

And, Bartimaeus threw off his garment to make it to Jesus. And although that seems like no big deal, something huge is happening here.

Each step along the way, Bartimaeus is making it clear: I’m not going back!

He calls to Jesus for mercy and will not be silenced. He leaps up without the presence of mind to get someone to lead him to Jesus (and bring him back if things don’t turn out as well as he might be hoping). And he leaves his outer garment–a garment that would have served as his overcoat, his rain poncho, his bed roll, and more. To leave that behind (particular for a blind man running through a throng of people crowded along a busy road, bustling with traffic surrounding the festival that was beginning) was . . . well, risky and cavalier and foolish . . . or maybe it was a profound response of faith.

Bartimaeus gives ever indication that if Jesus will but speak to him that he will not be going back to his old way of life. He apparently is clear that Jesus can change him. He apparently is intent of availing himself of the grace of God he anticipates finding in Jesus. And he apparently is a bit kamikaze in how he approaches all of this; Bartimaeus is all in, full bore, into the deep end of the pool, full speed ahead, nothing held back.

And Jesus commends his faith. Bartimaeus abandoned himself to Jesus. And Jesus commends that. And Jesus changes Bartimaeus.

Just picture it! A blind man beggar leaving his stuff behind to run through a crowd in hopes to find the voice of the one calling to him because he knows . . . he knows . . . that if he can just get to the One calling his life will be changed!

And so I think . . . What about me? As Jesus passes by, am I “all in”? Will I shout and cry out and leap and run and leave stuff behind just so that I can get to him, certain that he will change me?

Seeing and Then . . .

As Mark tells us about the life and ministry of Jesus, he is telling us the truth. He is not making up stories or embellishing accounts of Jesus’ activities. We are not reading myths or fanciful tales when we read the Gospels; we are reading eye-witness kinds of reports of who Jesus is and what he did when he walked the countryside of Palestine.

But under the inspiration of the Spirit and shaped by the kinds of things that Jesus said and did, Mark is still telling us what he does with a view to making some point. His recording of the life and ministry of Jesus is not a random collection of disconnected thoughts. Mark is writing to tell us something, some specific things, about Jesus. His words, the way he arranges his account, the kinds of things he emphasizes–all this helps us not miss what Mark wants to highlight for us.

For example, reflecting on the exchange that Jesus had with the rich ruler (Mark 10:17-22), the way Mark summarizes what the young man did is more than just a statement of fact. Having heard Jesus’ invitation to disposes himself of what was keeping him from pursuing life, the young man was called by Jesus to “follow.” Throughout Mark, that idea of “following” Jesus is one of discipleship, entering into an apprenticeship with Jesus, relationally connecting with Jesus and finding him to be the real center of life. And Mark tells us: “Disheartened . . . [the young man] went away sorrowful” (Mark 10:22). The man didn’t end up following.

But this is different with the account of blind Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52). Jesus meets this man as he is on the way to Jerusalem, to face his death. The blind man cries out. Jesus invites the man to come close. And, having ascertained from the man what he really wanted, Jesus healed him. Notice how Mark recounts this:

And Jesus said to him, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.” And immediately he recovered his sight and followed him on the way. (Mark 10:52).

Jesus heals Bartimaeus and, in doing this, encourages him to “go [his] way.” That is, go from here following the path you want to follow. And Bartimaeus, having recovered his sight, does just that. He goes the way he wants to go–but where he wants to go is with Jesus, wherever Jesus is going.

The rich ruler is given all he needs to truly see (spiritually), and catching a glimpse of that he turns awayfrom Jesus and goes his own way . . . away from Jesus. Bartimaeus is given all he needs to truly see (physically), and once seeing he turns toward Jesus and goes his own way . . . following Jesus. I think the way Mark tells us these two accounts is intended to illustrate a particular point.

If you let Jesus touch you, open your eyes, help you see, meet your need, will that be enough for you to then follow him? Will you, seeing, join him “on the way”?

Once you see, what then?

What Are You Asking?

I have met people who need to be asked.

What I mean is, I have talked with people who–on the surface–appear to be unhappy with their lives and who are asking for help. But, sometimes, when you get beneath the surface, they are quite comfortable with their discomfort. They don’t really want to change, or be changed, or grow, or be different; they just want a bit of comfort or pity or perhaps a martyr’s badge for living the life they are living. They don’t really want life to be different because they have become so accustomed to the life they are living . . . even if the life they are living doesn’t seem to be all that great. And, so, they need to be asked: What do you really want?

I think this must be part of the reason that Jesus asked what seems to be an obvious question to an obviously a needed person. Jesus wasn’t being funny; he wasn’t ignoring the man’s need. He really wanted the man to explain what he wanted. Jesus wanted the man to “own” what he was asking.

Jesus was travelling on his way to Jerusalem; he is approaching the city, knowing the outcome that awaits him. He has been speaking with his disciples about what it will mean for them to participate with him in his kind of life. It will be costly, challenging, wonderful, scary, life-affirming, life-risking.

And on the way, he passes a blind man (as recorded in Mark 10:46-52). And it is in the passing that a strange exchange takes place. The man is calling out. Jesus–the teacher, the healer, the deliverer, the wonder-worker–is passing by. The blind man calls to him. And, when the two come close, Jesus asks the man: “What do you want me to do for you?”

Isn’t it obvious?! I mean no disrespect, but can’t Jesus see what the blind man needs or wants?

I am sure Jesus has a pretty good sense of what Bartimaeus (the blind man) wanted. But Jesus asked him anyway. Because (I think) Jesus wanted the blind man to say what he wanted and to admit he wanted to be changed.

That’s where the rub is. That is where the risk comes in. That is what holds some people back.

Jesus is here. He is present. He is here to serve and to love and to minister and to change those who come in contact with him. But, some people don’t want to be changed. (Like the religious leaders who would rather argue with Jesus than give in to what he was teaching!)

So, Jesus asked the blind man what he wanted. Bartimaeus spoke up plainly: “Teacher, I want to see!” That would mean his life as a beggar would change. He would have to think about work and a new way of getting around and he might begin caring for others who had, before, cared for him, and . . . well, to put it simply, to have Jesus change him would mean a whole lot more than seeing!

Crippled by unforgiveness. Do we really want Jesus to change our hearts to extend love? Blinded by jealousy or envy. Are we open for Jesus to transform us so that we genuinely want others to excel?

Angry and bitter, hostile and controlling, unhappy and discouraged. We come to Jesus and grumble about life and how unfair things are and how we don’t like what is going on and how we feel. And Jesus asks, in all seriousness, “What do you want me to do for you?” He asks because he is here to heal and help and deliver and love and transform and change and rescue. And he waits for us to answer . . . for us to admit what the real need is and whether we really want him to change us or not.

Because if Jesus speaks the word, extends his hand, touches that spot in our heart, bestows specific healing grace, life is going to change! All of the old excuses for not doing life the way he intends will vanish and all our rationalizations over why we just can’t live the way he calls us to will disappear. And we will be whole, healthy, and free to step more fully into that life he wants for us.

So, he asks: What do you want me to do for you? Do you really want to be different? What are you asking?

Make It Yours

Paul has found a root for real joy. In his letter to the Philippians he explains it for all who read. Joy, for Paul, is found in anchoring his life in Jesus. That is, for Paul “to live is Christ” (Phil. 1:21). Having relationship with Jesus Christ, Paul has what he most desires. And when we have what we want most, we experience joy. So, Paul is laying out for us the foundation for his joy.

As he does this, he invites others to join him in this joy. He wants us to become co-experiencers with him. The joy he has, he shares with us in and through this letter (Phil. 2:17). And part of how that joy is experienced is by embracing the very kind of life that Jesus himself lived.

In the second chapter, Paul calls all those who have entered into friendship with Jesus to “think his thoughts,” in a sense. (“Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus;” Phil. 2:5.) If we want to experience Jesus’ life, we will have to give ourselves to Jesus’ attitude and approach to life (as has been touched on in several previous posts).

But having laid out Jesus’ humble and servant-oriented and self-giving mindset, and having called us to embrace this attitude of heart and mind, Paul calls us to clear and specific action:

So then, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for [His] good pleasure. (Philippians 2:12-13)

Just what does Paul mean by “work out your own salvation”? Is he, in some way, arguing that we either enter into spiritual life, into life eternal, through our own efforts or that we maintain and keep our spiritual life, life eternal, by or through our own efforts? I don’t think so. That is so very contrary to all that Paul says about the “giftedness” of eternal life (Ephesians 2:8-9).

The language rendered “work out your own salvation” here doesn’t mean to “work for” or “work to keep.” Then what does Paul mean? He uses very nearly identical language in Romans 5:3 where he wrote about tribulation working or bringing about patience in us. The idea is one of bringing something to its full and complete end: Trials are the means and context for bringing patience to fullness in us. Thus, in Philippians, the idea is more one of giving ourselves to the work of grace Jesus is doing in us so that his intended end is achieved in us.

To put it another way, drawing on the context in Philippians where these words appear, we might say: Vigorously give yourself to this humble servant attitude modeled by Jesus so that your salvation can come to full fruition, reproducing in you the character of Jesus himself.

How can we be sure that this is not about our “working to obtain” or “laboring to keep” our salvation? Just notice what Paul says about the grounds for our “working out” our salvation. He says we are to “work out” this salvation because it is God who is producing in us both the will to live in such a fashion and the enablement or power to live that way. God provides both the longing to live life like Jesus as well as the enablement to do so. And what Paul is calling for is a vigorous embracing of that work of God in and through us.

The example is there, in Jesus. The longing to follow that example is there, by God’s doing. And the necessary strength and enablement is also amply provide, by God himself.

I want to give myself to that. I don’t want to hold back. I want to energetically and purposefully pursue growing up to share Jesus’ life . . . embracing and making mine all this grace that God is pouring in and through me.

Can You Hear Me Now?

You’ve probably seen the commercial–the one for the cell phone company testing its network. The guy on the cell keeps checking, asking, “Can you hear me now?” He wants to make sure that he’s being heard.

I wonder if Jesus ever feels like saying that. As I read the Gospels it does appear that those who are closest to him don’t always seem to be hearing what he is saying. They seem to be pretty competent at completely missing what Jesus is talking about. But, that (in a backwards kind of way) encourages me. Because the truth be told, I think I am pretty accomplished at missing what Jesus is saying to me at times, too.

I think of Jesus, making his way to Jerusalem. He has already been telling his followers about what awaits him. They aren’t tracking very well. So, as they head on up to Jerusalem, Jesus tells them in plain and simple words what is ahead.

They were on the road going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking on ahead of them; and they were amazed, and those who followed were fearful. And again he took the twelve aside and began to tell them what was going to happen to him, saying, “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be delivered to the chief priests and the scribes; and they will condemn him to death and will hand him over to the Gentiles. They will mock him and spit on him, and scourge him and kill him, and three days later he will rise again.” (Mark 10:32-34)

I think about what it must have been like, walking with Jesus, following him on the long road to Jerusalem. Exchanging comments with the other twelve; listening and thinking. And I try to imagine how I would have responded to these words of Jesus. What would you have said? Maybe . . .

Are you speaking about yourself, Jesus? Are you the Son of Man?

Are you really going to allow these things to happen? Is there no way to avoid this trouble?

If this is what is going to happen, why are we heading to Jerusalem? Why not continue your ministry elsewhere?

At least those are the kinds of things I would hope I might say. But maybe I really am more like the twelve. Mark tells us that after Jesus said these words, two of the disciples spoke up:

James and John, the two sons of Zebedee, came up to Jesus, saying, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What do you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Grant that we may sit, one on your right and one on your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” They said to him, “We are able.” And Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you shall drink; and you shall be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized. But to sit on my right or on my left, this is not mine to give; but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.” (Mark 10:35-40)

How does Jesus not just roll his eyes, throw up his hands, and sigh loudly at this kind of response from James and John? Were they not listening at all? Jesus is talking about suffering and mocking and torment and dying. They are asking about glory and thrones and prominence. Why does Jesus not cry out, “Can’t you hear me? Are you totally out of touch with what I have been saying?” But, Jesus doesn’t react that way. He acts in a totally amazing and gracious way.

He tells them he is not in a position to grant them their particular request, but he does tell them that they will, in fact, participate fully in the journey that he is on. Although they don’t grasp what is ahead for him, he still embraces them (not abandoning them for the selfishness or self-consumed ways) and tells them that although they don’t really understand what they are asking, they will be with him.

I am often way too much like these guys. Jesus clearly tells me–through his Word, by the Spirit, as he leads in life–what he is about, what he is doing, what is on his heart. And I get all caught up in my own selfish focus: “Will I get a cushy seat, rich in blessing? Will I be promoted to a place of prominence?”

And Jesus doesn’t give up on me. He doesn’t abandon me in my self-consumption. He gently affirms what it is that he is about, and that he will continue to draw me into his very own life. Although it might not be what I was specifically asking for, it is both what I truly want and what I desperately need. And he knows that . . . and so he doesn’t give up on me.

On the Receiving End of Things

I am still thinking about the way I relate to God and what it means for Jesus to be the one who came to serve and that our God is the one who works for those who wait for him. As mentioned in an earlier post, this is not to inappropriately reverse roles in my relationship with the living God–he is still and will always be God, he is sovereign, he is supreme, he rules; and I will always be subject to him, adoring him for his glory and goodness.

But at times, as friends and followers of Jesus think about being “servants of God,” we can get a little fuzzy in our thinking about what that “serving” really looks like, what it means.

Seeing as Jesus came as servant, not looking to get other to serve him (Mark 10:45), and knowing that our God is not served by human hands as if he needed anything from us (Acts 17:25), then there must be a right way to think about our serving and a wrong way to think about our servanthood. If we think in our serving we are rescuing God, helping him out, making up for some lack in him, if we think we are giving back to Jesus for all he has given us–then in our serving we are misunderstanding what we “bring to the table.”

There must be a way to think of our serving God in terms of our growing dependence upon him ushering into our participating with him in what he is doing in our world and through our lives. That is, our serving is much more about joining him than about adding to him. Such a view would be rooted in our appropriately dependent life of faith and would see him as being the marvelously sufficient and grace-giving God that he is.

This thought is, undoubtedly, some of what forms the background for the idea we find in the letter to the Hebrews:

And without faith it is impossible to please [Him], for he who comes to God must believe that He is and [that] He is a rewarder of those who seek Him. (Hebrews 11:6)

What does this mean? What is implied? A significant part of this must mean that whenever we approach God–including our willing serving–we must approach him with the faith (confident reliant trust) that he is the one who will be doing the “rewarding” in our relationship. That is, he will always be the benefactor and we will always be the beneficiary in our relationship with him. He will always be the supreme giver, we will always be fundamentally on the receiving end of things.

And this thinking allows me to move into a life of service–serving others for his sake and seeing myself as servant of the living God–without inappropriately over-appreciating what I bring nor under-appreciating that, because of grace and because of his character and nature, I will always be on the receiving end of his goodness and care . . . even in my serving.