students of jesus

I mean no disrespect: of course Jesus did it better. But from my life experience, here are my beatitudes:

 Blessed are the unwanted, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

 Blessed are those filled with anxiety, for they will be given peace.

 Blessed are the failures, for they are infinitely treasured.

 Blessed are the desperate, for they will find refuge.

 Blessed are those afraid of missing out, for they are invited in.

 Blessed are the counselors, for they shall be counseled.

 Blessed are those we call enemies, for they are beloved of God.

 Blessed are those who make disciples, for they shall be called friends of Jesus.

 And blessed are you, when people count you out, ignore your needs, and stack the deck against you: rejoice and be glad, for this is the inheritance of God’s people, his family, and yours.

Words are cheap. It’s easy to tell someone what they want to hear. Deeds are costly, because we can only do one thing at a time. To do one thing is to say “no” to 10,000 others in that moment. To merely say something is to leave our options open: who knows what might happen next?

Tucked away in Matthew’s gospel (and only Matthew’s gospel, 21:28-32) is the short parable of two sons:

“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’

“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.

“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.

“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”

“The first,” they answered.

Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him."

You can tell it’s a repentance story by the way Jesus connects it to John the Baptist’s ministry, which was all about repentance. But there’s a key moment before last verse. The first son “changed his mind” (v 29, and also 32) and then went out to work in the vineyard. This isn’t the normal word we associate with repentance, it’s closer to the idea that he changed his cares. It’s as if the very moment he said “no” it created a kind of anxiety that dogged his steps the rest of the day—until he simply headed out to the vines and started doing the work.

As in so many parables, perhaps Jesus invites us to read behind the lines. I began to wonder, “What kind of son blurts out ‘No’ but then lives out ‘Yes?’” And why didn’t the father try to correct the son immediately? And why does the second son so easily say “Yes” but so easily does his own thing without regard to either his father or his own words? Clearly there are at least two kinds of people in the small world of this story: people who lead with their feelings and those who cover their feelings with the “right words.”

The first son doesn’t want to go to work that day, and he doesn’t care who knows it. But something tugs at him. We don’t know how long the tug-of-war went on but we do know the result: the son does what the father asks. Not long after Jesus tells this story, we see Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane telling his Father that he would prefer another path. From the many Biblical descriptions of that prayer in the garden we learn that it was powerfully charged with emotion; it was raw with honesty and struggle.

The second son knows exactly what the father wants to hear and says it immediately, even easily. Jesus leaves us to wonder whether the second son ever had any intention of going to work. Maybe he did; maybe not. Maybe he was on his way to the vineyard and fell prey to distraction or amusement. Maybe he knew from the start that he was going to stay home and play video games. Maybe the father knew it, too. (This is part of the beauty of parables: there are so many maybes!)

But Jesus has a definite purpose in the parable. His audience are the religiously-minded Pharisees, who were experts in saying the right things while doing the wrong ones. They were practiced in appearances. They were religious professionals. They were also among those who demanded the death of Jesus.

But just so we wouldn’t miss his meaning, Jesus jumps from the parable to real life. The tax collectors and whores of that culture know the tug-of-war. They care about what they say—and do. They are capable of feeling remorse and changing direction. The beauty of John the Baptist’s ministry was how he provided a way for those who were on the outside to find their way back into God’s kingdom: it was “the way of righteousness” (v 32). Remorse that leads to repentance means return and restoration. It’s the way back. In a chilling final application of the parable, Jesus pointed out that those who were practiced at saying the right things may be the very people incapable of feeling the right thing.

As with so many of the Lord’s parables, we are left to wonder which group we are in. It is a common weakness among Christians to mistake knowing the right answer for living the right answer. Life with God is never a written exam; it is always a practical one. Will I find myself playing religious games with religious friends, or will I find myself among God’s true people, doing God’s good work?

I have amazing superpowers, and plenty of them:

• On the freeway, from inside my own car, I can spot “idiots” by the way they drive. (And believe me, there are loads of idiots!)
• On social media, I can discern the tone of voice in a text, a Tweet or a Facebook post. If I’m watching a video, I can go beyond tone of voice and tell you the exact motivation of the person posting.
• While reading the New York Times I possess all the insight needed to instantly solve all the world’s problems (even though a reporter from the Times has never called me to ask my opinions).

You get the idea: my superpowers are a dazzling combination of mindreading and deep analysis. I’m a mash-up of Megamind and Mother Teresa.

Of course, the scripture doesn’t use the term superpower. It doesn’t look like Jesus is impressed at all:

Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. (Matthew 7:1-5)

If you’re into being in control, being a judge is a great deal. Think of a courtroom: judges do not repent, defendants do. The judge sits above the situation. In fact, the judge sits above everyone else in the room! Everyone else in the room wants to win the judge’s attention and approval. Ultimately, the judge gets to decide who gets to say what, and how much they get to say. Argue with the judge you will be met with a contempt of court citation—which you cannot challenge or contest. It is final.

The habitual practice of judgment is an enemy of repentance. As soon as I cast myself in the role of judge, I have excused myself of the need to repent, because after all, it’s all about me. Come to think of it, only three kinds of people wear flowing black robes: graduates (who think they know more than they do), judges (who hold all the cards, and wizards (who, admittedly, are pretty cool—but far less common than the first two).

It doesn’t take long to get used to wearing the robe, holding the gavel, and sitting high above other people. But I do so at my own peril: I quietly have given myself permission to be the lord of all I survey. Sure, Jesus may be “Lord of all,” but I am lord of all I see. I may never express it in these terms, but I become the god of my world—and every day is Judgment Day as I scrutinize the actions of others.

Repentance requires a complete role-reversal. I am the one standing before the judge. I look up to the seat of judgment—true judgment, fair judgment, God’s kind and loving judgment. In truth, until I place myself in this role there is a part of God’s personality I will never experience. One reason I hesitate to come before the One True Judge is that I think he will treat me the way I have treated others.

Learning the posture of repentance and disciplining myself to pay careful attention to each word uttered by the Great Judge of All is actually a formative experience. To step into God’s courtroom is to see myself more clearly and position myself for change. The prophet Isaiah had just such a formative experience. In a mystical moment he came before the Creator of all the earth:

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphim, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty;
    the whole earth is full of his glory.”

At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.

“Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.”

Then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. With it he touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.” (Isaiah 6:1-7)

What was at first a dreadful sight led Isaiah to understand two key insights about his culture and himself: “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” But instead of experiencing punishment, he experienced cleansing—and a new calling on his life.

Why has it taken me so long to realize that my judgments—made so quickly and with such confidence—block the still, small voice of the Spirit? By disciplining myself to remain open and humble I position myself to hear from God. It's not that the Spirit isn't speaking, it's that I have trained myself to listen to my own voice first.

This is part of what it means to apply Proverbs 3: 5 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight." But how deeply I have trained myself to rely upon my own insights! The Holy Spirit is always present; I must cultivate a patient and listening heart. Sometimes I will see deeper than any human judge could see, and other times I may hear the gentle whisper, “Repent!”

Here’s a spiritual formation exercise in three steps:

PART ONE: write down your hopes for the next ten years. (Go ahead, I’ll wait.)

When you review the list you are likely to see a page full of wishful thinking. As in, “hopes and dreams.” I recently asked a group of senior citizens (that’s my tribe) to engage in this very exercise: “What are your hopes for the future?”

Since this group was significantly north of 60 years of old, you won’t be surprised by the answers:

I hope to have continued good health.

I hope to have enough money to last through retirement.

I hope to be able to sell my house and move closer to the grandkids.

I hope I’ll live to attend my grandkids’ weddings.

And so on. Each item on the list was predictable, safe, good, and perhaps even godly. This is how we understand hope. Our desires for peace, safety, and ease are understandable. But these things are earth-bound hopes. They are the hopes of all humanity.

Most of us consider hope to be a soft idea, the squishy expression of wishful thinking. "I hope it doesn't rain." Or, "I hope I'll stay healthy." In this modern sense "hope" is not a plan, not a strategy, it’s not even contingency planning. But what if hope was something substantial, lasting--even eternal? What if we have traded the strong, solid, lasting idea of hope—real hope, Godly hope for the timid, soft, and malleable oatmeal of wishful thinking?

There is another kind of hope. It does not start with us. Nor is it only about us—although it is very personal. Godly hope is an abiding thing. It is capable of changing who we are right now, and it also is capable outlasting this world.

So set your first list aside; it’s time for PART TWO of the spiritual formation exercise:

How many promises do you think there are in the scripture? (Google isn’t much help: you’ll find answers that vary between 3,000 and 8,000.) Implied promises, conditional promises, fantastic promises, whatever the number actually is, there are too many to deal with. So let’s generate a second list you can write down next to the original hopes you recorded. Here’s the question: “Out of all the biblical promises you’ve heard or read, which one (which ones) have moved your heart? Which ones are felt like they were specifically for you?” Have you ever read something in the scripture and thought, “Yes! This is just for me!”

In this second step of the exercise I’m asking you to take the bold step of hearing and receiving a few of the generalized biblical promises and putting them into your hope chest. “Yes,” you should say, “I know this wasn’t written to me personally, but this particular promise feels like God has spoken it to me.”

Let me be clear, I’m not asking you to do witchcraft with the scripture. God’s word is never an incantation or a formula; it’s neither magic nor math. But I am asking you to listen to the voice of the Spirit and awaken to whatever promises God wants to quicken in your life. That’s step two, but beware! Step three is just plain crazy:

In STEP THREE you should write down a promise God has made to you, personally.

Not from the Bible, but to you. Has God ever whispered a sentence in your ear? “The story of your life will change other people’s lives someday.” Or, “I will open up a door for your work to have eternal meaning.” Or whatever. God’s promises to each of us will be as different as one person is from another.

Here’s one example:

Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ. (Luke 2:25-26)

Now, Simeon, righteous and devout as he was, could’ve have read the Old Testament from start to finish and never seen this promise. But nonetheless, God had whispered it to him. It was for him, not his neighbor. It was for his ears only. Pointing to a chapter or verse could not prove it. It was also just a bit crazy, just a bit exalted, and just powerful enough to shape his life—if he believed it (which he did).

Part three of this exercise asks whether God ever whispered something to you. I’m willing to bet you’ve received more than one. The only questions are whether you’ve been receptive enough to hear it, and crazy enough to believe it.

These three steps have the power to be formative in your life:

Have you dared to hope?

Have you received any of his biblical promises?

Have you ever heard his personal promise?

Finish off the exercise by meditating on the words of Peter,

“His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire.” ~ 2 Peter 1:3-4

Right in the middle of this passage is a revelation: God’s promises, both general and personal, power our hope and change our lives. What has God promised you?

Take a month and hold these three steps before your Creator. Odds are you’ll never be the same again. (Honestly, take a month.)