Mistrial (Part 1)

 

Mistrial

(Part I)

Mistrial (Part 1) - Audio/Visual

So the soldiers, their commanding officer, and the Temple guards arrested Jesus and tied him up. First they took him to Annas, the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest at that time. Caiaphas was the one who had told the other Jewish leaders, “It’s better that one man should die for the people.” (John 18:12-14)

In a small, Midwestern town, owners of a new tavern started construction on a building to open up their business. In response, the local Baptist church started a campaign with petitions and prayers to prevent the bar from opening. Work progressed, however, right up until the week before opening when a lightning strike hit the bar and it burned to the ground. The church folks were rather smug in their outlook after that, until the bar owner sued the church on the grounds that the church was ultimately responsible for the destruction of his building, either through direct or indirect actions, or means. The church vehemently denied all responsibility, or any connection to the building's destruction in its answer to the court. As the case made its way to trial, the judge looked over the pleadings of the parties and commented, "I don't know how I'm going to decide this. But as it appears from the paperwork, we have a bar owner that believes in the power of prayer, and an entire church congregation that does not."

Although likely the stuff of urban legend, if this had been a real lawsuit, it could very well have ended in a mistrial which is defined as “A courtroom trial that has been terminated prior to its normal conclusion. A mistrial has no legal effect and is considered an invalid or nugatory trial. A mistrial may result from a fundamental error so prejudicial to the defendant that it cannot be cured by appropriate instructions to the jury, such as improper remarks made during the prosecution's summation. Furthermore, a mistrial in a criminal prosecution may prevent retrial of the accused under the double jeopardy provision of the Fifth Amendment, which prohibits an individual from being tried twice for the same offense, unless required by the interests of justice and dependent upon which party moved for the mistrial.

It was nightfall at the time of Jesus’ arrest, and the crowds that had swarmed Jerusalem earlier that day in celebration of Passover had left the streets. In other words, Jesus was a sitting duck and they expected him to be on the lamb. So much so that they came with lanterns, torches and weapons, bringing along with them a “band” of soldiers that numbered anywhere from 600 to 1,000 men. In other words, they came prepared for a fight. But Jesus didn’t run; he went out to meet them instead. Peter, of course, gets a little crazy and cuts off the right ear of a servant of the high priest. But Jesus, always compassionate, restored the young man’s ear and asks the soldiers to let his disciples go. By this time, the Romans are tired of watching Peyton Place and bind Jesus over for arrest. Now “binding,” at least the Roman way, was not just throwing a couple of ropes around the accused’s wrists and asking him come along. Soldiering school in Rome had a slightly different protocol: twist the arm behind the accused so that his knuckles touched between his shoulder blades while, at the same time, jamming a heel down on the prisoner’s right instep. The other arm was then tied with a loose noose around the neck. And just like that, Jesus was now the property of the State.

The Jewish people at that time were ruled by the Roman Empire. The Romans, in turn, were ruled by a god on earth, Caesar. Tiberius was the Caesar at this particular time, and he ruled Palestine with an iron fist. He was a sadistic, anti-Semitic Gentile. As a means of enforcing the Pax Romana, capital punishment had been eliminated as an option for the Jewish people. If capital punishment had been an option at the time, however, the religious leaders would have stoned Jesus because that was their method of enforcing the death penalty. But, as they say, “When in Rome ….” So, capital punishment was left to the Roman authorities who chose crucifixion to punish their most violent offenders.

Under Jewish law, they could bring a man to trial but only so far – to their council called the Sanhedrin. The greater Sanhedrin was a body comprised of 70 to 73 men, and they could pass judgment on capital crimes. The lesser Sanhedrin had only twenty-three men (kind of an executive committee), but they couldn’t pass judgment on capital offenses. In other words, Jesus – under Jewish law – had to stand trial before the greater Sanhedrin, and only when they came to an accusation could that accusation be taken to the Roman government for enforcement, whose chief enforcer at the time was Pilate. And only when Pilate agreed could the accused then be put to death. And that's why Jesus was crucified for treason, rather than stoned for blasphemy. You see, the Sanhedrin did not try Jesus for treason; they found him guilty of blasphemy. But they twisted the accusation into treason when they got to Pilate because blasphemy was not a crime under the Roman statutes, but death was instantaneous for those guilty of treason.

In Jewish criminal procedure, a number of statues applied. For instance: (1) if a man was arrested for a capital crime, he could never be arrested at night. It had to be in broad daylight. Jesus' arrest likely took place between 1 and 2 o'clock in the morning; (2) If a man was arrested for a capital crime, no one cooperating in the arrest could be connected in any way whatsoever to the accused. Furthermore, no arrest for a capital crime could be made based upon information given by a follower or a colleague of the accused since it was thought that if the accused were guilty, his followers were probably guilty, too. Of course, here, the entire plot surrounding Jesus’ arrest revolved around Judas, one of Jesus’ followers; (3) A Jewish trial could never be held at night. The law stated that it must be held in the daytime. “The members of the court may not alertly and intelligently hear the testimony against the accused during the hours of darkness.” (Talmud) If you check the record in this case, Jesus was tried during darkness before both Annas and Caiaphas.

Further, (4) the members of the Jewish court, after hearing the testimony of true witnesses in a capital crime (none of which were ever produced in Jesus’ trial), could not immediately act and judge. They were to go home and remain alone and separate from one another for one to two days for purposes of thinking about the testimony that they had heard. Only then could they render a vote. But they didn't do that in Jesus’ case. In fact, the Jewish court never even left Caiaphas’ house; (5) even the method of voting was specified. Their vote was supposed to be taken from the youngest to the oldest, so that the youngest members of the Sanhedrin wouldn't be intimidated or influenced by the older members’ votes. This, of course, never happened; and (6) a trial could never be held in front of only one judge, and never without a defense attorney. All of that was openly, willfully ignored and disobeyed. Even though they were people of the book, i.e., the Talmud, the religious leaders didn't even follow their own rules. In the history of jurisprudence, there’s never been a more fallacious series of trials.

The first man before whom Jesus stood was a crook. His name was Annas. (John 18:13) Why Annas? I’m not sure because Annas wasn't even the High Priest at the time; he was retired and was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the then-acting High Priest. So, what's the father-in-law doing seeing an accused man at 2 o'clock in the morning when he’s no longer in charge? That was Caiaphas's job. Well, a funny thing happened on the way to temple. Do you remember that time when Jesus put together some leather thongs, made a whip and went into the temple and drove the moneychangers out of the temple? (Matt. 21:12; Mark 11:15) Well, the man in charge of the bazaar was none other than Annas, the High Priest at that time. In fact, he’d been the High Priest for seventeen years. He was, essentially, the Mafia Don, and the Mafia was in charge of two things at Passover: currency exchange and sacrificial animals, both of which proved to be a very lucrative business.

First, you couldn’t use currency at the temple other than the temple currency. As a result, you would have to exchange your out-of-town currency for the temple’s currency at rates that would make even the Fed blush. And when it came to sacrificial animals, prices were like the price of Bitcoin these days. So, a lot of worshippers would simply choose to bring their own animals. The only problem was that the animals would have to pass the Mafia’s inspection, and these home-grown animals seldom, if ever, passed inspection. So, what’s a worshipper to do? Right  – buy the temple animal at an exorbitant price (because yours was useless) using the temple currency that you exchanged at ridiculous rates. Oh, and the profits from these schemes? You guessed it – right into Annas' pocket. And that’s why Jesus was upset, I believe, because this scheme had kept the ordinary man and woman from worshipping.

Eventually, Annas passed the throne to his son-in-law who was nothing more than a puppet of the Roman government, and a pawn in the hand of his father-in-law. And Annas never forgot the time that Jesus drove them out of the temple and he lost all that money. So maybe he thought, “One of these days, buddy, I'm gonna get you,” and now’s his chance. So here’s Jesus, hands tied behind his back, standing in front of Annas. Everything about the trial is illegal. He has no business standing before someone who is not on the council. There are no witnesses. As a matter of fact, Jesus wasn't even required to answer the accusations because no Jewish person could be compelled to make his own statement. Kind of like taking the 5^th. The accused could remain silent from beginning to end if he wanted to, while statements would be made against the accused upon which the council would then decide upon a verdict. But that's not the way they did it.

Now, there are two things that Annas probed. Annas wanted to know about the disciples, and then he wanted to know about Jesus’ teaching. (John 18:19) Jesus didn’t answer the first question (he was protecting his boys), but regarding his teaching Jesus said that he had spoken openly in the synagogues and the temple. Nothing he said had been in secret so why, Jesus asks, are you asking me this question? Why don’t you ask the people who heard me; they know what I said. Well, Annas took offense to Jesus’ remarks and was promptly cuffed by the bailiff. Interestingly, brutality was never allowed in the court either. Under the rules of trial procedure, Jesus knew that it was against the law to solicit the testimony of any person, except witnesses and/or collaborators. Besides, under the law, no prisoner had to undergo a preliminary examination. So, Jesus simply reminded Annas of the law and told him to ask those who had heard him teach. For that, Jesus was assaulted.

Suffice it to say that when Annas was finished with Jesus, Annas had no answer. Annas was silenced. Annas had been judged, not Christ. And so they carted him off to Caiaphas. So Caiaphas got together a group of men at about 3:30 in the morning. (Mark 14:53) Remember now, this is an illegal trial because it's dark; it's an illegal proceeding because it's a preliminary hearing; it's procedurally illegal because they're in the wrong place, i.e., Caiaphas' house, not in the council chamber. And the judge, jury and executioner is the same guy who had earlier said in our passage that, “It’s better that one man should die for the people.” Can you spell “B-I-A-S”? In other words, it’s a regular kangaroo court.

But witnesses were presented nonetheless. Problem is, none of the witnesses’ testimonies matched. (Mark 14:56-59) And even the two who’d said they’d heard Jesus say that he would “… destroy this temple that is made with hands (referring to his body), and within three days will build another without hands,” didn’t agree. In short, no two witnesses’ testimony agreed. But they didn’t let the facts get in the way. Furthermore, Caiaphas had to get the case to Pilate later that morning because his father-in-law had put a contract out on Jesus, and it had to be done prior to Passover. Problem is, Caiaphas knows he has no witnesses. So, what’s he going to do? Easy. Try another illegal tactic. This time, talk to the accused. (Mark 14:60) “Are you the Christ, the Son of God?” "I am," Jesus said.

Now, why does Jesus answer this time and not before? Well, another passage holds the answer. (Matt. 26:3) You see, just before Caiaphas asked his question, he’d said to Jesus, “I adjure you by the living God, that you tell us whether you are the Christ, the Son of God." When charged with that kind of admonition, a Jewish person was obliged to answer. He was under oath and he couldn’t take the 5^th.. He had to answer. And look at the answer: “I am, and you’ll see me coming in the clouds of heaven sitting on the right hand of God.” (Mark 14:62) That sounds an awful lot like he's saying he is the Son of God. Well, he is and Jesus was simply laying a prophesy on Caiaphas that he couldn't handle. So, in rather melodramatic fashion, Caiaphas grabs the collar of his own robe and gives it a yank because the Talmud required that when a moderator heard blasphemous words he was to publicly disagree by tearing his garments. Unfortunately, Levitical law taught that no official was to tear his garments. Regardless, the religious leaders were driven by the Talmud – well, at least the parts they liked. The other parts they just kind of left out, forgot or simply ignored. Go figure.

To give further dramatic effect, Caiaphas said, “Why do we need other witnesses?” (Mark 14:63) That's a nice out, isn't it? Who needs witnesses when you don't have them anyway? By the way, it's not allowed for the moderator to make that decision. The entire council had to make that decision. He didn't say, “Let's take a vote in the order prescribed by law.” No. Instead, he says, “What’s your verdict?” (vs. 64), and they all condemned him. Then, to round out these austere proceedings, they spit on Jesus, covered his face and beat him with their fists, and then they mocked him. By the time the first two trials are over, Jesus was bleeding and bruised and there’s still no official verdict. That’s because everything that had transpired so far had occurred during the darkness. As a result, nothing could be officially recognized by the Roman authorities until Jesus had had his audience before the Sanhedrin.

So, about 6 o'clock in the morning (Luke 22:66; Mark 15:1) the Sanhedrin meets. Now the Sanhedrin is the supreme court of the Jewish people. What they discovered and declared became law. There was no such thing as going to a higher court. The buck stopped at the Sanhedrin.

Therefore, when the Sanhedrin met and passed final judgment, it was like the law of the Medes and the Persians in the book of Ruth: it couldn’t be reversed. So, they asked Jesus if he was the Christ. In response, Jesus said that if he told them they wouldn’t believe him anyway. But they persisted, “Are you the Son of God?” And Jesus said to them, “You say that I am.” At that, the Sanhedrin becomes unhinged and says, “Why do we need other witnesses?” (Luke 22:66-71) Sound familiar? That’s because witnesses would just get in the way of the results they sought. In other words, it was a results-oriented decision – not based on either the facts or evidence, but on the outcome. And this third trial was the shortest of all of the trials. Jesus, in their mind, was already guilty, and besides Nicodemus, who likely clammed up, they voted unanimously to take him to Pilate. The charge, of course, was blasphemy. But there was just one problem with that charge: it wouldn’t stand up in a Roman courtroom.

To be continued ….

Grace,

Randy

Do Over

 

Do Over

Do Over - Audio/Visual

            Then the word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time: “Go to the great city of Nineveh and proclaim to it the message I give you.” (Jonah 3:1-2)

Some time ago a young man came to church and was very despondent. He told the preacher that he felt like God had given up on him. When asked how he’d come to that conclusion, the man said that he’d grown up in a religious home, but that when he went away to college he rebelled against everything he’d ever been taught. He’d broken his own standards. He’d broken God's standards. What bothered him most, however, was that he’d done the same wrong things over and over again. He knew better, but he continued doing what he knew was wrong. He once thought of himself as a Christian, but not anymore. He was convinced that God had given up on him. He was beyond hope … and help; or so he thought.

Have you ever been there? If so, then you know the feeling – a season in your life when you’ve been ready to check out on your faith because you think God is sick and tired of mess-ups like you. A hopeless feeling that, when coupled with an inability to see any help on the horizon, leaves you depressed and alone. If that describes you, take heart because you’re not alone.

Peter was probably one of the best known of Jesus' disciples. In fact, he served as a kind of unofficial spokesman for the group. Although Peter was brash and outspoken, he was intensely loyal to Jesus. Yet Peter appeared to have become a tragic moral failure as evidenced by events surrounding Jesus’ arrest and subsequent trial. Either out of loyalty, or just curiosity Peter lingered outside the courthouse warming himself by a fire. As he stood there trying to remain incognito, a young woman spotted him and accused him of being a follower of Jesus. Peter was probably a little taken aback by the accusation, so he denied it. Not to be silenced, and so as to be heard she accused Peter a second time of being one of Jesus’ disciples. Again, Peter denied his association with Jesus, perhaps implying that he was just a judicial wonk who wanted to see a trial up close and personal.

But as Peter made his second and probably louder denial, the crowd picked up on his accent – it was a dead giveaway. Peter wasn't from their part of the country; he was from up north. So now the crowd got involved and, along with the woman, accused Peter of being a disciple of Jesus. At that, Peter cursed and swore and denied that he even knew Jesus. And in that hour of crisis, Peter betrayed his good friend. And if we had been there and had heard Peter cussing up a storm as he denied Jesus, would we have written him off? If we were Jesus, would we have given up on Peter? If a friend had done that to you, would you forgive him or her?

That was a pretty grim episode in Peter's life. And later, when he realized what he’d done, he wept – bitterly. Peter must have wondered if there was any hope for him. After all, and in a way, he was no better than Judas Iscariot who’d betrayed Jesus. Peter had betrayed the very friend whom he had sworn to protect – even to the death. Yet, after his resurrection, Jesus went looking for Peter.

You see, Jesus had died for Peter. He died so that Peter's sins could be forgiven and that’s why Jesus forgave this man who had so vehemently denied him only days before. What’s more, Jesus restored Peter and set him free from his guilt. In fact, in a matter of a few weeks Peter was preaching his first Gospel sermon. The topic? Forgiveness. Out of his defeat, Peter had learned something: he learned that God is the God of the do over. But Peter is just one of many. Consider Jonah – the guy who had a whale of a story but whose story wasn’t just about a big fish. It was about another do over.

Jonah, an Old Testament prophet, had been commanded by God to preach to the citizens of Nineveh. Nineveh was the capital of the nation of Assyria, and Jonah was to tell the Assyrians that judgment was coming, and soon. But Jonah knew that if he did that the people could repent and be forgiven, and Jonah hated the Assyrians who, frankly, were a pretty easy group to hate. If you were to try and get a flavor of the bad taste in Jonah’s mouth, it’d be like taking some Nazi Germany and adding a dash of Al Qaeda in for flavor. The Assyrians were arrogant and cruel conquerors, and Jonah despised them. To tell Jonah that he was to preach to the Assyrians was like asking a man whose family had just been murdered to forgive the murderer. Nothing would have pleased Jonah more than to see the whole bunch wiped off of the face of the planet. The Assyrians may have mattered to God, but they less than mattered to Jonah.

We learn that God had directed Jonah to travel east, over land, to Nineveh, but Jonah booked passage on a fast ship and headed west toward Spain. (Jonah 1:1-3) During that journey, a tremendous storm came up and Jonah ended up in the Mediterranean Sea with the rest of the ship’s cargo. That's when the fish swallowed him. However, within a short time of gulping down the prophet, the fish suffered acute indigestion – perhaps because Jonah's disposition would have been enough to make anyone, or anything ill. And although God allowed Jonah to survive being swallowed by that fish, you’d think that God would have given up on Jonah and drafted another prophet with whom it would have been easier to work. But no. Not God. Not God of the do over.

In the middle of the book of Jonah there’s this really interesting phrase which may be the most interesting phrase in the whole book. It says, "The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time." (Jonah 3:1) God spoke to Jonah a second time despite the fact that Jonah had deliberately, consciously and stubbornly run away from God. God came to the prophet a second time and allowed him to carry on his ministry. In other words, a “do over;” a second chance. And 120,000 people, who didn’t know their right hand from their left, including their animals, were saved. (Jonah 4:11)

On New Year's Day, 1929, Georgia Tech played the University of California in the Rose Bowl. During the first half of the game, a player by the name of Roy Riegels recovered a fumble for California on his own 35 yard line. While evading some of the Georgia Tech tacklers, however, Riegels got disoriented and started running in the wrong direction. Fortunately, one of his own teammates, Benny Lom, outran him and tackled him on the one yard line before Riegels could score for Georgia Tech. Unfortunately, when California attempted to punt out of its own end zone, Tech blocked the kick and scored a safety which proved to be the ultimate margin of victory. That strange play came near the end of the first half, and everyone watching the game was asking the same question: "What will coach Nibbs Price do with Roy Riegels in the second half of the game?"

At halftime, the players filed off the field and trudged into the locker room and sat down on the benches and on the floor; all, that is, but Riegels. He pulled his blanket around his shoulders, sat down in a corner, put his face in his hands and wept like a baby. Generally speaking, a coach will usually have a lot to say to his team during halftime. But that afternoon, Coach Price was quiet; no doubt he was trying to decide what to do with Riegels, among other game-related decisions. But then the timekeeper came in and announced that there were only three minutes before play was to resume. So, Coach Price looked at the team and said simply, "Men, the same team that started the first half will start the second." At that, the players got up and started out of the locker room for the field. All but Roy Riegels, that is; he didn't budge. The coach looked back and called to him again. Still, Riegels didn't move.

So Coach Price walked over to Riegels and said, "Roy, didn't you hear me? The same team that started the first half will start the second." Roy looked up and his cheeks were wet with tears. "Coach," he said, "I can't do it. I've disgraced you. I've disgraced the University of California. I've disgraced myself. I couldn't face that crowd to save my life." Then coach Price put his hand on Riegels shoulder and said, "Roy, get up and go on back. The game is only half over." And Roy Riegels did go back, and those Tech players later testified that they had never seen a man play football like Roy Riegels did in that second half – he was like a man possessed.

You read that story and think, “Wow, what a coach!” But when we read the stories of Peter and Jonah, and the stories of a thousand men and women like them, we can’t help but think, “Wow, what a God” because sometimes, like Roy Riegels, we take the ball and run in the wrong direction. We stumble. We fall. We're so ashamed of ourselves that we never want to try again. But God comes and, in the person of Jesus Christ, puts his nail-scarred hand on our shoulder and says, "Get up; go on back. The game’s only half over."

That's the good news of God’s grace. That's the good news of the forgiveness of our sins. That's the Gospel of the second chance, or third chance or the hundredth chance. That’s the Gospel of the do over. And that’s very good news for each of us because if you’re in need of a do over, all you have to do is ask because God wants you back in the game and there’s still time left on the clock.

Grace,

Randy

Back to Normal

 

Back to Normal

Back to Normal - Audio/Visual 

 

But Lot’s wife looked back as she was following behind him, and she turned into a pillar of salt. (Gen. 19:26)

A priest, a minister and a rabbi wanted to determine who was the best at their job. So they decided that each would go into the woods, find a bear and attempt to convert the grizzly. After several hours in the forest the priest, the minister and the rabbi returned to compare notes. The priest began the discussion: “I know you won’t believe this, but when I found the bear I read to him from the Catechism and sprinkled him with holy water. Praise God, next week will be his First Communion!” Not to be outdone, the minister said, “I found my bear by the stream and persuasively preached God’s Word to him. He must have been so mesmerized by my oratory that he let me baptize him. We have a new brother in Christ!” The priest and the minister then looked at the rabbi who was lying on a gurney in a body cast. “What happened to you?” they said. Reflecting on his condition, the rabbi moaned, “You know, looking back on it, I think I shouldn’t have started the conversation with circumcision.”

He sat there at the gate of the city, watching the sun as it started its descent over the rooftops of the skyline; watching as it slowly sank into the western horizon. Typical events that had become the trademark for this town had made this day pretty much like all the others. Passing across his desk that day had been the notes and complaints of some city residents: one who thought that recent night-life arrests were, perhaps, a bit over the top; a few disturbing the peace complaints; and a reminder from his wife that, in a few weeks, he needed to book the band and the banquet hall for his two daughters’ upcoming weddings. Frankly, he wasn’t too thrilled with his future sons-in-law and had tried to talk to his daughters about his concerns, but both of them just laughed him off. Love, right?

And his wife. It seemed like she’d changed – all she thought about lately was getting ahead of the neighbors. And he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her open her Bible – other than Sunday mornings at church. And church – that was another interesting topic. Attendance was dropping almost every week. In fact, someone told him after church one Sunday, “You know, at this rate, it won’t be long until there’ll be fewer than 10 of us here.” “Terrific,” he thought.

Twisting the lid on his Fiji water, memories of his childhood came flooding back. The hurriedness of that evening; the huddled relatives; the hushed conversations. He knew dad was sick, but not that sick. And then his uncle came, and with a tear in his eye and a catch in his throat told him, “Your daddy’s gone, son; you can live with me.” He’d suffered his share of hard knocks, alright. But through it all he’d seen his uncle’s love for not only him, but for God, too. He remembered the day his uncle had given him his first herd of cattle. “All yours,” he said. “Make yourself successful, boy!” And by all accounts he’d done exactly that. Soon, one herd bred another, and another until – before long – his livestock company was thriving.

And then came the time when his uncle brought him in for the “talk.” The time had come to part ways and, being the great uncle he’d come to expect, the decision was given to the nephew to take his pick of the land. So, he said goodbye to his uncle, aunt and cousins and moved to the “Big City.”

It didn’t take long until he’d been voted on the City Council. Then the Mayor’s spot was up for election; he’d won by a landslide. And then he spotted her. “Wow, she’s gorgeous!” And for her? Well, finding out he was a millionaire didn’t hurt in becoming the wife of the Mayor.

So the wedding was planned, the years had passed and they’d been blessed with two beautiful girls – the apple of their daddy’s eye. But now, sitting there on the bench by the gate, he wiped away a few tears. God, the church, his wife, his girls, the city … it seemed as if he were losing them one by one. Oh, the economy was fine. In fact, construction was booming and people seemed happy. But the church, his relationship with God, his family’s relationship (especially with his wife), it almost seemed, well … non-existent. “We really do need to get recommitted this year,” he muttered to himself. And that’s when the angels appeared.

They told him to leave the city with his family. But when he told his family about what the angels had said, his future sons-in-law thought he was an idiot. But by dawn the next morning, the angels were insistent. "Hurry," they said. "Take your wife and your two daughters and get out of here. Now!" When Lot still hesitated, the angels seized his hand, and those of his wife and two daughters, and rushed them to safety outside the city.  "Run for your lives!" the angels warned. "Don’t stop anywhere in the valley. And don’t look back. Go to the mountains, or you’ll die." The sun was rising as Lot reached the safety of the village. Then the Lord rained down fire and burning sulfur from the heavens. Sodom and Gomorrah were utterly destroyed, along with the other cities and villages in the plain. All life – people, plants and animals – was eliminated. But Lot’s wife, following behind, looked back and turned into a pillar of salt.

What a bizarre story. A woman, wife of the millionaire mayor of the town, runs away from a doomed city, looks back, freezes in her tracks and dies. It sounds like something you’d see on the  Sci-Fi channel. She belonged to an extraordinary family; she was even a shirt-tail relative to Jesus. She shared their faith, and her name was probably on the membership role at church; maybe she even headed up the ladies’ small group. Having Abraham as an uncle and Lot as her husband, it’s probably fair to assume that she was a woman who had a knowledge of God. But something had happened. Somewhere along the way she’d gotten to the point where Sodom was living in her, and not the other way around. Sodom was such a wicked city that it stank to high heaven yet this woman, perhaps even a one-time Trustee on the church Board, had fallen in love with Sodom despite her religious exposure.

But even then she wasn’t alone. Uncle Abraham probably prayed for her and Lot and the kids every night. Even God remembered her address so that when the day of ruin was to come, God sent his messengers to her house. And she couldn’t say that she hadn’t been warned – she’d been given the unique opportunity to escape. But despite a visitor from heaven warning her to get outta Dodge, she still failed. How? How could she come to such a horrible end when she’d been warned? Here’s a few ideas.

I don’t think she failed because of unbelief. When the angels came and gave their warning, she believed them. Scripture doesn’t say that she laughed at them, or teased them or even made fun of them. No, her belief, in fact, had put her in the very small minority of an entire city and she responded to the message. Granted, we don’t find a lot of enthusiasm, but at least she acted. In fact, she did what her husband did – she lingered.

Life and promise were waiting for her at the top of the hill, while death was pressing in at her ankles. But she lingered. Apparently she was determined to cling to Sodom just as long as she could. In fact, even the angels had to grab her by the hand and rush the family to safety outside the city. Sound familiar? Maybe we’ve lingered until the best years of our life have slipped away, or so we think. Maybe we’ve lingered until the world’s grip is so strong that even when we try to move toward God it seems virtually impossible. Albeit reluctantly, at least Mrs. Lot made a start.

So, maybe the wrong wasn’t so much in the looking back part; maybe it was more what the look represented: a will unwilling to completely surrender to God. Mrs. Lot may have looked back because she was still in love with Sodom – even though she was running away. Life was calling her from the hills, but Sodom was screaming from the plain. She was torn; she didn’t know which way to look. Divided hearts will do that – they rob us of joy. Oh, the warning was clearly given to her: destruction was coming in the morning. And with that kind of warning you’d think that she would’ve been running faster than her rescuers. But her heart was divided. Sodom didn’t look all that bad, and in wrestling with the two choices – Sodom or safety – her joy had slipped away.

Split affections slow our progress, too. Mrs. Lot’s divided heart slowed her forward progress. Remember, she looked back from behind Lot. It doesn’t take long for a divided heart to fall behind. It cripples our walk; it weakens our power; it diminishes our prayer life; it flounders our devotional time to the point that it’s obvious by our walk that we’re crippled and can’t keep up. Can you see the struggle? Her struggle. Every step becomes slower than the last. The others are racing to freedom with God, while Mrs. Lot? Well, just watch her. She’s slowing and then she stops. She hears, “Go back. Turn around. That’s where all your friends are. That’s where all the good times are.” But in the other ear she hears, “Keep going. Climb the mountain. Better days are ahead.”

Self says, “Don’t go forward.” God says, “Get moving.” See her standing at the point of decision? She even hears the roar of destruction and feels the heat through her sandals. It’s decision time now, Mrs. Lot. But one last time her divided heart says, “Don’t worry. It’ll be OK. Just turn around and go back home; go back to normal.” So, she looks back and becomes a pillar of salt. No second chance; no next church service; no nothing. Looking back is a step toward going back. Jesus said, "No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God." (Luke 9:62) When we look longingly upon our past, it deprives us of the gift that is today – that’s why it’s called the present. It deprives us of joy and keeps us from progress. And, if we’re not careful, it could cost us our lives.

So is it back to normal? Or, is it the new normal? Unfortunately, the “new normal” discourse sanitizes the idea that our present is okay because normal is regular. Jesus said, “Remember Lot’s wife.” (Luke 17:32) Pretty good advice, even if the new normal isn’t really that new, or normal.

Grace,

Randy

Bloom Where You're Planted

 

Bloom Where You’re Planted

Bloom Where You're Planted - Audio/Visual

This is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: "Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper." Yes, this is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says: "Do not let the prophets and diviners among you deceive you. Do not listen to the dreams you encourage them to have. They are prophesying lies to you in my name. I have not sent them," declares the LORD. This is what the LORD says: "When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my gracious promise to bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jer. 29: 4-11)

Authorities in California, while investigating damage that had been done by a recent forest fire, found the body of a man in a burned-out section of the forest. Astonishingly, the guy was dressed in a wet suit, including scuba tanks, flippers and a face mask. A post-mortem revealed that he hadn’t died from burns, but from massive internal injuries. Understandably, investigators wanted to figure out how a scuba diver could end up dead in the middle of a forest fire.

Apparently, on the day of the fire, the decedent had gone for a diving trip off the coast, some 20 miles west of the forest. Meanwhile, firefighters, trying to control the blaze as quickly as possible, had called in a fleet of helicopters with huge dip buckets to dip water from the ocean and dump it on the forest fire. Apparently, one minute our diver is making like Flipper, the next he’s doing the breast stroke in a dip bucket 300 feet in the air. Apparently he extinguished exactly 5'10" of the fire. “Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.” (Source: California Examiner, March 20, 1998)[1] Pretty bad day, if true. Here’s another.

A man was working on his motorcycle on the patio of his house; his wife was inside making lunch in the kitchen. While racing the engine, the motorcycle accidentally slipped into gear and dragged the man through the glass patio doors, dumping him on the floor inside the house. Hearing the crash, the wife ran into the dining room and found her husband lying on the floor cut, bleeding, lying next to the motorcycle and sprawled on the shards of glass from what was once their patio doors. The wife immediately called 911, and because they lived on a fairly large hill she ran down the several flights of stairs from the house to meet the paramedics on the street below. After the ambulance arrived and transported the man to the hospital, the wife righted the motorcycle and pushed it outside. Seeing some spilled gas on the floor from the overturned motorcycle, she got a few paper towels, blotted up the gasoline and threw them in the toilet.

Meanwhile, the man was treated and released from the hospital. When he arrived at the house, he looked at the shattered patio doors and the extensive damage done to his prized motorcycle. Depressed, he went to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet and smoked a cigarette. After finishing the cigarette, he flipped it between his legs into the toilet bowl. That’s when the explosion occurred – and then the screaming. The wife, hearing the commotion, found her husband lying on the floor. His pants had been blown off and he was suffering burns on his buttocks, the back of his legs and his groin.

Once again the wife called 911 and the very same paramedic crew who had earlier responded was sent to the residence. The paramedics loaded the husband onto the stretcher and began carrying him down the stairs to the street. While they were going down the stairs, one of the paramedics asked the wife how her husband had burned himself. She told them what happened and the paramedics started laughing so hard that one of them slipped and lost his grip on the stretcher. The man fell out of the stretcher, tumbled down the remaining stairs and suffered a broken arm. (A Florida Newspaper)

Ever had a bad day? Have you ever been put in a difficult position? Or have you ever been asked to do a difficult job that you knew wouldn’t make you many friends? Doing the right thing is not always easy, and the prophet Jeremiah, the writer of our text, knew all about that. This was a particularly rough period in Israel’s history. Jeremiah had been sent by God at a very young age to prophesy to the people of Judah – the southern two tribes after Israel was split into two kingdoms after the reign of King Solomon. He went to live at the capital, Jerusalem, in the thirteenth year of the reign of the good king, Josiah. That was 628 B.C., and Josiah was bringing about tremendous reform among the people of Judah until his untimely death in 609 B.C.

After Josiah’s death, however, Judah went downhill. And fast. So, Jeremiah’s job was to warn the people that God was going to punish them for their disobedience, especially for their idol worship. As you can imagine, Jeremiah wasn’t exactly popular. In fact, the king and the religious leaders accused Jeremiah of spreading lies and dissent among the people. Apparently, “Fake news” isn’t new. But Jeremiah had been told by God to be vocal because the Babylonians were right outside the gates of Jerusalem and poised to overrun the nation. So, when the future seemed to be just about as bad as it could get, Jeremiah was prophesying doom and gloom which was not a particularly popular message.

Finally, in 597 B.C., God allowed the Babylonians to conquer the Israelites and cart the best and the brightest off to Babylon. Then in 587 B.C., some ten years later, God brought the Babylonians back to completely destroy Jerusalem and take all of Judah back to Babylon. And that’s when the message changed. You see, God’s message through the prophets was anachronistic, or chronologically misplaced; sort of out of step with the times. So now, when the Israelites were at their worst, God’s message to them was at its peak of hope. A little backwards it seems.

Have you ever gone through a rough patch in your life and people have come up to you and said that everything was going to turn out just fine? Although well-meaning, I’m sure, the message can sometimes be all wrong. And too often we can give the wrong message to others. We tell people everything’s going to be okay when they have cancer, or when their father’s had a heart attack, or when they’ve lost their job, their health, or even their hope. Sometimes, it’s not okay. Let’s face it – bad things happen sometimes. But God has a plan, even in the midst of bad circumstances. 

Back in Jeremiah’s day, there were so-called “prophets” who were telling the Israelites that God would come in, rescue them and take them back to Jerusalem. But that was a lie. Instead, God, through Jeremiah, told them to work hard in Babylon, to invest themselves in the culture where God had allowed them to be taken, and to then wait on the Lord’s salvation. In other words, he told them to bloom where they were planted. That’s what Martin Luther referred to as the doctrine of vocation. 

It was thought in the Middle Ages that the only people who truly pleased God were the priests, monks and nuns – those who were on God’s payroll, so to speak. However, Martin Luther rediscovered what Christians have known but forgotten from time to time: that whatever you do using your God-given abilities as a Christian is God-pleasing. You don’t have to be a minister to please God.  When you are the best father, mother, son, daughter, husband, wife, friend or employee that God has made you to be, God is pleased. God calls you to bloom where you’re planted. God has planted you here, in your present circumstances, for the time being, and in whatever station you find yourself in life. And God has called you, where you are now, to bless the lives of the people with whom you come into contact.

God tied the promise to his people to the land, to the location where his people found themselves, despite their dire circumstances. They couldn’t see for the life of them how God was working in their lives, but they were encouraged to wait on the Lord, to trust in his providence and to rest assured that he had a plan for their hope and for their future. And maybe you don’t know how your present experiences fit into God’s plan for your life. And as difficult as it may seem, the advice is to wait; be patient. The Israelites couldn’t see how their experiences were even close to being a good thing, but God eventually brought them back to the land, but only after seventy (70) years of captivity. The land, it appears, was God’s means to his end.

Centuries later, wise men from the East would come to visit the infant, Jesus. Many believe that these “wise guys” were from Babylon. And who was the leader of all the wise men in Babylon? Daniel, who probably shared the message of the coming Messiah with his captive counterparts and colleagues. They were part of the history of the Messiah, the same Messiah who came to pay for our sins through his suffering and death so he could free us from our lives of sin through his glorious resurrection.

Through Jesus we can always bloom where we’re planted. Through him our bad days can be turned into days of rejoicing – not because they’re “bad,” but because God is in control and has a plan. Not rejoicing in the fact that we are in the midst of a pandemic, for instance, but joy in the fact that God knows us, he has plans for us, and his plans are for our hope and for our future.

A Future? Yes, a future. There’s a future for those who will wait on the Lord. God has a plan for you, a plan to prosper you and not harm you; a plan to give you hope and a future. So bloom where you’re planted – it beats scuba diving in a forest fire.

Grace,

Randy

---

[1] Snopes rates this story as “False.”

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