Going against the grain

In return for my love they act as my accusers; but I am in prayer.  --Psalm 109:4

Yesterday we heard a sermon on forgiveness.  One of the things the preacher said in passing really stuck with me.  He said when someone comes to him complaining about being mistreated, or being called names, or generally getting their feelings hurt, his first response is generally, "Well, did you die?"

His point was not that we tend to blow things out of proportion, which we do.  His point was not that we are raising a generation of coddled, thin-skinned, crybabies (which we are).  His point was that we shouldn't be taking our complaints about someone to another person.  We should first take it to the person who offended us.  If they don't repent, we take one or two of the elders to act as mediators.  Finally, if that doesn't work, we give it to God, who knows all about mistreatment.

You see, Jesus was mocked.  He was spat upon.  He was smacked around, beaten by fists, flailed at with reeds, flogged by a Roman cat-o'nine-tails whip, and finally nailed naked and bleeding to a wooden cross.  His reaction?  "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

This attitude of forgiveness was foreshadowed in Jesus's teaching to His disciples.  Matthew 5:44, Jesus rebuked those who preached hate by saying, "But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

The words Jesus used do not really translate well into English.  We have all heard great preachers and orators.  One of the things that made them great was the word choice, the cadence, the alliteration and imagery and synecdoche.  Let me explain.

The Greek word Jesus used that is generally translated, "those who persecute (you)" is dioko which means to pursue, to chase, to drive or cause to run, and when used in a legal context, is means to prosecute.  This is who Jesus was telling the disciples to be on the watch for.  He knew beforehand what He would suffer at the hands of the relentless prosecutors.  He also knew that His followers would be persecuted in much the same way.  He told them this, not to scare them or to make them avoid persecution, but rather to encourage them.  "Count it all joy, my brothers," James said, "when you fall into various trials." (James 1:2).

How do we do that?  The Greek word Jesus used that is generally translated "bless" is proseuchomai (pro-seh-YOO-koh-mah-eh).  Sounds a lot like "prosecute", doesn't it?  But its meaning is quite different.  It literally means to offer prayers for.  It is a combination of Greek words: pros, meaning towards or by reason of, and euchomai meaning to pray to God.  It is the root word for eucharist, which we usually think of as a Latin mass, but literally it means thanksgiving.  Can you imagine someone who would endure a beating and think, "God, thank you for that person who just struck me.  I lift up that person to Your throne; make Yourself real to them."  It is almost unfathomable, but it reveals the heart of Christ.

But wait--there's more!  The companion verse in Luke 6:28 says, "Bless those who curse you, and pray for those who mistreat you."  The Greek word for bless is eulogeo.  It's where we get the term Eulogy, the nice words we say about someone when they pass away.  Jesus's message to us, however, is not to wait until they die to say something nice about them, but to even say it when they are mistreating us.

Now, I'm not saying that you should stay in an abusive relationship.  But when you get to a safe place, I believe that Jesus was telling us not to speak ill of that person.  I must confess, this part of Sunday's sermon hit me pretty hard; I know of several people that I like to bad-mouth when they are not around.  One of the points made in the sermon was that God will give us the same measure of grace that we give to others.  Forgiveness doesn't necessarily help the one who offends us, but it certainly helps us.  (Plus, there's the added bonus of "heaping coals of fire on their heads" as described in Romans 12:20, but that is conditional--it only follows if we find our enemy hungry and we feed them, and if we find our enemy thirsty and we give them a drink.)  How many times do we gloss over the verse that says, "But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions." (Matthew 6:15).   Again, let's drive home the point--God gives us the measure of grace that we give others.

Bless all people, especially those who hurt you.  Pray for everyone, but especially for those who have done you wrong.  Then you will be able to see the heart of God.

We are known by our struggles

And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God  has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.  --Romans 5:3-5

Last night my daughter and I went to see comedian Michael Jr.  You may have heard of him.  If not, I would encourage you to do an internet search.  He is a Christian, and he does "clean" comedy that is really, really funny.  But then he gets serious about his purpose, what God has put him here to do, and how it is working out for him as he continues to be obedient to God's call on his life.

My daughter commented during the intermission last night that God has been speaking to her recently about purpose.  This comedy show that we attended and thoroughly enjoyed merely confirmed what God was speaking to her recently.

In fact, God has been working in my life recently about the very same thing. Purpose.  What, I often wonder aloud, is my reason for being here?  Why was I ever born?  God knows I have not lived up to my potential for His glory and purpose in my life.  Why was I allowed to live this long?  Some of you may know that I was involved in a bad car wreck when I was two years old--you may know my story, or may have read it in this blog a few years back.  Fast forward to the present day, and I wonder why God allowed me to survive.  With all of the mistakes, the willful misdeeds, the sins of omission and the sins of commission--why didn't God take my life some 53 years ago?

One of the points in the message Michael Jr. gave last evening was that God can use our past for His glory in the present if we allow Him to.  The art of comedy, Michael Jr. explains, is first the "set-up", which usually involves telling a story so that the audience is led in one direction, followed by the "punch line", in which the story takes an unexpected turn, suddenly moving the audience in a direction they did not expect.  I won't steal Michael Jr's material, but I saw a pun online this past week that serves as an example.  An expectant couple was seeing their obstetrician, who said that the baby should be delivered within a few weeks.  We can visualize the pregnant mother looking forward to having the baby, and the father anticipating the event--most of us have been there, or if we haven't, we have known someone who was in that position.  But in this pun, the husband tells the doctor, "Thanks, but we would rather our baby keep his liver."  The punch line goes against our expectations, and takes the narrative in an entirely different direction.  We don't usually think of delivering a baby in the same way that we terms like "detoxify" or "dehumidify".  Therefore we didn't expect that take on the term "de-liver".

This underscores something that God has been showing me for a few weeks now:  we are often defined by our struggles.  We are best known by our ability to overcome the struggle.  Let me tell you what I mean.

In the book of Daniel, the story begins with the exile of Israel into Babylon.  This exile was due to the unfaithfulness of the Jews.  Yet in the story, we see four young men who did remain faithful to God in the most trying circumstances.  I'm sure that these four young men did not wish to be forcibly taken from their homeland and re-settled into a pagan country.  There was enormous pressure to conform to their culture, and yet they remained faithful to their God.

Three of these young men were named Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah.  The name Hananiah means "God has favored."  The Babylonian captors, however, gave him a new nickname, Shadrach, meaning "little friend of the king."  The name Mishael means, "Who is like God?", or literally "Who is what God is?".  In captivity, his name was changed to Meshach, meaning "guest of the king."  The name Azariah means, "Jehovah has helped."  In exile, his name was changed to Abednego, meaning "a servant of Nebo" or perhaps "worshiper of Mercury".

In other words, the parents of these three friends had given them names that respected Jehovah God, but their Babylonian captors called them by names that reminded them

1. That they were in the land of the Chaldeans now, not in the Jewish heartland;
2. That they were selected by and given power, position and sustenance by the king of Persia;
3. That they could very easily lose favor with the Persian king, and all that they had been given could be taken away very suddenly.

Which is exactly what happened.  The king commissioned a statue, a large image of himself.  He commanded by royal decree that at a certain time all within view of this idol should bow down in an attitude of worship toward it.  The three friends declined, and were arrested.  When they were brought before the king, they were given another chance, which they again declined.  The anger of the king was so intense that he was not satisfied to throw them out of the royal program to which they had been selected.  He could have made them slave laborers like 99% of the Jewish captives had become.  Instead, he commanded their execution.  They were to be burned to death.

Did their faithfulness to God keep them from being thrown into the furnace?  No.  But their faithfulness did result in the physical presence of God being with them in the fire, resulting in their having no hair singed, and not even the smell of smoke on their garments.

When we remember these men, even remembering them by their Chaldean names given to them by their captors in exile, we remember their deliverance by Almighty God through their faithfulness.  We know them because of their trials.

Daniel, too, was given a new name.  The name Daniel means, "God is my judge."  The name given to him by Nebuchadnezzar was Belteshazzar.  The meaning of this name is a bit more complex.  "Bel" means lord or prince.  But when you add the "T", it feminizes the term, so literally it means "Lady".  "Zar" can mean gold (as in treasure), but can also mean old.  So the name could mean "The Prince's lady", or it could mean "Treasured by the prince" (but with a feminine root, such that Daniel's manhood was constantly in question).

Even so, Daniel is known by his struggles.  He was elevated to a position of power within the king's court.  His advice was sought by the king quite often, and the other advisers to the king (we might liken it to the Cabinet level officials under the American president) all became jealous.  They had him arrested for faithfully praying to God, and as a result he was thrown in the lion's den.  His faithfulness did not keep him out of danger--he was physically in the presence of lions--but Daniel was not harmed.

One more example.  This week my men's group was studying Hebrews 11, the Hall of Fame of Faith for Old Testament saints.  Verses 20, 21, and 22 are very similar: they all mention a Patriarch by name, and then give a short sentence summarizing their last tasks on this earth.  "By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau, even regarding things to come.  By faith Jacob, as he was dying, blessed each of the sons of Joseph, and worshiped, leaning on the top of his staff.  By faith, Joseph, when he was dying, made mention of the exodus of the sons of Israel, and gave orders concerning his bones."

All men of faith.  All mentioned in this chapter at the end of their lives.  Easy to gloss over and forget.  But don't.  Slow down and think about it for a minute. Why was Isaac concerned about things to come?  Because his father, Abraham, had spoken of a promise of God that his (Abraham's) descendants "would be many, like the sands of the seashore," yet Abraham only had one son (the son of promise), and that son, Isaac, only had two sons.

Why did Jacob (who had 12 sons, by the way) lean on his staff while blessing Joseph?  The significance of the staff speaks to Jacob's struggles.  He had wrestled with God (Genesis 32:22-32), and would not let Him go until He blessed Jacob.  God did two things in response:  He changed Jacob's name to Israel ("contends with God"), and He touched his hip socket, so that Jacob had a limp from that moment on.  From then on Jacob had a staff or a walking stick wherever he went, as a reminder of the struggle.

Back to Michael Jr, the Christian comedian.  One of the things he said last night really touched my heart.  Knowing the definition of a joke, the set-up and the punch line, he made the application to life in this way:  everybody has a story.  We have all had our share of struggles.  That is our set-up.  What God wants to do with that is to use us for His punch line.  When we take it in an unexpected direction, He is glorified.  When we go with the flow, we have no story, no punch line.  But when we go hard in the opposite direction, it is memorable, and God can use it to change lives.  "As for you," Joseph said in Genesis 50:20, "you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive."

It's kind of like a sling shot, Michael Jr. said.  The more we get pulled back, the more pressure life puts on us, the greater the tension.  But when we are set free, when we are loosed from the grip of the world, we are shot in the opposite direction.  Our job, then, is to take aim where our lives can make the biggest impact

Full of Grace and Truth

And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.  --John 1:14

This week I was insensitive to a good friend.  My friend was wounded by my careless words.  I was very afraid that my insensitivity might have cost us our friendship.  When I read the text message this person sent to me, I was devastated.  "I'll admit," this person wrote to me, "your statement did hurt."

My first reaction was repentance.  I apologized profusely (probably over-abundantly), and begged their forgiveness.  Thankfully, this person did show grace to me.  I am forgiven, thank God.  Our friendship remains solid.

Why was I so quick to seek forgiveness?  Because I like this person, and I value our friendship.  There is a connection there, based on history and trust and mutual respect. 

If, on the other hand, I had offended someone I did not know, or did not know well, or did not particularly care about, would I have been so quick to apologize?  Probably not.  You can't break a connection that isn't there.

Yesterday I heard a sermon by Chris Hodges, pastor of Church of the Highlands based in Birmingham, Alabama, with satellite campuses all over the state.  His passion, he said, is evangelism.  He, like the Apostle Paul, aims to "become all things to all people so that by all possible means" some might be saved. (cf 1 Corinthians 9:22).  In this message, Pastor Hodges said something profound:  he said when we are taking the message of Christ to the masses, we must balance grace and truth.

You see, both are important; but grace must come first.  "Truth without grace," he said, "is just mean."  How many of us know people who speak truth without love.  "Your sins will lead you straight to hell," they proclaim loudly.  They may be right, but they are not necessarily helpful.  Very often, truth hurts.  Truth wounds.

When I learned that my friend had been hurt by the insensitive comment I had made, my heart ached.  Knowing the truth about a potential wedge between us caused me pain.  Would I have been better off not knowing the truth?  Of course not!  The truth was that my sin had potentially broken fellowship with my friend, and unless they made me aware of it, I could not have done anything about it.  The wound could have festered, the schism could have widened to the point that nothing could have bridged the gap.

In the same way, we are called to speak truth to a dying world.  We just don't need to be mean about it.  We need to speak it in love, with a measure of grace.

On the other extreme, we all know people who seem to spread a message of "all grace, all the time."  Yet, as Pastor Hodges said in his sermon yesterday, "Grace without truth is meaningless."  If what we do doesn't matter to God, then there is no need for repentance.  This is cheap grace, and it is a false gospel.

I read a blog online this past week about the need for forgiveness.  The writer said that all to often, when we offend someone and then apologize to them, the response is usually, "It's okay.  It doesn't matter."  This is a lie from the pit of hell!  It's not okay to be offensive.  It does matter.  That's why repentance is necessary, but forgiveness is just as necessary.  It is important to speak the words, "I forgive you."  How much more powerful to hear that I'm forgiven rather than it's okay.

Pastor Hodges summed it up this way:  when we approach someone with the Gospel (which is what we are commissioned to do as Christians), we must balance our approach.  What we say may be right, but it may not be helpful.  On the flip side, "the truth will set you free", but we must connect before we correct.  God didn't call us to be right; He called us to be effective.  The goal is not to prove your point and send people on their way to hell.  The goal is to win them to God.

The disciple John described himself often as "the disciple whom Jesus loved."  He is known in some Christian traditions as St. John the Evangelist.  We see a story in John's gospel that we do not see in the other gospel accounts.  In the 8th chapter we are told of a woman who was caught in the act of adultery.  The Pharisees had apparently set a trap for her, intending to trap Jesus by placing Him firmly in one extreme or the other (wrath or grace).

They burst into Jesus' presence, with this half-naked woman in tow, stating one truth after another.  Yes, the woman had been caught in adultery.  Truth.  Yes, the law of Moses did state that she should be publicly executed as a consequence of her actions.  Truth.  What, they demanded, did Jesus have to say on this?  Was the Law of no consequence, and did grace extend to one who habitually and flagrantly disobeyed?  Or was Jesus just like them, condemning others to hell while they smugly sat in the seat of self-righteousness, hiding their own sins from view?

Jesus does not answer right away.  He begins doodling in the dust.  In so doing, He does not stand over her, but brings Himself down to her level.  He squats down in front of this woman lying prostrate before Him.  The Pharisees wait.  Then, miraculously, each of the accusers drops his stone, and slinks away silently. 

Jesus addresses the woman.  She knows she is guilty.  He knows she knows.  His first words express grace.  "Woman, where are those who condemn you?  Neither do I condemn you."  But what we often lose in the telling of this story is the expression of truth that Jesus gives in follow up.  "Go," He said, "and sin no more."

Grace and truth in equal amounts, but grace comes first.  Grace does not negate truth, but there must be a connection before there is correction.  Otherwise the truth is lost, and the person remains condemned.  Thank God for what the Apostle Paul wrote in Romans 8: "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."