students of jesus

Are there any limits to human wickedness? Imagine a guy who practices witchcraft and seances, fortune-telling and necromancy. Picture him engaged in human sacrifice by burning his own children on altars of fire. Give him nationwide authority and influence, so that he not only practices these things, but trains others to do the same. Now, if there is room left in your imagination, envision this man finding a way to win God’s affection.

What moves God’s heart? Buried deep in the Chronicles of Israel is the story of a despicable ruler who captured the Father’s grace and mercy by humbling himself before God. His name is Manasseh; you can read about him in 2 Chronicles 33. In the space of one chapter, scripture reveals the transformation of a man from vessel of wrath to vessel of mercy. He won God’s attention because of his humble heart. It’s not that Manasseh simply experienced God’s mercy, he provoked it.

The Father loves humility. It turns his head. Jesus tried again and again to share this secret pathway to God’s heart: “the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” He used this phrase no fewer than four times. Jesus himself modeled humility as he lived in the low places of Israel. He portrayed children as exemplars of humble trust in the Father’s care. He derided self-sufficiency.

Humility is an expression of truth and integrity. People intuitively hunger for humility in their spiritual and political leaders. Perhaps this hunger for authentic humility is growing stronger: the Google search-phrase that has most often brought people to this blog is the simple phrase, “How can we Humble Ourselves?” Although that post is more than four years old, people find their way to it week after week. All over the world people enter search phrases like, “how to be humble like Jesus,” and “how do we humble ourselves before God?” There is beauty in the humble way.

Humility is the sail that captures the mercy of God. His ear is tuned to hear the weakest words of a humbled heart.

In King Manasseh’s story we find hope for everyone who has wondered if they could possibly grab God’s attention. Here are four sure lessons from Manasseh (2 Chronicles 33) for those whose hearts are inclined:

• Even in the midst of gross iniquity, God is still speaking: (v10) Even after a long list of rebellious acts against God, the text reveals that God was still reached out to Manasseh. If you’ve been told that God hides from your sin, you’ve been misled. Our sin is one of the very reasons God continues to reach out to us. He loves us and refuses to give up on us. But it's not just that his love reaches down; a humble heart reaches up.
• God knows how to humble us: (v11) There’s a massive difference between being humbled by the Almighty and humbling yourself before him. God may arrange circumstances that bring us low in the eyes of others, but only we can lower ourselves before God. He can extend severe mercy, in C.S. Lewis’ phrase, but we remain in control of our own thoughts and hearts.
• Our hearts can move God’s heart: (v13) This is an astounding revelation! God is not impressed by human power, wealth, or wisdom, but he is impressed by the human heart. When we choose contrition the Father tells all heaven to be quiet. Our prayers never have more power than when we take our proper place before him.
• Our humble example can influence the generations to come: (v25) Manasseh had a grandson named Josiah, who (as a child) sparked a nationwide revival. I like to imagine that Josiah heard first-hand from his grandfather the horrors of rebellion and the grace of humility. Our life-lessons can become the seed that springs up thirty, sixty, and a hundred fold in the lives of those who follow.

These are more than theological considerations; they are postures of the heart.

What is whispered in the Old Testament is shouted in the New: humility is the doorway to God’s Kingdom. Jesus embodied the life of humility before the Father. It worked out pretty well for him—he demonstrated the humble path leads to glory, a glory unimagined by the wisdom of men.

Humility spared Manasseh's life. The humility of Jesus opened the floodgates of heaven for others. We are his humble vessels. The world waits for us to pour ourselves out.

I caught up with Jesus one day a couple of years ago. He was hanging out in a dingy hospital room in Columbia, Kentucky.

His diabetes was acting up again, which was no surprise because dumpster-divers don’t have the best diet even on a good day. He had already lost a few toes here or there in the previous years, but this time he was facing the possible loss of his foot. (Spoiler alert: don’t worry—I prayed for him, his condition improved, and he ambled away from the hospital on both feet a few days later.)

I’d actually been hanging out with Jesus for a couple of months, but I’m a little slow to recognize old friends.

It started when a guy named Bill came to church. You couldn’t miss him: a rumple of a man well over six-foot tall, with shaggy wrinkled clothes topped off by a white beard and white hair, neither of which had seen a comb in weeks. Everything about him screamed homeless. Bill’s massive frame ambled along slowly as the result of his missing toes. The only thing more worrisome than whether he would make it to the coffee bar without falling was the possibly that he would make it to the coffee bar and then try to walk away holding his hot coffee.

Bill and his coffee made it safely to one of our café-style tables, so I introduced myself. I did so more out of a concern for other’s safety than to make him feel welcome. (When you see people like Bill your first thoughts are about the possibilities of what could go wrong.) I wanted to check him out first-hand. Everything about Bill was confusing. Where are you from? I used to drive a truck in the Northeast. How’d you hear about our church? I drove by the other day. Tell me about your family: I think they’re in Indiana, at least, they were the last time I talked to them. When the service started Bill worshipped the same way most of us did, except he was taller, shabbier, and scarier than the rest of us. He raised his hands and tilted his head upward, soaking in the genuine praise around him.

Bill became a regular among us. He introduced us to the people in his entourage. He took care of Roberta, 60-plus years old: short, loud, and extremely off-putting. Plus, she was pretty ugly. One week Bill pulled me aside and apologized for her behavior and explained that her family had thrown her out on the street. He said he was now her only protection. They lived together in an abandoned mobile home out in the county. There didn’t seem to be anything awkward about the arrangement because Roberta definitely needed protection, mostly from herself. A few weeks later Bill brought Doug and Maria, a thirty-something couple. Doug seemed almost normal and Maria was almost certainly mentally handicapped. They were both embarrassingly overweight. Bill told me they were down on their luck and needed a place to stay until they got up on their feet. Bill’s squatter mobile home didn’t have heat or electricity but it was safe and dry, so he opened his home to them.

Bill came to church early and loved to greet people. If they asked what he did for a living he smiled and said simply, “I’m a dumpster-diver.” Which was true—that’s how Bill cared for Roberta and provided shelter for Doug and Maria (although he once complained to me privately that Doug ate too much—especially the fresh produce he regularly scored at the supermarket dumpster.) The brave people who asked how Bill came into that line of work heard about the stroke he suffered while behind the wheel of a truck in downtown New York City. It seems Bill lost consciousness and drove the truck into the entrance of a Manhattan office building. That’s when he switched careers.

One day Roberta came to church alone. She told me Bill was in the hospital.

Small-town Kentucky hospitals can be pretty depressing places, but when I walked into his room Bill looked up and gave me a smile from his bed. The smile was his big mistake; that’s when I saw through his disguise and figured out I was in front of Jesus. I tried to play it cool and not let on. Bill asked about my family. He asked how the church was getting along. He put me completely at ease. There, in his hospital room, he was a gracious host.

The visit felt weird because I had come to pray for his foot. His circulation had failed. The foot was turning colors and he was likely to lose it above the ankle. He needed healing, but it’s difficult praying over his ankle because after all, I was ministering to the Lord of Glory. When we finished praying I asked him if he felt any better. He said, “I’m not worried. It’ll all work out.” It did. The circulation returned. He was discharged and came back to church just a few more times before he moved on to Indiana. He said he wanted to see his family.

A few months later I received a handwritten letter, blue ink on a notebook page. The ragged little pieces from where the page was torn out of the spiral notebook tickled the fingers of my left hand. Doug and Maria had found public-assisted housing. Roberta was ill and perhaps sick unto death. Bill was finding riches in the dumpsters of southern Indiana.

He thanked me for the welcome he had received in Kentucky. I sat holding the letter, but I couldn’t recall if I had ever thanked him.

Trends come and go, but spiritual formation is the Jesus-way of crafting our souls so we become conformed to his image. I have almost no concern for discussions about big ideas unless those ideas impair our ability to follow Jesus. Rarely does a current popular trend intersect with the more important work of personal spiritual formation, but I think I’ve seen one such trend beginning to take root in the past few years. 

Here’s the good part: in recent years we have become aware of our tendency to confuse our understanding of scripture with the God of scripture. The Bible becomes our god. Of course, no one would do so outright, but it is so much easier to relate to a book than a living person: the first one requires academic smarts, the second requires love. The encouraging recent trend is that we began to approach the scriptures with a greater humility as we realized our understanding of the scripture is not the same thing as the “Truth.”

So far so good. This change opened up greater relationship with Jesus and a deeper respect for scripture, especially the gospels. We began to see that the role of scripture is to lead us to the Lord’s feet. It was a needed correction, but the pendulum didn’t stop swinging, it kept going.

Here’s the dangerous part: I think we’re beginning to elevate our personal ideas about Jesus above what the scriptures reveal. Like the family gathered around Ricky-Bobby’s dinner table, we all have our own notions about Jesus: baby Jesus, T-Shirt Jesus, or Ninja Jesus:

“I like to picture Jesus in a tuxedo T-Shirt because it says I want to be formal, but I'm here to party.” ~ Cal Naughton, Jr.

Silly? Yes, but no more silly than elevating the gospels above the rest of scripture.

For decades we erred by worshiping the Bible--and our understanding of it--instead of Jesus. Today the pendulum is in full swing and it’s swinging beyond the center: it's become popular to say we “worship Jesus but not the Bible” even while we are in great danger of missing the Bible's revelation of Jesus.

The hard, rewarding work ahead: How can we say we embrace the Jesus of the gospels but then diminish the Old Testament—when our Lord himself embraced the whole book? Those of us who trumpet revelation of Jesus found in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John must embrace the words of our Lord:

• Do not think that I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I did not come to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or stroke shall pass from the Law until all is accomplished. If you ignore the least commandment and teach others to do the same, you will be called the least in the Kingdom of Heaven. ~ Matthew 5:17-19
• It is easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for one stroke of a letter of the Law to fail. ~ Luke 16:17
• . . . the Scripture cannot be broken . . . ~ John 10:35

The hard work of following Jesus is to discover how Word became flesh: how Jesus fulfilled and embodied all the Spirit had spoken before him. Throwing away the Old Testament doesn’t help—it hinders. Imagine the life-giving conversations possible if we agree that Jesus is our guide to understanding the Old Testament. But no, it’s easier to simply dismiss 2,000 years of revelation.

The life-giving way: The Old Testament shaped Jesus for thirty years. Then, for three years, he embodied it as our example. Let's learn from him how to read the Law. To read the gospels without welcoming the scripture that came before him is to open us up to the idolatry of our own understanding. The Father who shared a meal with Abraham is the same Father who sent his son to fulfill the promises made to Abraham. As the pendulum swings too far, I think we have subtly embraced the idea that 2,000 years of God’s history with Israel was a failed project, and Jesus is somehow the Father’s Plan B.

Are we willing to hear everything the Spirit has spoken? Where would you start, and how would you do it? 

It’s not enough to read the scripture with our mind; we are body, soul, and spirit—hearing God requires all of our being. It takes something more than our intellect to make God’s word “living and active.”

The intellect is where so many theologians like to live: defining words, developing systematic theology, and generally being the smartest guys in the class. I’ll show my colors: I have a basic distrust of systematic theology. I don’t like either word at all. Put them together, I find myself in full rebellion. Count me in the camp with Thomas a Kempis: "I would rather feel contrition than know how to define it."

I want to read the scripture with my heart: engage the Word body, soul, and spirit. I want to love the Lord with all my heart, soul, mind and strength without allowing my intellect to dominate the other three. I joyfully put myself in the camp of emotionalism because the Creator of the universe is never impressed by our intellect, but he is moved by our heart and our faith.

Take this passage from Paul’s letter to the Colossians:

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. ~ Colossians 3:12-14

Here are five ways to engage this passage imaginatively, and, should I say it? Creatively.

1). There’s a ghost in the book. In fact, the Ghost wrote the book. The first step in imaginative reading is to ask for the Holy Spirit’s help. It’s no mere formality: Paul, Peter or James may have written the New Testament epistles but behind the human agency is the loving heart of God. John, the disciple Jesus loved, wrote these amazing words to his followers: As for you, the anointing you received from him remains in you, and you do not need anyone to teach you. (1 John 2: 27) Amazingly, John was dealing with the issue of false teachers in the church, and his solution was remarkably subjective! The same Spirit that hovered over the waters of creation is available to hover over us as we come to God’s word. Does this mean we are infallible interpreters of the word? No. But it does mean we have a loving guide.

2). Feel the love: this passage in Colossians opens with the description, “God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved.” You may not need to go beyond these seven words. If we are dearly loved, shouldn’t we feel it? One of my friends engaged in this exercise: he sat alone in his office and expressed his love to the Father, then waited for the Father to answer. He quietly spoke the words, “God, I love you” and sat in silence, attending to the Lord. A moment later he felt a subtle physical sensation of God’s presence--a still, small voice or the subtle movement of a draft upon his skin. Too mystical? Too subjective? Perhaps we’ve been trained to avoid the experience of his presence: if the text directs us to the love of God, why wouldn’t we respond lovingly?

3). Clothe yourselves: why not extend the metaphor? He presents us with the image of someone preparing to move from private to public. No one leaves home naked! He invites us to extend the metaphor and see ourselves preparing for the day. How do you get dressed in the morning? What decisions do you make? No one puts on every article of clothing they own, but rather they select the clothing appropriate to the day’s tasks. Infants and toddlers must be clothed by others, Paul calls us to the mature response of clothing ourselves. It takes imagination to extend the metaphor into a practical vision for the day. There, in my prayer closet, I ask in advance: Where do I need to show compassion for the day? What kind of compassion will I need? Compassionate tears or compassionate sweat? How should I dress my heart? How can I prepare to meet the needs of others?

4). Imagine what the text does not say. I know: this is dangerous: every Bible scholar tells us not to make “the argument from silence.” Except I am not coming to the scripture to argue: I’m coming to hear the heart of God. Paul provides a representative list of what we need for life together; compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. But not necessarily intelligence, wit, or smarts. By imagining what is not on the list I understand that character trumps intelligence. That God desires mercy, not education. The Holy Spirit might even remind me that knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.

5). Finally, I’m invited to consider the mysteries of incarnation. The life in these passages is all from the same source: Jesus. Who is the Word? Who is Love? Who is Life? I love these questions because they help us consider what it means to put on Christ each day. If Christ put on his humanity, I wonder whether we can put on divinity in return. In short, it starts me thinking of how I can be like him.

Some will think I am against using reason and intellect with the scripture. But I’m truly not. I only want to ensure that what comes into my mind will also travel 12 inches to my heart. How about you?

It’s a big mistake, and all too common: when I read the gospel and Jesus is correcting someone—laying it out plain and true—I  think he’s giving to someone else. “That’s right, Jesus” I think. “You tell ‘em.” Then comes that moment when I realize he might actually be talking about me.

We are never so at risk as when we are sure Jesus is talking about the other guy. I love it when Jesus exposes the hypocrisy of others, but am I willing to hear the Lord’s correction for me? When he corrects others he is setting a straight path for their feet. If I am wise I can follow that path, too. There are only two safe responses when the Lord is correcting someone. First, I should listen, because he’s also talking about me. The second isn’t much different: I should listen, or someday it will be me.

Don’t ignore the hard words. Even his toughest words lead us to mercy and grace. No judgment is beyond his redemption, and his grace comes when we realize he wants to set things right—including us. This, too, is the good news: when the Lord says, “Woe unto you.” Any word from God is a word of grace. 

Can you hear the genius in these words, “It is not the healthy people who need a doctor, but the sick?” Matthew, Mark, and Luke each record this saying because it is the on-going path toward a new life. The Great Physician provides the cure for Hell; he also provides the cure for everyday living. Jesus offers ever-new life to everyone who welcomes the change he brings. When we no longer welcome change, we have stopped following him.

As children of grace our destination is sure, but we remain children if we are only concerned with the destination. His warnings and corrections are not judgment or rejection. They are steps toward the full light of day.