Defying Nature

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3.16)

Pure Love
In John 3.16, Jesus summarizes the rationale for His birth. His incarnation and mission are conceived by pure love. Believing this is the first rung in faith’s ladder. What’s more, faith in this negates discounting Christ’s virgin birth as naturally impossible or ancient myth. The prospect of human congress bringing Jesus to the world introduces happenstance He’s conceived for reasons beyond love—libidinal drive, marital obligation, or familial longevity, for example. Raising the odds Jesus is born of human intent acknowledges the chance there was never a plan for our redemption. It opens the door to theories that Jesus was no more than an extraordinary teacher and belief in His divinity evolved after the fact. The minute we credence anything other than pure love is responsible for Christ’s birth, our entire faith unravels.

Now let’s be reasonable. Is it not equally imaginable God’s strategy begins by endowing a naturally conceived infant with divine nature? Of course, it’s possible. In fact, the Christmas story lends credibility to not ruling it out. When Mary questions how can she be pregnant, the angel tells her, “Nothing is impossible with God.” (Luke 1.37) But God living in one of us is hugely different than God living with us, as us. The former includes margins of error the latter mitigates by defying nature from the get-go. And since defying nature is central to everything Jesus teaches, the Virgin Birth makes better sense. A second look at John 3.16 reveals why. Challenging us to accept Jesus as “His one and only Son,” conceived by pure love, enables our belief in God’s pure, absolute, and unconditional love for us. It’s the key to life.

Wisdom and Knowledge
Accepting the Virgin Birth daunts us in the same manner the Creation does. It asks us to ignore everything we know is empirically true in nature to believe it occurs as Biblical writers say. Rather than taking it at face value, many find it easier to disregard it as an ancient tall tale born of inferior knowledge. Yet this is no more legitimate than refuting proven facts to interpret Scripture literally. Each attitude exposes an all too human compulsion to exclude one for the other, when both are essential. They function on entirely different planes and achieve entirely different ends. Solomon realizes this, which is why he explicitly prays, “Give me wisdom and knowledge.” (1 Chronicles 1.10)

Knowledge explains how. It informs. In contrast, wisdom reveals why. It instructs. Each provides benefits we must seek and accept at no expense of the other. In terms of the Virgin Birth, whether we comprehend how it can be true has no bearing our capability to understand why it must be true. God sent His Son to live among us because He loves us. His plan is spawned by pure love. If we have to remove doubts about the Incarnation’s factuality to accept this, then that’s what we must do. In matters of faith, understanding why takes precedence over knowing how every time.

Innocence Incarnate
First John 4.14 and 16 makes the connection: “We have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world… And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love.” Defying our assumption that knowledge precedes understanding, the Virgin Birth asks us to understand pure love’s revelation in Christ’s birth in order to know the purity of God. As God Incarnate, Jesus becomes Innocence Incarnate. He is conceived, lives, and dies without sin specifically to restore our innocence and reconcile us to God. And once we understand this, we return to a place of innocence where we know and rely on God’s love instead of our wits. We stop reasoning and start believing.

It’s all there in John 3.16. God loved us so much—more than we’ll ever understand—that He conceived His one and only Son in love. Regardless if we comprehend it, because we believe it, eternal life is ours. Human nature opens a very short road paved by jaded knowledge that leads to a dead end. The pure love revealed in the Virgin Birth opens the endless opportunity to lead an unnatural life guided by faith. It teaches us the value of understanding more than we can know, rather than knowing more than we can understand.


When the angel informs Mary of her pregnancy, she asks, “How can this be?” We may ask the same question. Yet not knowing how it’s possible doesn’t preclude our understanding of why it must be.

(Next: Defying Politics)

The Gift Worth Having

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full. (John 10.10)

Curses in Disguise
Some gifts backfire on their givers, as a hysterical video that made the rounds about this time last year shows. A clueless husband gives his wife a Thigh-Master for their anniversary. She immediately escorts him to a doghouse with a trap door that drops him into an underground sweatshop full of similarly inept husbands. Their only means of escape is convincing a stern, all-female parole board they’ve figured out why their gifts backfired. Other gifts backfire on their receivers. Many “gifts that keep on giving”—Fruit-of-the-Month subscriptions, for instance, or adorable bunnies—sometimes fit this bill. The initial delight fades, leaving a routine dilemma about what to do with cartons of perishables or a child who won’t clean his rabbit’s cage. The gift worth having must be something we truly want. The gift that keeps on giving must be something we can’t do without. Otherwise, we may discover these gifts are curses in disguise.

Unnecessary presents typically wind up stowed out of sight and mind. We can’t bring ourselves to toss them away and risk offending those who give them to us. But as the years wear on and the gifts pile up, they start taking. They steal space we could put to better use. They kill time and energy by forcing us to deal with them. And the longer we hang onto them, the more burdensome they become, gradually destroying our appreciation for the kind gestures behind them. Over time, “How thoughtful of them to give us an automated card shuffler” turns into “What made them think we’d ever use this?” It’s funny how gifts we don’t need ultimately become clutter we detest.

Gift and Giver
In their gospels and letters, the Apostles continually present Jesus as God’s Gift to humankind. This concept originates in Isaiah 9.6: “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given.” And Jesus ratifies it several times, most famously in John 3.16 (a verse we’ll delve into next time): “God so loved the world he gave his one and only Son.” Yet while the concept holds firm, its construct proves surprisingly elastic. John and Paul in particular portray Jesus as a literal—i.e., physical—Gift, as well as the channel through which God’s grace and life are given. In 1 John 5.11, we read, “God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son,” while Paul contrasts Adam and Jesus in Romans 5.15 by saying, “For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many!”

The dozens of variations on this idea coalesce into a unified theme: Jesus comes as Gift and Giver. He’s born specifically to provide the perfect Offering—a Gift of Love—for our redemption. “This is love,” 1 John 4.10 tells us, “not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.” But in the span between His first breath in the manger and His last gasp on the cross, He teaches us to accept gifts God wants us to receive. No verse better summarizes the extent of what we can receive by and through Him than John 10.10: “I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full.” Jesus epitomizes the Gift worth having and the Gift that keeps on giving. We need Him and the full life He gives.

Opening Our Lives
With Advent cresting this weekend and Christmas approaching, we have a moment to remember embracing the Gift of Christ is nothing short of opening our lives to all of God’s gifts: love, grace, mercy, acceptance, strength, purpose, joy, healing, hope, confidence, peace, creativity, holiness, and innumerable other treasures. They’re not ours for the asking; God gives them to us without reservation. This has always been so, even before God sends Jesus to offer them in Person. Psalm 84.11 says, “The LORD bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless.” And get this: even blamelessness is a gift. Paul writes, “Righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ.” (Romans 3.22) No matter how much righteousness we scramble together, we’ll never accumulate enough to merit God’s gifts. Titus 3.5 stresses, “He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.” So great is God’s love, He bestows His righteousness on us for no other reason than entitling us to every other gift He wants us to have.

The tiny Baby in a cow-crib is so much more than a Sacrifice destined for the altar. He’s Life—new life, eternal life, and full life. He’s the Gift worth having, the Gift that keeps on giving. Thus, Christmas transcends celebrating Christ’s birth; it’s the celebration of our lives. We experience it at its fullest by enlarging our worship to include gratefully accepting all He came to give. When Jesus arrived, everything we’ll ever want or need came with Him. If anything’s absent from our lives, it’s not because God decides we can’t have it. It’s because we haven't yet opened our lives to receive everything He gives.

Jesus came into the world as Gift and Giver, which transforms Christmas from a celebration of His birth into the celebration of the fullness of life we experience by receiving all of God's gifts.

(Next: Defying Nature)

The Quiet Man

When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus. (Matthew 1.24-25)

The Strong, Silent Type

“Strength calls unto strength” the proverb goes. Having been privileged to be part of a family of extraordinarily strong women (on both sides), I can attest to this, as I’ve also been blessed to grow up around amazingly strong men. Both sexes in our clan assert their strengths in what you might call classic Southern style. The women are more demonstrative, talkative, and imaginative—always organizing things, starting projects, getting involved, etc., which tends to catapult them into leadership positions. The men exhibit their strengths in quieter, complementary ways that support their wives, mothers, and daughters. They embody “the strong, silent type.” The outsider naïvely assumes our men play secondary roles, when nothing is further from the truth. Within our ranks, it’s no secret men and women share equal responsibility for leadership, and nothing happens without mutual consent.

Heritage surely colors my image of Joseph. Yet there’s no arguing he indeed is the strong, silent type. His strength leaps out of the story. Here’s a young, self-employed man from a good family, the Biblical equivalent of “Mayflower bluebloods” that can trace its genes back to Abraham. Joseph’s parents arrange his marriage to a local young woman. Everything’s going along as planned, when the rug gets yanked from beneath them. She gets pregnant through none of her doing. Acting as though nothing’s wrong is not an option. Joseph can rush into marriage, which effectively casts him as the child’s father and ruins his and Mary’s reputations. Or he can cancel their engagement, discreetly sending her away to deal with the baby and shame on her own. Loathsome as the second choice is, it’s the better of the two. Then a new wrinkle appears in their situation. An angel, perhaps the same one that visits Mary, tells Joseph to stand by her and consummate their marriage after she delivers. Such a tactic invites huge risk and demands enormous strength. But that’s what Joseph decides to do.

The Only Word
Many voices filter through the Christmas story—Mary’s, several angels’, Elizabeth’s, Zechariah’s, Herod’s, the Wise Men’s, and the shepherds’—but not one statement comes directly from Joseph. We don’t know what he says to his angel. We’re not privy to his conversations with Mary or his family. Everyone else talks; Joseph listens. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t reveal feelings or thoughts. All we know about him emerges in what he does. As the single unquoted person in the story, he’s definitely its most intriguing character. Furthermore, since we live in an age severely lacking spousal and paternal models, not hearing Joseph explicitly convey his inner thoughts and emotions is unfortunate.

Now brace yourself for the most delectable irony of all time. While the Gospels fail to record Joseph word-for-word, he becomes history’s most oft-quoted individual. In the half-second needed to ponder that, a thousand people (at least) spoke the only word ever attributed to him. After the Christ Child is born, Matthew 1.25 says Joseph “gave him the name Jesus.” The moment Joseph names the Baby he provides the world its most precious—and most abused—word. Billions around the world say “Jesus” daily, many of them several times a day. Some utter it in reverence. Others use it casually. Still others spit it in anger and frustration. But as the first human to say it, had Joseph not called Mary’s Son “Jesus,” we’d be no more likely to call that name than any other.

Preferences Aside
Joseph might have gained prominence by actually choosing Jesus’s name. But as the Baby isn’t his, he has no paternal naming rights. The angel gives Joseph Jesus’s name in advance. A weaker, less astute man would bristle at being told what to name the Child, resenting it as one more thankless task in an overall thankless job. Not Joseph. He sets his preferences aside to support Mary and follow God’s direction. Thus, on that frigid night, in that dim and gamy stable, when Joseph says, “Jesus,” the only word attributed to him forever shatters darkness and radiates warmth.

There’s a wealth of knowledge to glean from the Quiet Man. Listening, trusting, and obeying are far more important than speaking. Seeking God’s will is nobler than looking for recognition. Setting personal preferences aside to support those selected for more substantial duties is an equal honor and responsibility. What we say, not how much of it, is the measure of our character. Courage and leadership are revealed in our willingness to accept what we don’t understand as well as in our persistence when logic insists we give up. One word, two syllables—Jesus—is all we have from Joseph. Yet when he says that, he says it all.


Nothing Joseph ever said is directly quoted in Scripture, yet the one word we know he spoke makes him the most frequently quoted human in history.

(Next: The Gift Worth Having)

Postscript: The Women in Jesus's Past

Claire, over at A Seat at the Table, just posted a lovely supplement to the list of Joseph's ancestors that opens Matthew's account. Today's post originally contained a comment about his taking the time to list 42 generations of men, from Abraham to Joseph, which technically doesn't matter since Jesus has no biological father. [Matthew uses the list prove Jesus is "the seed of David, the seed of Abraham" {v1.1), but his rationale is a little sketchy given the Virgin Birth.]

I cut my comments for length and clarity's sake, but also with regret. We have no history of Mary's ancestry, which is truly unfortunate. However, when I saw Claire's post of "A Genealogy of Jesus Christ" compiled by Anne Patrick Ware of the Women's Liturgy Group of New York, I realized this is as close as we can get to recognizing the powerful influence the women in Jesus's past surely had on His life. It's a lovely piece of work--something worth reflecting on during this Advent season. (Thanks, Claire!)

A Genealogy of Jesus Christ

A genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of Miriam,
the daughter of Anna:
Sarah was the mother of Isaac,
And Rebekah was the mother of Jacob,
Leah was the mother of Judah,
Tamar was the mother of Perez.
The names of the mothers of Hezron, Ram, Amminadab, Nahshon
and Salmon have been lost.
Rahab was the mother of Boaz,
and Ruth was the mother of Obed.
Obed’s wife, whose name is unknown, bore Jesse.
The wife of Jesse was the mother of David.
Bathsheba was the mother of Solomon,
Naamah, the Ammonite, was the mother of Rehoboam.
Maacah was the mother of Abijam and the grandmother of Asa.
Azubah was the mother of Jehoshaphat.
The name of Jehoram’s mother is unknown.
Athaliah was the mother of Ahaziah,
Zibiah of Beersheba, the mother of Joash.
Jecoliah of Jerusalem bore Uzziah,
Jerusha bore Jotham; Ahaz’s mother is unknown.
Abi was the mother of Hezekiah,
Hephzibah was the mother of Manasseh,
Meshullemeth was the mother of Amon,
Jedidah was the mother of Josiah.
Zebidah was the mother of Jehoiahim,
Nehushta was the mother of Jehiachinm
Hamutal was the mother of Zedekiaj.
Then the deportation to Babylon
the names of the mothers go unrecorded.
These are their sons:
Jechoniah, Shealtiel, Zerubbabel,
Abiud, Eliakim, Azor and Zadok,
Achim, Eliud, Eleazar,
Matthan, Jacob and Joseph, the husband of Miriam.
Of her was born Jesus who is called Christ.
The sum of generations is therefore:
fourteen from Sarah to David’s mother;
fourteen from Bathsheba to the Babylonian deportation;
and fourteen from the Babylonian deportation
to Miriam, the mother of Christ.

Compiled by Ann Patrick Ware
of the Women’s Liturgy Group of New York

PS: If you've not yet got over to Claire's place, you must! It's a warm, wonderful, and inspiring oasis of calm in the midst the Web's chaos.

Travel Advisory

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. (Isaiah 43.1-2)

Just the Two of Us
I was a college sophomore when family friends invited me to tag along on a trip to see relatives in Cupertino, California—about an hour south of San Francisco. As I’d not yet come out at home, I concealed my delirium about visiting gay Mecca for the first time. Once we arrived, it seemed clear we’d eventually get there, but our hosts were in no hurry to pile us into their van and head north. So, while patiently biding my time, I hatched a huge crush on their son, Brian, a straight surfer type in his mid-20’s with an unassumingly seductive swagger. San Francisco soon took a back seat to anything he suggested, even the altogether unappealing notion “the guys” should go deep-sea fishing early one morning.

The day came and we reached Half Moon Bay to find conditions too rough for sailing. Things looked to end better than I hoped after we decided to eat at a seaside café and then go to San Francisco. Alas, as we finished, the skipper announced the expedition was back on. “It’s still rough,” she said, “15-to-18 foot swells farther out. But we’ll manage.” By the time we dropped anchor, I’d spewed breakfast and most of my guts into the sea. To the amusement of the older men, I spent the first half of the day flat of my back, too sick and humiliated to budge. Brian sensed how ashamed and afraid I felt, though. He knelt beside me and said, “Let’s get you back on your feet. We can’t let this beat you.” Once I felt stable enough to stand, he gave me some invaluable advice. “Don’t look at the waves. If you focus on the horizon, the waves won’t bother you.” He added, “Don’t worry about the other guys. We’ll go to the other side, just the two of us.” That should have set my heart racing. But wanting him had left my mind entirely. I needed him, and he was there. While dozens of similarly benign crushes are lost to time, the care he showed me that day made him unforgettable.

Belonging to God
I always think of Brian when reading Isaiah 43.1-2. It’s an old favorite, because it declares God’s constant concern and presence with us in the worst situations. Nature can rise up against you, it says, but you have nothing to fear. I’m with you. “I have redeemed you; I’ve summoned you by name; you are Mine.” Since that fishing trip stands as my most awful encounter with Nature, the experience resurfaces when I read this. Brian’s advice echoes in my head: “Look to the horizon. Don’t worry about anyone else. It’s just the two of us.”

I should have passed on the fishing trip. After I heard it would be rough going, I should have hung back on shore. But hidden desires drove me ahead. I had no inkling my harmless pursuit would turn into a sickening, humiliating episode. Since then, I’ve observed most plans fueled by concealed motives end on stormy seas. Usually, we’d never wander into these situations on our own. Yet if they include desirable people, we can’t say no. Then, should the weather turn nasty, we’re often reliant on the very people we want to impress. What’s more, we’re not always as fortunate as I was. Many people we find alluring aren’t as intrigued by us. We may be so far below their radar they don’t notice we need help. Feeling lost and alone in a storm is one of the scariest feelings there is.

That’s why recognizing God in every situation is so vital. Even when foolish ideas ship us out to sea, He stays with us. He doesn’t do this for our sake alone. Our safety concerns Him because we belong to Him. He invested His all to redeem us and called us by name. When situations we venture into turn ugly, everyone else may ridicule and abandon us. It’s just we two—God and us. But since One of us is God, we have every confidence He’ll help us to our feet and stabilize our focus by looking beyond our surroundings. Belonging to God keeps us secure.

We Survive
The Isaiah passage also brings to mind a favorite story found in all three synoptic Gospels. In this case, the disciples hit stormy waters because Jesus sends them there. In fact, rather than sailing off in hopes of excitement, they’re trying to escape it. After preaching for hours, Jesus asks the disciples to sail away from the crowd and find somewhere to rest. He falls asleep as they push off and doesn’t stir when a deadly tempest arises. They wake Him, asking, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” (Mark 4.38) It’s a silly question purely on a natural level. Why would seasoned sailors expect a carpenter to know what to do? But it’s still crazier from a spiritual angle. What causes them to think Jesus doesn’t care for them? He stands up, commands the storm to cease, and challenges the men: “Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?” (v40) Didn’t He call them? Aren’t they His? How can any situation make them insecure if He’s with them?

Our faith journey carries a travel advisory: bad weather ahead. Sooner or later, we meet tumultuous, threatening conditions. Vanity and selfishness lead to some of our troubles. Others we encounter by obeying Christ’s commands. Either way, however, we survive. Not because we deserve to or we’re smart enough to make it on our own. We outlast our storms because we belong to God. We have no reason to fear or feel insecure. Our safety is His concern.


Whether hidden desires plunge us into stormy seas or we encounter them while following Christ, we have nothing to fear. He’s with us. Our safety is His concern.

(Next: The Quiet Man)

Comfort

Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed, that her sin has been paid for, that she has received from the LORD’s hand double for all her sins. (Isaiah 40.1-2)

A Deep Breath
The 40-day period between the resurrection and ascension intrigues me. The Gospels and Acts report several interactions between Jesus and His disciples, but we don’t observe Him doing much beyond issuing last-minute instructions. While Paul asserts one of these encounters involves 500 people (1 Corinthians 15.6), neither the Gospels nor Acts chronicle it. He spends His final days on Earth behind the scenes, preparing His closest followers to continue His ministry after He leaves. And there’s no record anywhere of a major public appearance where He announces He’s risen to life to the masses. This strikes us as a bit surprising, since Christianity hinges on faith in Jesus’s resurrection. We might think He’d seize every chance to be seen by as many as possible—until it occurs to us if His resurrection were a verifiable fact, faith would be irrelevant. Jesus stays out of the public eye because His mission centers on ending our reliance on what we know by requiring us to trust what God says. “Whoever believes shall have eternal life,” He says in John 3.16.

Instead of an historically definitive event, the pivotal moment comes in John 20.21-22: “Again Jesus said, ‘Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.’ And with that he breathed on them and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” He uses a fairly innocuous gesture to transfer power to the disciples. He inspires them exactly as God first inspired humanity. With one breath, He fills them with His presence, His gifts, nature, and authority. Jesus explains they’re receiving the Holy Spirit—the Comforter Who, as He promised, “will guide you into all truth.” (John 16.13) Yet note why He breathes the Holy Spirit into them: “I am sending you.” The Spirit’s comfort and counsel aren’t only for the disciples’ edification. Henceforth, they carry It with them wherever they go and express It in calm assurance conveyed in their demeanor and words. They’re now able to bring Christ’s presence to any situation and change the atmosphere around it with no more than a deep breath.

A Most Unusual Message
When God directs Isaiah to “comfort My people… Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,” He’s invoking the prophet’s capacity to bring solace and clarity to Israel’s turmoil. Repeatedly God has pressed His people to obey and repeatedly they’ve failed. By the time Isaiah comes on the scene, their stubbornness has pummeled them with sorrow. They’re punch-drunk, exhausted, and despondent as they see their hope, like Jerusalem itself, lay in ruins. In times past, prophets predicted doom and destruction if Israel didn’t mend its ways. But God calls Isaiah to restore the nation’s faith and ease its worries. He commands the prophet to proclaim their hardships are ending, their sins are forgiven, and He’s repaying their repentance twice over with His love and mercy. This is a most unusual message delivered by a most unusual prophet who views his responsibilities in a most unusual manner.

Isaiah describes his mission this way: “The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners.” (61.1) His compassion is so remarkable Jesus quotes him verbatim to define His ministry in Luke 4.18. And He essentially condenses it when He breathes on the disciples. He endows them with the Holy Spirit and sends them into the world to preach, to heal, to liberate people in distress. “Comfort my people; speak tenderly to them,” God tells Isaiah. Jesus vests the disciples with the Comforter so they can do the same.

Tenderly
We too have drawn the breath of Christ into our beings. We’ve also received the Holy Spirit and been sent into the world. We too can provide solace and clarity to troubled lives. Because the Comforter dwells in us, we have the capacity to make Its presence felt in every situation we enter. The confidence expressed in our behavior and the words we speak—words carried on inspired breath—have the ability to change the atmosphere around us. Yet if we limit our perceptions of what the Spirit within us can do and how we manifest Its power to our problems alone, we negate Jesus’s purpose for giving It to us.

We’ve received a most unusual message that must be delivered in a most unusual way. Our faith in Christ’s resurrection convinces us of His power to restore life. We’ve experienced it in our own lives. Thus, there are no lost causes and no one is beyond redemption. It’s our privilege to comfort God’s people—to assure them He has their problems in hand, He’s forgiven them, and He will repay the costs of their mistakes twice over. Though much of their anxiety results from stubborn disregard for God, others, and themselves, we honor our calling to comfort them by resisting urges to confront or condemn them. “Brutal honesty” is an oxymoron; since it justifies wounding someone’s spirit as a method of healing, it’s patently dishonest. It’s best we leave that sort of “comfort” to self-deluded haters and old-school prophets. We provide comfort in a manner that pleases our Maker and reflects the Comforter’s presence in us—in a word, tenderly.

We neither confront nor condemn. We comfort.

(Next: Travel Advisory)

For the Least

I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these my brothers, you did for me. (Matthew 25.40)

Who Qualifies?

My partner’s been without work for six months. Thankfully, we’re able to get along on one income, which has given him time to explore new fields and apply previously untapped talents to volunteer projects. At the same time, managing his benefits is a full-time job. He spends hours every day navigating the unemployment morass. A missed deadline or unplaced call can mean lengthy conversations and paperwork to get back in the system. On top of that, an ongoing condition also entitles him to health subsidies that require extra vigilance. If one agency drops the ball, another agency drops Walt. Almost daily, he’s on the phone, explaining why he qualifies for this or that type of assistance. “I’ve never felt so insignificant,” he said recently. “You have no idea how demeaning it is to have to convince someone your needs matter.” I asked if people he deals with are brusque or inattentive. “No,” he replied. “They’re very kind. But someone’s bound to fall through the cracks. I have to make sure it’s not me.”

I imagine most of us already know Matthew 25's story about letting people fall through the cracks. Actually, it’s not a story at all. It’s a plainly worded warning dressed up as a parable. Jesus tells it in the future tense and sets it on Judgment Day. Like a shepherd separating sheep from goats, the King assigns people to one of two groups. He places those who’ve helped anyone in need on His right; those who’ve parceled out compassion and generosity on a case-by-case basis stand to His left. He welcomes those on His right; those to His left are dismissed. Jesus doesn’t use the story to provoke fear of damnation as a means of promoting love. As 1 John 4.18 explains, “Perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment.” Jesus knows this. His story’s purpose focuses on one question: Who qualifies for our mercy and kindness? “Everyone” is His definitive reply.

Beneath Contempt

“Whatever you did for the least of these my brothers, you did for me,” the King insists, much to the amazement of the right-hand crowd. Equal regard for all was so deeply instilled in them, they stopped worrying about who did or didn’t merit compassion. Meanwhile, the left-hand crowd was appalled—outraged, actually. Selectively deciding who deserved their attention seemed like the logical thing to do. Why waste their efforts on people unworthy of them? “In rejecting the least, you reject Me,” the King insists. Had they read 1 John 4.20, they would have acted differently. “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen.”

Because the people Jesus mentions are hungry, homeless, without clothing, sick, and imprisoned—i.e., safely qualified for modern benevolence—we tend to interpret “the least” to mean “overlooked.” But His listeners heard something radically different. Their culture viewed anyone stranded in such conditions beneath contempt. These people were viewed as spreaders of disease, disturbers of the peace, and leeches on the system. If Jesus told the story today, He’d revise His list to include racists and homophobes, abusive parents and spouses, liars and cheats, and others we consider too hateful to merit attention, love, and forgiveness. He’d also alter the King’s comment to read, “Whatever you did for the worst, you did for Me.”

For Him

None of us is spared the likelihood someone will behave toward us in unthinkably horrible ways. People will heed their cruelest impulses at our expense. They’ll hate us without reason and plot our destruction to satisfy dark urges. They’ll exhibit no concern about suffering they inflict or scars they leave on us. Regarding those who harm us as profoundly needy people takes some doing, in part because they create enormous deficits in our own lives. And even if we get that far, we’ve not yet reached the place Christ expects us to be—accepting them as they are and loving them with the same compassion and understanding we desire. How can we love the worst? How can we honestly pray for their welfare? How can we find it in ourselves to care about their needs?

Jesus’s story answers these questions, too. When loving the worst costs more than we can give, we rely on our determination to love God at all costs. We do it for Him. He’s supremely qualified for our love and attention. We take John’s words to heart. Allowing love for anyone, including the worst of the worst, to fall through the cracks takes love of God with it. Choosing whom we will or won’t—can or can’t—love chooses not to love God at all. In Matthew 5.44-45, Jesus tells us: “Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.” Connecting that with the Judgment Day scenario pulls everything together. The King doesn’t separate the crowd because of what they do. He divided them according to who they are. His true sons and daughters made the leap, clearing personal hurdles to love the worst in eagerness to love Him. The impostors looked before they leapt. Withholding their best from the worst landed them in the worst of all possible circumstances. Moral of the story: loving God to the best of our ability will often require us to make a leap, to look at the worst as our gateway to loving the Best.

We don't pick and choose who qualifies for our love. Loving those who harm us will require us to look past them and love them for God's sake.

(Next: Comfort)

Make the Most

Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. (Ephesians 5.15-16) 

Times Like These

An old gospel number says, “In times like these we need a Savior. In times like these we need an Anchor.” The song’s popularity peaked in the late 60’s, which most definitely were “times like these.” The world was a crazy quilt of war zones; rage and discontent erupted at dining room tables, on campuses, in city streets, and every other conceivable spot. We who lived through those days can’t shake the sense we’re in “times like these” once again. But this round feels oddly different. Hostilities similar to those reflected in 60’s media are now the stuff of media itself. Average citizens sit at a safe remove, watching rabble-rousers do the work instead personally engaging in the struggle to reconcile our current issues. This might be viewed as an improvement; riots, fires, and looting that plagued any good-sized city 40 years ago are no more. But it’s also a shame, because our perspectives on equal rights, healthcare, war, etc. now cost nothing. We’ve confused passive poses with impassioned involvement, and given how comfortable we’ve got with our laissez-faire attitude, it’s possible we've lost all concern about resolving our differences.

The tragedy of this stalemate plays out in lives wounded by crossfire. In all the talk about Wall Street and Main Street, nobody’s noticed the real drama unfolding on the side streets, where things actually slip and slide. The people there need an anchor. Since pundits avoid putting human faces on stats they bandy about, very few have figured out we can’t wait for “change to happen.” People everywhere need help now. Judging from history, the economy eventually will dig itself out. Opposition to social justice will wear itself down. Left unchecked, the healthcare crisis will escalate to the point it can’t be feasibly ignored. The war will end. Yet while “we” may rebound, thousands upon thousands will not without immediate help. Times like these call for people smart and caring enough to abandon cheap controversy for higher purpose.

Our World Needs Us

Our world needs us. At this stage, every one of us crosses paths with others currently struggling—people without jobs or shelter, homes with bare cupboards, disowned children coping with rejection, war-torn families facing a holiday with one less at the table, a senior sacrificing meals to afford medication. They and others like them live in constant fear and torment each of us can ease at very little, if any, personal expense or effort. Alertness to their circumstances opens new opportunities for our love and concern. Ephesians 5.15-16 admonishes: “Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.” In the context of this discussion, “careful” means more than “cautious;” it implies earnest introspection about our response to situations we can improve. Knowing we possess the ability to lift up others and not doing so is foolish. Making the most of every opportunity is wise.

'Tis the Season

'Tis the season when churches and charities fire up their brigades so those lacking means will not be denied holiday joy. The nobility of these efforts cannot be exaggerated. But there’s also an underside to them we seldom acknowledge. They encourage us to think supporting their causes is “doing our part,” when in fact we’re only enabling them to the make the most of their opportunities. In a way, it’s no different than believing agreement with certain media figures’ opinions constitutes active engagement. Most assuredly, we should support charitable efforts. But writing checks, tossing canned goods in hampers, donating toys, and dropping loose change in a red bucket can't excuse us from actively addressing visible needs around us. “Making the most of every opportunity,” Ephesians says, “because the days are evil.”

Confining our compassion for the needy to contributions shortchanges them and us. It’s a surrogate arrangement—giving by proxy—and, at best, all we stand to gain from it is a fleeting reward quantified by faceless statistics: x families had Christmas dinner, y children opened anonymously donated presents. And let’s be honest: the good we accomplish in absentia evaporates from mind before the decorations and leftovers disappear. We make the most of every opportunity by approaching people whom we know are in need, welcoming outsiders to our tables, marshalling neighbors and family members’ assistance, and so on. In times like these, weary, embattled souls need to know help is on the way and it’s coming from we who genuinely know and care about them.

There’s an even greater benefit gained by all when we make the most of our opportunities. Active giving puts legs on our concern. It imbeds faces and names in our thoughts and prayers. We find ourselves regularly checking on them, asking to do more. By making Christmas a time of discovery, searching for opportunities to make the most of our giving, its spirit and meaning thrive year-‘round. 'Tis the season that never ends.

We possess the ability to bring love, joy, hope, and peace to struggling people we personally know. We should make the most of every opportunity to do so.

(Next: For the Least)

Personal Postscript: Impish Interference

This past week found me recalling an old lady I once attended church with. Whenever she hit one of those maddening stretches where minor problems pile up and become hopelessly entangled, she’d say, “The devil sure is busy.” Though I’m reluctant to give him any credence, it seems like he’s sure been busy around here. We experienced a couple power outages in our apartment building, the last of which sent a surge through the phone lines that fried my modem cables and reconfigured the entire system. Since last Wednesday, I’ve been lost in a sea of connectivity challenges that have interfered with my posting schedule. I’m very close to being fully up and running, and apologize for the delays. Barring any further impish interference, we should be back to normal.