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forgiveness Entries in forgiveness (8)
The Secret Beauty of Forgiveness
Tuesday, August 26, 2014 at 08:25AM 
Nothing quite ruins a fancy dinner like an hysterical woman. Polite conversation stops and (for a while) we all pretend not to notice. Then someone finally speaks up because her behavior is unacceptable. That’s what happened when a man named Simon, a proper and meticulous Pharisee, invited Jesus to dinner.
Before we jump to the story, imagine what must have happened before the dinner party began. Simon, a man who respected the law of God, had made plans to be the host. In the home of a Pharisee, the table had to be perfect, because the table was the like the Temple. Simon probably had a personal agenda as well: you don’t invite a celebrity to your house without thinking through the topics of conversation. You try to anticipate all the details in advance and put your best foot forward.
Then someone slipped past Security and began to make a scene:
One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment. (Luke 7:36-38)
Perhaps you know the story. Simon recognizes the woman as a sinner from the streets of the city. He thinks to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.” But it doesn’t take a prophet to see someone’s sin and label them as such. The true prophet seated at the table saw something else: the beauty of a changed heart and the seed of loving gratitude taking deep root.
Simon saw a dinner party ruined. Jesus saw a life in repair. He saw the contrast between those who think they have it all under control and those who know for certain they do not. Jesus saw the difference between one person striving to avoid the label “Sinner,” and one who saw that same label as a path to freedom.
The irony of the whole affair is that we would never remember the dinner party if it had gone perfectly. Not even Simon, the host, would have. What makes the story worth telling again and again is how everything went wrong in the best possible way. Like that other time when four strangers tore a hole in Peter’s roof, or that time when Jesus ruined a perfectly planned funeral by stepping into the procession and raising the widow’s son. It seems interruptions followed whenever Jesus went—or is it that he himself is the Great Interruption?
That night at Simon’s place the interruption was forgiveness. Forgiveness is Jesus’s preferred scandal. It’s the rude interruption to our careful planned party. Forgiveness is the uninvited guest who makes a mockery of the fine china of our lives. We can choose between keeping the china in a fancy cabinet, using it only when we pretend everything’s at its best, or smashing the plates and making a mosaic of the shards of our messed-up lives. Forgiveness cares nothing for etiquette and everything for the gauche. The secret beauty of forgiveness is it’s only available to the sinner.
Jesus speaks forgiveness to the mess and refuse of all that’s ugly in our lives, his words become the stuff of stories told centuries later, like the time that woman broke in and ruined a dinner party.
We should be so lucky to have our plans ruined again today.
A Long Way to My Place
Thursday, June 7, 2012 at 10:39AM 
Sometimes just getting to my regular seat at church is a pain in the--well, it’s a pain. There are so many people I’d like to avoid. I love the church, but I don’t like the people in the church. Welcome to the True Confessions edition of Students of Jesus.
My usual seat is on the far side of the auditorium and there’s no way to it other than by passing by people I’d rather not talk to. Walk with me.
There’s The Gullible Guy: He’s never seen a Facebook post he didn’t believe, and he means to tell me about every one. There’s a secret government campaign to confiscate Bibles in America; there’s a new prophecy about Israel and the 2012 Euro Football tournament; Sesame Street is the Devil’s playground. If I try to point out the problems with each one of these revelations it will mean I’m part of the conspiracy. Plus I’ll miss the entire praise and worship portion of church. I move on.
Just a few feet away is The Blowhard: He’s memorized the entire book of Malachi. He chose Malachi because “Christians don’t understand that the Old Testament is the key to the New Testament.” When it comes to orthodoxy, it’s his way or the highway to Hell. He snags my arm because he read something on my blog that caused him to think I might be a Neo-Platonist Arminian Sycretizer. At least, that’s what I think he said because the band is into their second song and I still haven’t gotten to my seat. Plus my coffee’s getting cold.
I swing wide to avoid Miss LonelyHearts. Otherwise she’ll hug me and hold both my hands while she asks me about every member of my family. Some people say she’s just really empathetic, but it seems each question is more about prolonging the conversation than it is about whether my son’s team won their age-group community league soccer game. She seems nice enough, but I resist her brand of empathy because I suspect it’s really more about her than it is about me.
The path to my seat requires that I swing wide around The Flag Lady, who worships with her own set of color-coded worship banners: red for sacrifice, purple for royalty, and that gold one that always makes me think of the New Orleans Saints. I steer past The Prostrate-n-Kneeling Crew, who always seem to be deeply touched by every song. But my seat is in sight.
I still can’t sit down yet because The Homeschool Family is running a ferry service in and out of the aisle with their six children, all of whom have names that end in “-iah.” This is confusing because they all look identical as well. If I have to say their names, I usually cough when pronouncing the first syllable and then say the one syllable I know.
When I finally get to my seat, I find it’s taken. There’s a New Guy, about 30, long brown hair, dark eyes, and a beard. He’s just a little too old for the sandals and T-shirt look, but he apparently thinks he can pull it off. Church is crowded today, so I don’t even get the one-seat buffer that common courtesy demands. I nod toward the new guy, using my best Alpha-male look and take my place next to him. I’m finally ready to worship but the presence of the New Guy kind of cramps my style. I steal a look his way. I think he’s into the worship. He’s not super demonstrative but he’s grooving on the music in his own way.
At our church the band circles around for a soft landing by the end of the third song, but they keep playing quietly in the background as someone steps forward to present a scripture-reading. They throttle back and settle in with the mood music. The reader opens the Bible and raises the microphone to his mouth:
"In bringing many sons and daughters to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through what he suffered. Both the one who makes people holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters."
I look to my left at the new guy and something strange is happening. His hair seems even longer. The T-shirt has morphed into some kind of robe with a golden sash, and--I swear to God--he’s beginning to glow.
After he listens to this passage he leans toward me and says: “I love you, Brother. I’ve loved you through each stage of your life, including the rebellious stage, the doubting stage, the porn stage, the video-game stage, and the greedy stage. I’m not ashamed to call you my brother.” Then he gestured to everyone in the room and asked me “If I am not ashamed of you, why then, are you ashamed to call these people your family?”
Meditation: Having His Heart
Monday, June 4, 2012 at 12:02AM 
Part of his true beauty is that Jesus loves the unlovely.
I’m drawn to him because he not only cleansed the lepers: he reached out his hand touched them even when everyone else demanded that they shout “Unclean!” He not only healed their skin, he received them kindly. I want that kind of heart.
When the male-dominated leaders of the day singled out a woman “caught in adultery,” (where was the other half of the adulterous duo?) Jesus did not condemn. Instead he challenged the very accusers with the now-famous words, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” My heart is moved by mercy mixed with justice. I love him for speaking those words. I even love him for saying raising the woman to her feet and saying, “Go and sin no more” because it was the best thing for her.
I love Jesus because he reminded a synagogue filled with people bent on perfection that a bent-over old woman was also a daughter of Abraham. I love him because when Jesus dined with Zacchaeus it meant that he brought salvation to the house of a tax collector. I love him because a woman previously infested with seven demons was the very one he chose to first deliver the good news, “He is risen.”
Time and again Jesus demonstrated what he taught: mercy triumphs over judgment. I want to be like that.
Jesus taught me to to love the unlovely.
And because he taught me to love the unlovely, I love his bride: the church.
Shouldn’t we all?
Jesus: My Favorite Old Testament Priest
Thursday, August 18, 2011 at 10:32AM 
I have a friend who ends every prayer with, “Forgive us for the many ways we’ve failed you, In Your name we pray, Amen.” It doesn’t matter if he’s blessing the food before a meal or asking for wisdom in an important decision. The closing is his default praise, like a customized signature at the end of every email.
I’m sure he’s sincere--every time he prays it. Yet I wonder if Jesus ever gets tired of hearing it. Do you think Infinite Patience ever rolls his eyes at something that just gets old? OK, that’s snarky, I know. But no friendship or marriage on earth could survive if one partner constantly affirmed, “I’m no good.” What kind of relationship requires a constant--constant--rehashing of our inadequacy? I’d like to suggest an answer: an Old Testament relationship.
The book of Hebrews discusses the practice of forgiveness before Jesus came:
The law is only a shadow of the good things that are coming—not the realities themselves. For this reason it can never, by the same sacrifices repeated endlessly year after year, make perfect those who draw near to worship. Otherwise, would they not have stopped being offered? For the worshipers would have been cleansed once for all, and would no longer have felt guilty for their sins. But those sacrifices are an annual reminder of sins. (Hebrews 10: 1-3, my emphasis)
Note the final phrase: the people of Old Testament experienced an annual reminder of their sins. My friend reminds himself of his sin as often as he prays. The unspoken message is that he was powerless against sin before he came to Jesus and he is apparently powerless against it after he received him.
Dallas Willard refers to this as miserable sinner theology. Simply put, if we are told often enough that we are miserable sinners who are unable to overcome our shortcomings in God’s eyes, sooner or later we will begin to see ourselves in that light—even though we have turned to Christ! This problem is widespread: the substance of most evangelical preaching is "sin management." (Willard again) by which Christians are reminded of their sin problem and God’s sin solution. It reinforces the idea they can find forgiveness apart from the call to come and follow Jesus. Yet following Jesus includes the possibility of being formed into his likeness.
Since many believers only hear about God’s grace in the context of forgiveness, their expectation of the Christian life is a cycle of sin, forgiveness, and more sin. Perhaps most dangerously, the presence of sin is considered normal in the life of a believer. Any real attempt at imitating Jesus is considered a presumption upon God’s grace because we cannot save ourselves through “works.” The Apostle Paul had a larger vision for the grace of God. It included the possibly of learning how to say “no” to ungodliness (Titus 2: 11-12). The grace of God in Jesus Christ is so much bigger than forgiveness: it does forgive, but it also teaches. Perhaps that’s why Willard says that God’s grace is not opposed to effort, but it is opposed to earning. Two pretty different things, aren’t they?
It’s not just a problem with our understanding of grace, it’s also our understanding of Jesus: his message, his sacrifice, his Kingdom and his mission for us. To see the work of Jesus as only an endless offering for sin is to consign him to the Old Testament priesthood.
Surely his is a greater priesthood, capable of altering us at the very core. I’m grateful that he paid the price for my sin--eternally grateful. I am also grateful for his resurrection empowerment, which is capable of changing me from the inside out. Perhaps we can usher Jesus out of the Temple once and for all, and receive him not only as the source of forgiveness, but also the Master teacher of life.
When We Expect God to do His Job
Thursday, June 23, 2011 at 11:31AM  |
| Poor, sickly Heinrich Heine |
Heinrich Heine lay on his deathbed in 1856. The German poet called his bed “the mattress grave” because he had been confined there for eight years. Born Jewish, converted to Christianity, living in Paris with his wife and mistress, he spoke his last words: “Of course God will forgive me, it’s his job.”
Sometimes I just want forgiveness. I want to be sure I won’t be hit by a lightning bolt. I want assurance there is a way out of the mess I’ve made. I want a system I can depend on, one that guarantees the outcome: forgiven.
I can find the Bible passage I need: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and send us away with the feeling that he has done his job.” (1 John 1:9, kind of) We want a God who is in the forgiveness business the way WalMart is in the cheap junk business: always open, ubiquitous, and always the low price. Always. We want the Jerusalem Temple system of sacrifice, except with as many locations as Starbucks, or more.
The book of Hebrews describes the Old Testament system of sacrifice for sin. Hebrews explains there was a High Priest who represented all the people of Israel. Once a year this priest performed his duties and gained forgiveness for all the people--for one more year. The next year he would do it again. And again. And so on. The High Priest followed the Old Testament instructions to the letter, and the people of the nation found them selves forgiven. Again. And again.
I like to try to imagine the High Priest sitting down with the people one-on-one after the annual ritual of sacrifice:
“Look,” the High Priest asks the busy Jerusalem businessman. “Aren’t you tired of doing the same thing every year? Don’t you ever want to learn how to live a better life? To grow so close to God that we don’t have to do this again and again?”
“Not really,” answers the man. “I’m a sinner. It’s what I do. You’re the Priest--you cleanse me--it’s what you do. Why don’t we both just do our jobs? See you next year.”
The Old Testament system provided atonement but was incapable of changing the heart. Forget about a change of heart: I just need forgiveness. I suspect many Christians see Jesus as a WalMart version the High Priest. We’ve found a Savior who forgives and forgives, and forgives again.
It’s true: in Jesus there are springs of forgiveness without end. But there’s more. If we want more. There’s relationship, empowerment, wisdom, insight, guidance, and strength to break the pattern of sin-and-forgiveness, sin-and-forgiveness. To see the work of Jesus as only an endless offering for sin is to consign him to the Old Testament priesthood, which may have provided atonement but was incapable of pulling us up from our lives of selfishness, foolishness, and the folly of our own way.
But Jesus is of a greater priesthood, capable of altering us at the very core. Hebrews tells us that Jesus wasn’t even an Old Testament priest in the sense of those who worked at the Temple. Hebrews points us to the shadowy figure named Melchidedek, from the book of Genesis:
This Melchizedek was king of Salem and priest of God Most High. He met Abraham returning from the defeat of the kings and blessed him, and Abraham gave him a tenth of everything. First, the name Melchizedek means “king of righteousness”; then also, “king of Salem” means “king of peace.” Without father or mother, without genealogy, without beginning of days or end of life, resembling the Son of God, he remains a priest forever. Hebrews 7:1-3)
This means Jesus offers something more than forgiveness. He offers right relationship and peace as well. In part, the message of Hebrews is about finding a way to break the sin-and-forgiveness cycle. What good is forgiveness if we remain the kind of people who are deeply broken in the center of our being? Who needs a priest who fixes up the outside of a person without repairing the inside?
Many believers have come to expect nothing but forgiveness from Jesus. All the while he stands ready to make us a new creation. He is the kind of priest who wants to work from the inside out. He’s the best kind of Savior, then kind who can transform us from habitual sinners into sons and daughters of the Most High.
The Old Testament prophets tried again and again to warn the people of Israel not to trust in religious formulas or systems. They pointed to a personal God who wanted children of his own.
- I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; (Ezekiel 36:26)
- “I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people. (Jeremiah 31:33)
- Wait! There are too many examples to cite. You can trust me on this.
Over and over the prophets urged the people of Israel not to turn their relationship with God into a transaction. They cried out on God’s behalf, “I want relationship, not ritual.”
The powerful inclination of men, however, is to reduce the offer of new birth, new creation, new life and new relationship into nothing more than, “you do your job, and I’ll do mine.” How many of us do the same with Jesus? It’s the difference between getting what we want out of him, or whether he gets what he wants from us--a loving relationship built to last forever.
If I can find my way out of WalMart, I’ll choose the relationship. How about you?