You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Jesus’ teaching often turns on its head the conventional wisdom of the world. Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, don’t seek revenge, trust in God’s provision when there is clearly not enough to go around. Here, too, he upends the standard way of looking at holiness and sacrilege, placing the focus not on what goes into a person, but on what comes out, the fruits of a life: "Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile."
Jesus invites us to look at our output in life, not only the big-picture achievements, acquisitions, awards, gains, goals met, works produced, but also the day-to-day external evidence of our lives. What are we putting out there for the world to see?
Is the fruit of our existence good and life-giving, nourishing and tasty, or is it old, rancid, stale, mealy? Do people associate knowing us with wisdom and insight, enthusiasm and encouragement, or do they encounter sadness or anger, stress, bitterness, resignation? What words would you use to describe your affect? Your effect?
Of course, we could ask people how they experience us – that would yield some interesting feedback. We can also become intentional about observing our interactions as we move through the day, reflecting back on each encounter. What did we lead with? What emotion was dominant? What outcomes resulted from our interactions?
Our bodies teach us that output is connected to input, so it’s not entirely divorced from what we take in. Heart, lungs and digestive system all involve input and output, in some cases waste product, and in others renewed and renewing substances. Not all output needs to be vital and important, yet over all we’d like what comes out of our mouths, our minds, our work and giftedness to bless others.
This week, pay attention to what you hear yourself say, what you watch yourself do. Rejoice in the outputs you like, and ask for God's help with the ones you don't. With God's Spirit at work in us, we can leave a trail of compassion and love, gratitude and grace.
© Kate Heichler, 2024. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Showing posts with label righteousness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label righteousness. Show all posts
10-12-23 - Fashion Police
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
A few years ago I attended my goddaughter’s wedding in England, and faced a big question: Did I have to wear a hat? My airport driver said yes; the mother of the bride said most would not wear one. Whew! Heaven forbid the godmother from America be unsuitably attired.
Had I been in Jesus’ parable of the wedding banquet, the consequences might have been severe. As Matthew tells it, the tale takes an odd turn after the influx of late arrivals from the streets and lanes: “Those servants went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests. But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’"
Why does correct attire matter so much to this king in Jesus’ story? This part of the tale is puzzling; it seems so unjust. This man didn’t know he was coming to a wedding, right? How could he have been expected to wear a “wedding robe,” whatever that is? And isn’t Jesus the one who said, “Don’t judge a book by its cover?” Actually no… but close - Jesus did say to judge what’s inside a person, not externals. What the heck is going on here?
No one fully knows, of course. Some scholars think there were certain items of clothing people wore to weddings. Here’s my guess: that even those who don’t have much advance invitation to God’s feast have the opportunity to turn, to repent, to “clean up,” as it were. Is that what is meant by the “wedding robe?” Maybe this person was wandering around, clueless, unconscious, unrepentant and unresponsive.
There are verses in the New Testament that speak of being “clothed in righteousness,” and “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.”
And in Revelation 19:7-8 we have this promise: “...for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready; to her it has been granted to be clothed with fine linen, bright and pure — for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.”
Do you feel “clothed in righteousness” today, or in some other attire? How well does it fit? How does it look on you? Might you try on another "emotional outfit" that better expresses how you want to be seen at God’s table?
Martin Luther wrote of God’s grace in Christ as the “Great Exchange,” by which Christ took on our filthy beggars’ rags and gives us his royal robes to wear. Christ has clothed us in HIS holiness. He covers even the most shameful parts of us, the parts we think are unlovable. He loves us into love.
In his righteousness, his holiness, his glory, we can stand unashamed, unhidden. We can allow our true selves to be seen, knowing that we are loved beyond measure by the God who made us, redeemed us, and loves us to the end of time. We are princes and princesses at a royal wedding – let’s dress like we know it, hats and all.
A few years ago I attended my goddaughter’s wedding in England, and faced a big question: Did I have to wear a hat? My airport driver said yes; the mother of the bride said most would not wear one. Whew! Heaven forbid the godmother from America be unsuitably attired.
Had I been in Jesus’ parable of the wedding banquet, the consequences might have been severe. As Matthew tells it, the tale takes an odd turn after the influx of late arrivals from the streets and lanes: “Those servants went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests. But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’"
Why does correct attire matter so much to this king in Jesus’ story? This part of the tale is puzzling; it seems so unjust. This man didn’t know he was coming to a wedding, right? How could he have been expected to wear a “wedding robe,” whatever that is? And isn’t Jesus the one who said, “Don’t judge a book by its cover?” Actually no… but close - Jesus did say to judge what’s inside a person, not externals. What the heck is going on here?
No one fully knows, of course. Some scholars think there were certain items of clothing people wore to weddings. Here’s my guess: that even those who don’t have much advance invitation to God’s feast have the opportunity to turn, to repent, to “clean up,” as it were. Is that what is meant by the “wedding robe?” Maybe this person was wandering around, clueless, unconscious, unrepentant and unresponsive.
There are verses in the New Testament that speak of being “clothed in righteousness,” and “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.”
And in Revelation 19:7-8 we have this promise: “...for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready; to her it has been granted to be clothed with fine linen, bright and pure — for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.”
Do you feel “clothed in righteousness” today, or in some other attire? How well does it fit? How does it look on you? Might you try on another "emotional outfit" that better expresses how you want to be seen at God’s table?
Martin Luther wrote of God’s grace in Christ as the “Great Exchange,” by which Christ took on our filthy beggars’ rags and gives us his royal robes to wear. Christ has clothed us in HIS holiness. He covers even the most shameful parts of us, the parts we think are unlovable. He loves us into love.
In his righteousness, his holiness, his glory, we can stand unashamed, unhidden. We can allow our true selves to be seen, knowing that we are loved beyond measure by the God who made us, redeemed us, and loves us to the end of time. We are princes and princesses at a royal wedding – let’s dress like we know it, hats and all.
9-28-23 - Religious, Not Spiritual
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Jesus often told simple stories to make complex points. The parable we explore this week, about a man and his two sons, is no exception. This one is bare bones. We're told who’s involved and what happened. No characterization, dialogue, insights into motivation; just the facts, ma’am.
They’re easy to tell: a man has two sons. He asks each one to go work in his vineyard. One says, “No way,” but then he goes and does it. The other says, “Sure, Dad,” and doesn’t go. Jesus asks, “Which did his father’s will?” The religious leaders answer, “The first.” Easy A. Seeing the work get done matters more than the intentions of the would-be workers. Isn’t that obvious?
Snap! They walked right into Jesus’ second trap. For they operated as the second son did; they built their reputations and their power base on being the “right people,” and on judging who else was a “right person.” For them, the “who” mattered much more than the “work.” The scruffy, the poor, the sick, the lame, the divorced, the sinful need not apply. These guardians of Israel’s purity kept temple life shut against the unrighteous.
But they couldn’t keep Jesus out – his ideas flowed under the doors and through the walls, empowering all those spiritual “have-nots” to repent and be healed, to call God himself their “Abba.” And these, Jesus goes on to say, will enter the Kingdom ahead of the professionally holy. Even tax collectors and prostitutes, he says. Look out!
In real life, people are not so easily reduced to one kind or another. We’re both of those sons, ready to commit at one moment, distracted and derailed the next. Some people's detours away from God’s vineyard are decades long, through other religious explorations, deep into consumerism, to the worship of other goods and gods – or simply into dells of doubt or despair.
Others of us hew closely to the way of Jesus and his church – and find our enthusiasm siphoned off to managing buildings and accounts, worrying over empty pews, and lining up cooks for the next church supper. Is one more “right” than another? Many of us mourn the lack of interest in church and faith in our culture, shaking our heads about those who consider themselves “spiritual, but not religious.” But many of our churches contain folks who are religious but not spiritual – that saps our vitality.
Is there room in the Life of God for both types – and for us, when we are both types? For these two sons are really two parts of one person, two ends of a continuum. Some of us are closer to one end than another; some hug the middle. If you’re more an over-promiser or an over-deliverer, are you able to love those on the other end of the spectrum? Might you bring to mind someone who irritates you because they don’t come through, and someone else who refuses to commit, but gets it done anyway… and pray for each to be fully blessed? Even if that person is you?
Jesus leaned toward the under-achievers in his parables – maybe because the over-achievers didn’t need as much encouragement, or because he knew how easy it is for the righteous to judge others. He needed to remind them that God loves whom God chooses. Jesus doesn't suggest that the father in the story loves one son more than the other – one just helps him out more. That’s the one I want to be.
Jesus often told simple stories to make complex points. The parable we explore this week, about a man and his two sons, is no exception. This one is bare bones. We're told who’s involved and what happened. No characterization, dialogue, insights into motivation; just the facts, ma’am.
They’re easy to tell: a man has two sons. He asks each one to go work in his vineyard. One says, “No way,” but then he goes and does it. The other says, “Sure, Dad,” and doesn’t go. Jesus asks, “Which did his father’s will?” The religious leaders answer, “The first.” Easy A. Seeing the work get done matters more than the intentions of the would-be workers. Isn’t that obvious?
Snap! They walked right into Jesus’ second trap. For they operated as the second son did; they built their reputations and their power base on being the “right people,” and on judging who else was a “right person.” For them, the “who” mattered much more than the “work.” The scruffy, the poor, the sick, the lame, the divorced, the sinful need not apply. These guardians of Israel’s purity kept temple life shut against the unrighteous.
But they couldn’t keep Jesus out – his ideas flowed under the doors and through the walls, empowering all those spiritual “have-nots” to repent and be healed, to call God himself their “Abba.” And these, Jesus goes on to say, will enter the Kingdom ahead of the professionally holy. Even tax collectors and prostitutes, he says. Look out!
In real life, people are not so easily reduced to one kind or another. We’re both of those sons, ready to commit at one moment, distracted and derailed the next. Some people's detours away from God’s vineyard are decades long, through other religious explorations, deep into consumerism, to the worship of other goods and gods – or simply into dells of doubt or despair.
Others of us hew closely to the way of Jesus and his church – and find our enthusiasm siphoned off to managing buildings and accounts, worrying over empty pews, and lining up cooks for the next church supper. Is one more “right” than another? Many of us mourn the lack of interest in church and faith in our culture, shaking our heads about those who consider themselves “spiritual, but not religious.” But many of our churches contain folks who are religious but not spiritual – that saps our vitality.
Is there room in the Life of God for both types – and for us, when we are both types? For these two sons are really two parts of one person, two ends of a continuum. Some of us are closer to one end than another; some hug the middle. If you’re more an over-promiser or an over-deliverer, are you able to love those on the other end of the spectrum? Might you bring to mind someone who irritates you because they don’t come through, and someone else who refuses to commit, but gets it done anyway… and pray for each to be fully blessed? Even if that person is you?
Jesus leaned toward the under-achievers in his parables – maybe because the over-achievers didn’t need as much encouragement, or because he knew how easy it is for the righteous to judge others. He needed to remind them that God loves whom God chooses. Jesus doesn't suggest that the father in the story loves one son more than the other – one just helps him out more. That’s the one I want to be.
9-27-23 - Promises, Promise
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
The men interrogating Jesus about the source of his authority – “Who you working for?” – were good and righteous religious leaders. They were sure, as are most righteous folks, that they knew what God did and did not approve of, and were not keen on the way Jesus represented the Almighty. So they questioned him, thinking they could entrap him into saying something blasphemous.
But Jesus is two steps ahead of them. In response to their question, Jesus asks them one they cannot answer without getting in trouble with the people – and as they rely on the crowd's approval, they are unable to answer one way or the other. Check and mate.
Jesus does not give a straight answer to their question, but he does respond in his sly, elliptical way – with a parable. This one is about a man and his two sons – no, not the one about the Prodigal Son; this is shorter and far less complex:
“What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, ‘I go, sir’; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?”
Before we get into how the Pharisees and Jesus interpret this little story, let’s explore it for ourselves. Many of us have teenaged children or have been teenaged children. It is easy to imagine either scenario – the one who, when asked to unload the dishwasher, refuses… and then, when no one is looking, cleans up the whole kitchen. And another, who, when asked to mow the lawn, says, “Sure, sure,” and never looks up from his video game till evening.
But why am I picking on teenagers? A social media meme reads, “Ladies, if a man says he’s going to fix it, he will. You don’t have to remind him every six months.” Promising more than we deliver and delivering more than we promise are pretty basic human behaviors. Is one more godly? Is one more fruitful than another?
Which of these two sons do you relate to? Put another way, which better describes you in your faith journey? Were you raised a Christian and have been half-hearted in your practice? Or did you come to it as a convert, now eager to participate in a life you’d either spurned or not known about before?
And how do we react toward people who fit either of these categories? A favorite charge leveled at churches is that they are full of hypocrites. Have we said or heard that? My answer to that is, “There’s always room for one more...”
None of us gets it quite right, and none of us gets it all wrong. Thanks be to God, we are all sons and daughters of a God who judges with mercy and corrects with love. When we fully integrate that truth, we usually want to get out to that vineyard and get to work.
The men interrogating Jesus about the source of his authority – “Who you working for?” – were good and righteous religious leaders. They were sure, as are most righteous folks, that they knew what God did and did not approve of, and were not keen on the way Jesus represented the Almighty. So they questioned him, thinking they could entrap him into saying something blasphemous.
But Jesus is two steps ahead of them. In response to their question, Jesus asks them one they cannot answer without getting in trouble with the people – and as they rely on the crowd's approval, they are unable to answer one way or the other. Check and mate.
Jesus does not give a straight answer to their question, but he does respond in his sly, elliptical way – with a parable. This one is about a man and his two sons – no, not the one about the Prodigal Son; this is shorter and far less complex:
“What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, ‘I go, sir’; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?”
Before we get into how the Pharisees and Jesus interpret this little story, let’s explore it for ourselves. Many of us have teenaged children or have been teenaged children. It is easy to imagine either scenario – the one who, when asked to unload the dishwasher, refuses… and then, when no one is looking, cleans up the whole kitchen. And another, who, when asked to mow the lawn, says, “Sure, sure,” and never looks up from his video game till evening.
But why am I picking on teenagers? A social media meme reads, “Ladies, if a man says he’s going to fix it, he will. You don’t have to remind him every six months.” Promising more than we deliver and delivering more than we promise are pretty basic human behaviors. Is one more godly? Is one more fruitful than another?
Which of these two sons do you relate to? Put another way, which better describes you in your faith journey? Were you raised a Christian and have been half-hearted in your practice? Or did you come to it as a convert, now eager to participate in a life you’d either spurned or not known about before?
And how do we react toward people who fit either of these categories? A favorite charge leveled at churches is that they are full of hypocrites. Have we said or heard that? My answer to that is, “There’s always room for one more...”
None of us gets it quite right, and none of us gets it all wrong. Thanks be to God, we are all sons and daughters of a God who judges with mercy and corrects with love. When we fully integrate that truth, we usually want to get out to that vineyard and get to work.
10-18-22 - Good and Sorry
You can listen to this reflection here.
I said last week, “God doesn’t want us good; God wants us real.” Over-simple, perhaps, but it is how Jesus is shown in the Gospels. He is generous, compassionate and forgiving with the repentant whose sins are outward and obvious, and he is often scathing toward the “good folks,” the Pharisees and scribes who were so sure they were pleasing God.
We see two kinds of righteousness in this week’s story: one based on doing the right things, the other on repenting for doing the wrong things. Jesus clearly stands with the second, suggesting that the way into the Life of God is through clear-eyed humility, not legalistic moral rigor. This message was so radical, it got him killed. It is still radical, and often ignored most by those who call themselves his followers.
Legalism is easier than humility. Humans tend to prefer success to failure, rules to ambiguity. To be honest about the ways we sin “in thought, word and deed” is much tougher than pushing those realities away and citing all the rules we’ve managed to keep. The Pharisee in Jesus’ parable extols his good works, his fasting and tithing – and the fact that he is not a thief, rogue, adulterer or extortioner. But those are easy sins to peg. Jesus goes deeper, suggesting that, in his pride and contempt for those weaker than himself, the Pharisee is actually less righteous than the low-life tax collector.
Of course, it’s not either/or. Christ-followers are called to both good works and repentance. The question is, what comes first? A focus on “keeping the rules” puts the emphasis on our action, not God’s. It often leads to anxiety and pride. But when we start from repentance, the action is with God, whose grace and forgiveness we need. And as we gratefully receive God’s grace, we often respond with compassion for those around us. I would say repentance often leads to good works, but good works rarely lead to repentance.
Want to try a little inventory? Make two columns. On one write everything you think makes you a “good person.” On the other, everything you feel ashamed of or insecure about. Can you live with knowing both columns tell a truth about you? Not the whole truth, but truth? Maybe we can offer God the “sin” column, trusting that God’s forgiveness is here before we even confess.
Now, the “good works” column – take a good look. Do you do all those things from your heart, or because you think you’re “supposed to?” What would you take out of that list if you followed your heart?
I said last week, “God doesn’t want us good; God wants us real.” Over-simple, perhaps, but it is how Jesus is shown in the Gospels. He is generous, compassionate and forgiving with the repentant whose sins are outward and obvious, and he is often scathing toward the “good folks,” the Pharisees and scribes who were so sure they were pleasing God.
We see two kinds of righteousness in this week’s story: one based on doing the right things, the other on repenting for doing the wrong things. Jesus clearly stands with the second, suggesting that the way into the Life of God is through clear-eyed humility, not legalistic moral rigor. This message was so radical, it got him killed. It is still radical, and often ignored most by those who call themselves his followers.
Legalism is easier than humility. Humans tend to prefer success to failure, rules to ambiguity. To be honest about the ways we sin “in thought, word and deed” is much tougher than pushing those realities away and citing all the rules we’ve managed to keep. The Pharisee in Jesus’ parable extols his good works, his fasting and tithing – and the fact that he is not a thief, rogue, adulterer or extortioner. But those are easy sins to peg. Jesus goes deeper, suggesting that, in his pride and contempt for those weaker than himself, the Pharisee is actually less righteous than the low-life tax collector.
Of course, it’s not either/or. Christ-followers are called to both good works and repentance. The question is, what comes first? A focus on “keeping the rules” puts the emphasis on our action, not God’s. It often leads to anxiety and pride. But when we start from repentance, the action is with God, whose grace and forgiveness we need. And as we gratefully receive God’s grace, we often respond with compassion for those around us. I would say repentance often leads to good works, but good works rarely lead to repentance.
Want to try a little inventory? Make two columns. On one write everything you think makes you a “good person.” On the other, everything you feel ashamed of or insecure about. Can you live with knowing both columns tell a truth about you? Not the whole truth, but truth? Maybe we can offer God the “sin” column, trusting that God’s forgiveness is here before we even confess.
Now, the “good works” column – take a good look. Do you do all those things from your heart, or because you think you’re “supposed to?” What would you take out of that list if you followed your heart?
10-24-13 - Justified
“I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other…”
That's how Jesus ends his story. What does he mean by “justified?” What does it mean that the more “sinful” tax collector is justified and the self-righteous Pharisee is not?
Justification is a key term for understanding what it means to be saved by God’s grace. Justification has to do with being “set right.” We can get a clue from how we format our documents – left, right- or center-justified. We often use the word as a defense – “Well, I was justified in saying that…” The law even has a category called “justifiable homicide.”
As a theological term, though, it goes even deeper– it means to be made righteous, aligned. It is not something we can do for ourselves – it is God’s work. And it is Christ’s righteousness that is conferred upon us, not our own. That’s why the “sinful” man was justified – in his humility he was able to receive, where the contemptuous "righteous" man could not.
Martin Luther had a wonderful image for this – he called it the “The Glorious Exchange,” in which Christ, the King and Lord of all, left his glory and took on our beggars’ clothes, our sin and self-orientation. But in this Exchange Christ does more than take on our lowly status – he gives us his. He takes our rags and dresses us instead in his royal robes of silk and velvet, his perfect righteousness. We get clothed in his holiness; it covers us, redefines us. That’s how God sees us, through Christ, as already holy.
How does it feel to put on a royal robe – or the finest clothing you can think of? Imagine it, in prayer.
How might you walk differently today, knowing you are secretly royalty? How might you talk differently?
What do you pray about, knowing you have handed off everything that mars your inner beauty and received a cosmic make-over? What would it take to believe we have received such a gift?
We are not recipients of a hand-out, but beloved children of God, reclaimed and redeemed at great cost. God didn’t send a check for us – He sent a Son, whom we know as Jesus the Christ; who came so that we might know Life. As we receive the gift, we get to be Christ, his Body, his hands and feet and eyes and voice bearing light to a world that needs it.
We can’t earn this gift, or repay it – we can only receive it. Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet, theologian and Sufi mystic, wrote: “God accepts counterfeit money.”
And God exchanges it for gold: You. Me. Infinitely precious, forever justified.
That's how Jesus ends his story. What does he mean by “justified?” What does it mean that the more “sinful” tax collector is justified and the self-righteous Pharisee is not?
Justification is a key term for understanding what it means to be saved by God’s grace. Justification has to do with being “set right.” We can get a clue from how we format our documents – left, right- or center-justified. We often use the word as a defense – “Well, I was justified in saying that…” The law even has a category called “justifiable homicide.”
As a theological term, though, it goes even deeper– it means to be made righteous, aligned. It is not something we can do for ourselves – it is God’s work. And it is Christ’s righteousness that is conferred upon us, not our own. That’s why the “sinful” man was justified – in his humility he was able to receive, where the contemptuous "righteous" man could not.
Martin Luther had a wonderful image for this – he called it the “The Glorious Exchange,” in which Christ, the King and Lord of all, left his glory and took on our beggars’ clothes, our sin and self-orientation. But in this Exchange Christ does more than take on our lowly status – he gives us his. He takes our rags and dresses us instead in his royal robes of silk and velvet, his perfect righteousness. We get clothed in his holiness; it covers us, redefines us. That’s how God sees us, through Christ, as already holy.
How does it feel to put on a royal robe – or the finest clothing you can think of? Imagine it, in prayer.
How might you walk differently today, knowing you are secretly royalty? How might you talk differently?
What do you pray about, knowing you have handed off everything that mars your inner beauty and received a cosmic make-over? What would it take to believe we have received such a gift?
We are not recipients of a hand-out, but beloved children of God, reclaimed and redeemed at great cost. God didn’t send a check for us – He sent a Son, whom we know as Jesus the Christ; who came so that we might know Life. As we receive the gift, we get to be Christ, his Body, his hands and feet and eyes and voice bearing light to a world that needs it.
We can’t earn this gift, or repay it – we can only receive it. Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet, theologian and Sufi mystic, wrote: “God accepts counterfeit money.”
And God exchanges it for gold: You. Me. Infinitely precious, forever justified.
10-22-13 - Good and Sorry
We can see two models of righteousness in this week’s story: one based on doing the right things, the other based on repenting for doing the wrong things. Jesus clearly stands with the second, suggesting that the way into the Life of God is through clear-eyed humility, not legalistic moral rigor. This message was so radical, we might say it got him killed. It is still radical, and often ignored most by those who call themselves his followers.
Legalism is often easier than humility. We humans tend to like success better than failure, rules better than ambiguity. To be honest about the ways we mess up “in thought, word and deed” is much tougher than pushing those realities away and counting up all the rules we’ve managed to keep. The Pharisee in Jesus’ parable extolls his good works, his fasting and tithing – and the fact that he is not a thief, rogue, adulterer or extortioner. Hey, those are easy sins to peg. Jesus goes deeper, suggesting that, in his pride and contempt for those weaker than himself, the Pharisee is actually less righteous than the low-life tax collector.
Of course, it’s not either/or. Good works and repentance are both integral to being a follower of Christ. The question is, what comes first? A focus on “keeping the rules” puts the emphasis on our action, not God’s. It often leads to anxiety and pride.
If we start from repentance, though, the action is with God, whose grace and forgiveness we need. And as we receive God’s grace in gratitude, we often respond with greater compassion for those around us. I would say repentance often leads to good works, but good works rarely lead to repentance.
Are you ready for a little inventory today? Make two columns. On one write everything you think makes you a “good person.” On the other, everything you feel ashamed of or insecure about. Can you live with knowing both columns tell a truth about you? Not the whole truth, but truth?
How about offering God the “sin” column, trusting that God’s forgiveness was there before you even confessed. Can you receive it? Pray for the power of love in you to move you out of some of those habits of the heart and mind.
Now, the “good works” column – take a good look. Do you do all those things from your heart, or because you think you’re “supposed to?” What would you take out of that list if you followed your heart? (I admit, I'm afraid to do this exercise!)
We can choose to be self-righteous, or self-aware – but generally not at the same time. Seeing ourselves clearly makes it a little difficult to be self-righteous. And why work that hard anyway, when God’s giving it away for free?
Legalism is often easier than humility. We humans tend to like success better than failure, rules better than ambiguity. To be honest about the ways we mess up “in thought, word and deed” is much tougher than pushing those realities away and counting up all the rules we’ve managed to keep. The Pharisee in Jesus’ parable extolls his good works, his fasting and tithing – and the fact that he is not a thief, rogue, adulterer or extortioner. Hey, those are easy sins to peg. Jesus goes deeper, suggesting that, in his pride and contempt for those weaker than himself, the Pharisee is actually less righteous than the low-life tax collector.
Of course, it’s not either/or. Good works and repentance are both integral to being a follower of Christ. The question is, what comes first? A focus on “keeping the rules” puts the emphasis on our action, not God’s. It often leads to anxiety and pride.
If we start from repentance, though, the action is with God, whose grace and forgiveness we need. And as we receive God’s grace in gratitude, we often respond with greater compassion for those around us. I would say repentance often leads to good works, but good works rarely lead to repentance.
Are you ready for a little inventory today? Make two columns. On one write everything you think makes you a “good person.” On the other, everything you feel ashamed of or insecure about. Can you live with knowing both columns tell a truth about you? Not the whole truth, but truth?
How about offering God the “sin” column, trusting that God’s forgiveness was there before you even confessed. Can you receive it? Pray for the power of love in you to move you out of some of those habits of the heart and mind.
Now, the “good works” column – take a good look. Do you do all those things from your heart, or because you think you’re “supposed to?” What would you take out of that list if you followed your heart? (I admit, I'm afraid to do this exercise!)
We can choose to be self-righteous, or self-aware – but generally not at the same time. Seeing ourselves clearly makes it a little difficult to be self-righteous. And why work that hard anyway, when God’s giving it away for free?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)