The Second Saturday of Advent

Second Saturday of Advent
December 10, 2011

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30:5b)

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately, saying, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?” Jesus answered them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. For many will come in my name, saying, ‘I am the Messiah!’ and they will lead many astray. And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars; see that you are not alarmed; for this must take place, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places: all this is but the beginning of the birthpangs. Then they will hand you over to be tortured and will put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of my name. Then many will fall away, and they will betray one another and hate one another. And many false prophets will arise and lead many astray. And because of the increase of lawlessness, the love of many will grow cold. But the one who endures to the end will be saved. And this good news of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the world, as a testimony to all the nations; and then the end will come. (Matthew 24:3-14)


I imagine that Jesus’ words to his disciples were just a bit disturbing to them, and also to those who would read them over the following three centuries, as the persecution of the church ebbed and flowed. If the first disciples were expecting Jesus to restore Israel to her former glory, then warnings about wars, famines, earthquakes, torture, and death would not be the good news they were desiring. It must have been disheartening to hear that people would rise up and distort what Jesus had done, and that folks would turn away in coldness.

It seems that every time we have a major earthquake or wars break out, people claim that this is it: Jesus is coming. These are the signs. The only problem with those kinds of predictions is that natural disasters and wars have been going on for a pretty long time. The torture and killing of people who are perceived to run cross-grain to the dominant culture is nothing new. It’s the way of the world.

But Jesus says that the good news of the kingdom, in spite of all that global ruckus, will still be proclaimed. Yes, the end will come, but it will come to a world that exists in upheaval, violence, and oppression. Those things are not aberrations; they are normative for the world.

Those who endure seem to experience and anticipate a different reality. We live in that tumultuous world, but we who follow Jesus have a citizenship in a different kingdom. We might accept the world as it is, but we know that God’s desire and plan is for a new heaven and a new earth. We endure not simply because we are hanging around and waiting for the end, but because God’s kingdom is real for us, and he has deposited his Spirit within us.

The Second Friday of Advent

The Second Friday of Advent
December 9, 2011

In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me. Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily. Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me. You are indeed my rock and my fortress; for your name’s sake lead me and guide me, take me out of the net that is hidden for me, for you are my refuge. Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God. (Psalm 31:1-5)

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you, desolate. For I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’” (Matthew 23:37-39)


Christmas, here in the US, is mostly about happiness and the giving of gifts. The giant blow-up Santas, Snoopys, and Frostys that are powered by generators on people’s front lawns and accompanied by pop holiday songs, can only bring joy to heart of any worshipper. Knowing that the credit card debt we incur during the holidays serves to boost end-of-the-year retail sales in a damaged economy reminds us of the real spirit of Christmas. At least, it reminds us of some kind of spirit.

In the story of Jesus’ coming at his birth, we see a society fighting to retain its religious and cultural identity while living under the domination of Rome. There were multiple stories of life being told to the people. The religious story was one of keeping the Jewish Law and allowing the power elite to frame orthodoxy by their own preferences. The control story belonged to Rome, and it demanded allegiance to the Empire under penalty of death; there could be no lord but Caesar.

There were some who cried out with the psalmist, seeking God for a rescue. But when Jesus came, he was ultimately rejected as the rescue everyone demanded. He recognized that when he lamented over Jerusalem and reflected on their history of destroying their own prophets when they didn’t like the message. Jesus knew what was coming for him. There were other preferred, dominant stories, and Jesus brought something so different and so counter to the other stories that he was rejected by those who thought they had cried out to God for help.

It is interesting that we frame the celebration of Christmas within our own desires for happiness, comfort, and prosperity. But the story of the birth of Jesus is a very different one than the one we enjoy. The joy in his story came in the midst of poverty, mystery, paranoia, and mass murder, but also in the anticipation that God was acting in human history. Some would see that; others would not.

I have to admit that I like all the lights and music and fun of our Christmas celebrations. But I do have to ask myself: If all that was taken away, and all that was left to me was my confidence in the witnesses who have gone before me who tell the story of his coming, would that be enough?

Would Jesus be enough?

“Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.” (Revelation 2:29)

The Second Thursday of Advent

The Second Thursday of Advent
December 8, 2011

Trust in the Lord, and do good; so you will live in the land, and enjoy security. Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord;
trust in him, and he will act. He will make your vindication shine like the light,
and the justice of your cause like the noonday. Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for him;
do not fret over those who prosper in their way,
over those who carry out evil devices. (Psalm 37:3-7)

Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. (Revelation 8:17a)

When people get together, there is drama. Whether it is nations, congresses, cities, neighborhoods, or families, something inevitably happens to cause division, strife, and orneriness. Give us the space to be together, to delight in one another’s company, to share a common life or mission, and we’ll pick a fight before the day is over.

When I was a kid we had Thanksgiving dinner at the home of some distant relatives. I was out in their front yard throwing a football to myself when a family—a young couple with two kids—burst out of the house next door and raced to their car, an older man at their heels. Once the people were in the car, the older man went to the driver’s window and punched the younger man in the face several times. As the driver pulled the car forward to leave, the other man kicked out the rear side window, shattering glass all over the kids in the back seat. I was told that, later in the day, the man doing the punching and kicking went to the home of this family with a shotgun and tried unsuccessfully to shoot the other man.

It appears that the argument was about telling other people’s kids to behave. Now that’s worth a killing.

Churches are like extended families (and sometimes like small cities), and some of the dynamics of strife emerge there, more often than we’d like to see. There are numerous denominations here in the US that are splitting apart in angry division. Some individual churches are attacking other groups of Christians vehemently. Still others attack the world at large, insisting that God hates the people that they hate.

It’s not possible to characterize the church as one thing, since it is so diverse and complex. Nevertheless, it might not be far off the mark to say that things are a mess.

When the rest of the world sees what we’re up to–since our more divisive and goofy antics are the ones that make the popular headlines—I don’t think they typically see a church that trusts in the Lord and does good (even though there are churches that do that) or one that waits patiently for the Lord and doesn’t fret (although there are churches that do that as well). We tend to be just as frantic and fractured as the rest of the world, and that’s what imprints the popular mind. It imprints us as well.

In the season of Advent we reflect on Jesus’ birth–his coming into the world. The world into which he was born was messy, and ours is no better. In Advent we also anticipate Jesus’ return to us. I wonder what kind of church he’ll find, in all its diversity and complexity, when that happens? If he returned today, what would he see?

Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

The Second Wednesday of Advent

Second Wednesday of Advent
December 7, 2011

Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, “The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. (Matthew 23:1-4)

But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. (Revelation 2:4)

We often think of the scribes and Pharisees as a bunch of villains. They wear fancy religious clothing, they act pious, they are oily and scheming and generally up to no good. Jesus, however, had some things in common with these folks. Like them, he taught about the resurrection of the dead; like them, he valued the Law and the Prophets. He apparently even approved of them as teachers and encouraged his own followers to pay attention to them and to live out what they taught. The scribes and Pharisees sought to keep the people of Israel from forgetting about God and losing their identity as God’s people, so they continued to teach from their scriptures. Jesus approved of that.

What Jesus didn’t endorse was the disconnect between their roles as teachers of the faith and the way they actually practiced what they taught. More than once Jesus would call them “hypocrites” and condemn their duplicity. It wasn’t enough for Jesus that the teachers had their doctrines down pat; without those things being expressed in real life, the teachers lost credibility.

This might create a problem for some of us, because there is a way of thinking that equates authentic Christian faith with having your information in order. If someone pops up with a new way of looking at our cherished doctrinal convictions, then accusations of heresy and blasphemy (or, most chillingly, of being liberal!) abound. Correct information that translates into belief is big for us. Yet, there is a danger to equating faith with accurate doctrine. As James would say: You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder (James 2:19).

It appears that Jesus would agree that information is a good thing. After all, he taught quite a bit and brought new ways of thinking to people who had been immersed in traditional Jewish faith. But the connection to life was crucial for Jesus. He pronounced salvation to the house of Zaccheaus as soon as the tax collector promised to make things right with people he had cheated; he celebrated the faith of the Centurion who trusted in Jesus’ authority; he healed a paralyzed man, lowered through a roof and sustained by the faith of his friends, confessing no understanding of his own. Jesus did not isolate faith into a simple creed or systematic theology; faith impacted the whole of life for him.

Theologians have long debated about the relationship between faith (often translated as right belief) and works (doing good things). While there can be distortions on either side, both have to be grounded in one thing: Our first love. Faith grounded in anything other than God’s love for us, including right thinking or right doing, is bound to go awry. When Jesus, in John’s vision in Revelation, speaks to the church in Ephesus, he celebrates their good works. But he stops them in their tracks when he reveals what they have lost: Their first love.

In Advent we celebrate both the birth of Jesus and also his anticipated return. At the end of it all, will he find us concretized in our right beliefs, or worn out by our doing of good deeds, and in either case claiming authentic faith? Or will he find us lost in the love of God, where belief is translated as trust, and good works flow out of love?

The Second Tuesday of Advent

Second Tuesday in Advent
December 6, 2011

Then Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, sent to King Jeroboam of Israel, saying, “Amos has conspired against you in the very center of the house of Israel; the land is not able to bear all his words. For thus Amos has said, ‘Jeroboam shall die by the sword, and Israel must go into exile away from his land.’” And Amaziah said to Amos, “O seer, go, flee away to the land of Judah, earn your bread there, and prophesy there; but never again prophesy at Bethel, for it is the king’s sanctuary, and it is a temple of the kingdom.” Then Amos answered Amaziah, “I am no prophet, nor a prophet’s son; but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees, and the Lord took me from following the flock, and the Lord said to me, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel.’ (Amos 7:10-15)

The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts; so I am helped, and my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him. The Lord is the strength of his people; he is the saving refuge of his anointed. O save your people, and bless your heritage; be their shepherd, and carry them forever. (Psalm 28:7-9)


King Jeroboam did not want to hear the prophetic words that Amos was speaking, and understandably so. Amos said that the king would die violently and the people of Israel would be hauled off into exile. So, in hearing these disturbing words, rather than change his ways and turn himself and the nation to the Lord, he told Amos to head south to the southern kingdom of Judah. Maybe he figured that what he couldn’t hear wouldn’t hurt him. He was wrong.

For his part, Amos confessed that he was not an expert at the prophetic role, but was just a humble working man. It was the Lord who had called him out and gave him this difficult assignment, and he obeyed. Amos wasn’t seeking power or notoriety; he was only responding to the call of God for that moment in time. While his word was good, the hearers did not hear.

Prophets who challenge the status quo are rarely heard. Just after the massive financial collapse of 2008, it was discovered that a number of economically-savvy people had warned about this disaster. If nations (particularly the US) didn’t act responsibly, then calamity would surely follow. Apparently no one who could facilitate change listened to the warnings, and the collapse came as predicted.

In the events surrounding the birth of Jesus we see the same kind of dynamics at work. Israel had long awaited her Messiah and prophets had told of his coming. Visiting astrologers from Persia came in search of the Messiah, and king Herod recognized that the time had come when his kingship would be exposed for the sham that it was. So he responded as quickly as he could with a violent act of infanticide. If you can’t hush up the prophetic words, then murder just might do the trick. Herod was also wrong.

The ones who remain in hope, however, continue to look to the Lord. They know better than to bank on the machinations of the dominant ones in power. Instead, they speak out their confidence in God: “O save your people, and bless your heritage; be their shepherd, and carry them forever.”

The Second Monday of Advent

Second Monday of Advent
December 5, 2011

Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all day long. Be mindful of your mercy, O Lord, and of your steadfast love, for they have been from of old. Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; according to your steadfast love remember me, for your goodness’ sake, O Lord! (Psalm 25:4-7)

“And as for the resurrection of the dead, have you not read what was said to you by God, ‘I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’? He is God not of the dead, but of the living.” (Matthew 22:31-32)

Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead. . . (Revelation 1:5a)


Certainty isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. There are a lot of things about which we’d like to be certain, but sometimes our desire to grasp tightly to our certainties creates problems for us.

The people who were quizzing Jesus about the resurrection didn’t believe in it in the first place. Their questions to Jesus weren’t about learning from him, but rather intended to trip him up. They wanted to discredit Jesus in order to shore up their certainties. Jesus, of course, turns their own scriptures on them. His reference to the Hebrew scriptures doesn’t prove the resurrection of the dead; it merely points to the confidence he had in God’s intentions for his people.

The psalmist asks God for a deeper life in knowing God’s ways, for mercy, and forgiveness for past sins. The prayer assumes that God is listening and responding, ready and willing to grant the requests that resonate with God’s heart. The psalmist is confident in God’s attentiveness and willingness to act.

Certainty isn’t what we need; we need confidence.

Certainty in the unshakable rightness of our doctrines can easily replace our confidence in God—after all, when you’ve got all the answers, the mystery evaporates and maybe you don’t even need God any longer. When you’re certain that you’ve got plenty of money, you start forgetting about how God meets your daily needs. When you’ve got your life all figured out, it’s easy to quit looking for the surprises that God brings and you forget that very often, our preferences run counter to what God desires.

In the opening chapter of Revelation, Jesus is referred to as “the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead.” We have confidence in what God will do because we have confidence in Jesus, who once said, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9). Jesus is our faithful witness to the character, nature, and intentions of God. We have confidence in our life with God now and in the life to come because Jesus has gone before us, the firstborn of the dead.

Our so-called certainties can box us in. It is confidence that we need.

The first Saturday in Advent

First Saturday of Advent
December 3, 2011

Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away. (Matthew 22:15-22)

Now to him who is able to keep you from falling, and to make you stand without blemish in the presence of his glory with rejoicing, to the only God our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, power, and authority, before all time and now and for ever. Amen. (Jude 24-25)

Religious people can be tough on one another when they suspect that someone thinks differently than they do about something concerning faith. Some of the people who were wary of Jesus were busy about doing that, and thought that they’d come up with a really clever way to trap him. They figured that he was in trouble regardless of his answer about taxes: If he said it was lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, then he would expose himself as a compromised Jew; if he said it wasn’t lawful to pay, then they could report him to the Roman authorities as a lawless rabble rouser.

Jesus, however, turned the tables on them with his simple words, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Paying taxes to Caesar were just part of their reality. There would always be someone in charge who demanded payment for services rendered, whether real or imagined, and Jesus didn’t seem concerned about that.

His words, however, strike a disturbing chord. There are things that go to Caesar that are different than the things that go to God. Taxes are about money and represent the economic fuel that keeps governments moving. But that which goes to God is different from any kind of economic or material substance. On that, Jesus does not want his hearers to be confused.

Christians, however, throughout the ages have indeed gotten confused about this. From Jesus’ coming at his birth to the gatherings of the first Christians, this confusion has caused persecution and hatred. By the fourth century people began to confuse the Empire with the Church—a confusion that exists in some form even today in certain places. In the 1930’s and 40’s, people in Germany began to allow Hitler’s agenda to be compatible with the state church’s agenda. Even in the US we often confuse our nation (or at least our preferred political party) with the desires of God.

If some sort of tribute is inevitable when it comes to nations and rulers and governments, then what sort of things are for God? What things are separate, unique, and sacred? Jude says it well: Glory, majesty, power, and authority. That belongs to God. Let Caesar have his taxes.

The First Friday in Advent

First Friday of Advent
December 2, 2011

Those who choose another god multiply their sorrows. . . . You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures for evermore. (Psalm 16: 4a, 11)

Seek good and not evil, that you may live;
and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with you, just as you have said. Hate evil and love good,
and establish justice. . . (Amos 5:14-15a)

The ancient people of Israel had no end of opportunities to worship the various gods of the surrounding nations. One of the worst was Molech, a god borrowed from the Phoenicians, who demanded the regular sacrifice of children. Others, like Baal and Asherah, were more about fertility and prosperity, and caught the attention of the Israelites when they wanted plenty of children and more productive crops.

Regardless of the choices, worshipping any of the local gods instead of the one true God did not end up well for the people. Ultimately it was a significant part of Israel’s downfall and ultimate exile. When the people looked back over the disasters that had destroyed their nation, they would surely lament their abandonment of God.

Their turning back to God was not, however, merely a cognitive affirmation that Israel’s God was better than the others. It was a turning that was to result in a transformed way of living that would be demonstrated in the community that was God’s people. Worshipping the one true God would result in life rather than multiple sorrows, and that life would look like the seeking of good over evil and establishing justice—that is, making right that which had gone wrong—in their land.

When Jesus appeared on the public scene, one of his earliest messages—borrowed from Isaiah 61—rings with this call to goodness and justice:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18-19

We’ve got more than our share of seductive gods in our US culture. We have gods of consumerism, materialism, politics, and religion. We hear the call to worship the stuff that makes end-of-year retail numbers look good; we are told that if we give full allegiance to a particular political party, we stand on the side of right and all will be well; the demands are made to let self-interest rule supremely and let the poor fend for themselves, and prosperity will follow; we are lured into certainty when we are told that our brothers and sisters in Christ are our enemies if they don’t see things exactly as described by some new prophet. And so our sorrows are multiplied as these gods promise us the Moon and instead deliver us into Hell.

In the coming of Jesus, who comes as God’s anointed to bring, among other blessings, liberation from the worship of all that is not God, we are confronted with life rather than death, with good rather than evil, with justice rather than oppression. It’s not just that we might be freed from the grip of those idols, but also that we might not worship at their altars and preach their gospels.

In this Advent season, perhaps more than in other years, reflecting on the past, present, and future coming of Jesus is crucial for us. We are in a bad economy that demands consumption in order to prosper; we are entering an election year when promises of justice and goodness often ring hollow and draw us into the worship of political preferences.

God help us. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

The First Thursday in Advent

First Thursday of Advent
December 1, 2011

. . . yet you did not return to me, says the Lord. (Amos 4:6b)

Since all these things are to be dissolved in this way, what sort of people ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire? But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home. (2 Peter 3:11-13)

The prophet Amos spoke harshly to the people of Israel. In chapter four he speaks for God, who chronicles all the disasters that have come upon the people, taking credit for each one, yet lamenting with each remembrance that the people did not return to him.

Israel’s history as it is told in the Bible is one of the people’s faithfulness that morphs to idolatry and unfaithfulness, and then back again, over and over. It’s a roller coaster ride of relationship with the God who had called them to be his people for the sake and blessing of the world, and the cars were riding off the rails. Amos speaks harshly, but behind the words we can hear the heartbreak that God seems to suffer because of the people’s refusal to come home.

I don’t know about you, but I find it easy to avoid God in both bad times and good—I don’t discriminate at all. When times are bad, I’m busy figuring out how to get things back to normal again or being just plain depressed about the circumstances. When things are going well, then I forget about God all together because I’m feeling self-sufficient and able to take care of myself. I think I have a lot in common with Amos’ first audience. Maybe you can identify with that.

In light of what the early Christians expected and what the Scriptures teach—that everything that now exists will one day be transformed into God’s new heaven and new earth—Peter asks the question that cuts to the heart of our core identity. As God’s people, expecting what God will one day bring about, how should we live? What kind of people should we be? Peter doesn’t point to natural disasters as motivators for repentance, but rather recognizes that we belong to God’s future, even though we live in an earthly present. So do we live within the boundaries of the present status quo (this is a particularly important question in a US election year, when the season on hatred and false witness is open to all), or do we live as citizens of the kingdom of God?

Peter says that we do, indeed, wait for God. But we also live as God’s children, set apart by him for the blessing of the world.

The First Wednesday in Advent

First Wednesday of Advent
November 30, 2011

O that deliverance for Israel would come from Zion!
When the Lord restores the fortunes of his people,
Jacob will rejoice; Israel will be glad. (Psalm 14:7)

But do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed. (2 Peter 3:8-10)

A few years ago I went to the doctor because of a respiratory infection. I sat on the paper-covered examination table while he checked things out and asked me a series of questions. In the process he discovered that I worked for a theological seminary, so he took advantage of the circumstance of my medical captivity to interrogate me about when Jesus was scheduled to return. As much as I tried to dodge the issue—after all, he was the guy with access to needles and probes and such, and I feared retribution for offering an unacceptable answer—he persisted. I finally reminded him that I was sick and needed repair, so he prescribed some antibiotics and I went on my way, leaving the question of Jesus’ expected return unanswered.

People have been trying to get that date on the calendar for a long time, to no avail. The psalmist doesn’t demand precision in terms of timing, but he echoes the cry of Israel for God to bring deliverance so that their exile and oppression will end. The anticipation was that deliverance looked like the restoration of Israel’s glory days.

The early followers of Jesus saw deliverance in a new light. Rather than expecting to be delivered from the rule of the Roman Empire, they came to understand that God, in and through Jesus, had delivered them from the power of sin and death—all that was behind earthly oppression. Deliverance for them looked like turning to the God who had rescued them from every demanding voice of dominance that was not God, and freed them into a new life.

Still, they anticipated that something the ancient Hebrew people called “the day of the Lord,” when God would upset the order of the earthly kingdoms and make things right, especially for Israel. The early Christians still looked forward to that day, but now with broader scope. The God who would make things right wanted things to be right for all people, “not wanting any to perish.”

Peter spoke of that day in dramatic language, signaling a global change in everything we’ve come to know. His words mirror those of Jesus in Revelation 21, as a new heaven and new earth are established, and he announces, “I am making all things new.”

In this season of Advent, we are drawn into the newness of God’s story. We don’t have to wait for a distant, highly-publicized date of return on the calendar to enter into what God has made new: It’s all here now. As Peter spoke of God’s desire for all people, we are invited to turn (which is the meaning of “repent”) to the God who has made himself known to us in Jesus.

The First Tuesday in Advent

O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger,
or discipline me in your wrath. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;
O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror. My soul also is struck with terror,
while you, O Lord—how long? (Psalm 6:1-3)

People cry out to God all the time, wondering why in the world (or in the heaven) he doesn’t do something. Doesn’t God know what’s going on here? Doesn’t he see the financial problems, the wars and genocides, the crime, and the discontent? More personally, has God lost track of MY problems?

The psalmist cries out to God, “My soul also is struck with terror,
while you, O Lord—how long?” He is terrified, while God does—what? Wait around? Kill some time? Make a few extra planets? Where is he? What is God doing while all this is going on? And how long will he ignore this disastrous situation?

Indeed, how long? The people of ancient Israel would resonate with that cry because they had become a people in exile. Even by Jesus’ day their freedom to live in their own land was limited and controlled by the Romans. They were a people in exile at home. Certainly when the everyday Israelite saw centurions marching through town or, even worse, witnessed the occasional crucifixion of Jewish offenders, the cry would well up: How long, O Lord?

When Jesus was born, few people anticipated that he was the answer to that prayer, How long? Herod saw the birth as a threat to his throne and staged a quick infanticide to address his fears. Years later the religious leaders of Jerusalem would employ the power of Rome to do away with Jesus, again fearing a threat to their dominance. Waiting for God is rarely convenient for those who hold all the power.

In the season of Advent we reflect on the coming of Jesus at his birth. At the same time, we look forward to his coming again, when God recreates the heavens and the earth, and his kingdom comes in its fullness. But what about in between? Are we, like the ancient Israelites, left alone to wonder, How long?

The amazing thing about the two Advents is that the space in between is not devoid of God. God’s presence has been promised to us in another Advent—the ongoing presence of the Holy Spirit. It is through God’s Spirit that Jesus’ claim is made good:

“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20b)

We are not left alone, and God has not left the building.

First Monday in Advent

First Monday of Advent
November 28, 2011

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Matthew 21:1-5)

Therefore, brothers and sisters, be all the more eager to confirm your call and election, for if you do this, you will never stumble. For in this way, entry into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ will be richly provided for you. (2 Peter 1:10-11)

The story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem—what most Bibles title, “The Triumphal Entry”—always puzzles me. I think I understand why Jesus did what he did, because he was fulfilling Scripture but also giving the people a different image of their Messiah than they expected. What puzzles me is why the people were so excited at seeing Jesus riding on a donkey. Did they expect that the donkey would suddenly transform into a huge, sweaty stallion with flaring nostrils and iron hooves? And did they think that Jesus would morph into a muscular and deadly ninja who would slaughter the Romans right on the spot? I don’t know. I’m just wondering.

What is clear in the gospels is that the people did expect something from Jesus that was different than what he was offering. People loved his works of healing and deliverance, and marveled at his teachings. But they also wanted to see the kind of power that put Israel right back in the driver’s seat and ran the Romans back to Italy where they could get busy inventing pizza.

In the days of the early church, leaders like Peter had to keep reminding people about their identity as followers of Jesus. Like most of us, they were tempted to expect other things from Jesus than what he was offering. Peter has to remind them about their “election” (not the idea of being chosen at the exclusion of others, but being chosen for the benefit of the world) and that they are to order their lives around traits and values such as faith, goodness, knowledge, self-control, mutual affection, and godliness. When people get off track, he says, they “stumble” into things that end up corrupting them.

In this beginning of the Advent season, it might be good for us to stop and consider what we’ve been expecting from Jesus as he comes to us. If we’re expecting prosperity, power, the baptizing of our political party, or anything other than the Jesus who draws us into the new reality of the kingdom of God, then we’ll stumble and experience the corruption that comes from being immersed in the wrong world.

In his book Death on a Friday Afternoon, Richard John Neuhaus wrote,

“. . . In this life and in the world to come, those who follow Jesus will receive everything they want, if what they want is to follow Jesus.”

Looking for a New Rhythm of Life

The holidays are upon us again, reminding Christians in American that we have only two religious holidays that we are allowed to observe: Christmas and Easter. Along with the rest of the nation, we busily spend our money on holiday-related consumer goods, but we also devote ourselves to a total of approximately two hours of religious observance. That’s all that our calendar will allow.

There is something wrong with this, at least for Christians. What many (particularly those in Protestant, evangelical traditions) seem to forget (or perhaps never realized), is that we are living the rhythms of our lives by the wrong calendar. There is a different calendar for us that meanders and strolls rather than sprints and constantly gasps for breath. It’s a calendar that leads in deep reflection and worship rather than in squirrel cage-demands and mandated national observances.

Christians have something called the Church Year. That calendar begins the year in late November with the observance of Advent (the coming of Jesus), which runs then continuously through Christmastide, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Eastertide, Pentecost, and then something called Ordinary time (the season when our immersion in worship remembers that we live out the Jesus life one day at a time). Churches that observe this calendar do so with colors, prayers, liturgies, music, and even feasts. During the week people have resources of prayer and devotion that follow these seasons throughout each day.

I did not grow up observing the calendar of the Church Year, but I’ve become fascinated with the richness and depth of a shared rhythm of life that is ordered around what we consider to be the greatest story of the ages: The story of God’s redeeming and reconciling work in and through Jesus.

What puzzles me is how often I share my interest in the Church Year and find my Christian friends recoiling from the idea as though I was suggesting a fifty-mile pilgrimage along a hard, rocky road on our bare knees. Cautions against legalism and deadness rise to the surface and the invitation to find the order of life in Jesus’ story often falls flat.

It’s the standard, twelve-month calendar that many seem to prefer. Why would we need a calendar with all that unnecessary religious stuff when we’ve got one that serves both the nation and the church (in that order)? You know that calendar: It’s called the Gregorian Calendar, and it’s months are named after Roman gods and goddesses and even a couple of dead Roman emperors. Yes, indeed—there’s a rhythm of life we Christians should easily embrace.

Of course I’m being just a tad sarcastic (or is it ironic?). I’m not against the Gregorian calendar. After all, it’s how most of the world schedules travel and work days and other movements of human life. But for we who follow Jesus, there should be a deeper rhythm that plays beneath all of that. Observing the Church Year should keep us in a perpetual state of wonder, thanks, and worship. Yes, anything can be degraded so that it is dead and meaningless (even things like marriage, prayer, and “contemporary” worship). That’s no excuse for letting our lives be framed by anything other than Jesus.

The Slippery Slope of Generational Churches

There seem to be an increasing number of “dechurched” bands of people getting together to figure out how faith looks once a person feels disenfranchised from church. I’ve read research about this and heard from more than one significant Christian leader about this trend.

This doesn’t mean, of course, that everyone has left church, or that those who have end up in isolated home groups looking for a fresh identity. But there’s enough of it to catch my attention, and certainly the attention of those who watch for these kinds of things.

I was with one such group recently. They were devout in their love of God and faith in Jesus. They expressed love for one another, worshipped and prayed fervently. And all, even after many decades of faithful church connection, found themselves outside of an established church setting.

This got me to thinking about church life in general. There’s been a trend since the 1970’s to reconfigure church and its various practices in order to reach a new generation (at that time, my generation—the Baby Boomers). Of course, the Roman Catholic Church got busy with this a decade earlier, but the Evangelicals eventually honed the practice into a veritable industry.

What has happened since that time is a growing separation of generational cohorts within the church. So, once the Boomers’ offspring came of age, that old Rock ‘n Roll worship vibe was seen by them as outdated and tired. They just couldn’t relate, so new generationally-crafted churches emerged. Or, if that didn’t happen, young people just left church altogether as soon as they got out of high school.

I’m seeing a systemic problem with all of this. I’m not against worship gatherings that are sensitive to their cultural contexts, but when the worshipping life of the church is grounded in the preferences of a particular generation within a culture, then it must reinvent itself for each subsequent generation or die. This is not just a problem for so-called mainline churches, but also for the churches that have emerged over the last thirty or forty years. With each generational change comes the risk of alienating the prior generation and lurching inevitable toward irrelevance when a subsequent generation hits puberty.

It occurs to me that the sacramental and strongly liturgical churches have something to teach us here. In more traditional liturgies, everyone potentially dives deeply into Scripture and communal prayers. Yes, there is a sermon, but it’s usually brief and completely overshadowed by the heart of the worship time: The Eucharist.
All who are present participate—young and old, clergy and non-clergy. Prayers are spoken, songs are sung, confession echoes, bread and wine are shared. There is an ancient and eternal sense about what is happening, something not limited to a particular generational preference.

We all might be helped to rethink the meaning of the word service when it comes to church. Is it service to me and my kind, giving us what we like and serving our preferential needs? Or is it service to God as we rehearse the story of the ages and submit ourselves to his love, grace, mercy, and forgiveness? As the apostle Paul stated so well:

I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. (Rom 12:1)

I believe this is worth thinking about.

The Fourth Day After Easter

Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
 whose hope is in the Lord their God, 
who made heaven and earth,
 the sea, and all that is in them;
 who keeps faith for ever; 
who executes justice for the oppressed;
 who gives food to the hungry.
The Lord sets the prisoners free; 
the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
 The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;
 the Lord loves the righteous. 
The Lord watches over the strangers;
 he upholds the orphan and the widow,
 but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin. (Psalm 146:5-9)

He heals the broken-hearted,
 and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3)

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you.” (John 15:12-16a)

If you’ve ever showed up to a party that is already in full swing, you know how it feels: Conversations are in motion, the music is playing, the food is out and partially eaten. But people greet you as you arrive because you’ve been expected all along and they’re glad that you’ve finally arrived.

Sometimes people view God as being outside of the drama of human existence and then, after people scream, yell, and pray, he finally decides to intervene so that he can get back to tricking us with fake planets like Pluto or whipping up the next natural disaster just to mess with things.

The Bible offers a different picture of God: He is already involved in everything that is happening. It is God who creates and sustains all life; it is God who initiates justice and care for the hurting and the needy; it is God who brings healing to the wounded. Yes, people do cry out, but not to a god who is deaf half the time to their cries, but instead to the God who is fully aware, fully present, and already at work.

Jesus presents the face of God within his own life and character. Jesus loves those who have followed him, and he loves them as friends. They are not simply religious functionaries; they are beloved friends. He tells them that they have been drawn into what God is doing in the world and are a part of his work.

“You did not choose me but I chose you.” People sometimes debate about these words as if they are about some sort of determinism regarding how God chooses who is in and who is out. But Jesus is speaking about how God works: God’s work comes before anyone is aware of what is going on. God is the initiator and we get to respond to what he is doing. The disciples did not hunt up God by chasing down Jesus and demanding that he let them join his club. Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness, wrestling in prayer, and then chose his followers as an answer to that time of communion with his Father.

Every time we respond to God we are showing up to a party that is already in full swing. When we trust our lives to Jesus, God doesn’t say, “I’m really glad that you showed up. Now, what is your name, again? I’m really kind of busy, you know.” God has been at work in and around us the whole time, drawing us, calling to us, loving us even as we went along our own merry way. God started the party without us, but he also reserved a seat for us, waiting for us to finally arrive.

The Third Day After Easter

But as for me, I will look to the Lord,
 I will wait for the God of my salvation;
 my God will hear me. . .

Shepherd your people with your staff,
 flock that belongs to you,
 which lives alone in a forest 
in the midst of a garden land; 
let them feed in Bashan and Gilead
as in the days of old. As in the days when you came out of the land of Egypt,
 show us marvelous things. (Psalm 7:7, 14-15)

I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:5)

Most of us are waiting for something. We’re waiting for a big break, waiting for our ship to come in, waiting for the right person to come along, waiting for quitting time, waiting for retirement. We do a lot of waiting. It seems life too much of our life is spent in some kind of waiting room filled with old magazines and bad coffee.

The ancient people of Israel were in exile, and they waited. Perhaps some had lost hope in God, lost hope in ever returning home again, and lost hope in their future. The prophet Micah, however, speaks of hope in waiting, because he intends, regardless of what everyone else does, to wait on God. He trusts that God will hear him.

Micah describes the people as a flock of sheep who are surrounded by a lush land, but are isolated in a forest—not the best environment for sheep. He calls on God to be their shepherd and to show his people marvelous things once again. He believes that life in the garden is their destiny rather than hiddeness in the shadows of the forest. The prophet recalls the history of God’s people and how God acted in the past to rescue them. He is confident that God will act again.

I’ve experienced crazy things in my life that I can only interpret as the work of God. Exact amounts of money for specific needs have shown up at just the right time; cries for help for those I love have been answered; direction for life choices has come in surprising ways. Yet, when things in life get dicey, I start waiting on the wrong things. I wait for a brilliant idea to emerge from my own brilliantness to solve the problem, or I wait for new strategies to emerge, or I wait for financial markets to wake up and make my future brighter than it seems. It’s a painful waiting and there is no rest in it.

Jesus employs the metaphor of the grape vine to make his point about waiting. I’ve been to wineries and seen grape vines at work. They just sit there, doing what grape vines and branches do. The branches are wedded to the vine, and the soak up sun, soil, and water and the fruit follows. I love visiting wineries because they feel so peaceful and relaxed. If that’s what waiting is really about, then I’m all for it.

The brand of waiting that Jesus recommends is one of abiding, or living. It’s not a waiting that is passive, isolated, or disinterested, but is instead a waiting that is immersed in the life of Jesus. There is a rhythm of trust in that kind of waiting, because Jesus moves in concert with the desires and intentions of God, and that waiting-life works its way into our lives by the breath of God’s Spirit—the Holy Spirit. Abiding in Jesus is a life of participation in what God is doing all around us. It allows for the best kind of waiting.

the Second Day after Easter

The Lord works vindication
and justice for all who are oppressed. He made known his ways to Moses,
 his acts to the people of Israel. 
The Lord is merciful and gracious,
 slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. 
He will not always accuse,
 nor will he keep his anger for ever. 
He does not deal with us according to our sins,
 nor repay us according to our iniquities. 
For as the heavens are high above the earth,
 so great is his steadfast love towards those who fear him; 
as far as the east is from the west,
 so far he removes our transgressions from us. 
As a father has compassion for his children,
 so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him. 
For he knows how we were made;
 he remembers that we are dust. (Psalm 103:6-14)

“I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them. . . I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” (John 14:18-21)

When I was in the Navy I worked in an old building that had three restrooms on the bottom floor, and each was clearly labeled: Men; Women; Officers. The message was clear to we enlisted folks who were at the bottom of the military food chain: We had our own restrooms and we were not to share those facilities with our officers, who were, historically, men.

The only problem with this set up was that there were now two female officers who worked on the first floor of this building. Every so often one of them would use the “Officers” restroom just to make a point. After all, they too were officers. It was their right. It was an act of equality and justice.

In our culture equality, rights, and justice are often bundled together in our thinking. We believe in equal access to all things—after all, we have the right to pursue almost anything we desire, and to hinder that process is perceived as an act of injustice.
The way that the Bible describes justice in relation to God is very different from our cultural constructs. Justice is seen as God engaging with broken humanity and setting right what has been damaged by sin and oppression. Even to those who have transgressed, God offers the possibility of forgiveness. This comes from his love and compassion, described so beautifully in Psalm 103.

When Jesus speaks to his friends in John 14, he deepens the understanding of God’s love by describing it not only as compassionate, but also present. He speaks of his life being embedding in the life of God the Father, and that this life will live within those who trust him. He describes the Holy Spirit as the “Advocate,” the one who comes alongside us to help us. This is more than God looking over his damaged children and relieving them from punishment; this is God fully present as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, to his children who are, in all appearances, dust.

It is sad when we reduce Christian faith to a set of concrete statements of belief. At the heart of Christian faith is the initiative of God, which comes before anything we believe, and the promise of his presence living within us, transforming us from dust to beloved children. This is God worth trusting. First we trust, then we come to articulate what we believe. As John says in another place,

In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us . . . (I John 4:10a)

A Devotional for Easter Sunday

After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshipped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” (Matthew 28:1-10)

For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin. For whoever has died is freed from sin. But if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him. We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. The death he died, he died to sin, once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God. So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus. (Romans 6:5-11)

When Christians celebrate Easter, it is typically joyous. The dark coverings of Good Friday are drawn back, the windows are opened, the bright flowers are produced, and the songs of joy are sung. There is no more need for sadness and grief; he is risen, and all will be well.

The first friends of Jesus, however, did not experience joy until later. Initially, fear and disbelief dominated them—Jesus twice tells them, “Do not be afraid.” The guards at the tomb were terrified to the point of catatonia; t is likely that they later exhibited the signs of PTSD. In Luke’s account of the Resurrection, the male disciples don’t believe the story that the women tell about the empty tomb and the angels. They thought it was “an idle tale” (Luke 24:11). Their own gender prejudices might have made the women’s report suspect to them. They found it hard to believe.

It would be interesting to celebrate Easter in a cemetery. One particular tomb could be arranged ahead of time with the doors thrown open and a coffin smashed to bits, the corpse nowhere to be seen. People dressed like angels could leap out from behind gravestones and trees, scaring the pants off everyone by yelling, “He is risen!” Then everyone could gather together and be allowed to share all their doubts about faith and God. Starting an Easter celebration with fear and doubt might align us with the experiences of the first disciples; it might also create a new kind of space for Jesus to appear and show that he is truly alive.

It was only long after the events of the Resurrection that some theological interpretation started to emerge. People like the Apostle Paul looked deeply into the life of Israel, reflected on the story of Jesus, and realized that something cosmic and global was happening as a result of the local event of Jesus’ resurrection. This was a story for all people, and human lives were being drawn into the death and resurrection of Jesus. Jesus, who had been condemned by the power of sin, and then snuffed out by the power of death, now stood victorious over both those dark forces. When we trust our lives to Jesus, his story becomes ours; Paul says that we, too, are now freed from the dominance of both sin and death.

A story that launches in fear and disbelief, in a dusty spot in a faraway place, becomes a story of joy and hope, a story for people in all places at all times. Even for those who are still troubled by fear, Jesus comes and urges, “Do not be afraid.” For those who struggle with disbelief, he reaches out and cries, “Greetings!”

He is risen. He is risen indeed!

Holy Week, Day Seven: The Last Words of Jesus

Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last. (Luke 23:46)

It has been said that Humphrey Bogart’s last words were, “I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis.” Other famous people have uttered final words that were profound, desperate, or just plain crazy. People will say all kinds of things at the point of death.

Jesus had every right for any of the above, given his circumstances. We would understand his final cries to be of incomprehensible anguish or utterances coming from hallucinatory pain. Instead, he offers the words from the prayer book of his people—the Psalms.

You are indeed my rock and my fortress;
 for your name’s sake lead me and guide me, 
take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
 for you are my refuge. 
Into your hand I commit my spirit;
 you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God. (Psalm 31:3-5)

People often think of death as a giving up of all that is valuable and precious to us—human life. In crying out in the words of the Psalm, Jesus brings to the minds of the witnesses to his death something very different. This time of suffering will end, not in the obliteration of life, but instead in Jesus’ entrance into the refuge of his Father.

In both the Hebrew and the Greek of the Bible, the same word is frequently used for spirit, breath, and wind. As Jesus offers his spirit—the breath of God that brings about all of life on earth—he breathes out, offering back to God the life that was his in the first place.

Even as people speak, breath is at work. Our words are formed by teeth and tongue, breath and mind. As God speaks, word becomes flesh; breath becomes life.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)

It is intriguing to note that much of the last words spoken by Jesus on the cross were words of prayer. His prayers were not simply the isolated, painful cries of a dying man, but rather the corporate prayers of the people of Israel, gathered into the slowly diminishing life of Jesus, who had come for the sake of his own people and the sake of the world. Jesus cried not only for himself, but also on behalf of Israel, bringing the pain of their exile into his own time of agony.

All the witnesses to Jesus’ death could understandably assume that sin and death had won the day. Rome and Jerusalem conspired in deceit to do away with Jesus; their success was realized when Jesus breathed his final breath. The claws of death would surely wrap around one who died as a criminal and a failed Messiah.

Jesus, however, did not fear such a destiny. As his life dwindled to a dull glow, he laid his spirit into the hands of his Father. Death would not enjoy a victory over Jesus; he belonged to God, and would be received home. Death would have to look around twice to figure out what had just happened.

The confidence that Jesus had in his Father’s desire to receive him gives us hope for ourselves. The same Father who embraced the spirit of Jesus upon his death will one day receive us as well. When Resurrection comes, spirit and body will reunite in God’s new heaven and new earth. There is no shortage of hope for the people of God.

Day Six of Holy Week: The Last Words of Jesus

“It is finished.”

When new houses are built, all the skilled workers play their parts—creating a foundation, framing, running wire and pipe, making roofs and walls and ceilings—and then leave for the next project. A clean-up team comes in and picks up all the fragments of the job so that people can move in. The workers still carry a responsibility for the integrity of their work, and they will have to return to fix something if it doesn’t work properly.

However, the workers have no responsibility for what the inhabitants do once they move in. If the marriage collapses, the electrician will not be called to account. If illegal drugs are manufactured in the bathroom, the plumber will not have to answer to the police. The workers’ relationship to the house ends when it is properly completed and ready for occupancy. What happens after that is not their concern. They are finished.

Jesus’ final words on the cross imply a number of things. Truly, Jesus’ life is finished. He is breathing his last, and he will now die, as all humans must. Along with his death, the power of Rome has finished its murderous work on yet another person. For those standing close to the cross, those words might have confirmed what they already believed: All that Jesus had said and done was finished, as was the life they had shared together.

But some other things were finished as well. All that had come to be represented in Jesus—the life of Israel and the life of the entire human race—would no longer be subject to the final word of sin and death. Yes, sin would still rattle its cage throughout the world and every new birth would end in a grave, but their power to pronounce the end of the story was finished. And if we truly believe that the very fullness of God was in and with Jesus, then God’s immersion in the totality of human existence was finished; from conception to death, God’s sojourn in the life of the human race was complete.

Unlike the workers who move on when their work is done, what was finished in the death of Jesus would launch into a new reality with a cosmic purpose. This was not a finishing that was over and done with no relationship to what would come next, but it was rather a finishing that would explode to a new level in the Resurrection (the Greek word for finished implies this purposeful relationship). To the average onlooker, Jesus the failed Messiah who died on Friday was truly finished and had gone the way of others before him. But Sunday was yet to come, and what appeared to be finished would turn reality on its head. Like a seed that appears dried and dead but, when planted in the ground, becomes a living plant, so would the finished, dead body of Jesus enter the tomb and emerge with new life for all.

We humans, who so often lack vision, can easily look around and declare ourselves “finished.” We’ve hit a wall, we’ve made too many mistakes, we’ve missed too many opportunities, and we are finished. But the story in which we are invited to live doesn’t leave us finished as though we’ve reached a silent ending. On one level we may be finished, but in Jesus we find that we can launch into a new life that doesn’t deny what has happened before, but now wraps up the past into a present that brings hope and promise for the future.

Things may no longer look as we imagined they would, but passing from death to a resurrection life rarely keeps things looking the same. The resurrected Jesus was not a reanimated corpse, but a real body from which death and its effects had been banished. There were still the marks of the past in Jesus’ hands, feet, and sides, because what had happened to him was real. The new life, however, wrapped up the past into the new and purposeful life that was launched on Easter.