Mark
The verse that is almost universally acknowledged to be a kind of thematic capsule of Mark’s Gospel is 10:45:
“For even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
If you read through the first nine chapters and came across this verse, you would not be surprised. Mark is a Gospel of action—the action of the Son of God among God’s people. Mark does not portray Christ through several long teachings, but through his action. There are parables in Mark, but they are all short. By the time the reader is settled into the first chapter, Mark is already into the life and deeds of Jesus. The word “immediately” shows up more than 40 times in this short Gospel. And though it is significantly shorter than every other Gospel, Mark records more miracles.
It is true - Mark wants us to know that God himself, in the person of Jesus Christ, came to serve.
Jesus Christ also came to give his life so that we might live. As The Message puts it, Jesus came, “to give away his life in exchange for many who are held hostage.” A full half of the Gospel is dedicated to Jesus’ journey to the cross. In the middle of chapter 8, Jesus begins to make his way to Jerusalem in the last physical journey he will take with his disciples. Mark devotes a great deal of time and space revealing to us how Christ walked to the cross, and what it means to follow him there.
When we picture Roman persecution of Christians, the images we conjure up are typically dominated by mass arrests and innocent families in the Coliseum preparing to meet the wild beasts. Those images represent a small fraction of the actual persecutions of the early church, but Mark writes to the Christians who do represent that persecution. Nero burned Rome to the ground, and in an effort to curry favor with the angry masses, turned their hatred on a common enemy, the despised and misunderstood Christians. During this persecution the Christians who were not driven into the catacombs were arrested in droves and tortured to turn in their fellow believers. As the Roman historian Tacitus put it, “their deaths were made farcical.” They were dressed in animal skins and torn to pieces by wild beasts; they were crucified; they were turned into torches to light Nero’s garden by night.
Jesus not only came to serve, he came to be the Suffering Servant. Jesus willingly walked into Jerusalem toward the cross so that in this life and the next we might live.
There is one more element that is crucial to the purpose of Mark’s Gospel. Jesus is not only the Suffering Servant, he is sovereign. Jesus is never out of control of events and their consequences. The Son of Man has power over sickness, disease and death, and the cross does not take him by surprise.
The cross is not a moment of failure for Jesus, but the defining event of his sovereignty. Even that level of hatred and suffering does not diminish the power of a savior who came to serve and give his life so that I might live.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Pour Me!: Jeremiah 48
Jeremiah 48
In this chapter Jeremiah moves to Judah’s familiar neighbor, the nation of Moab. What the prophet describes is the fall of that nation, the cities that become a waste, and some of the reasons why Moab was judged.
One thing that becomes clear is that Moab was destroyed at the height of its prosperity. It was nestled, securely it was thought, in a rich valley. They were off the beaten path between mortal enemies, and a relatively small and unimportant nation. But it turns out that none of these things saved them. So what is the root of their collapse and destruction? Jeremiah is clear about their pride—it was a fundamental factor in their demise, and it was something that broke the heart of God.
In the midst of the judgment on Moab, God laments:
“We have heard of the pride of Moab--he is very proud--of his loftiness, his pride, and his arrogance, and the haughtiness of his heart. I know his insolence, declares the LORD; his boasts are false, his deeds are false. Therefore I wail for Moab; I cry out for all Moab; for the men of Kir-hareseth I mourn.” (vs. 29-31)
Their pride cut them off from God, and in what I find to be a fascinating twist, it broke the heart of God. Isn’t the God of Judah supposed to be “against” their enemies? Every other god in the ancient world might lack compassion on those who despise them, but Jeremiah’s God is completely different—he is a lover of sinners.
It is crucial to note that pride cuts us off from God. In every area of my life where pride has reign, I have excluded God; pride is the primary roadblock between God and me. Any way in which I feel self-satisfied or self-sufficient is a guaranteed hole in my relationship with God. If I feel I can handle my tomorrows, God is no longer sovereign. If I feel emotionally and relationally self-sufficient, God is no longer the God of comfort or my redeemer and friend. If in any way God is not my all-in-all, I have shut God out of my life.
The solution? My life needs to be stirred up and poured out. The problem the Moabites had was that they lived in luxury and never felt the need to rely on something greater than themselves. The imagery is stunning. When wine is left too long to ferment in the same barrel, the sediment that settles to the bottom turns the wine sour. The barrels need to be stirred up and poured out from time to time to guarantee good aging.
“Moab has been at ease from his youth and has settled on his dregs; he has not been emptied from vessel to vessel, nor has he gone into exile; so his taste remains in him, and his scent is not changed.” (vs. 11)
Disturbance in life, the difficulties we face, serve to ripen us—to make us deeper and richer in flavor. Instead of crying, “poor me!” we should pray, “pour me!” If we turn to the God of all comfort (2 Cor. 1:3), we can be turned into something deep and powerful. Scripture is unambiguous: “Count it all joy…when you meet trials” (James 1:2), “In this you rejoice [that]…you have been grieved by various trials” (1 Peter 1:6), “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake” (Col. 1:24).
The key to moments like these is to whom we turn. Will I let my pride turn me within myself, to a shallow and foolish well of advise, or will I allow God to be my strength and comfort when all my faculties fail me? Billy Graham once said, “Mountaintops are for views and inspiration, but fruit is grown in the valley.”
In this chapter Jeremiah moves to Judah’s familiar neighbor, the nation of Moab. What the prophet describes is the fall of that nation, the cities that become a waste, and some of the reasons why Moab was judged.
One thing that becomes clear is that Moab was destroyed at the height of its prosperity. It was nestled, securely it was thought, in a rich valley. They were off the beaten path between mortal enemies, and a relatively small and unimportant nation. But it turns out that none of these things saved them. So what is the root of their collapse and destruction? Jeremiah is clear about their pride—it was a fundamental factor in their demise, and it was something that broke the heart of God.
In the midst of the judgment on Moab, God laments:
“We have heard of the pride of Moab--he is very proud--of his loftiness, his pride, and his arrogance, and the haughtiness of his heart. I know his insolence, declares the LORD; his boasts are false, his deeds are false. Therefore I wail for Moab; I cry out for all Moab; for the men of Kir-hareseth I mourn.” (vs. 29-31)
Their pride cut them off from God, and in what I find to be a fascinating twist, it broke the heart of God. Isn’t the God of Judah supposed to be “against” their enemies? Every other god in the ancient world might lack compassion on those who despise them, but Jeremiah’s God is completely different—he is a lover of sinners.
It is crucial to note that pride cuts us off from God. In every area of my life where pride has reign, I have excluded God; pride is the primary roadblock between God and me. Any way in which I feel self-satisfied or self-sufficient is a guaranteed hole in my relationship with God. If I feel I can handle my tomorrows, God is no longer sovereign. If I feel emotionally and relationally self-sufficient, God is no longer the God of comfort or my redeemer and friend. If in any way God is not my all-in-all, I have shut God out of my life.
The solution? My life needs to be stirred up and poured out. The problem the Moabites had was that they lived in luxury and never felt the need to rely on something greater than themselves. The imagery is stunning. When wine is left too long to ferment in the same barrel, the sediment that settles to the bottom turns the wine sour. The barrels need to be stirred up and poured out from time to time to guarantee good aging.
“Moab has been at ease from his youth and has settled on his dregs; he has not been emptied from vessel to vessel, nor has he gone into exile; so his taste remains in him, and his scent is not changed.” (vs. 11)
Disturbance in life, the difficulties we face, serve to ripen us—to make us deeper and richer in flavor. Instead of crying, “poor me!” we should pray, “pour me!” If we turn to the God of all comfort (2 Cor. 1:3), we can be turned into something deep and powerful. Scripture is unambiguous: “Count it all joy…when you meet trials” (James 1:2), “In this you rejoice [that]…you have been grieved by various trials” (1 Peter 1:6), “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake” (Col. 1:24).
The key to moments like these is to whom we turn. Will I let my pride turn me within myself, to a shallow and foolish well of advise, or will I allow God to be my strength and comfort when all my faculties fail me? Billy Graham once said, “Mountaintops are for views and inspiration, but fruit is grown in the valley.”
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
For All The Nations: Jeremiah 46-47
Jeremiah 46-47
These chapters mark a distinct change in the book of Jeremiah. We move from narration of the life of Jeremiah, to his litany of prophecies against the surrounding nations. Though the oxen yokes and baskets of figs are gone, we still have a lot to learn about Jeremiah and his God.
As much as anything, these chapters are about the sovereignty of God. Though there is ultimately nothing “simple” about it, we can say that on one level, God’s sovereignty simply means He is the final ruler and judge of humanity. For the average Hebrew in Jeremiah’s day, it would have been a stretch to see their God as Lord over the Egyptians and Babylonians. The common view of gods in their day was that they were geographically and nationally located. If a nation or empire was small, so was their god; if it was large and powerful, so what their god. Part of what Jeremiah needs to communicate to his people is that their God is so big, no geography can contain him; he is God, even of the Egyptians and Philistines.
One surprising reality here is how well-versed Jeremiah is in the society and economy of Egypt and Philistia. Some scholars note that Jeremiah may refer to things in these chapters we may never fully understand. Jeremiah has a keen sense of Egyptian geography, politics, and medicine. Why would Jeremiah know so much about the enemy?
To begin with, Jeremiah’s call is anything but provincial. Jeremiah was told by God:
“I appointed you a prophet to the nations….See, I have set you this day over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to break down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” (1:5, 10)
The truth God wants conveyed covers all people in every culture. As a faithful prophet to God’s truth, Jeremiah knows how it works in surrounding cultures. And in direct opposition to the conventional religious wisdom of the day, Jeremiah saw the Egyptians and Philistines as potential people of God.
“Afterward Egypt shall be inhabited as in the days of old, declares the Lord.” (47:26)
There are plenty of hints in the Old Testament that God desires that all nations, no matter how wicked or pagan, belong to him (Psalm 87:4-6 names the Egyptians and Philistines).
God’s revelation has always rejected the kinds of social and ethnic barriers erected by the rest of the world. Paul, for instance, is fond of saying that in Christ there are no distinctions between people (Gal. 3:28, Col. 3:11). It is why we call each other “brother” and “sister” no matter what we drove to church in.
What Jeremiah models for us is, in fact, one of the genius strokes of the faith. Our call to reach out to the rest of the world with the love and forgiveness of God is not put to us in abstract terms. The call to love our neighbor is very concrete, even specific. This is what makes the command so difficult and so right. Jeremiah did not display a generalized concern for humanity, but a specified love for his neighbors--Egyptians and Philistines. “Love humanity” can mean, “love everyone in general and no one in particular,” or, “love those easy for you to love.” “Love your neighbor,” means, “love this person next to you.”
In his book, Heretics, G.K. Chesterton put it this way:
We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next-door neighbor….That is why the old religions and the old scriptural language showed so sharp a wisdom when they spoke, not of one’s duty towards humanity, but one’s duty toward one’s neighbor….[W]e have to love our neighbor because he is there—a much more alarming reason for a much more serious operation.
These chapters mark a distinct change in the book of Jeremiah. We move from narration of the life of Jeremiah, to his litany of prophecies against the surrounding nations. Though the oxen yokes and baskets of figs are gone, we still have a lot to learn about Jeremiah and his God.
As much as anything, these chapters are about the sovereignty of God. Though there is ultimately nothing “simple” about it, we can say that on one level, God’s sovereignty simply means He is the final ruler and judge of humanity. For the average Hebrew in Jeremiah’s day, it would have been a stretch to see their God as Lord over the Egyptians and Babylonians. The common view of gods in their day was that they were geographically and nationally located. If a nation or empire was small, so was their god; if it was large and powerful, so what their god. Part of what Jeremiah needs to communicate to his people is that their God is so big, no geography can contain him; he is God, even of the Egyptians and Philistines.
One surprising reality here is how well-versed Jeremiah is in the society and economy of Egypt and Philistia. Some scholars note that Jeremiah may refer to things in these chapters we may never fully understand. Jeremiah has a keen sense of Egyptian geography, politics, and medicine. Why would Jeremiah know so much about the enemy?
To begin with, Jeremiah’s call is anything but provincial. Jeremiah was told by God:
“I appointed you a prophet to the nations….See, I have set you this day over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to break down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” (1:5, 10)
The truth God wants conveyed covers all people in every culture. As a faithful prophet to God’s truth, Jeremiah knows how it works in surrounding cultures. And in direct opposition to the conventional religious wisdom of the day, Jeremiah saw the Egyptians and Philistines as potential people of God.
“Afterward Egypt shall be inhabited as in the days of old, declares the Lord.” (47:26)
There are plenty of hints in the Old Testament that God desires that all nations, no matter how wicked or pagan, belong to him (Psalm 87:4-6 names the Egyptians and Philistines).
God’s revelation has always rejected the kinds of social and ethnic barriers erected by the rest of the world. Paul, for instance, is fond of saying that in Christ there are no distinctions between people (Gal. 3:28, Col. 3:11). It is why we call each other “brother” and “sister” no matter what we drove to church in.
What Jeremiah models for us is, in fact, one of the genius strokes of the faith. Our call to reach out to the rest of the world with the love and forgiveness of God is not put to us in abstract terms. The call to love our neighbor is very concrete, even specific. This is what makes the command so difficult and so right. Jeremiah did not display a generalized concern for humanity, but a specified love for his neighbors--Egyptians and Philistines. “Love humanity” can mean, “love everyone in general and no one in particular,” or, “love those easy for you to love.” “Love your neighbor,” means, “love this person next to you.”
In his book, Heretics, G.K. Chesterton put it this way:
We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next-door neighbor….That is why the old religions and the old scriptural language showed so sharp a wisdom when they spoke, not of one’s duty towards humanity, but one’s duty toward one’s neighbor….[W]e have to love our neighbor because he is there—a much more alarming reason for a much more serious operation.
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