Abraham Would Wear a Cross

nonexpert_dance_waltzScripture displays a dance between the pronounced attributes of God. At least, it appears as a dance to our small eyes, capable of beholding only one thing at a time.

Straining to Step

God’s character is a primary example: He is just as only a Being of burning holiness can be, yet He is kind as only a Being of furious love can exhibit.  Our reach and rhythm find the steps of this dance greatly stretching. How can He be both?

While all of us discover God in real-time, the fact was even more pronounced for Abraham. No Scriptures to study, no preaching to process, he was discovering the substance of Yahweh solely as Yahweh revealed Himself.

The Sodom Study

On the outskirts of Sodom, a city reputed for its wickedness, God revealed to Abraham a side different from the kindness and guidance that had thus far characterized God’s tone. God’s holy justice had determined that Sodom’s time had arrived. The Consuming Fire was about to swallow an entire city.

Abraham proceeded to open negotiations with the Almighty, by “drawing near” and querying, “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?” (Gen 18:23)

Torah-3C-AbrahamHe wanted to know how God ticked. Was His sense of justice so tightly wound that it would override what Abraham considered to be reasonable, percentage-based standards of grace?

“Will you then sweep away the place and not spare it for the fifty righteous who are in it?”

And on the auction went, with Abraham bowing out of the bidding once Yahweh had agreed that He would spare the entire city if He found ten righteous people.

The Twist

Abraham was concerned that God’s holy justice burned so hot that an innocent few might suffer alongside the guilty masses.  But Yahweh flips it over and reveals that He is actually so gracious toward His faithful ones that He will allow rampant sin to go unpunished.

Said another way, Abraham feared that God was a sniper so eager to pull the trigger that innocent victims would be struck down. God displays a shocking willingness to let evil have its day in exchange for the safety of His people.

Abraham Would Wear a Cross

wooden-cross-weatheredIf Abraham were alive today, he would wear a cross around his neck. He would have to. What other ornament can even begin to capture this concept, this intimate interaction of perfect justice tempered by lavish love?

Jesus’ disciples approached from the opposite road to Abraham; they were eager to see fireworks. Let Rome burn!  Smite the Samaritans!  Humble Herod!  Bring the biggest cup you have, and pour down the judgment.

And God obliges.

In fact, He brings a larger vessel of venom than they could have imagined. His view encompasses the collective evil of humanity back to Eden. Horror movies and nightmares could not compete with the content of that cup.

And He unloaded His appropriated anger, dropping it like an atom bomb on a cross-beamed and convicted criminal.  Then He dared to tell us that love was at the center of the carnage–grace at its gutsiest.  Oh to be sure, there would be justice, swift and sweeping. Every evil would be exorcised, and wailing would ensue.  But the entire execution of justice would serve as a stay of execution for the guilty.

Jesus paid it all.
All to him I owe.
Sin had left a crimson stain.
He washed it white as snow.

No doubt in my mind, Abraham would have worn a cross.  And as he wore it, he would have marveled. He might have recalled the most grievous days of his life, as he walked his son Isaac toward Mount Moriah. Willing to display his faithfulness to a God who appeared to making nonsensical requests, Abraham was pushed to the brink before a bleating broke the tension.

“God will provide for Himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” Father had declared that to son. If Abraham were with us today, wearing that cross, he would stroke it as a treasure from another universe. And he would marvel at the prophetic nature of his Moriah-message.

Had Abraham’s sacrifice been carried out, it would have displayed his allegiance to an unseen Deity. But God’s son-sacrifice has been carried out, as an exhibition of His allegiance to people who lack all ability to dance with Him.

 

 

Wearing the Surprising Yoke of Christ

This invitation is among Jesus’ most famous words (Mt 11:28-30):

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

YokeTillers International put out a document on how to build a yoke (in case you were looking for a wood shop project).  They noted that a typical wooden yoke might weigh 50-60 pounds, certainly more than I’d care to carry in a backpack each day but hardly problematic to a team of animals who might weigh a couple tons collectively.

That got me to thinking about the yoke Jesus offers.

He says that it will not feel burdensome. He also says that wearing it will be a form of learning.

Here is where the image surprises.

Yoke-talk was common-place among first-century rabbis. It spoke of whose rule one was living out, whose Torah-interpretation one was holding, whose “way” one was walking.  Typically, potential students might approach a teacher under whom they desired to learn.  Some sort of “application” would take place, with testing and gauging of whether this student was suitable for this master.  Jesus splits from the standard operating procedures immediately by putting out a call of invitation, particularly to those whose current yokes are crushing them. To the wearied and the worn, a restful yoke awaits.

How can it be so?

I mean, Jesus is the same one who called his followers to “be holy, as God is holy”. He told them that they would need to pursue a higher form of righteousness than the minutia-minded Sinai-sticklers of their day, so we can safely conclude that he was not speaking of slack standards or halfway holiness.

Perhaps the clue lies in the imagery of the yoke.

Yoke-Jesus-Matthew-11-28-30-300x225Picture it.

See the metaphor: View the farm, hear the livestock, assess the fields to work.

Imagine it.

Place yourself there: Smell the dirt, breathe the air, feel the weight of a yoke.

At this moment, where is Jesus?

If there is a yoke and we are wearing it, then it seems easy enough to assess our spot in the sketch. We are the beast of burden, ready to plow under the watch of a master. Simple enough.

But where is Jesus?

That seems easy too.

I mean, if he’s the owner of the yoke, then he is the farmer, intent on training us to be obedient and useful to himself.  Every facet of that metaphor works for standard Christian teaching.

However, I cannot help but wonder if we’re missing a key–a very key–detail.

Farmer with working elephant. IndiaYears ago, my wife and I spent time in southeast Asia. At a number of spots, we encountered elephants: We rode some, we fed some, we visited reserves and protection programs.  We also witnessed elephants being used as work-animals. Be assured, you can get some stuff done with an elephant! Who needs horsepower when you’ve got elephant power and a trunk?!

One of the trainers said that when they’re working with a new elephant, they match him up with their best elephant. The rookie gets yoked alongside the expert. He gets mastered; he gets discipled.

And that is what I think we’re missing when we read Matthew 11.

It makes all kinds of sense to see Jesus as the yoke-owning, beast-breaking farmer.

Perhaps it makes all kinds of more sense to see Jesus as the yoke-sharing, way-walking beast beside us.

He straps us to himself and shows us how to walk.  Like stubborn elephants, we pull against and jostle with the yoke and the partner. And like the steady guide, he holds the line, graciously allowing us to learn and adjust. When pride breaks and rebellion subsides, we discover that we can sync our strides to this steady companion.

And in that moment of coordination and partnership, we discover that we don’t even notice the yoke upon us.  The load is shared, and truth be told, he is bearing the weight so completely that our portion merits no mention.  Beyond that, we begin to realize that a life of satisfying fruitfulness has begun.

Welcome to the life of the disciple!

Christ is Risen!

Jesus Wants to Heal You… Sort Of

I’ve been immersed in the gospel of Mark for months now. Recently, something from chapter five struck me with unusual weight.

Here’s the story from Mark 5:21-34:

21 And when Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered about him, and he was beside the sea. 22 Then came one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name, and seeing him, he fell at his feet 23 and implored him earnestly, saying, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live.” 24 And he went with him.

And a great crowd followed him and thronged about him. 25 And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, 26 and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse. 27 She had heard the reports about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment. 28 For she said, “If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.” 29 And immediately the flow of blood dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. 30 And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my garments?” 31 And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, ‘Who touched me?’” 32 And he looked around to see who had done it. 33 But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him and told him the whole truth. 34 And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

One sharp thrust here:

There is something we want, and there is something Jesus wants. And they are not typically the same.

Allow me to decode. Continue reading