Holy Week, 2024 - Wednesday - In Remembrance of

She drew reprimands from others along with complaints about what she had done. Yet Jesus defended and praised her for what she did. 

It was Wednesday of that Passover week—just two days before Jesus was crucified. Jesus was in Bethany having dinner at the home of Simon the leper. As he sat at the table, this unnamed woman approached him, carrying an alabaster jar containing a very expensive ointment made of nard. Those who reprimanded her noted that it would have cost a day laborer a year’s salary to buy it—“this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii” (Mark 14:5). Without saying a word, she broke open the jar and poured its contents on Jesus’s head. She anointed him with oil. “You anoint my head with oil” (Psalm 23:5).

That’s when others at the dinner began to grumble among themselves, complaining to one another about what she had done. They were angry with her for using the ointment to anoint Jesus (Mark 14:4). They complained that she had wasted the ointment. Selling it and giving the money to the poor would, in their opinion, have been a better use of it. As is so often the case with those of us who believe we are right and the other is wrong, the critics voiced their disapproval and anger. “They scolded her” (Mark 14:5). They reprimanded her for what she had done. Their reprimand not only expressed their disapproval of how she used the ointment, it belittled her for doing so. They attacked her.

Jesus stepped in at that point to put a stop to how they were attacking her. “Let her alone” (Mark 14:6). He argued that they—not surprisingly—did not understand what she had done. “Why do you trouble her? She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial” (Mark 14:6, 8).

The disciples were seemingly oblivious to what Jesus was facing even though he had spent the past six weeks telling them over and over again what would happen when he got to Jerusalem. This woman, however, had heard what he was saying. Even more, she sensed the battle he was fighting inside himself as he faced the events that were beginning to unfold. That sensitivity led her to respond with compassion to him—to do something to ease the burden that she sensed was weighing so heavily on his mind and spirit—to share the sorrow she sensed beneath the surface—to express her love for him. She expressed her love by anointing him with oil. “She has done what she could” (Mark 14:8).

Jesus affirmed her as he applauded her generosity and compassion. “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Mark 14:9). Although we don’t know her name, even though she is often overlooked and forgotten, this woman’s compassion and generosity—though criticized and reprimanded at the time—are still remembered because of Jesus’s appreciation of them. She was, after all, there for Jesus when no one else was.

The gospel writer frames this woman’s story with two stories that carry a radically different tone. While this woman’s story is one of sensitivity, compassion, and sacrificial love, the two framing-stories are about plotting, deceit, and betrayal. The characters in these stories act out of unrestrained self-interest. Interestingly, they—unlike the woman—are identified. The first story—which precedes the woman’s story—tells how the religious leaders plotted Jesus’s death. “The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him” (Mark 14:1). The second—which follows the woman’s story—tells how Judas approached the chief priests, volunteering to betray Jesus to them. These two stories set in motion the events that would lead to Jesus’s death—the death the woman anticipated.

“Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Mark 14:9). In keeping with Jesus’s words, I add my voice in telling what she did. She anointed the head of Jesus which he interpreted as anointing his body beforehand for its burial. I also speak of why—as I understand it—she did so. She acted out of her sensitivity, compassion, generosity, and sacrificial love. In doing so, “she has done what she could” (Mark 14:8).

On the Wednesday of Holy Week, may we be like her, doing what we can.

Holy Week, 2024 - Tuesday - The End of the World

What Jesus taught the disciples that Tuesday evening of Holy Week would have sounded to them like the end of the world.

On Tuesday of that Passover week, Jesus spent the day in the Temple compound, exercising control over it after having done a house-cleaning in it the day before. His day was filled with teaching, fielding questions, and avoiding the attempts to trap him wielded by the different religious and political factions. The religious authorities were furious with him for taking control of what they considered to be their world. They were set on arresting him. All they needed was an excuse.

As the day ended, Jesus and his disciples left the Temple complex, heading back to Bethany for the night. As they left, one of the disciples spoke with wonder about the structure. “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” (Mark 13:1). The quarried stones that had been used in the construction of the compound—the foundation, the walls surrounding the complex, the various courtyards and porticos, the temple itself—were indeed massive. The majority were limestone blocks that measured thirty-seven and a half feet long, eighteen feet wide, and twelve feet thick. The unnamed disciple’s comment suggests he was overwhelmed with the sheer massiveness of the complex. It also suggests he was surveying the structure in anticipation that he and his companions would assume control of it when Jesus revealed himself as the Messiah. His comment could be understood to mean, “Just think, Jesus! All of this is going to be yours (and ours)!”

Jesus’s response to the disciple’s statement would have squelched his enthusiasm while leaving him bewildered. “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon anther; all will be thrown down” (Mark 13:2).

What Jesus taught his disciples on that occasion is known as the Temple Discourse. It is found in Mark 13. What he said was going to happen would have been almost beyond their ability to imagine. The Temple was going to be destroyed. That reality would have sounded to them like the end of the world.

For over five hundred years—since its dedication in 515 BCE—the Second Temple had been the center of Israel’s religious life. (The first Temple—Solomon’s Temple—had been destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE.) By the time of Jesus, the Second Temple was known as Herod’s Temple because of Herod’s work in expanding the Temple compound. The people viewed the Temple as the dwelling place of God on earth. It was one of three pillars around which their faith was built—the law representing their covenant with God, the Davidic monarchy representing the LORD’s rule in the life of their nation, and the Temple as God’s dwelling place in their midst. The Temple embodied the heart of their identity as the covenant people of God. To think of it being destroyed was simply unimaginable.

In the discourse, Jesus taught about the coming crisis in which the Temple would be destroyed. That crisis and destruction occurred in 70 CE when the Roman army, after a three-year siege, destroyed the Temple. Using apocalyptic language, Jesus also taught about the end of the age—the end of the current age that would usher in the age to come when heaven and earth would be reunited and God would reign on earth. The destruction of the Temple was not the end of the age.

While the destruction of the temple would have sounded to the disciples like the end of the world, it was not. It was, however, the end of the world as they knew it.

The end of the world as we know it is a normal part of life. It does not always involve a life-shattering crisis as the disciples faced. As the years go by, life as we have known it gives way to a different stage of life in which we face new realities and new challenges. We get married, leaving our youth and life as a single behind. We have children with all the joys and challenges they create. The kids go off to kindergarten and, then, before we know it, they graduate from high school, moving off toward adulthood and leaving us with an empty nest. We go through the loss of a job or a career change or a relocation. We walk through an unexpected divorce or a health crisis. We come to retirement, leaving the work years and the productive stage of life behind. We cope with the death of spouse. In all of these situations—and many more—we experience the end of the world as we have known it.

We are living through the end of the world as we have known it—in the splintering of The UMC through the disaffiliation process, in the decline of the institutional church in the US and growth of the NONES, in the growing diversity and corresponding shrinking of the “white” demographic within our nation, in the resurfacing of racial, ethnic, and religious bigotry in our national politics—a pushback against the decline of WASP power, in the climate of extremism in the political arena displacing a commitment to the “common good,” in the rejection of science and education as respected sources of truth in our culture, in the abandoning of public education as a primary means of “getting ahead” socially and economically in life.

What happens to us when we experience the end of the world as we know it? How do we deal with the loss of the old? How do we face the new reality with its many unknowns?

Change of any kind—even change that we want and choose—stirs anxiety and fear. Facing new experiences that require different ways of thinking and new skills for coping also stirs anxiety. By nature, we resist change and the new it brings. We cling to the familiarity and comfort of what was. We live as though what is will always be. Yet, it is the nature of life that what was gives way to what is next. What is never remains the same.

As Jesus spoke about the coming end of the world as they knew it, he sought to prepare his disciples for what they would face. He told them to beware (twice—Mark 13:5, 9), be alert (Mark 13:23), beware and keep alert (Mark 13:33), keep awake (twice—Mark 13:35, 37).

His exhortations carry the idea of being aware—i.e., self-aware—as opposed to being on our guard about some external danger. The greatest danger seldom lies outside ourselves. It lies in the anxiety-driven emotional reactivity that stirs within our hearts and minds. Our anxiety can cause us to look for a quick fix that will help us escape the pain and struggle of the situation (Mark 13:6) rather than recognizing, addressing, and learning from the issues reflected in our struggle. Anxiety can cause us to be reactive to the situation rather than staying present, aware of and contributing to how God is at work in the situation (Mark 13:9-13). To be alert is to live consciously rather than unconsciously—thinking and choosing how to respond rather than unconsciously reacting out of unrecognized, unaddressed, and unresolved anxiety-laden issues from the past. To keep awake is to be aware of and responsive to what is happening in the present rather than being lulled into the complacency of old habits and immature patterns of the past.

We cannot avoid the end of the world as we know it. It does happen and will happen again. We can, however, allow our faith in God to guide how we deal with such times. Faith helps us look at what was with gratitude, treasuring the goodness we experienced in it. It trains us to look at the new that will be with confidence, trusting God’s steadfast, faithful love to sustain us, guide us, provide for us, and bless us in what will be. It empowers us to live in the present with self-awareness, managing our anxiety so that we can be God’s partner in what is happening in the moment.

On this Tuesday of Holy Week, how are you experiencing the end of the world as you know it?

Holy Week, 2024 - Monday

The gospel of Mark presents the clearest outline of the events in Jesus’s life during what we call Holy Week—the week of Passover, the week leading up to his death on the cross. The gospel places Jesus’s cleansing of the Temple on Monday, following his entry into Jerusalem on Sunday—Palm Sunday.

On that Monday, Jesus took charge of the Temple complex. He drove out those who were selling and buying the animals that the Temple authorities had certified as meeting the requirements for sacrifice. He turned over the tables of those exchanging Roman coins into Temple currency—at a significant rate of exchange, of course. He refused to let people traffic through the Temple compound, arguing with the prophet Jeremiah that it was “a house of prayer for all nations” not a market place (Mark 11:17).

The gospel writer wrapped the story of Jesus’s cleansing the Temple with two stories—both centering on a particular fig tree. The first story points to the meaning of Jesus’s actions in the Temple; the second applies the principle found in the story of the fig tree to our lives as individuals.

On the way to the Temple Monday morning, Jesus saw a fig tree in leaf. As he was hungry, he was eager to gather some figs to eat on the journey into Jerusalem. However, when he reached the tree, it had no fruit. Consequently, he cursed the tree: “May no one ever eat fruit from you again” (Mark 11:14). Fig trees put on fruit before they leaf out. Thus, the presence of leaves suggested the presence of fruit—which is why Jesus anticipated finding figs even though, as the gospel writer noted, “it was not the season for figs” (Mark 11:13). Jesus cursed the tree for having the appearance of being fruitful but failing to produce fruit.

The gospel writer used the fig tree as a metaphor for the Temple. The Temple, too, had the appearance of being fruitful but failed to produce the fruit for which it was created. It trafficked in sacrifices and religious acts but failed to help people know God or connect with God. It failed in its primary purpose—to be a house of prayer where people could meet God. Jesus’s cleansing of the Temple was his confrontation of the Temple’s failure to produce the fruit that was expected. Jesus’s curse of the fig tree foreshadowed the destruction of the Temple—the focus of Jesus’s discourse found in Mark 13.

The second story of the fig tree happened the next day—Tuesday—as Jesus and the disciples made their way back into Jerusalem. As they walked the same road they had walked on Monday, the disciples noticed the fig tree—the one Jesus had cursed—had withered away to its roots (Mark 11:20). Peter called Jesus’s attention to the dead fig tree. In response to Peter, Jesus taught about faith that could move mountains—specifically, the mountain they were standing on, the Mount of Olives. “Truly I tell you, if you say to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and if you do not doubt in your heart, but believe that what you say will come to pass, it will be done for you. So I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours” (Mark 11:23-24). As the Mount of Olives still stands today east of Jerusalem, Jesus’s language was clearly metaphorical. The mountain to which Jesus referred was not a literal, physical mountain.

To what mountain, then, was Jesus referring?

The gospel writer offers a clue in the next verse—a verse that introduces a topic that seems out of place in the context. “Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone; so that your Father in heaven may also forgive you your trespasses” (Mark 11:26). This verse suggests the mountain that can be removed by faith is a mountain that resides in our hearts—the inability to forgive someone who has wronged us or hurt us. The lack of forgiveness is generally held in place by harbored anger and resentment that views the other as an enemy and treats them as evil. It holds onto the hurt as evidence of the other’s wrong. The mountain in our heart—the lack of forgiveness—is part of a mountain range!

This second story continues the theme found in the first two—being fruitless while presenting the appearance of being fruitful. These things—the inability to forgive another, harboring anger and resentment, viewing the other as an enemy and treating them as evil, holding onto hurt—keep us from producing the fruit expected of the followers of Jesus. Carrying these “mountains” in our hearts allows us to have the appearance of being a follower of Jesus without producing the fruit that goes with discipleship—loving as Jesus loved, forgiving as Jesus forgave, accepting all as beloved children of God, living out of a servant spirit (just to name a few).

So how do we avoid the issue raised in the story of the fig tree—having the appearance of being fruitful while being fruitless? Jesus said the key was faith (Mark 11:22)—faith that is expressed by praying (Mark 11:24). Moving mountains is God’s work, not ours. Our work is to pray in faith about the “mountains” we recognize in our hearts, confessing them to God. In acknowledging them to God, we give God permission to remove them. Jesus’s promise was “and it will be yours” (Mark 11:24).

Jesus confronted a fig tree and the Temple for having the appearance of being fruitful while bearing no fruit. He then taught his disciples how to avoid the same fate. He taught them (us) to pray with faith, confessing the “mountains” that were in their heart to God.

God is in the mountain-moving business. The Spirit is in the heart-cleansing, spirit-healing, life-transforming business. As the followers of Jesus, we are in the fruit-producing business . . . as long as we have enough faith to pray about the “mountains” in our hearts.   

Palm Sunday, 2024 - What You Don't See

What you don’t see is the key to understanding the story.

Palm Sunday—the last Sunday of Lent, the beginning of Holy Week—recounts the familiar story of how Jesus entered Jerusalem that particular Sunday.

The Passover was possibly the most holy—certainly the most popular—of all the Jewish festivals. Jewish pilgrims from all over flocked into Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. The celebration was built around the Passover meal. The celebration called for the sacrifice of a lamb that would be roasted and eaten during the meal. It followed a carefully crafted liturgy that recounted how the LORD had delivered their ancestors from slavery in Egypt. Each dish used in the meal was a reminder of something from that experience. As that particular dish was eaten, that part of the story was told. The liturgy was recited in the first person in an effort to make it feel as though they themselves had been there during that first Passover meal.

Emotions ran high during the Passover festival. As the festival celebrated the birth of their nation, it stirred the people’s resentment toward Rome and her domination of their nation. It stirred their desire to throw off the yoke of Rome. This resentment, fueling their desire to escape the boot of Rome on their necks, often spilled over into violent protests and rebellion. In order to deal with this repeated scenario, Rome had built a military garrison—Fortress Antonio—within the city, adjacent to the temple itself. This location allowed a swift response by the Roman soldiers to any protest that got out of hand.

Pilgrims from Galilee were among the crowds flooding into Jerusalem for that particular Passover festival. These pilgrims knew Jesus. They had witnessed his healing miracles. Some would have been among the crowd of 5,000 whom he had fed with five loaves and two fish. They came to the festival, believing Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah. That belief carried with it the hope that Jesus would use his power to break Rome’s stranglehold on their nation.

Jesus understood all of these dynamics—the nation’s religious history, the political nature of this religious festival, the resentment toward Rome, the nation’s desire for a military king like David—the Son of David, the Messiah—who would deliver them from their enemies, the beliefs and expectations of the Galilean pilgrims. He used these dynamics to make a statement about himself. That statement was made in the form of a parade.

Jesus designed and orchestrated the parade. He arranged for the donkey on which to ride, including a password that would gain the owner’s release of the donkey. He chose the time—the first day of the week of Passover. He chose the location—the eastern approach to and the Eastern gate into Jerusalem, the primary entrance used by the pilgrims from Galilee. Each of these aspects of his plan was designed to contribute to the statement he was attempting to make.

In choosing to ride a donkey, Jesus drew on the words of the prophet Zechariah.

            Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!

            Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!

            Lo, your king comes to you;

            triumphant and victorious is he,

            humble and riding on a donkey,

            on a colt, the foal of a donkey (Zechariah 9:9).

Alluding to this prophetic text, Jesus proclaimed himself to be the Messiah.

The pilgrims from Galilee contributed to his proclamation. Singing the messianic psalm, Psalm 118, they proclaimed Jesus to be the Messiah. Using the psalm, they prayed from deliverance—Hosanna!, which means, “save us!” Using their cloaks and palm branches from the trees, they created a “red carpet” for him as Israel had done when Jehu was proclaimed king (2 Kings 9:13). Palm branches were a national symbol, similar to our US flag.

The meaning behind Jesus’s choice of the day, the time of day, and the Eastern gate is found in what you do not see.

Roman history from that period and that region tells us that each year, on the first day of the week of Passover, the Roman procurator Pontius Pilate made his way from his residence on the Mediterranean coast to Jerusalem in order to be in Jerusalem for the Passover festival. He would enter Jerusalem through the Western gate of the city, riding a warhorse and leading a military parade. He led a legion of Roman soldiers, reinforcements for the Fortress Antonio in anticipation of political trouble during the festival. The soldiers were dressed in full battle attire—shields, helmets, breastplates, swords, spears. The message of the parade was clear: Roman soldiers would deal swiftly and ruthlessly with any who dared to defy the authority of Rome.

Jesus, too, chose a parade to make a statement. He chose the Eastern gate in contrast to Pilate’s entrance through the Western gate. He chose a donkey in contrast to Pilate’s warhorse. He chose religious pilgrims in contrast to professional soldiers dressed in battle attire.

The heart of Jesus’s message was in the contrast. He did not come as a warrior-king like David who used power to dominate, control, or destroy. He would not use his position or power for his own benefit. Rather, he would use his power on behalf of others. He came to serve. He was a servant king.

The Zechariah text adds clarity to what Jesus said about how he would use power.

            He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim

            and the war horse from Jerusalem,

            and the battle bow shall be cut off,

            and he shall command peace to the nations (Zechariah 9:10).

Jesus rejected the way empire uses power—the way of war; the use of power to dominate, control, and destroy.

Because of what we do not see—the military parade entering Jerusalem at the same time, on the same day, on the other side of the city—we often miss what Jesus was saying that day with his parade. Jesus—the long-awaited Messiah—came as a servant. He came to serve, using his power on behalf of others, to address the needs of others. He rejected the way the world uses power—over, down against others, for personal benefit, at the other’s expense—and thus the ways of war.

To be the followers of Jesus is to embrace the way Jesus used power—to serve. It is also to reject—as Jesus did—the way the world uses power. It is to reject the ways of war. As the followers of Jesus we are to be a servant people following a servant king.

Fifth Sunday of Lent, 2024 - Discipleship in a Grain of Wheat

 The gospel of John is the most theologically oriented gospel of the four gospels. Its theology far surpasses that of the other gospels.

Each of the gospels is unique, written for a different purpose, to a different audience. The gospel of Matthew—written for a Jewish audience—presents Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah who fulfilled what was written in the Hebrew Scriptures. The gospel of Luke—written for a Gentile audience—presents the key characteristics of the kingdom of God as reflected in the life, ministry, and teachings of Jesus and in his death and resurrection. The gospel of Mark describes what it means to be a follower of Jesus, portraying the discipleship journey as moving from the way the world trained us to think and live to the servant spirit Jesus taught and lived.

In contrast to these three synoptic gospels, the gospel of John teaches us how to think about God and the ways of God—theology. It is full of stories found in no other gospel. Each story presents theological truth and/or is followed by theological teaching.

·       This gospel teaches us about the incarnation—the Word made flesh (John 1:1-18). A repeated motif in the gospel is descending and ascending—“coming down from heaven” paired with the theme of ascending back to the Father (resurrection).

·       In Jesus—the Word made flesh—we see what God is like. “No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son who has made him known” (John 1:18). Jesus said to Philip, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9).

·       The gospel of John teaches us that God loves the world (John 3:16), which means God loves us. Because of God’s great love for the world, God gave the gift of Jesus his Son.

·       It tells us about God’s gift of eternal life—God’s quality of life—that is given through Jesus (John 3:16, 10:28). “And this is eternal life, that they my know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you sent” (John 17:5).

·       It is the gospel of John that teaches us the need to be born again from above (John 3:3).

·       It teaches that true worship is to “worship the Father in spirit and truth” (John 4:23).

·       This gospel teaches about the Spirit, the “spring of water gushing up to eternal life” (John 4:18, also 7:38-39). The Spirit—like Jesus the Son—is also a gift of the Father, sent “to be with you forever” (John 14:16). The Spirit—who “abides with you” and “in you” (John 14:17)—teaches us the ways of God that Jesus taught (John 14:26; 16:12-15).

·       It is in this gospel that we find the great “I am” sayings of Jesus—each a theological metaphor. “I am the bread of life” (John 6:35, 48), “I am the bread that comes down from heaven” (John 6:41), “I am the living bread that came down from heaven” (John 6:51), “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12, 9:5), “before Abraham was, I am” (John 8:58), “I am the gate of the sheep” (John 10:7, “I am the good shepherd” (John 10:11, 14), “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25), “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6), “I am the true vine” (John 15:1, 5).

·       It is the gospel of John that presents Jesus’s new commandment. “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:34-35, 15:12). This teaching is the gospel’s clearest statement about what is involved in being a disciple.

·       This gospel—using the metaphor of a vine and branches—teaches us about abiding in Christ (John 15:1-17). Abiding is the key to discipleship as it leads us to experience the joy of Jesus (John 15:11) as we love on another as Jesus loved (John 15:12).

·       Instead of Jesus’s prayer in Gethsemane, the gospel of John records Jesus’s high priestly prayer (John 17) in which he prays that his followers “may be one, as we are one” (John 17:11).

·       This gospel speaks of Jesus’s death and resurrection as being glorified (John 12:16, 23, 28; 17:1).

The primary focus of the gospel of John is Jesus as the Word made flesh—revealing the Father, doing the work of the Father, glorifying the Father. Interwoven with this central theme, amid the various stories, are hints about what it means to be a follower of Jesus—discipleship.

 Discipleship involves being born again from above (John 3:3), participating in God’s quality of life—eternal life, worshiping in spirit and in truth (John 4:23), experiencing the Spirit as “a spring of water gushing up to eternal life” (John 4:14, 7:37-39), owning responsibility for one’s own life and wholeness (John 5:1-14). The gospel repeatedly presents being a follower of Jesus as embracing and following his teachings. This repeated emphasis is the theme of chapters 6-10, i.e., eating his flesh and drinking his blood (John 6:53-58), walking in the light of life (John 8:12), embracing the truth that sets us free (John 8:31, 36), recognizing and following the voice of Jesus (John 10:3-6, 14).

Beyond these subtle hints are three specific teachings about discipleship. Two were identified above. The heart of discipleship is loving one another—the new commandment (John 13:34-35; 15:12-17). The key to discipleship is abiding in Christ (John 15:1-17). Abiding is a dimension of the Spirit’s presence and work in our lives (John 14:15-27). This abiding is what empowers us to love one another. The third teaching expresses discipleship in a nutshell—or, rather, as a grain of wheat.

“Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor” (John 12:24-26).

Discipleship involves dying. Specifically, discipleship involves dying to the self we unconsciously constructed in order to be accepted and valued by the world—what I call the egocentric constructed self. We constructed this self by following the thinking of the world, conforming to its expectations. It was constructed through self-effort as we measured up to the expectations placed upon us by those around us. It is grounded in merit-based, deserving-oriented thinking. At the core of this false persona is a comparing and competing spirit. We seek to be like those we consider to be successful and significant. We compare ourselves to those who fail to measure up as well as we do, unconsciously feeling superior to them. To refer to this identity as egocentric is to say that it is self-focused. It operates out of a self-centered, self-serving, what’s-in-it-for-me spirit.

Dying to this egocentric constructed self is what it means to “hate their life in this world.” It is to reject the thinking of the world and what it values. It is to die to who the world told us we needed to be. Holding onto this egocentric identity is to lose our life. It is to miss the God-quality of life for which we were created. It is to miss who God created us to be.

This kind of dying is what Jesus did. He refused to live by the expectations and demands of the world. Rather, his life was shaped by who he knew God to be and by the ways of God. As a result, he was out of step with the world in which he lived. He was constantly in conflict with those around him. Ultimately, this refusing to conform to the expectations of the world led first to being misunderstood and then to being rejected by the world, ultimately resulting in his being executed on a Roman cross.

Reflecting on a grain of wheat, Jesus identified a principle which God had designed into the fabric of life. This foundational principle is rooted in God’s own divine nature of self-giving love. The principle: dying is the way to life. Death leads to resurrection. When a single wheat seed is planted in the ground—i.e., dies—it bursts forth in a stalk of wheat that produces more seeds. Similarly, Jesus understood his death would lead to life for others—eternal life. “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself” (John 12:32).

Dying to our egocentric constructed identity is necessary if we are to love one another as Jesus taught. Loving one another requires a self-giving, servant spirit—the opposite of the what’s-in-it-for-me spirit of the egocentric self. It requires us to move beyond comparing and competing, beyond deserving-oriented thinking. Loving as Jesus taught requires us to reject the way the world taught us to think and what the world values.

Dying to our egocentric constructed self is only possible as we abide in Christ. Abiding in Christ is staying attuned to and in step with the Spirit. Dying to the egocentric constructed self is the work of Spirit who lives in us. It is the Spirit who teaches us what Jesus taught. It is the Spirit who empowers us to love as Jesus taught. It is the Spirit who guides us in loving one another.

The gospel of John is the most theologically oriented gospel of the four. Even its concept of discipleship is a theological concept, grounded in the theology of the incarnation. In a nutshell—or a grain of wheat—discipleship is dying in order to live. It is giving oneself in love for the sake of another. It is dying as Jesus died—the incarnation—which results in living as Jesus lived—the resurrection.

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24).  

 

Fourth Sunday of Lent, 2024 - Discipleship is More Than Believing in Jesus

In popular, Western Christianity, being a Christian is about believing in Jesus. This emphasis upon believing is based upon the gospel of John and Paul’s letter to the Romans. You know the key verses—you may even have memorized them.

John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

Romans 10:9, “If you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.”

In this understanding, believing in Jesus is expressed in church involvement and moral living—what I commonly refer to as proper belief, proper worship, and proper behavior. This understanding of what it means to be a Christian is so deeply engrained in our thinking that we fail to examine or question it. Why would we? Our sense of being okay spiritually—our sense of assurance that we are a Christian and will go to heaven when we die—is tied to the fact that we believe.

This emphasis upon belief became prominent in the fourth century with the writing of the various creeds—the Apostles’ Creed, the Nicene Creed, etc. These creeds, written by different councils, were an attempt to clarify orthodoxy—right belief—after Emperor Constantine made Christianity the official religion of Rome. Before Constantine’s decree, Christianity was not a legal religion in the eyes of Rome. Christians were often persecuted for their faith. After Constantine’s decree, all citizens were considered to be Christians. The creeds were an attempt to clarify what one had to believe in order to be a Christian.

Sadly, this common understanding of what it means to be a Christian is actually a misunderstanding. It is not supported by the New Testament scriptures.

In our Western, scientifically-oriented culture, believing is a mental exercise. To believe is to accept a fact as true. This understanding of what it means to believe is the product of scientific thinking. Thus, we believe that Jesus was the Son of God, that he died on the cross for our sins, that he was raised the third day, that he ascended into heaven and—as the Apostles’ Creed puts it—“sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.” In other words, we give intellectual assent to theological beliefs.

In the New Testament scriptures—written before scientific thought developed—to believe meant to exercise faith. Faith involved believing, but it was more than believing. Believing something to be true, faith was exercised in acting upon that truth. Belief—i.e., faith—led to action.

This understanding of faith—acting on what one believes—is seen in a story told by each of the synoptic gospels. The story is of a woman who had suffered from constant hemorrhaging for twelve years (Mark 5:25-34). Her condition had not only robbed her of health, it also had made her an outcast in her community. It made her ritually unclean, isolating her. Having heard of Jesus’s healing miracles, she believed “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well” (Mark 5:28). She then acted on that belief, slipping up behind Jesus in a crowd to touch the hem of his cloak. As she touched his cloak, her hemorrhaging was healed. Her health was restored. She was made whole. Sensing that power had gone out from him, Jesus turned to see who had touched him. In the interchange that followed, Jesus said to her, “Your faith has made you well” (Mark 5:34). Her faith was expressed in acting on what she believed. (Notice how the synoptic gospels talk about faith, not belief. The gospel of John—the last gospel to be written—introduces the language of believing.)  

In the New Testament and in the early church, being a Christian involved more than believing facts about who Jesus was and what he did. It was certainly about more than going to heaven when we die. Being a Christian was about discipleship—being a follower of Jesus. It was about learning a different way of thinking and living. It was about learning and living the ways of God Jesus taught—what Jesus referred to as the kingdom of God. To be a Christian was to believe what Jesus taught about God and the ways of God and then to build one’s life on those teachings, putting them into practice. To believe in Jesus resulted in a radically different way of life—here, now. In the New Testament, to believe in Jesus was to be a follower of Jesus—a disciple.

In my opinion, the emphasis on belief in today’s popular Christian culture falls short. It does not produce discipleship—building one’s life around the ways of God Jesus taught. It does not lead to a radically different way of living that is out of step with the ways of the world. At best, it leads to moral living and church involvement. Following this misunderstanding about believing, people can profess to believe in Jesus but fail to follow his teachings or put into practice the ways of God he taught.

Something is amiss when the lives of those who call themselves Christians mirror the values and lifestyles of their culture rather than the ways of God that Jesus taught. For me, this failure to live the ways of God Jesus taught is evidence that the popular emphasis on believing falls short of what the New Testament teaches about what it means to believe in Jesus.

To believe in Jesus is to be a follower of Jesus, learning and living the ways of God Jesus taught—a disciple. To believe in Jesus produces a radically different way of life from the capitalistic culture in which we live. To believe in Jesus—to be a follower of Jesus—produces a radical transformation of our lives, from the inside out.

Discipleship is more than believing in Jesus. 

Third Sunday of Lent, 2024 - The Bottom Line of Discipleship

As I understand it, the central message of the gospel of Mark is about discipleship.

The gospel focuses on the first disciples, telling their story as they moved through a three-stage process of being blind, then seeing but not clearly, to finally seeing clearly. Their spiritual journey is reflected in the story of the healing of the blind man whose healing required a second touch (Mark 8:22-26). In the first half of the gospel, the disciples were blind. They did not recognize Jesus as the Messiah nor could they understand his teachings. (See Mark 4:13, 41; 6:52; 7:17-18; 8:14-21). Following the story of the blind man whose healing required a second touch, the disciples recognized Jesus as the Messiah (Mark 8:29). They were able to see, but not clearly. They continued to struggle with his teachings, particularly his teachings about the suffering and death he would experience in Jerusalem. They would not be able to see clearly until after his resurrection. (I developed this understanding of the gospel in my book Following Jesus: Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark.) The disciples’ story reflects the journey every disciple experiences—a journey of moving from thinking shaped by the world to thinking shaped by the character of God and the ways of God.

In the heart of the gospel, the gospel writer used three different teachings to present what is involved in being a follower of Jesus.

The foundational teaching—found in Mark 8:34-37—described discipleship as learning from Jesus a different way of thinking and living—follow me. This different way of thinking and living puts a disciple at odds with the way the world thinks and functions. Following the teachings of Jesus, the disciple lives as an insurrectionist against the ways of the world—take up their cross. In addition, following the ways Jesus taught leads a disciple to surrender the identity s/he created by following the way the world thinks and functions—deny themselves.

The second teaching—found in Mark 9:33-37—clarifies the foundational teaching by identifying a servant spirit as the heart of discipleship. “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all” (Mark 9:35). To be a follower of Jesus is to live as a servant of others.

In the third teaching—Mark 10:32-45—the gospel writer clarified what it means to live out of a servant spirit. He refined his definition of discipleship to a single issue: how power is used.

The occasion of this teaching was a conflict among the disciples sparked by James and John. The two brothers had requested the right—as his cousins—to be Jesus’s two most trusted advisors when he established his kingdom. “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory” (Mark 10:37). Their crass attempt to be granted positions of power and the angry reaction by the other ten opened the door for Jesus to talk about how power is used in the kingdom.

Jesus began by describing how power is used “among the Gentiles” —that is, by those who do not know God or the ways of God. “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them” (Mark 10:42). The way power is used in the world is over, down against, for personal benefit, at the other’s expense. In the world, those in positions of authority exercise power over those beneath them in the hierarchy—lord it over. They target those beneath them, using power down against them—tyrants over them. They are self-serving in how they use power. They use it for personal benefit at the expense of those they lord it over.

Jesus was adamant that the world’s way of using power was not to be how his followers used power. “It is not so among you” (Mark 10:43). Instead, his followers were to use power the way he used power—to serve. “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:43-35).

To serve is to come alongside another as opposed to standing over them. It is to use power on the other’s behalf as oppose to using power down against them. It is to use power to address the other’s need as opposed to using power for personal benefit. All of this is done at personal cost for the follower of Jesus rather than at the expense of the other.

For the gospel writer, using power to serve was the bottom line of discipleship. All discipleship is ultimately evaluated by this bottom line: is power used to address the needs of others? Is power used to serve?

The story of the disciples as told in the gospel of Mark presents discipleship as learning from Jesus a different way of thinking and living—a way that is at odds with the way the world functions. A servant spirit is the heart of that different way of thinking and living. Its bottom line is using power to serve.