Compost Christianity

 

Compost Christianity

Compost Christianity - Audio/Visual

And he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none. And he said to the vinedresser, ‘Look, for three years now I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. Cut it down. Why should it use up the ground?’ And he answered him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure. Then if it should bear fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’” (Luke 13:6-9)

Twin boys, aged six, had their parents really worried because they’d developed some pretty extreme personalities – one was a total pessimist while the other was an eternal optimist. So, the boys’ parents took them to be evaluated by a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist decided to treat the pessimist first and, trying to brighten his outlook, took the boy to a room piled floor-to-ceiling with brand new toys. But instead of squealing with delight, the little boy burst into tears. “What’s the matter?” the psychiatrist asked. “Don’t you want to play with any of the toys?” “Yes,” the little boy bawled, “but if I did I’d only break them.” Confused, the psychiatrist’s attention then turned to the optimist and trying to dampen his outlook, took him to a room piled ceiling-high with horse manure. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the six year old couldn’t curb his enthusiasm and scrambling to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees and began gleefully digging into the stuff. Horrified, the psychiatrist asked, “What do you think you’re doing?” Beaming, the little boy replied, “With all this manure, there’s gotta be a pony in here somewhere!”

Are you looking for a pony, or are you just stuck in a pile of … compost? And if life seems to stink all around you, do you sometimes wonder: “Is God mad at me, or something? Is he punishing me for something I did, or has he simply given up on me?” It’s like we’ve reduced God to some sort of mid-manager type with a clipboard who walks around his orchard, like in the parable, saying something like, “So, what have you done for me lately? What, no figs?! Let me grab my ax!?” If that’s what you’re thinking, or if that’s how you’re feeling, keep reading because this parable is for you.

Nearly every culture has parables. Søren Kierkegaard, an 1800’s Danish philosopher and Christian, had great insight into the Biblical parables. He said that parables kind of sneak up on you; they’re like ninja stories – you don’t see them coming. And that’s important because if we were actually confronted with the truth, we’d probably get our backs up and fight to defend ourselves. But a good story kind of sneaks up on us because we don’t see it coming. And then? Wham! The truth of the parable is in our face and, by then, it’s too late to avoid its implications, or its application.

Jesus’ parables were short – anywhere from one to twenty-two verses. Depending upon which scholar you believe, there are between thirty-five and sixty-seven parables in the Bible. In Matthew, Mark and Luke, the Synoptic Gospels, over a third of Jesus’ teachings are in the form of parables. The book of Luke is chock-full of them. In fact, two-thirds of all of Jesus’ parables are recounted by Luke. And of these, 18 are unique to Like’s book, and most of them are between chapters 10 and 20. And that’s where we find ourselves with this particular parable.

At this point in Jesus’ ministry, he had left the region of Galilee which was an area populated mostly by fishermen, rural folk and farmers. Jesus was on his way, over the course of the next several months, to Jerusalem where he’d ultimately suffer and die on the cross for our sins, and then rise from the dead as Savior and Lord. Between these two points, Jesus continued to heal and teach through parables. Parables don’t teach new doctrine; they’re just simple stories used to illustrate existing doctrine – like an extended analogy. Most include people, but most of the people have no names. In fact, with the exception of one parable in Luke 16, all of the parables have nothing but anonymous characters. They’re fictitious stories of fictitious people behaving in ways that mirror reality. In other words, we’re not trying to learn new doctrine. Instead, we’re trying to gain a fresh perspective on the truth that the Bible teaches elsewhere.

The question begged by this particular parable is: “Does God care about results?” And in a word, the answer is “Yes.” God cares about results. God cares about effectiveness. God cares about the fruitfulness of our lives like good works, obedience and a changed life. God cares about us living the kind of lives that make a difference – lives where we’re not just consumers but producers, too. Unfortunately, at least for some of us, that’s not what we’ve been taught. We’ve been told that we’re saved by our fruit. That we’re saved by our good works. That if we’re good and decent people then we’ll stand before God one day who’ll be grading us on a curve. But that’s not life; that’s religion.

It’s not just about belonging to Jesus and then going to heaven. It’s about belonging to Jesus, living a fruitful life, and then going to heaven for an eternal reward. You see, your life counts. Your life matters. God has fruit for you to bear. He has good works for you to do. He has things for you to accomplish. But not so that you can become a Christian – you already are, presumably. And not so that you’ll become pleasing in his sight – he thinks you’re pretty hot stuff already when seen through the lens of his son, Jesus. Ephesians 2:8–10 puts it this way: “God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it.” The verse goes on to say, “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”

In other words, we’re not saved by good works, or to use the parable, by our fruit. Instead, we’re saved to our good works, to our fruitfulness. Once we meet Jesus, we’re supposed to become increasingly fruitful and demonstrate God’s character, love, affection and generosity through our connection with Christ. Jesus said, “If you abide in me, I’ll abide in you and you’ll bear much fruit.” Fruit that lasts. (John 15:5)

The parable begins with a figless fig tree, and that’s not good. I’m no horticulturalist, but I’ve heard that fig trees are pretty easy to grow. In fact, at least in Israel, they just kind of show up – like the mustard plant on my property. Now no one in my family says that I’m a really good mustard plant grower, because all you have to do is ignore the lawn long enough and you’ll have plenty of it. It’s the same with figs. But the man in the parable just doesn’t own property and let nature take its course; he owns a vineyard and he’s apparently got all of his trees numbered. Being the good husbandman that he is, he keeps coming back, three years in a row, to the same tree and says, “That tree is three years fig-free. What a worthless tree.” Do you know anyone like that? Sitting in church, or sitting in religion for months, maybe even years, and no figs. Totally fig-free.

So, the owner in the story comes along and says, “Cut it down!” Basically, “It’s worthless, so throw it in the fire,” and I’m a lot like that guy. I like results; that’s what people pay me to do in my day job: to get results. So, if the story would have read, “And the guy came and said, ‘Cut it down! Why should we let it waste a bunch of resources?’” I’d be like, “That’s a great story right there.” Thankfully, God’s not like me. Instead of, “Cut it down,” God says, “No, let’s give it some more time.” And that’s really good news because God wants you to hear the voice of Jesus saying, “No, we’re not going to cut that child down. I’m going to put a little more effort in.” God is so good. He looks at some of us who’ve been pretty fruitless and wants to encourage us. God wants to love you; God wants to serve you; God wants to help you.

Of course, this goes against prevailing business wisdom. Usually, it’s “Hey, if it’s not working, cut it. If it’s working, put more resources into it.” But the kingdom of God works in a kind of upside-down way. God says, “If they’re not working, let’s be more gracious to them; they’re going to need extra help, extra love, extra attention, extra affection and extra patience.” Fortunately, God has a long wick – he’s slow to anger. God’s heart is not to cut us down and throw us into the fire; God’s heart is to give us more time – to work on us; to work with us; to work through us, because he wants us to share in the joy of being fruitful.

So, how do we bear fruit? Well, first, we’ve got to learn to count figs. In the parable, the guy owned a vineyard, apparently had all of the trees numbered and kept an annual accounting of fig production. One day he went to tree number twenty-seven and said, “Tree number twenty-seven has had zero figs, three years running.” For some of us, our big problem is we don’t count our figs, much less plan. But growth, both spiritually and physically, has to be measured somehow and that’s where counting and planning comes into play. Take your finances, for example.

When it comes to financial planning, some of us complain, “I’ve exceeded my budget. I’m upside down. I’m in debt, and I can’t afford to be generous. I go to the ATM, push the button and out comes a receipt that mocks me with its grim reminder of my bank balance.” If that describes someone you know, then they may need some sort of accounting software and a budget because they’ve got to learn how to count their figs. “How many figs do I have coming in? How many figs do I have going out? How many figs go to God? How many figs go to the poor? How many figs go to Verizon?” You can’t make changes in your life unless you’re tracking your figs. And that’s the point of the parable. The owner’s got an idea of where his figs are coming from and where there’s fruitlessness. So, counting is good but you also have to make use of your compost because it takes manure to get a fig.

For many of us, manure is not very hard to find. Where’s yours? Is it in your relationships? “Yeah, my relationships are a pile. I’ve got a lot of manure there.” Maybe your finances? “Oh, yeah, my finances. I go to the ATM, and I hit the button and manure comes out instead of money.” How about your walk with God? “Yeah, there’s some there, too. This last year? Wow – a lot more manure than figs.” When we get a lot of manure in our lives like suffering, hardship, pain, loss, failure, trauma, even a death, it stinks. And a lot of us look at our lives and say, “You know what, God? How come you don’t love me? How come you’re not good to me? How come you don’t care about me? How come you’re not helping me out here? This part of my life … well … it’s just manure!” And God’s response? “I love you so much that I gave you that manure. And I’m digging around your roots and putting fertilizer on them because I have a whole lot of figs in your future.”

Whatever stinks the most in your life could very well be what God is using for an enormous harvest in the future. “But you have no idea how much manure I have!” Well then, you have no idea how many figs you’re going to produce. Apparently, God has a big harvest in store for you in fruitfulness and righteousness and ministry and testimony and service. He’s not angry and looking at you and saying, “You know what? You’re worthless. I’m cutting you down.” No, instead he’s here to say, “I have great hope for that little tree, and what stinks today will be fruitfulness tomorrow if my child will just use it.”

Maybe you’ve produced a lot of figs. Maybe not. But God has wonderful things in store for your future. So, don’t lose hope if you’ve not been fruitful in the past. Don’t lose hope if, right now, it just smells like manure on your roots. Maybe God’s tending his orchard and applying the fertilizer where it will help the most. Maybe what stinks right now will produce a bumper crop of figs next season. God knows his orchard, and he knows exactly what to do to get you to be the best you can be through his strength.

Whether you’re looking for a pony, or just stuck in a pile of pony byproduct, it’s all the same, isn’t it? So, maybe it’s not so much what you have, or even where you’re standing, but what you do with what you’ve got that makes all the difference since even the flowers still have their roots in earth and compost.

Grace,

Randy

Stinkin' Thinkin'

 

Stinkin’ Thinkin’

Stinkin' Thinkin' - Audio/Visual

The evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. (John 13:2-5)

Feet. Dirty feet. Most guys, even if they shower every day and liberally apply Fast Actin’ Tinactin, still have stinky, nasty feet. So the last thing any guy would want to do is clean another guy’s smelly feet. But as Jesus sits down with his friends he sees their dirty feet and figures he’ll wash them. That was the lowliest duty for even the most common slaves during Jesus’ day. If your job description was “foot washer,” you were at the bottom of the pecking order and not really considered promotional material. So when you walked into a home during those times, the designated foot washer would wash the guests’ feet. However, in this passage, the guys were using a borrowed room for a meal so there wasn’t a host and, therefore, no one at the bottom of the totem pole to wash anyone’s feet. And so Jesus, looking at his disciples, determined to wash their feet since they would by lying around a table and eating the Passover meal with their feet in each others’ faces.

Now I don't know why they hadn’t washed their feet. Maybe they were tired. Maybe they were hungry. Maybe they thought it was demeaning. Maybe they were waiting for one of the others to do it. Maybe they all felt like they were too good for the job. I don't know. But Jesus set the example. He took off his outer garment, like an overcoat, put a towel around his waist, grabbed a basin of water and then God took the feet of the men that he created and gave them a good scrubbing. He took the dirt and the stank off the feet of his own creatures. Frankly, it’s enough that God would come down and be one of us – that’s humbling enough. But for God to come down as a foot washer? That’s pretty scandalous.

And did you notice something? Jesus even washed Judas’ feet. Can you imagine? That’s a tough one. Picture a friend you’ve had for oh, I don’t know, three years or so, and during that time you’ve fed him, housed him, loved him and even taught him in your small group. You’ve prayed with your friend; you’ve cared deeply for your friend; you’ve never hurt your friend. But for some reason, even after all of that, your friend just flat-out hates you and decides that, tomorrow, he’s going to lead a bunch of armed soldiers to arrest you and eventually have you murdered. But tonight, despite knowing your friend’s evil intentions, and knowing you’ll be dead by the same time tomorrow, you invite him over for dinner. And, when he arrives? Oh yeah, you wash his feet.

Would you do that? I don’t think so. There’s just no way. If I had a large basin of water, I’d have probably put Judas’ head in it for a long time. But God is different. God is holy. God is ….. well, God is just other. Jesus washes the feet of Judas Iscariot – the feet of the man that’s going to walk out on the meal, betray him for a few bucks, and then walk back and finger him so he get’s whacked. And Jesus knows it. So at this point we’re asking ourselves, “Is Judas ever going to change?” “Is he ever going to repent?” “Is he ever going to love God?” No. He’s the one doomed for destruction, right? (John 17:12)

And what’s Judas been doing up to this point in time in the ministry, anyway? He’s been stealing money. I mean, if you’re stealing money from Jesus, you get the corner in the Blair Witch basement. You can’t take money from Jesus; you’re not going to get away with that. It’s bad enough to steal money from a church – that’s bad. That’ll get you in the Blair Witch basement. But you get the corner if you’re stealing money from Jesus Christ. And Judas has been stealing money for years. In other words, Judas is going to betray and murder Jesus. He’s going to commit suicide by hanging himself. Judas is going to hell. I don't know about you, but Jesus has already given this guy three years of his life and he’s only got a few hours left to live. If it were me I’d be like, “Well, to hell with you. You’ve gotten enough of my time, enough of my love, enough of my grace. I’m through with you. That’s it, Judas. You’ve been stealing. You’re gonna murder me. You’re gonna kill yourself. You’re going to hell. That’s the way it’s going down. We all know it. So forget about it, you traitor!” But not Jesus.

Why in the world does Jesus wash Judas’ feet when it’s not going to make a bit of difference anyway? Why would he do that? Because Jesus loved the Father, that’s why. Jesus knew, “I’m not scrubbing Judas’ feet for Judas. I’m scrubbing Judas’ feet for the Father. Judas may never appreciate it, but the Father does. Judas may never show me any love, or kindness, or affection but the Father does. So, I’m not doing this for Judas. I’m doing this to Judas. And I’m doing this out of love for my Father.” And that’s at the heart of humility. The heart of humility is not, “I’m going to do something because it’s going to be successful, or it’s going to work, or it’s going to be a good return on my investment of time, emotion, energy or money. And whether or not anyone cares or even appreciates it, I’m going to do this because I love God and God knows my heart.” And that’s why Jesus did it. Jesus didn’t get bitter like, “I’ve wasted my time. I’ve wasted my energy. I’ve wasted my investment.” No, instead he says, “If I love God, and if I’ve done it for the glory of the Father, then my time has not been wasted; my energy hasn’t been spent in vain. It was a good thing, and it was to honor my Father.”

So Jesus washes the feet of his men, including Judas Iscariot. And I think the hard part about this passage is that I’d like to think that I’m a whole lot better than Judas. But it’s this kind of myth that I think we all tell ourselves, i.e., Judas was a punk, a thug, a thief, a crook and a hoodlum and he should die and go to hell. That’s just the way it is for Judas. He should have never gotten his feet washed. Why? Because he’s a bad guy, unlike me, who’s a really good guy. But the issue comes down to this: “Has Christ come to me?” Has Christ humbled himself before me? Has Christ loved me? Has he served me? Has he forgiven me? Has he not only scrubbed my feet, but washed my soul – dealing not just with my dirt but with my sin? Yes, he has.

Well if that’s true, then what makes me any different than Judas? Have I taken money that belonged to God and, instead of applying it for God’s purposes, just wasted it? Yep. Guilty. Have I thought sometimes, like Judas, that God was wrong, or that God didn’t know what he was doing, or that God wasn’t to be trusted, or that – somehow – Jesus needed my advice? Yes, we all have. And I think the reason that Judas bothers me so much is because I’m a lot more like Judas than I am like Christ. Does the sandal fit you, too? You can call me Cinderella.

 But then “(h)e came to Simon Peter.”(v. 6) I just love Peter. He’s impetuous, he’s loud and he’s brash. Some even call him the apostle with the “foot-shaped mouth.” Personally, I think he was Irish. “He came to Simon Peter who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’” (Id.) Peter is apparently skilled in recognizing the obvious. Case-in-point: Jesus has just washed a bunch of guys’ feet. He’s got a bucket of water. He’s got a towel. He picks up your foot and you say, “Are you gonna wash my feet?” “Yes, Colombo, I am.” But Jesus, rather than embarrassing Peter, simply moves on: “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” (v. 7) In other words, Jesus is saying, “Peter, you don’t know what I’m doing, but trust me. In hindsight, in retrospect, some time further down the road you’ll look back on this and say, ‘Oh, now it makes sense.’ But right now, you don’t understand.”

Have you ever noticed that most of the books on faith in a Christian bookstore are written by people who’ve looked back and taken note of the things that have happened in the pieces of their lives? Then they turn these pieces into steps. Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, Step 4, etc. Problem is, that’s how they got to the place where they finally arrived and then they wrote a book about it. But before then? They got there by faith. They didn’t know what God was doing. And that’s what Jesus was telling Peter: “Just trust me; go with it. One day you’re gonna look back and this is all going to make sense to you.” But not yet.

Peter’s response at the time? “No!” (v. 8) Excuse me? Apparently Peter likes to tell Jesus what to do. “And Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” (Id.) In other words, unless you can receive my grace and my humility, my service and concern for you, then we really don’t have much of a relationship. “’Then, Lord,’ Simon Peter replied, ‘not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!” (v. 9) Peter is still telling Jesus what to do. “Okay, you’re God, I recognize that, but I’m still gonna tell you what to do. So, go ahead, teacher. Wash my whole body, and here’s the soap and my luffa.”

Why does Peter struggle with Jesus washing his feet? Why is it so hard for Peter to have Jesus serving him in that way? Pride. It’s hard, isn’t it? There’s just something in us that prizes autonomy and self-sufficiency. I stand on my own two feet. I take care of myself. I don’t need anybody. I can pull myself up by my own bootstraps. And Christ comes to us and he says, “No, really, you need me.” “No, no, no. I’ll take care of my own dirt, Jesus.” Answer? “You can’t take care of your own dirt. You’re way too dirty. You need me.” In other words, Jesus is saying, “No. I’ll take care of everything. You just need to receive me. You need to let me wash you. I’ll take care of your mud. I’ll take care of your dirt. I’ll take care of your stench.” Peter wrestles with that, and I’m a lot like that, too. You see, some of us have a hard time being like Jesus and taking care of others, while others of us have a hard time being like Peter and allowing others to take care of us. I fit mostly into that latter category.

However, rather than embarrassing Peter, Jesus uses this as a teachable moment. “Jesus answered, ‘A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.’” (v. 10) Jesus is using this opportunity as a metaphor for salvation. We are filled with dirt and sin and the mud of our own lives. But Jesus’ crucifixion conquered the enemies of sin and death and, as a result, his blood has washed us clean. We’ll still sin and get dirt on ourselves, but when we do we tell God that we’re sorry; we tell Him that we’ve strayed. And then Christ comes in his humility and his kindness and he washes us up again. But not Judas. “But, not everybody’s clean.” (Id.) Judas was not clean – apparently he never was.

I think our first instinct in reading this story is to pick on Peter. But at least Peter’s honest. Peter thinks out loud. Peter is one of those guys who has no real boundary, or filter between what he’s thinking and feeling, and what he actually says. He just tells you where he’s at. He tells you what he’s thinking. He tells you what’s going on. And the thing I love about Peter is that when Jesus rebukes him, Peter repents and he changes his mind. Jesus says, “No. unless I wash you …,” and Peter’s like, “Oh. Okay.” He’s honest and he’s brash, but he’s also teachable. Judas, on the other hand, was not. Judas maintained this pious, outward exterior. Through the Gospels, we don’t hear Judas saying a lot. But he doesn’t pick any fights; he doesn’t tell you how he’s doing. He just lets Jesus wash his feet and doesn’t even put up a fight. But Judas has got this callous, hard heart just like pharaoh did back in the day – the more kindness Judas received, the harder his heart got. Mercy didn’t break him any more than it did the Pharaoh.

For some of you, like me, accepting grace is the hard part. Understanding that Christ has humbled himself before us, loved us, served us, forgiven us, scrubbed our feet and washed our souls is hard to accept when you’re feeling a whole lot more like Judas than Jesus. But the fact is that Jesus is madly in love with you. So much so that he took your place, took your penalty and was put to death as a common criminal. That’d be like a judge sentencing a criminal defendant to death and then taking off his robe, stepping down from the bar, taking the defendant’s place and then walking the green mile to his executioner for a crime he never committed. What judge would ever do that? Jesus would, and Jesus did.

Do you know him? Do you really know Jesus? Or are you going to continue to go to bed with smelly feet? Frankly, that kind of stinkin’ thinkin’ could get you into trouble – maybe forever.

Grace,

Randy

F.E.A.R.

 

F.e.a.r.[1]

F.E.A.R. - Audio/Visual

Why are you fearful, O you of little faith? (Matt. 8:26)

Stay-at-home orders, slowdowns in the economy, flare-ups in the Middle East, upswings in global warming, and breakouts of Al Qaeda cells in Iran. A demented dictator in North Korea is collecting nuclear warheads like some collect fine wines. COVID has crossed our borders and is taking its toll in human lives. The topic du jour, domestic terrorism, contains the word Terror. We fear being sued, finishing last, or going broke. We fear the mole on our back, the new kid on the block, the sound of the clock as it ticks us closer to the grave. We postulate investment plans, create elaborate security systems, and legislate a stronger military. Yet, today, we depend on mood-altering drugs more than any other generation in history.

Fear has never written a symphony or a poem. Fear has never negotiated a peace treaty, or cured a disease. Fear has never pulled a family out of poverty, or a country out of bigotry. Fear has never saved a marriage or a business. But courage does. Faith does. People who refuse to consult with, or cower to their timidities do. But fear itself? Fear herds us into a prison and slams the door shut. But what if faith, not fear, was your default reaction to threats? Envision just one day absent the dread of failure, or rejection or calamity. Can you imagine a life with no fear? That’s the very possibility behind Jesus’ question: “Why are you afraid?” (Matt. 8:26)

At first blush, we wonder if Jesus is even serious; maybe he’s just kidding or teasing – like pulling the disciples’ collective legs. But Jesus doesn’t even crack a smile. He’s dead earnest, and so are the men to whom he asks the question. A storm has turned their Galilean dinner cruise into a Titanic nightmare. Here’s how one of them remembered the trip: “Jesus got into a boat, and his followers went with him. A great storm arose on the lake so that waves covered the boat.” (Matt. 8:23–24) Those are Matthew’s words, and he remembered very well the terrible storm and the bouncing boat. He was careful in his choice of terminology; not just any noun would do. So, he pulled his thesaurus off the shelf and hunted for a descriptor that exploded like the waves across the bow. He bypassed common terms like “spring shower,” or “squall,” or “cloudburst” – they didn’t capture what he felt and saw that night. He recalled more than winds and whitecaps. So, his finger followed the column of synonyms down until he lands on a word that works: Seismos – a quake, a trembling eruption of sea and sky. “A great seismos arose on the lake.”

The term still occupies a spot in our vocabulary. A seismologist studies earthquakes, a seismograph measures them, and Matthew, along with a crew of recent recruits, experienced a seismos that shook them to their core. In fact, Matthew uses that same word on only two other occasions: once at Jesus’ death when Calvary shook (Matt. 27:51–54), and again at Jesus’ resurrection when the graveyard trembled. (Matthew 28:2) For Matthew, the stilled storm shared equal billing in the trio of Jesus’ great shake-ups: defeating sin on the cross, death at the tomb and silencing fear on the sea.

Sudden fear. We know the fear was sudden because the storm was. Another translation reads, “Suddenly a great tempest arose on the sea.” One minute the disciples are shuffling cards for a mid-journey game of gin and the next they’re gulping Galilean sea spray. Peter and John, seasoned sailors, struggle to keep the sail down. Matthew, a confirmed landlubber, struggles to keep his lunch down. The storm is not what the tax collector bargained for. As proof, you sense Matthew’s surprise in the way he links his two sentences together. “Jesus got into a boat, and his followers went with him. A great storm arose on the lake.” (Matthew 8:23–24) Wouldn’t you hope for a perkier second sentence, or a happier consequence of obedience? Like, “Jesus got into a boat, and his followers went with him. Suddenly, a great rainbow arched in the sky while a flock of doves hovered in happy formation over a sea of glass that mirrored the mast.”

“But I thought the Christian life is supposed to be a calendar full of Caribbean cruises.” Sorry. In fact, this story sends the not-so-subtle and not-too-popular reminder that getting on board with Christ can mean getting soaked. Disciples can expect rough seas and stout winds. “In the world you will [not ‘might,’ ‘may,’ or ‘could’] have tribulation.” (John 16:33; brackets my own) Christians contract COVID, lose family, and battle addictions. Let’s face it, Christians face fears. But it’s not the absence of storms that sets us apart. It’s who we discover in the storm. In this case? It’s an unstirred Christ because “Jesus was sleeping.” (Matt. 8:24)

Now there’s a scene. The disciples are screaming and Jesus is dreaming. Thunder roars while Jesus snores. He doesn’t doze, catnap or simply rest. He slumbers. Could you have slept at a time like this? Could you snooze during a roller coaster? Or nap in a wind tunnel? Or doze at a drum concert? Jesus sleeps through all three at once. Mark’s gospel of the events adds two other curious details: “[Jesus] was in the stern, asleep on a pillow.” (Mark 4:38) In the stern, on a pillow. Why the first? And where’d the pillow come from?

First-century fishermen used large, heavy seine nets for their work and they stored the nets in a nook that was built into the stern for this purpose. Sleeping on the stern deck was impractical – it provided no space or protection. The small compartment beneath the stern, however, provided both. It was the most enclosed and only protected part of the boat. So Jesus, tired from the day’s activities, crawled beneath the deck to get some sleep. And he rested his head alright, but not on some fluffy, feather pillow. This pillow was likely a leather sandbag. A ballast bag. Mediterranean fishermen still use them. They weigh about a hundred pounds and are used to ballast, or stabilize, the boat. Did Jesus take the pillow to the stern so he could sleep, or sleep so soundly that someone rustled him up a pillow? We don’t know. But this much we do know: this was a premeditated slumber. He didn’t accidentally nod off. In full knowledge of the coming storm, Jesus decided it was “siesta time,” so he crawled into the corner, put his head on the pillow and drifted into dreamland.

Frankly, Jesus’ snoozing really troubles the disciples. Matthew and Mark record their responses in three (3) staccato Greek pronouncements, and one question. The pronouncements: “Lord! Save! Dying!” (Matt. 8:25) And the question: “Don’t you care?” (Mark 4:38) They don’t ask about Jesus’ strength: “Can you still the storm?” Or, his knowledge: “Are you aware of the storm?” Not even his know-how: “Do you have any experience with storms?” Rather, they questioned Jesus’ character: “Don’t you care?”

But that’s what fear does; it erodes our confidence in God’s goodness. We begin to wonder if God can sleep in our storms; if his eyes stay shut when our eyes are getting bigger by the second; if he permits storms after we get on his boat. Does he care? Fear unleashes a swarm of anger-stirring doubts. And it turns us into control freaks. “Do something about the storm!” is the implicit demand of the question. “Fix it or ... or ... or else!” Fear, at its center, is a perceived loss of control. When life spins wildly, we grab for a component of life that we think we can manage: our diet, the tidiness of a house, the armrest of an airplane, or, in many cases, people.

Fear also deadens our recall. The disciples had every reason to trust Jesus since, by now, they’d seen him “healing all kinds of sickness and all kinds of disease among the people.” (Matt. 4:23) They’d witnessed him heal a leper with a touch, and a servant with a command. (Matt. 8:3, 13) Peter saw his sick mother-in-law recover (Matt. 8:14–15), and they all saw demons scatter like bats out of … well, you know where. So, shouldn’t someone have mentioned Jesus’ track record, or maybe review his résumé? Don’t they remember the accomplishments of Christ? Fact is they may not have remembered because fear can create a form of spiritual amnesia. It dulls our miracle memory. It makes us forget what Jesus has done, and how good God is. And fear feels dreadful. It sucks the life out of us. When fear shapes our lives, safety becomes our god. When safety becomes our god, we worship the risk-free life. So then the question becomes, “Can the safety lover do anything great? Can the risk-averse accomplish noble deeds?” And the answer is, “Not without God’s help.”

The fear-filled cannot love deeply because love is risky. The fear-filled cannot give to the poor because benevolence has no guarantee of return. The fear-filled cannot dream wildly because what if their dreams sputter and fall from the sky? The worship of safety emasculates greatness. No wonder Jesus wages such a war against fear. Interestingly, Jesus’ most common command emerges from the “fear not” genre. The Gospels alone list some 125 Christ-issued imperatives. Of these, 21 urge us to “not be afraid,” “not fear,” “have courage,” “take heart” or “be of good cheer.” The second most common command, to love God and our neighbor as ourselves, appears on only eight (8) occasions. So, if quantity is any indicator, Jesus takes our fears seriously. The one statement he made more than any other was this: don’t be afraid.

Jesus doesn’t want you to live in a state of fear and, frankly, you don’t want to either. And here’s the proof. Tell me the last time when you made statements like this before: “My phobias put such a spring in my step.” Or, “I’d be a rotten parent if it weren’t for my hypochondria.” Or how about this one? “Thank God for my pessimism. I’ve been such a better person since I lost all hope.” Jesus’ question is a good one. He lifts his head from the pillow, steps out from the stern into the storm and asks, “Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?” (Matt. 8:26)

Now, to be honest, fear can serve a healthy function, too. It’s the canary in the coal mine, warning of potential danger. A dose of fright can keep a child from running across a busy street. Fear is the appropriate reaction to a burning building, or a growling dog. Fear itself is not a sin. But fear can lead to sin. And if we medicate our fear with angry outbursts, drinking binges, sullen withdrawals, self-starvation or vise-like control, we exclude God from the solution and only make the problem worse. We subject ourselves to a position of fear, allowing anxiety to dominate and to define our lives.

Fear creates joy-sapping worries and day-numbing dread. Repeated bouts of insecurity petrify and paralyze us. But hysteria is not from God. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and discipline.” (2 Tim. 1:7). Fear may fill our world, but it doesn’t have to fill our hearts. It will always knock on the door. Just don’t invite it in for dinner or offer it a bed for the night. Instead, embolden your hearts with a select number of Jesus’ “Do not fear” statements like these:

Don’t be afraid. You are worth much more than many sparrows. (Matt. 10:31); Take courage, son; your sins are forgiven. (Matt. 9:2); I tell you not to worry about everyday life — whether you have enough. (Matt. 6:25); Don’t be afraid. Just believe …. (Luke 8:50); Take courage. I am here! (Matt. 14:27); Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. (Matt. 10:28); Do not fear, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. (Luke 12:32); Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. . . . I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. (John 14:1, 3); Don’t be troubled or afraid. (John 14:27); “Why are you frightened?” he asked. “Why are your hearts filled with doubt?” (Luke 24:38); You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. (Matt. 24:6); and Jesus came and touched them and said, “Arise, and do not be afraid.” (Matt. 17:7)

The promise of Christ is simple: we can fear less tomorrow than we do today. And so “Jesus got up and gave a command to the wind and the waves, and it became completely calm.” (Matt. 8:26) He handles the great quaking with a great calming. The sea becomes as still as a frozen lake, and the disciples are left wondering, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!” (v. 27) What kind of man, indeed. Turning typhoon time into nap time. Silencing waves with one word. We’ve all faced our share of seismos moments in life and we’re still afloat. So, stay in the boat and keep rowing because sometimes our fears are just false evidence appearing real.

Grace,

Randy

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[1] False Evidence Appearing Real

Godsome

 

Godsome

Godsome - Audio/Visual

Six days later, three of them saw that glory. Jesus took Peter and the brothers, James and John, and led them up a high mountain. His appearance changed from the inside out, right before their eyes. Sunlight poured from his face. His clothes were filled with light. Then they realized that Moses and Elijah were also there in deep conversation with him. Peter broke in, "Master, this is a great moment! What would you think if I built three memorials here on the mountain — one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah?" While he was going on like this, babbling, a light-radiant cloud enveloped them, and sounding from deep in the cloud a voice: "This is my Son, marked by my love, focus of my delight. Listen to him." When the disciples heard it, they fell flat on their faces, scared to death. But Jesus came over and touched them. "Don't be afraid." When they opened their eyes and looked around all they saw was Jesus, only Jesus. (Matthew 17:1-8)

“I want to follow God and all, but I just know that he’s going to make me a missionary and send me to some jungle in Africa.” Ever heard that before? OK, maybe not that statement exactly but something similar? Some folks want a safe God, a tame God, a God that they can manage; the kind of God that you keep in the trunk of your car in case of a flat. Sometimes we’re just like those folks; we want a God that we can control. We want a God who will bless us and be there when we need him, but we’re more than just a little uncomfortable when Jesus asks us to walk on water. We want enough of God to make us feel warm and cozy, but not so much of him that our hearts explode and our world turns upside down. So we complain, “I don’t want to be a missionary to Africa,” or “Hey, this isn’t what I signed up for.” In other words, we like adventure just not that much adventure.

Paul, in writing to the church in Ephesus said, “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.” (Ephesians 3:20-21) Our problem with this verse isn’t the part where it says that God is “able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine.” We like that part; we agree with that part; we even say amen to that part. The problem we have with this verse is in the middle of it – the part that says, “according to his power that is at work within us.” The real problem is how much of his power, how much of who God is has gripped us and set us free to see God’s great works happening all around us. It boils down to this: the bigger God is to you, and the bigger God is in you, the bolder we become to take on the big assignments. A big understanding of God leads us to big expectations. The opposite is true as well – a small working of God within us generally leads only to small things.

So, it should come as no surprise why we’re worried, let’s say, about becoming a missionary to Africa when our God, and our experience of him (including his power working within us), is so small. Frankly, we can’t imagine God getting us to Africa, much less learning the language, or how he’ll provide for us when we’re there, or how he’ll make up for what we missed while away from home. And so we keep God in a box.

Paul seems to be saying that there’s no limitation with God. The limitation is with us. Reminds me of the Pogo quip, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” In other words, God is working according to how big he is inside of us. The key then is to know God, not just know about God. That’s why Jesus took three of his disciples and decided to unveil his glory before them on a mountaintop. He was asking a lot of these guys, and would be asking a lot more of them in the future. Jesus needed the power at work within them to be glorious, to be big, to be powerful, to be holy, to be all-consuming and to be so big that their fears would be erased.

Come to think of it, just about every man or woman in the Bible who was called to a special work of God had a special encounter with God to strengthen them for what was ahead. For instance, Moses had the burning bush from which he eventually walked away totally believing in the sovereign power of God. Joshua had an encounter that strengthened him to take the Promised Land. And how about Isaiah? He had an encounter that made him lay down the rest of his life for God’s purposes. And the three disciples? They were having an experience that would alter their perception of Jesus – forever.

Jesus peeled back his skin to allow his glory, his radiance, his majesty, his worth to be revealed. His face was like the sun, and his body like a penetrating light. And the limitations between heaven and earth, between times past and times present? They were suddenly eliminated as Moses and Elijah appeared with him. Jesus was taking these earthbound disciples and giving them a life-altering moment. So, who’s your favorite Jesus? Or, what’s your favorite picture of him? We all have a tendency to mold and shape Jesus into the way we want to see him. Some people still use idols to do that, but us? It seems that our preference is to mold Jesus into someone who is very comfortable with whom to live.

I’m pretty sure that the transfiguration totally blew the disciple’s model of Jesus completely out of the water. And that’s why church can be a dangerous place because our sweet, tender, affectionate Jesus might turn into the ferocious, holy, sin-hating, and glorious King of Kings and Lord of Lords. The Hebrew writer would later say, “See to it that you do not refuse him who speaks. If they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, how much less will we, if we turn away from him who warns us from heaven? Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our ‘God is a consuming fire.’" (Hebrews 12:25-29)

A consuming fire that eats everything in its path. In October, 2003, I was helping a neighbor cut a fire break behind his house during the Cedar fire in Ramona. Using a shovel against a fire that sounded like a freight train, and traveling just as fast, was like shooting BB’s off an elephant; it wasn’t very effective. But as quickly as the fire came, the fire left and my neighbor’s house was spared. In the same way, Jesus is set apart, sacred, unique and special in everything. We call that “holy.” His power is the most powerful – unique from any other power. His wrath is more dangerous – set apart as the most dangerous. His purity is the most pure – unique in its purity. His Word is truth – it never changes with time and always stands as the final word. His judgments are impeccable – they cannot be argued or appealed. His love is unexplainable and all-encompassing.

In other words, what happened at the transfiguration was that the disciples saw his absolute “otherness” – there’s nothing like Jesus, not even close. He is so unlike us in all his ways. His holiness means absolute purity – never a wrong thought, never small and petty in his ways, never a desire that isn’t pure, never a hidden motive. On the mountain that day the disciples saw Jesus’ glory. All their small thoughts of him had vanished. All their earthly comparisons to other great teachers? Evaporated. So, it’s no wonder then why Jesus demands so much of us and says: Love me more than anyone else; renounce all and follow me; stop sinning; I am the way. Jesus had jumped out of the disciples’ box.

But that’s scary and, frankly, a lot of fears can be pretty poisonous. But this kind of “fear” is different. The disciples were totally amazed on many occasions at what they saw Jesus do. But now? Now they were totally awestruck by who Jesus was. In other words, their “fear” was an awe, a respect, a value and an admiration for him. Solomon wrote, “Fear of the Lord is the foundation of true knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline.” (Proverbs 1:7) Translation? If we don’t have God in the right place in our lives, then we’re pretty much stupid. Foolish. If we don’t have an awe of God, a deep respect for him, then no matter what else we know we’ve totally missed the boat.

The disciples were left speechless. They were so convicted of the smallness of their life, including the smallness of their faith (and maybe their “box,” too), that they buried their heads in their hands. Has that ever happened to you? When was the last time your knees buckled and you were left breathless because you glimpsed God’s glory? Here, the disciples were terrified and fell face down on the ground. And what was Jesus’ response? “Get up.” “Don’t be afraid.” Now that’s a BIG God.

In some sense, and probably at one time or another, we’ve been the victims of identity theft. The ferocious, holy, glorious Jesus that walks with us and never leaves our side has been stolen. And now? Now, we’re left with a puny, demanding, limp, fireless Jesus. So is it any wonder that we’re terrified about becoming missionaries to Africa, or by the economy, or by the doctor’s report, or by COVID, or the flashing red lights we see in our rear-view mirror? Even though the disciples would fail again and again, they got enough courage from this one experience to change the world. They went to places that were way outside their comfort zone. They spoke in places, and to people, who would’ve crushed them as they boldly proclaimed the risen Lord. They went through persecution and threats, and even met the devil along the way.

But there was someone with them who said that he would never leave them. Ever. And it transformed their lives. And, that’s nothing new, really. Moses met God and took on Egypt. David met God and took on Goliath. Paul met Jesus and took on the Roman Empire. Daniel met God and took on an entire political system. So we’d better get a bigger box since he’s Godsome.

Grace,

Randy