Fifth Sparrow

 

Fifth Sparrow

Fifth Sparrow - Audio/Visual

What is the price of five sparrows — two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows. (Luke 12:6-7)

Do we matter? We fear we don't. We fear nothingness, insignificance. We fear evaporation. We fear that in the last tabulation we make no contribution to the final sum. We fear coming and going and no one even knowing. That's why it bothers us when a friend forgets to call, or the teacher forgets our name, or a colleague takes credit for something we've done, or the airline loads us like cattle onto the next flight. They’re affirming our deepest trepidation: no one cares, because we aren't worth caring about.

For that reason we crave the attention of our spouse, or the affirmation of our boss. We drop names of important people in conversations, and wear college rings on our fingers. We put silicone in our breasts, flashy hubcaps on our cars, grills on our teeth and silk ties around our necks. Fashion designers tell us, "You'll be somebody if you wear our jeans. Stick our name on your rear end and insignificance will immediately vanish." So we do. Fashion redeems us from the world of littleness and nothingness, and we are something else. Why? Because we just spent half a paycheck on a pair of Italian jeans.

But then, horror of horrors, styles change, the fad passes, the trend shifts from tight to baggy, from faded to dark. And we're left wearing yesterday's jeans, feeling like last month’s news. Maybe we can outsource our insignificance, we think. By coupling our identity with someone's Gulliver-sized achievement, we give our Lilliputian lives some kind of meaning. For instance, how else can you explain our society’s fascination with sports franchises and athletes?

I admit that I’m among the fascinated: an unabashed fan of Padres baseball. When they play baseball, I play baseball. When they score a run, I score a run. When they win, I shout with the fans at Petco Park, "We won!" But how can I make such a statement? Did I attend a single practice? Scout an opposing team? Contribute a coaching tip, or sweat a drop of perspiration? No. I would if they asked, but I'm too insignificant, slow, old and uncoordinated. Still, I hook my wagon to their rising star. Why? Because it separates me from the plebeians. It momentarily elevates me; knights me.

Or sometimes, out of a fear of not mattering, we try to outlive life. When the billionaire realizes that he will run out of years before he runs out of money, he establishes a foundation. No doubt some altruism motivates the move, but so does a hunger to matter.

We have kids for the same reason. Giving birth gives meaning to ourselves. One day, when we die, our descendants will remember "Good ol' Dad," or "Sweet ol' Mom," and we will extend our lives through theirs. And there you have it. Italian jeans. Foundations. Legacies. Forever looking to prove Bertrand Russell wrong – the fatalistic atheist who concluded, "I believe that when I die my bones will rot and nothing shall remain of my ego."

"But he can't be right," we sigh. "He isn't right!" Jesus announces. And in some of the kindest words ever heard, Jesus allays our fears. "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." (Matt. 10:29-31)

Now, what's more inglorious than hair? Who inventories follicles? We monitor other resources like the amount of money in the bank, gas in the tank or pounds on the scale. But hair on the skin? No one, not even the man with the expanding bald spot, posts tiny number signs adjacent to each strand. We style hair, color hair, cut hair, braid hair . . . but we don't count hair. Well, God does. "The very hairs of your head are all numbered." Just like the sparrows in the field.

In the days of Jesus, like today, a penny was one of the smallest coins in circulation. One such penny would buy two sparrows. In other words, everyone could own a couple of sparrows. But why would they? What purpose did they serve? What goal would they accomplish? In Luke's gospel Jesus goes a tender step further. "What is the price of five sparrows—two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them." (Luke 12:6) One penny would buy you two sparrows. Two pennies, however, would buy you five. Apparently, the seller threw in the fifth one for free.

Society still has its share of fifth sparrows – indistinct souls who feel dispensable, disposable, worth less than a penny. They drive in carpools and work in cubicles. Some sleep beneath cardboard on the sidewalks, and others beneath comforters in the suburbs. What they share is a feeling of smallness. In fact, you'll find a whole flock of fifth sparrows in a Chinese orphanage for the deaf and mute.

China's one-child policy has a way of weeding out the weak. Males are selected over females. Healthy babies outrank the impaired. Chinese children who cannot speak or hear stand little chance of a healthy, productive life. Every message tells them, "You don't matter." So when someone says otherwise, they melt. Chinese missionary, John Bentley, witnessed such a moment.

Deaf orphans in the Henan province were given a Mandarin translation of a children's book entitled, You Are Special. The story describes Punchinello, a wooden person in a village of wooden people. The villagers had a practice of sticking stars on the achievers and dots on the strugglers. Punchinello had so many dots that people gave him more dots just because. But then he met Eli, his maker. Eli affirmed him, telling him to disregard the opinions of others. "I made you," he explained. "I don't make mistakes." Punchinello had never heard such words. And when he did, his dots began to fall off. And when the children in the Chinese orphanage heard these words, their worlds began to change.

John explained, “When they first distributed these books to the children and staff of the deaf school, the most bizarre thing happened. At a certain point everyone started crying. I couldn’t understand this reaction. . . . Americans are somewhat used to the idea of positive reinforcement. . . . Not so in China, and particularly not for these children who are virtually abandoned and considered valueless by their natural parents because they were born ‘broken.’ When the idea came through in the reading that they are special simply because they were made by a loving creator . . . everyone started crying – including their teachers!” Do you need such a reminder? Any chance that these words are falling on the ears of a fifth sparrow? If so, it's time to deal with the fear of not mattering.

The fear that you are one big zero can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. It works like this. You're slugging away at a menial job that pays poorly and saps your energy. The salary covers the bills but not much else. Your God-given abilities languish like un-watered roses. But then you read about a job opening that capitalizes on your skills and maximizes your abilities. So in a moment of uncharacteristic courage, you submit your application. The employer invites you in for an interview. "I'll never impress them," you moan. "I'll look stupid in the interview. They'll ask questions I can't answer. I'll never get the job." A mouse in a lions' den has better odds of success. So, you flop miserably and descend yet another level into the basement of self-defeat.

Or consider the girl who’s asked out on a date by a good-looking guy. So good-looking that she wonders what he sees in her. He's completely out of her league. Once he gets to know her, he'll drop her. Why, she may not even be able to maintain his interest for more than an evening. So, insecurity drives her to use the only tool she trusts – her body. She sleeps with him on the first date for fear that there won't be a second. She ends up feeling like the disposable woman she didn't want to become. Fear of insignificance creates the result it dreads, arrives at the destination it tries to avoid and facilitates the very scenario it disdains.

If a baseball player stands in the batter’s box repeating, "I just know I’m going to strike out; I’ll never get my bat on the ball, much less get a hit,” guess what? He'll never get to first base. If you pass your days mumbling, "I'll never make a difference; I'm not worth anything," guess what? You’ll be sentencing yourself to a life of gloom without parole. Even more, you’re disagreeing with God. Questioning his judgment. Second-guessing his taste. According to him you were "skillfully wrought." (Ps. 139:15) You were "fearfully and wonderfully made." (Ps. 139:14) He can't stop thinking about you. If you could count his thoughts about you, "they would be more in number than grains of sand." (Ps. 139:18) Why does he love you so much? The same reason the artist loves his paintings, or the boat builder loves his vessel. You are his idea. And God has only good ideas. "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."
(Eph. 2:10)

In the movie Hook, Peter Pan had grown up, become old and overweight, and looked nothing like the Peter that the lost boys knew. In the midst of the boys shouting that this was NOT Peter, one of the smallest boys took him by the hand and pulled him down to his level. He then placed his hands on Peter's face and proceeded to move the skin around, reshaping his face. And then the boy looked into Peter's eyes and said, "There you are, Peter!"

Sound familiar? God is saying the same words to you. Finding the beauty that the years bury, the sparkle that time tries to take. Seeing you and loving the you that he sees. "There you are,” he says. And isn’t that enough? It is – even for a fifth sparrow like me.

Grace,

Randy

Time Change

 

Time Change

Time Change - Audio/Visual

O God, you are my God. Earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. (Psalm 63:1)

Tom had this problem of getting up in the morning and was always late for work. His boss was mad at him and threatened to fire him if he didn't do something about it. So Tom went to his doctor who gave him a pill and told him to take it before he went to bed. Tom slept well and, in fact, beat the alarm in the morning. He had a leisurely breakfast and drove cheerfully to work. "Boss," he said, "the pill actually worked!" "That's all fine" said the boss, "but where were you yesterday?"

Have you ever thought that God has a habit of being late? Recently, I’ve become more aware that God operates on a different time, almost as if he uses a different clock. So, from my perspective, and using my clock, God is late – a lot. Have you ever thought that? Some people get just a little uncomfortable when others speak about God in pretty common ways. Sometimes there’s a degree of artificiality about our faith that doesn’t permit us to see God in ways that are just natural to life. As a result, we can’t bring ourselves to speak of God in ways that may appear common or negative or, worse yet, blasphemous.

For instance, when God appeared to Abraham in Genesis 18, it was with the intention of telling Abraham that he and Sarah were finally going to have a son. Unfortunately, Abraham was 99 years old at the time, and Sarah was 89. Both knew that it was already way too late to be having kids. And the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Abraham and Sarah since they both burst out laughing when they heard the news. I can just imagine them saying, “God, it’s a little too late for that one!”

And how about Moses? Can you imagine this 80-year old geezer, living in exile for the past 40 years, who God startles at a burning bush? I’m thinking that the dreams and hopes he had had 40 years prior had pretty much evaporated. His people, the Israelites, had been in bondage, slaves of Egypt, for over a hundred years or more. And during this period a death decree had been proclaimed against the Israelites. The resulting pogrom led to the death of hundreds, maybe even thousands of infant male Israelites. In fact, Moses himself had been miraculously rescued from this same decree. So why does God come at this late hour and attempt a deliverance of his people? Is it possible that Moses’ hesitancy was partially driven by his doubts about God’s sense of timing? It’s like you can almost hear Moses muttering, “God, you’re too late on this one.”

Or, what about Job? Job had experienced monumental tragedies. He’d lost all his material possessions; his children had perished violently; his wife walked out on him; and his friends had turned into vicious accusers. Slowly but surely, Job began to sink into despair and despondency. And that’s when God shows up. But why then? Why let it go on for so long? Wasn’t it too late? I mean, you can just hear job lament, “God, where were you?” Worse yet, God was responsible for this whole ordeal by bragging about Job to Satan, and then letting Satan wreak havoc in Job’s life, almost to death. What’s up with that?

Mary and Martha watched their brother, Lazarus, fall ill, his health deteriorate and then die. They had sent desperate messages to Jesus to come and help. He didn’t. Then, four days after Lazarus’ burial, Jesus shows up. Can you feel the pain of the sisters when they saw Jesus? Out of desperation they cried, “Lord, if you had been here, you could have helped Lazarus. But you’re too late!” (John 11:21) And then, when Jesus asked that the tombstone be rolled away, Martha protested, “Lord, he’s been in there for four days!” (vs. 39) Again, God was late.

It seems that the most commonly asked questions of faith have little to do, frankly, with God’s existence, or even his providence. The most troubling questions for God’s people inevitably have to do with his sense of timing. Far too frequently our God seems late. So God’s people are often left to cry out, “When, O Lord? How long, O Lord? Why weren’t you here when we needed you? Why didn’t you come? Why are you so late?” Ever asked those questions? Yes, God is frequently late. But he’s always on time.

In Isaiah 55:8-9 God reminds us of a fundamental truth. He says, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways . . . As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” In other words, God operates on a different thought level – one that we’re incapable of achieving. And God also runs on a different clock. “With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.” (2 Peter 3:8) You see, God functions on a totally different time scale – his time is not our time.

In Jeremiah 29:11 God makes a wonderful promise: “For I know the plans I have for you; plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” You see, God functions at a very different level of intentionality. Unlike you and me, he has only good plans. This is further corroborated in Romans 8:28 where Paul writes, “We know that in everything, God works for the good of those who love him, and who are called according to his purpose.” This forces a conviction upon us that says: Whatever happens to us fits a design. God is in control of our lives, and he alone knows what is truly best for us.

Abraham and Sarah thought that God had appeared too late, but because God came Isaac was born. Moses may have entertained similar thoughts about God’s timing, but because he came the Israelites were delivered from Egypt and we are left with the story of the Exodus – the greatest tale of deliverance in human history. When God came to Job, a tenfold restoration ensued. All the losses that Job experienced were more than amply compensated. Mary and Martha were certain that Jesus was too late. However, he came and because he did Lazarus was raised from the dead.

In each of these stories, and others like them, God is quite obviously “late.” That’s what we see. That’s our perception of his actions. That is the view we are allowed to have. And if we examine our own lives we notice those times when God was late, or that we were certain he was. This view of reality is the most trying one for God’s people because we frequently struggle to make sense of all this. Frankly, on its face, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. But the curtain has been drawn aside for us, and we’ve been given the privilege of getting a peak – from God’s side – of our reality. And, from God’s side, he’s always on time.

God’s intentionality and heart for us means that he’s always on time. From his vantage point, and with his love always directed at us, he can, and does ensure that he is truly on time, regardless of what our clocks say. And with that truth in hand, we can turn to an important lesson of faith. Isaiah 40:31 states: “Those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall rise up on wings like eagles. They shall run and not be wearied; they shall walk and not faint.” Faith discovers its strength, not in a busy life or in the preponderance of effort, but in the tranquility of soul that enables us to tune in to God’s frequency. It’s in our waiting upon the Lord that we learn the lessons we need the most.

The three Hebrew teenagers, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, could have been tempted to believe that God was late – that he had forgotten all about them. Their king had given a decree that everyone should bow before a golden image of him or die in a blazing furnace of fire. So when the theme music played, all the people obediently fell on their faces before the image – well, everyone except those three Hebrew boys. The king was so enraged at their disobedience that he commanded the fire to be heated seven times hotter than it was already. Then the boys were given one last chance to change their minds, but they wouldn’t. And by then, the heat from the fire was so intense that it killed the guards who had been assigned the task of throwing Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego into it.

So why didn’t the Lord come and scorch this idolatrous king and his followers? Where was he, anyway? What we find is that God was waiting for Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the furnace. And when they were thrown in, much to the king’s surprise, he saw four figures – not three – walking around in the furnace: “He said, ‘Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.’” (Dan. 3:25) Sometimes God delivers us from the trial, and sometimes he delivers us through it. In the case of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, God received greater glory by allowing them to go through this fiery trial rather than delivering them from it.

In other words, God is never late; he’s always on time. As we look at the world around us, we see horrible violence, perversion and people not only breaking God’s laws but flaunting their wicked lifestyles. And we wonder when God will return to put an end to all of the suffering and sorrow. That’s when we need to trust in God’s perfect timing. The apostle Peter wrote: “First of all, you must understand that in the last days scoffers will come, scoffing and following their own evil desires. They will say, ‘Where is this ‘coming’ he promised? Ever since our fathers died, everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation….’ But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” (2 Peter 3:3-4, 8-9)

The day will come when God will make all things right. There’s a time for everything, and a season for every activity. (Ecc. 3:1) So if your watch is running a little fast, maybe you should take it to the Watchmaker; word has it that he makes adjustments for free.

Grace,

Randy

New Math

 

New Math

New Math - Audio/Visual

He replied to the one speaking for the rest, “Friend, I haven't been unfair. We agreed on the wage of a dollar, didn't we? So take it and go. I decided to give to the one who came last the same as you. Can't I do what I want with my own money? Are you going to get stingy because I am generous?” Here it is again, the Great Reversal: many of the first ending up last, and the last first. (Matt. 20:13-16, MSG)

Remember "new math" when it was first introduced in our schools during the 60’s? It was launched just after the Sputnik crisis in order to boost science and math skills in the United States so that the intellectual threat of Soviet engineers, reportedly very skilled mathematicians, could be met. It was basically an experimental form of arithmetic, and it was very confusing. According to "new math," adding, subtracting and multiplying simply didn’t work the old way. Things didn’t add up. So they came up with “new math,” which involved something called "base theory." For instance, in base ten (which is the "base" we use in "old math"), 2 + 2 = 4. But in base three, for instance, 2 + 2 = 11. I really can’t tell you why it equals eleven because I’m not exactly sure that I really understand it myself. But you can see how it would be very confusing since, if you change the context, or “base,” numbers mean entirely new things.

There's a sense in which, sometimes, the Christian faith sounds an awful lot like “new math;” there are times when what God does just doesn’t seem to add up. For example, there's Jesus' parable of the shepherd who left his flock of ninety-nine and headed out into the darkness to search for one lost lamb. It’s a noble deed, but think about the underlying math. Jesus says the shepherd left the ninety-nine sheep “in the country,” which presumably means they were vulnerable to rustlers, wolves or just the general idea of bolting for freedom. But how would the shepherd have felt if he’d returned with the one lost lamb across his shoulders, only to find twenty-three others were now missing? It doesn’t make mathematical sense.

And then there’s the scene in John's gospel where a woman named Mary takes a pint of exotic, expensive perfume, worth an entire year's wage, and pours it all over Jesus' feet. Have you ever owned a $51,916.27 bottle of perfume? Even Judas noticed that it didn’t add up. Surely Mary could have put just a little, an ounce maybe, on Jesus' feet and then sold the rest to feed the poor. Arguably, Jesus would have smelled just as good. So, why overdo it? Why waste the entire jar, especially on Jesus’ nasty feet, when an ounce on the pulse points would have done the job? Apparently, Mary flunked math since, in our way of thinking, her calculations were way off.

Mark's gospel contains a third example. After watching a widow drop two little coins into the temple collection plate, Jesus compared it to the larger financial gifts of more wealthy worshipers. He said, "I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others." (Mark 14:23) What kind of rocket science did Jesus consult to come up with that conclusion? How could two pennies equal more than handfuls of brand new hundred dollar bills?

The parable in Matthew chapter 20 is about a farmer who, at sunrise, goes into town and hires day laborers to help him pick grapes in his vineyard. Temperatures in Palestine during the harvest season frequently exceed 100°; it’s really hot work. Grape harvests are also hectic and demanding since there’s a very narrow window of opportunity to harvest the grapes at the peak of their sugar content, or brix, and the bad weather setting in. If the “window” closes, the crop’s not worth picking. So maybe in his haste to get the job done quickly, the farmer goes into town at 6:00 a.m. to hire workers, and then again at 9:00 a.m. to hire more. He did the same thing at noon, 3:00 p.m. and again at 5:00 p.m. in order to get the harvest through the final stretch. At 6:00 p.m., the farmer tells his foreman to call it quits for the day and give everyone their pay, starting with those who were hired last. Now the order must have made the workers just a little curious since, usually, pay was handed out on a first-come, first-served basis. So the workers were probably looking pretty closely as the paymaster began handing out the paychecks.

As the owner had instructed, the guys who had worked only an hour were paid a denarius, i.e., a day’s wage, e.g., $104.00 in California these days, less taxes of course. That was a great wage back then. In fact, it was the same wage paid a Roman soldier, which was a whole lot more than a common day laborer could ever expect to get for even an entire day's work. So, the math doesn’t add up at this point. But the other laborers probably didn't mind; at least not yet. They were likely amazed at the farmer's generosity, especially the guys who’d been working since sunrise. They probably ran the numbers and thought, "Wow, if these guys who only worked an hour got an entire day’s wage, imagine how much we’ll take home. We're going to make a bundle!" But when they got to the paymaster, they got the same amount and now they’re steamed.

How is that fair? It doesn’t add up. After all, they'd been sweating and slaving at high speed under the hot sun all day. According to "normal" math, they should have received $1,456.00, throwing in time and a half for the four hours overtime. But here, the boss’s actions contradicted everything known about employee motivation and fair compensation. It was atrocious economics, plain and simple. So then what’s the point with these atrocious payroll calculations? What is Jesus teaching us in this parable about a seemingly mathematically-challenged landowner?

To answer that question we’ve got to realize that if we try to understand Jesus' story on the basis of math, we'll miss the point entirely. Jesus’ parable isn't supposed to make economic sense; it isn't supposed to add up. The point of the parable is about grace, and grace can't be calculated like a day's wage. Grace is not about finishing last or first. It’s about not counting at all. As Paul says in 2 Cor. 5:19, "God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them." If God did count our sins against us, if he did pay us according to what our sins have earned us, we'd all be in very deep trouble. Here’s some more math excerpts from Romans: "...all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God ... and the wages of sin is death." (Rom. 3:23; 6:23) Praise God that he dispenses gifts and not wages. And here’s another: "The free gift of God is eternal life in Jesus Christ our Lord." (Rom. 6:23) Because of his great and truly amazing grace, people who respond to the Gospel do not get paid according to their merit.

Using our “new math” example, God's "base" is grace. His actions are prompted not by math, but by his great, all-encompassing, unconditional love. This love, this grace, is the key to understanding the atrocious mathematics of the gospel. And we have a hard time understanding that. We often have trouble comprehending God's grace because we’re still programmed to think according to our traditional math upbringing. Grace baffles us because it goes against our mental calculators that insist that some price must be paid for our sin. But if you struggle with the mathematics of the Gospel, remember that a price was paid. As Romans 3:24 says, "We are justified freely by His grace -through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus." In other words, God gave up his own Son rather than give up on humanity. Jesus paid our sin debt.

In the movie, The Last Emperor, the young child anointed as the last emperor of China lives a magical life of luxury with a thousand servants at his command. There's a scene in which his brother asks him, "What happens when you do wrong?" The boy emperor replies, "When I do wrong, someone else is punished." And to demonstrate the point, he breaks a jar, and to pay for his sin one of the servants is beaten. Jesus reversed that ancient pattern: when the servants erred, the King was punished. Jesus was beaten. He was tortured. He was crucified. He was the payment for our sins.

I never really liked math all that much growing up. In fact, I struggled with math so much, and got so far behind in school that my parents became a little concerned and got me some sort of mechanical contraption to help me with just simple, basic math. And I can’t tell you exactly when I eventually got it, but by college and graduate school I was doing calculus. At one time in my life, math just didn’t make any sense. Then, with some help, math made all the sense in the world.

Once, I didn’t get Jesus, either. But with the aid of his Word, I got Him. Not “got Him” in the sense of completely understanding him since that’s a journey, but “got him” from the standpoint of grace – a place where, thankfully, the math doesn’t have to add up.

Grace,

Randy

Mistrial (Part 2)

 

Mistrial

Mistrial (Part 2) - Audio/Visual

(Part II)

Pilate said, “So you are a king?” Jesus responded, “You say I am a king. Actually, I was born and came into the world to testify to the truth. All who love the truth recognize that what I say is true.” “What is truth?” Pilate asked. Then he went out again to the people and told them, “He is not guilty of any crime.” (John 18:37-38)

Jesus has already been through three (3) “trials,” none of which were legitimate. Of course, that didn’t stop the religious leaders from reaching a verdict anyway. The problem was that the charge of blasphemy wouldn’t stand up in a Roman court. However, Annas had made it very clear that this Jesus must be put to death – today – and Caiaphas had already tipped his hand earlier by telling the gathered intelligencia that, “It’s better that one man should die for the people.” (John 18:14) Faced with a new legal dilemma, what’s the Sanhedrin to do? Easy. Just switch the charge to treason rather than blasphemy. And that’s exactly what they did. Between the time they’d dismissed the proceedings and gained an audience with the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, they switched the charge: this time the charge was treason. In other words, they claimed that Jesus was guilty of attempting to overthrow the government.

Now Pilate was an anti-Semitic, Gentile born in Spain. He was appointed by Caesar to govern Judea. He was what you would call the governor of a state, though in those days they were called provinces. Pilate was a short-timer in the mind of Caesar due to a number of revolutions that had broken out under Pilate’s governance. The truth is that Pilate had made some pretty poor decisions during his administration, murdered plenty of his Jewish subjects, tightened the screws of Roman rule on his largely Jewish population and lacked basic diplomacy skills. As a result, the state over which he served was in constant turmoil. Despite these shortcomings, Caesar tacitly approved of Pilate and left him there as governor, but Pilate was under constant surveillance. In fact, not long after Jesus’ trial, Pilate was banished to Gall where he later committed suicide.

Apocryphal accounts of Pilate’s suicide suggest that Tiberius Caesar had become gravely ill and had heard of a wonderful Judean physician who could heal with just a word. As a result, the Caesar sent orders to Pilate to bring the doctor to Rome. There was just one problem with that plan: Pilate had earlier ordered the doctor’s crucifixion. Furious at Pilate’s stupidity, Caesar sentenced Pilate to the most disgraceful death possible. Thus, and in order to avoid this disgrace, Pilate committed suicide. In a nutshell, Pilate was a very unstable guy. But because of some shrewd, political maneuverings, he’d become the governor of a province – if only for a short time.

The time was now around 6:30 to 7:00 a.m., and the Sanhedrin was leading Jesus from Caiaphas’ house to the judgment hall. (John 18:28) But doing so presented a problem; the religious leaders didn’t dare physically enter into the judgment hall itself because no Jewish person could enter a Gentile court on Passover – if they did, they’d be defiled, or ceremonially unclean and this was certainly NOT the time to be unclean, considering it was Passover – the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.

As a result, Pilate literally had to come out and meet the religious leaders. You see, they may have been criminally-minded in attitude, but they were extremely legalistic when it came to religion. It’s because of this, then, that you see Pilate going in and out of the judgment hall, almost as if he were acting the part of a mediator trying to settle a legal dispute, rather than acting as the governor.

Now, the first law of the Roman code of criminal procedure was accusation, and that's the first thing Pilate covered. “So, what’s the charge here, guys?” Jesus’ accusers sarcastically responded, “Hey, Bub, if he weren’t guilty, we wouldn’t be here, you dope!” (John 18:29-30)  But in Pilate’s defense, he really had no earthly idea that he was being asked to adjudicate a capital case. He simply said that if it's a problem with the Jewish law, then take him and judge him yourselves. (John 18:31) And that’s when the lights came on. “It’s not lawful for us to put any man to death,” the leaders said. (Id.) Well, now; that changes everything. And from the other gospels, we know that they’d declared that Jesus was guilty of treason, i.e., claiming to be another Caesar. (Luke 23:2)

The second law of the Roman code of criminal procedure, after accusation, was interrogation, i.e., to probe and search for evidence against the accused. Thus the following question: "Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered him, “Is this your idea, or did somebody else tell you that?” Pilate answered, “Hey, do I look like a Jew? It’s your people that brought you here, buddy. So, what’s the rap?"
(John 18:33-35) In other words, Pilate wanted to figure out if Jesus was in the process of attempting to overthrow the Roman government. Jesus responded by saying that his kingdom was not of this world since, if it were, his servants would be fighting in the streets, taking lives, storming the temple and putting an end to this mockery of a trial. “But you don’t see them, do you?” Jesus implied. (John 18:36)

The third process in the Roman code of criminal procedure was defense. And now Pilate, acting more like a defense attorney, begins to look at the facts from Jesus’ perspective. By the way, Roman law, much like American law, allowed for a defense attorney, but Jesus was never allowed that opportunity – not even a court-appointed attorney. So, Pilate considers the evidence and says, “So, you are a king," to which Jesus responds, “You say that I am a king, and for this reason I was born so I could come to this world and bear witness to the truth.” Pilate, at this point, incredulously says, “What’s truth?” (John 18:37-38)

In other words, “This has nothing to do with the case, Jesus. You’re on trial for sedition, not your philosophical beliefs.” Ahhh, but this had everything to do with Pilate’s mind set. He’s a very mixed up, miserable man who, in a matter of months, will take his own life. So it’s no wonder that he’s in a quandary when it comes to objective, sound truth. And so he says, “What's truth?” And when he said this, Pilate went out to Jesus’ accusers and said that he found Jesus not guilty. (Now that was the truth!) But we’re not done here. The fourth step is a verdict, and Pilate said he found Jesus not guilty. In fact, all Pilate could find was that Jesus claimed to be a king from some sort of weird, spiritual kingdom. That's not a threat to Rome. But the crowd goes crazy anyway, yelling that Jesus is a rebel rouser stirring up trouble from Galilee to Jerusalem.

And then it hits him.

Pilate may not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but he’s not stupid. He hears the word “Galilee,” and knows exactly what to do: kick this can down the road since Galilee isn’t in his jurisdiction. “Hmmmm, I wonder where the proper venue would be for this action? Aha! I know. That’s Herod's jurisdiction; I’ll send Jesus to Herod and it just so happens that he’s in town today. What a stroke of luck!” (Luke 23:6-7) Now, for whatever reason, Herod and Pilate were political enemies, at least up until this particular event. Maybe it was because Pilate was a loser with a plumb job in Jerusalem. Regardless, Herod had a reputation of his own. He was the one who beheaded John the Baptist. He's the one who dealt with vicious cruelty over his subjects.

But Herod had heard about Jesus and was excited to see Jesus perform a miracle: kind of like a circus monkey in a freak show. He thought Jesus was some sort of magician and was anxious to see Jesus do a trick. (Luke 23:8) Jesus, knowing Herod’s intent, didn’t throw him a bone. This was no proceeding at all! All Herod wanted was a jester for his court; a clown. And when Jesus wouldn't cooperate, Herod’s court personnel mocked him as a king and sent him back to Pilate.
(Luke 23:10-11)

Now back at the Palace, Pilate was eating eggs Benedict and thinking, “Whew! Dodged that one. I’m not as dumb as I look.” And then, as he’s chewing on his English muffin, he looks out the window, and lo and behold there’s Jesus, bound and robed as a king. “Are you kidding me?” It was obvious to Pilate that Herod was not in a particularly cooperative mood. Curiously, the whole event brought Herod and Pilate together as friends. Maybe it was due to the fact that Pilate had showed Herod some deference in allowing him to adjudicate a capital case involving one of his own subjects. (Luke 23:12) Others have speculated that Pilate and Herod Antipas despised the Jewish religious authorities. Of course, feelings were mutual since the scribes and Pharisees hated the Roman authorities. So, by returning Jesus to Pilate, Herod was effectively saying to the Pharisees and Sadducees that Christ was their problem, not his. And Pilate felt exactly the same way and as the saying goes, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." Go figure.

But Pilate still didn’t want to declare Jesus guilty, and his wife had had a bad dream about this guy. Even Herod was on his side, who didn’t do anything except send Jesus back. So, he tried several angles to get out of having to reach a verdict. The first thing he offered to do was to chastise and beat Jesus and then release him. But the people said “No.” Then he tried to release Jesus through a custom of that day: to release a prisoner during Passover. (Matt. 27:15) The choice? Barabbas or Jesus. And Pilate, in selecting Barabbas, thought this would be a shoe-in. Barabbas was a notorious criminal. He was a murderer; he was an insurrectionist; he was guilty of sedition; and he was bound in prison awaiting death by crucifixion. Barabbas had been convicted of a capital crime. He was the one guilty of treason. So, Pilate thought that if he were to put Barabbas next to Jesus, and offered to release one of them, the crowd would surely say, "Don't release Barabbas! Release Jesus, instead!" But it backfired. They wanted Jesus dead. (Matt. 27:19-23)

 

So, Pilate gathered a band of soldiers, stripped Jesus and put on a scarlet robe, placed a crown of thorns on his head, a reed in his right hand and then mocked him by bowing down and saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They struck him on the head, spit on him and led him away to be crucified.
(Matt. 27:26-31) C.S. Lewis, an atheist turned apologist said in his book, God in the Dock (implying, God on Trial), "One of the great difficulties is to keep before the audience's mind the question of Truth. They always think you are recommending Christianity not because it is 'true' but because it is 'good'. One must keep on pointing out that Christianity is a statement which, if false, is of no importance, and if it is true, of infinite importance. The one thing it cannot be is moderately important."

The case against God should have been declared a mistrial. But for the sake of our redemption, God didn’t ask for a mistrial which, when granted, would have rendered him immune from further prosecution. Instead, he voluntarily bore our sins so that, at our trial, we can be declared righteous, or not guilty: not of our own selves, but because the consequences of our actions were borne by God’s son who only wants to have a relationship with those whom he made for that very purpose.

Want some free legal advice? Hire Jesus. There’s no better advocate, and he’ll represent you pro bono since he’s already paid your retainer. Pretty good deal, if you ask me. And I should know – I’m a lawyer in need of a Savior.

Grace,

Randy

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

 

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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