Yoked

 

Yoked

Yoked - Audio/Visual

Then he said: “Everything has been put in my hands by my Father, and nobody knows the Son except the Father. Nor does anyone know the Father except the Son—and the man to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Come to me, all of you who are weary and over-burdened, and I will give you rest! Put on my yoke and learn from me. For I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  (Matthew 11:27-30)

Jimmy and his son, Davey, were playing in the ocean down in Mexico while his wife, daughters, parents and a cousin sat on the beach. Suddenly, a rogue wave swept Davey out to sea. Jimmy immediately started to do whatever he could to help Davey get back to shore but soon he, too, was swept away by the tide. He knew that within minutes, both he and Davey would drown. He screamed for help, but his family couldn't hear him. Now Jimmy's a strong guy – an Olympic decathlete – but he was utterly powerless to prevent the tragedy now looming only minutes, maybe even seconds away. Meanwhile, Jimmy’s cousin, who understood something about the ocean, saw what was happening and walked out into the water where he knew there was a sandbar. He had learned that if you try and fight a riptide you’ll die trying. So, he walked to the sandbar, stood as close as he could get to Jimmy and Davey and then lifted up his hand and said, "You come to me. You come to me." They did – and they survived.

Frankly, this Matthew passage has always baffled me. It’s one of those verses that sounds really nice and, for a while, I get a lot of comfort from it. But then when things get pushed too far I realize I have no idea what it means and, worse yet, that it doesn’t even seem to be true – at least as far as I can see. Because if we say that Jesus’ yoke is living in obedience to God as Jesus did, then we’re way up the proverbial creek without a paddle. I mean anyone who has actually devoted themselves to following God’s instruction figures out in pretty short order that God is forever asking people to do things which are hard, if not impossible.

“Abraham, leave your home and your family. I’ll tell you where you’re going later, but just go now.” (Genesis 12:1) “David, take a small rock and go kill that giant.” (1 Samuel 17:40) “Hosea, marry that woman who’s going to cheat on you and redeem her with your love. Oh, yeah, and make sure everyone knows about your humiliation so they can see a model of my love for them.” (Hosea 1:2-10) “Jesus, give up your glory to live among the fallen and then let yourself be tortured and killed.” (John 17:1-5) “Paul, you just keep on preaching until they kill you. And when you’re whipped bloody and imprisoned, be sure to count it all glory.” (Romans 8:18) God’s ways are many things, but easy and light? Hardly. So what is Jesus talking about?

Recall that Matthew, a Jewish tax collector writing to a thoroughly Jewish audience, tells us throughout his gospel that Jesus spoke frequently about Jewish law and tradition. So, Jesus’ comment about his yoke being easy was, in one sense, a capstone to Jesus’ Religion 101 class found earlier in the Sermon on the Mount. (Matt. 5:1 – 7:29) But from a broader perspective, this same discourse was really his commentary on the Torah (the first five books of the Old Testament), and the whole of Jewish law.

For instance, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus emphasized the need for forgiveness, reconciliation and charity since his teaching was actually an expansion of God’s command in Deuteronomy 6:4-5 to “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength,” referred to as the Shema. But Jesus goes on to state that not only are we called to love God unequivocally, but to love our neighbor as well, whether friend or enemy, since they’re made in God’s image, too. (Matt. 5:38-48)

So, when Jesus uses the yoke analogy, he’s commenting on Jewish law and tradition which uses the term “yoke” at least 40 times in the Old Testament. For instance, according to Jewish tradition, to be in a right relationship with God was to accept the yoke of heaven. But the prophets Jeremiah and Isaiah also tell us that to be burdened with sin is to live under the heavy yoke of slavery. In other words, for first-century Jews the yoke of the law was actually a double-entendre. In its best sense, it was an acceptance of the Shema. But in its negative context, it was the obligation to scrupulously obey all of the minor details of the Levitic and Deuteronomic Law, as interpreted by the Scribes which comprised some 620 Talmudic commands in all.

It’s no wonder, then, that Jesus openly railed against the Pharisees and their interpretation of the law as recorded by Matthew in chapter 23:2-4: The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So, you must obey them and do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy loads and put them on men’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them. However, to suggest, on the other hand, that Jesus is simply arguing that his approach to the faith is easier than the Pharisee’s approach to the law is an over-simplification.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus interpreted the Law. But he actually went a bit further than that: Think not that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets; I have come not to abolish them but to fulfill them. (Matthew 5:17) So, in our passage Jesus is asserting two messianic claims: first, only the Son can reveal the Father (vs. 27); and second, that his yoke is easy. (vs. 30) In other words, Jesus is explicitly interpolating himself as the “yoke” – the way, the path or the avenue to the Father. But then Jesus takes the yoke analogy one step further. Since God is known through the Law (Romans 2:17-18), when Jesus says his yoke is easy, he’s actually saying, “I am the Law, but the law that I impose is not a heavy burden” because although “… the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Christ Jesus.” (John 1:17) In other words, the yoke is not the law. The yoke is his grace, and the truth of his divinity.

But then you begin to wonder if you’re crazy thinking that it could be that simple. And it doesn’t help when people come up to you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes asking in tones usually reserved for the infirmed, “How are you doing?” “Fine,” you reply with a smile. “No, really. It must be so hard. It’s okay not to hide behind a strong face all the time.” “Um, well I have my moments, but really, I’m doing fine. I’m just trusting God, I guess.” “Sure. Well, if you ever need to talk ….” And then they pat you on the hand, say “God bless” and walk away. And that’s a best-case scenario.

          So, you begin to wonder. “I thought I was OK. Actually, I’m pretty happy. But maybe I’m just kidding myself. Maybe I’m subjecting myself to some weird form of self-induced brainwashing when really, I should be majorly depressed and planning a trip to the doctor for some happy pills. What if it’s not really God and I’m just CRAZY?” Well, that’s what you would say to yourself if you were me.

The fact of the matter is that we struggle with the yoke because it’s easy and light. We’re like oxen that’ve been trained up under too much weight – always having to lean into it, tug and pull and huff and puff at the exertion of carrying this heavy yoke. And then Jesus comes along and gives us his. But it just feels wrong. “Trust? Really? Grace? Are you kidding me? That’s too easy and too light. That can’t be right.” So, we go back to our old, heavy yokes. They’re painful, but hey, at least they feel like they fit. And then all of us who’ve taken back our yokes (if we ever actually took them off in the first place) sit up at night and worry just like everyone else. And we live just like everyone else because God can’t really think I’d be able to go there or do that – he knows what an unreasonable burden that would be. That’s for saints and missionaries, not for everyday Christians like me who are just trying to stay out of trouble.

So, here’s one last thought. Jesus says that he is going to take away one burden in exchange for another. Okay, but how does that help? A yoke’s a yoke, right? Well, the word “yoke” is an interesting one. It can mean several things, like we’ve discussed. It can mean “oppression,” or it can mean “being under the authority of something or someone.” But a yoke is also something that joins together, like two animals together to plow the field. If you go to the actual Greek, the word “yoke”’ is ζυγός (pronounced “dzyoo'-gos”) which means a coupling (figuratively), or servitude (as to a law or obligation). It derives from the root word ζεύγνυμι (pronounced “sood-zyoog'-noo-mee”), meaning to join, which appears in Matthew 19:6 and Mark 10:9 where Jesus says, … what God has joined together, let no man put asunder. Sound familiar? Yeah, we hear that all the time at weddings. It was the common verb for “marriage” in ancient Greek.

Now, read Matthew 11:30 again – that to be yoked with Christ is to be united with him in the same way in which a husband and a wife would be united to each other; where a husband and a wife live better for the Lord together, than either would do alone. In other words, taking on the yoke of Jesus means to be united with him – joined to him for one purpose. And in that sense, the yoke of Jesus is our union with him.

Now that’s easy … and light.

Grace,

Randy

Fragments

Fragments

Fragments - Audio/Visual

Don’t worry and ask yourselves, “Will we have anything to eat? Will we have anything to drink? Will we have any clothes to wear?” Only people who don’t know God are always worrying about such things. Your Father in heaven knows that you need all of these. But more than anything else put God’s work first and do what he wants. Then the other things will be yours as well. Don’t worry about tomorrow. It will take care of itself. You have enough to worry about today. (Matthew 6:31-34)

Would you buy a house if you were allowed to see only one room? Or would you pass judgment on a book after reading only one paragraph? Neither would I, because good judgment requires a broad picture. Not only is that true in purchasing houses or books, but it’s also true in evaluating life. For instance, one failure doesn’t make a person a failure any more than one achievement makes a person a success. “The end of the matter is better than its beginning,” wrote Solomon. (Ecclesiastes 7:8) “Be … patient in affliction,” echoed the apostle Paul. (Romans 12:12) “Don’t judge a phrase by one word,” said the woodcutter. Here’s the story.

Once upon a time, there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although extremely poor, he was the envy of every villager because he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted the man’s treasure because a horse like this had never been seen before — such was the horse’s splendor; its majesty; its strength. People offered unbelievable prices for the horse, but the old man always refused to sell. “This horse is not a horse to me,” he told them. “It’s a person. How can you sell a person? He’s a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” Granted, the man was very poor and the temptation to sell the horse was enormous, but he never sold the horse.

One morning the horse was found missing from the stable. All the villagers came out to see the old man. “You old fool,” they mocked him. “We told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you’d be robbed. You’re dirt poor. How could you have ever hoped to protect such an incredibly valuable animal? It would have been better if you had sold him. You could have received whatever price you wanted. No amount of money would have been too high. Now, the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.” The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That’s all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?” The people scolded the old man. “Don’t make us out to be fools, old man. We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy isn’t what’s needed here. The simple fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”

The old man spoke again. “All I know is that the stable’s empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it’s a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?” But the people of the village ridiculed him once more. They thought the old guy was crazy. They’d always thought he was a fool because if he wasn’t crazy or foolish, he would’ve sold the horse and lived off the money. Instead, he was a poor woodcutter – an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest to sell to the villagers – his hecklers. He lived hand to mouth in the grip of miserable poverty. Now he’d proven beyond all doubt that he was, in fact, a fool.

After a few days, however, the horse returned; the horse hadn’t been stolen after all. He’d simply run away into the forest. And not only had he returned, but he’d brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again, the villagers went out to the woodcutter’s place and spoke with the old man. “Old man, you were right, and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was, instead, a blessing. Please forgive us.” The man responded, “Once again, you’ve gone too far. Say only that the horse is back. Say only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase? Life is so vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment. Don’t say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I’m content with what I know, and I’m not bothered by what I don’t.”

“Maybe the old man’s right,” they said to each other. So, they said little but deep down inside they knew he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing – twelve wild horses had returned with one horse! With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for a life’s fortune. Now it just so happened that the old man had a son, an only son, and the young man began to break the wild horses. Unfortunately, and after only a few days’ work, the woodcutter’s son fell off one of the horses and broke both of his legs. Once again, the villagers surrounded the old man and cast judgment. “You were right,” they said. “The dozen horses weren’t a blessing; they were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now you have no one to help you. You’re poorer now than you ever were before.” The old man spoke again. “You people are obsessed with judging. You can’t go that far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it’s a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments.”

A few weeks later the country had become engaged in war against a neighboring country, and all of the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded because he was injured. Once again, the people spoke with the old man, this time crying and screaming because their sons had been taken and there was little chance that they’d return because the enemy was strong, and the war would be a losing battle. They’d never see their sons again.

“You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he’s with you. Our sons are gone forever.” The old man spoke again. “It’s impossible to reason with you. You always draw conclusions. No one knows. Say only this: your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No one knows if it’s a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows.” And the old man was right – only God knows.

We see and hold only a fragment. Life’s mishaps and calamities are only a page out of a life-sized book. We should be slow about drawing conclusions. We should reserve judgment on life’s storms until we know the whole story. I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his patience since it was just a Portuguese fable, wasn’t it? Or was it. Maybe he learned it from another woodcutter in Galilee because it was the Carpenter who said it best: “Do not worry about tomorrow. It will take care of itself.” (Matthew 6:34) But that doesn’t stop us, does it? We worry. And because we worry, we make lists. Lists are very reassuring. They comfort us. They suggest that the chaos of the universe can be mastered and tamed, maybe even understood within the confines of a tidy little column.

To list is to understand, to solve and even to control. For that reason, we simply can’t resist the urge, particularly at the end of the year, to spew out lists like Washington, D.C. spews out legislation. We list the best movies, the best books, the worst dressed, the most used, the least popular, the most mysterious and the highest paid. We salute the good and satire the bad. We even sum up the year on lists. And although New Year’s Day probably ranks at the top of the list of list-producing days, including those notorious New Year’s Resolutions, the rest of the year is by no means “list-less.”

For instance, your grocery list makes a trip to the market manageable. Your calendar probably has a “To Do” space where you organize and number things you’d like to do but probably won’t. Your syllabus tells you which books to buy. Your itinerary tells you which plane to take, and your cell phone tells you which numbers to dial. But take heart. If it’s any consolation, the Bible has its share of lists, too. Moses brought one down from the mountain. Noah might have used one as he loaded the ark. Jesus gave a list of principles in the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew and Luke listed the genealogies of Jesus. John listed the splendors of heaven. There are lists of the gifts of the Spirit. Lists of good fruit and bad. Lists of salutations and greetings.

So, if you’re going to make a list, make your list like a lighthouse: immutable; immovable. And candidates for this list only qualify if they have characteristics like a lighthouse, i.e., they warn you of potential danger; they signal safe harbor; they’re stronger than the storm; and they shine brightest in the fog. These kinds of lists contain more than just good ideas, personal preferences or honest opinions. They’re God-given, time-tested truths that define the way we should navigate our lives. Observe them and enjoy safe passage; ignore them and you’ll crash into the jagged rocks of reality. In U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, the magazine of the Naval Institute, Frank Koch illustrated the importance of obeying these lighthouse lists.

Two battleships assigned to the training squadron had been at sea on maneuvers in heavy weather for several days. I was serving on the lead battleship and was on watch on the bridge as night fell. The visibility was poor with patchy fog, so the captain remained on the bridge keeping an eye on all activities. Shortly after dark, the lookout on the wing reported, “Light, bearing on the starboard bow.” “Is it steady or moving astern?” the captain called out. The lookout replied, “Steady, Captain,” which meant we were on a dangerous collision course with that ship. The captain then called to the signalman, “Signal that ship: ‘We are on a collision course, advise you change course twenty degrees.’” Back came the signal, “Advisable for you to change course twenty degrees.” The captain said, “Send: ‘I’m a captain, change course twenty degrees.’” “I’m a seaman second-class,” came the reply. “You had better change course twenty degrees.” By that time the captain was furious. He spat out, “Send: ‘I’m a battleship. Change course twenty degrees.’” Back came the flashing light, “I’m a lighthouse.” We changed course.

Smart move. The wise captain shifts the direction of his craft according to the signal of the lighthouse. And a wise person does the same. So, here’s a few of the lights we should look for, and the signals we should heed: Love God more than you fear hell; when no one is watching, live as if someone is; succeed at home first; don’t spend tomorrow’s money today; pray twice as much as you worry; listen twice as much as you speak; only harbor a grudge when God does; it’s wiser to err on the side of generosity than on the side of scrutiny; God has forgiven you – you’d be wise to do the same; and when you can’t trace God’s hand, trust his heart.

Here’s a few more: Toot your own horn and the notes will fall flat; don’t feel guilty because of God’s goodness; the book of life is lived in chapters – know your page number; never let the important be the victim of the trivial. And last but not least – live your liturgy.

Approach life like the woodcutter, or like a voyage on a ship. Be wise and don’t draw hasty conclusions based upon a fragment. Enjoy the view. Explore the vessel. Make friends with the captain. Even fish a little. And then use the gangway when you get home.

Grace,

Randy 

(Un)righteous

 

(Un)righteous

(Un)righteous - Audio/Visual

The Lord is compassionate and merciful, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. He will not constantly accuse us, nor remain angry forever. He does not punish us for all our sins; he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve. For his unfailing love toward those who fear him is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth. He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west. The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust. Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. The wind blows, and we are gone — as though we had never been here. But the love of the Lord remains forever with those who fear him. His salvation extends to the children’s children of those who are faithful to his covenant, of those who obey his commandments. (Psalms 103:8-18)

Some time ago we had a Christmas cookie swap at church. The plan was very simple – the price of admission to the party was a tray of cookies, and your tray entitled you to pick cookies from the trays that the other attendees brought. In fact, as I recall, you could leave with as many cookies as you brought. Sounds simple if you know how to bake. But what if you can’t? What if you can’t tell a pot from a pan? What if, like me, you are culinarily challenged? What if you’re as comfortable in an apron as a bodybuilder in a tutu? If that’s the case, you’ve got a problem. And I had a problem. I had no cookies to bring hence I would have no place at the party. I would be left out, turned away, shunned and dismissed. Okay, that’s a little melodramatic but that was my predicament. And it reminded me that, as predicaments go, yours and mine are a whole lot worse.

You see, God is planning a party; a party to end all parties. Not a cookie party, but a feast. Not laughter and chitchat in a fellowship room at a church building, but wide-eyed wonder in the throne room of God. And the guest list is very impressive. For instance, your question to Peter about walking on water? You’ll be able to ask him. And that’s just one example. But more impressive than the names of the guests are the natures of the guests: no egos and no power plays. Guilt, shame and sorrow will all be checked at the door. Disease, death and depression will be the pandemic of a distant past. What we see now on a daily basis will never be seen there. And what we now see vaguely, there we will see clearly. We will see God. Not by faith. Not through the eyes of Moses, or Abraham or David. Not by way of Scripture, or sunsets or summer rains. We will see not only God’s work and words, but we will see God. He’s not the host of the party; he is the party. His goodness is the banquet. His voice is the music. His radiance is the light, and his love is the endless topic of discussion.

There’s just one catch – the price of admission is pretty steep. You see, in order to come to the party you need to be righteous. Not good. Not decent. Not a taxpayer or a churchgoer. No, citizens of heaven are righteous, as in “R-I-G-H-T”ous. Granted, all of us do what is right occasionally. Maybe even a few of us do predominantly what is right. But do any of us always do what’s right? According to the apostle Paul we don’t. “There is none righteous, no, not one.” (Rom. 3:10) In fact, Paul is pretty adamant about it because he goes on to say, “No one anywhere has kept on doing what is right; not one.” (Rom. 3:12).

Some may beg to differ, of course, like the one who might say, “I’m not perfect, but I’m better than most folks. I’ve led a good life. I don’t break the rules. I don’t break hearts. I help people; I like people. Compared to others, I think I could say I’m a righteous person.” Well, I used to try that one on my mother. She’d tell me my room wasn’t clean, and I’d ask her to consider my friend’s room across the street. His was always messier than mine, and she knew it because Patrick’s mom and my mom were friends. It never worked. She’d walk me down the hall to her room. And when it came to tidy rooms, my mom was righteous. Her closet was just right. The bed was just right. The bathroom was just right. Compared to hers and my dad’s, my room was . . . well . . . just wrong. She would show me her room and say, “This is what I mean by clean.” And God does the same. He points to himself and says, “This is what I mean by righteous.”

Righteous is who God is. Need proof? Consider these verses: “Our God and Savior Jesus Christ does what is right.” (2 Pet. 1:1) “God is a righteous judge.” (Ps. 7:11) “The Lord is righteous, he loves justice.” (Ps. 11:7) God’s righteousness “endures forever” (Ps. 112:3), and “reaches to the skies.” (Ps. 71:19) Isaiah described God as “a righteous God and a Savior.” (Isa. 45:21) And on the eve of his death, Jesus began his prayer with the words, “Righteous Father….” (John 17:25) Get the point? God is righteous. His decrees are righteous. (Rom. 1:32) His judgments are righteous. (Rom. 2:5) His requirements are righteous. (Rom. 8:4) His acts are righteous. (Dan. 9:16) Daniel declared, “Our God is right in everything he does.” (Dan. 9:14)

God is never wrong. He has never rendered a wrong decision, experienced the wrong attitude, taken the wrong path, said the wrong thing or acted the wrong way. He is never too late or too early, too loud or too soft, too fast or too slow. He has always been and will always be right. He is righteous. In fact, when it comes to righteousness, God runs the table without so much as even a bank shot. And when it comes to righteousness, we don’t even know which end of the pool cue to hold. Hence, our predicament.

So, will God, who is righteous, spend eternity with those who are not? Would Harvard admit a third-grade dropout? If it did, the act might be benevolent, but it wouldn’t be right. If God accepted the unrighteous, the invitation would be even nicer, but would he be right? Would God be right to overlook our sins or lower his standards? No. He wouldn’t be right. And if God is anything, he is right. He told Isaiah that righteousness would be his plumb line; the standard by which his house is measured. (Isa. 28:17) So if we are unrighteous, we’re left in the hallway with no cookies. Or to use Paul’s analogy, “we’re sinners, every one of us, in the same sinking boat with everybody else.” (Rom. 3:19) Then what are we to do? Carry a load of guilt? Well, that’s what many of us do.

What if our spiritual baggage were visible? Suppose the luggage in our hearts was literal luggage on the street. You know what you’d probably see most of all? Suitcases of guilt. Bags bulging with binges, blowups and compromises. Look around you. See that fellow in the gray suit? He’s dragging a decade of regrets. Or how about the kid with the baggy jeans and a nose ring? He’d give anything to take back the words he said to his mother this morning, but he can’t. So, he tows them along. The woman in the business suit, or the mom at the grocery store? They’d both rather run for help, but they can’t run at all - not hauling that carpetbag of guilt everywhere they go.

Here’s the point. The weight of weariness can definitely pull us down, and self-reliance can certainly mislead us. Disappointments may very well discourage us, and anxiety might plague us. But guilt? Guilt absolutely consumes us. So, what do we do because our Lord is right, and we are wrong. His party is for the righteous, and we are anything but guiltless. So, what do we do?

Well, I can tell you what I did. I confessed my need. Remember my Christmas cookie dilemma? This was my reply to the e-mail invitation that I received: “I can’t bake, so I won’t be at the party.” No mercy. But a saintly sister had mercy on me. How she heard about my problem, I don’t know. Maybe my e-mail went viral, or my name found its way on to an emergency prayer list. But I do know this: only moments before the cookie exchange, I was given a gift – a plate of cookies. And by virtue of that gift I had a privileged place at the party. Did I go? You bet your cookies I did. Like a prince carrying a crown on a pillow, I carried my gift into the room, set it on the table and stood 10’ tall. And because some good soul heard my plea, I was given a place at the table.

And because God hears our plea, we’ll be given the same. Only, he did more — so much more — than bake some cookies. It was, at once, history’s most beautiful and most horrific moment. Jesus stood in the tribunal of heaven and sweeping a hand over all creation he pleaded, “Punish me for their mistakes. See that murderer over there? Give me his penalty. And that adulteress? I’ll take her shame. The bigot, the liar, the thief? Do to me what you would do to them. Treat me as you would a sinner.” And God did. “For Christ died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God.” (1 Pet. 3:18)

Yes, righteousness is what God is. And yes, righteousness is what we’re not. And yes, righteousness is what God requires. But “God has a way to make people right with him.” (Rom. 3:21) David said it like this: “He leads me in the paths of righteousness.” (Ps. 23:3) The path of righteousness is a narrow, winding trail up a steep hill. And at the top of the hill is a cross. And at the base of the cross are bags, countless bags full of innumerable sins. Calvary is the compost pile for guilt. Would you like to leave yours there as well? You can, you know.

One final thought about the Christmas cookie caper. Did everyone know I didn’t cook the cookies? If they didn’t, I told them. I told them that I was there because of someone else’s work. My only contribution was my own confession, and we’ll be saying the same for eternity – as far as the east is from the west.

Grace,

Randy