Confessions of a Recovering Pharisee

This is my least favorite time of year. I dread Tax Day with a passion, mostly because we are pathetic in our record keeping. So every year, I have to recreate the previous year’s financial activity so I can file my taxes. It’s painful, and causes no small amount of stress in our marriage. But… tetelestai … it is finished… paid in full (actually, I’m getting a refund :). But reflecting on these things, I offer the following.

Show me the coin used for paying the tax.” They brought him a denarius, and he asked them, “Whose image is this? And whose inscription?”
“Caesar’s,” they replied.
Then he said to them, “So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.”
Matthew 22:19-21

I play computer games on-line (a LOT). One of the things I find appealing is the social aspect of working together as a team to accomplish a goal. When a group “clicks”, it’s very satisfying. And… I like to blow things up.

But there are the other people on-line. The folks who need to hear themselves talk to validate their self-worth. Mostly, I ignore them, but on occasion I feed the trolls and engage in… interesting… conversations.

One particular player I’m thinking of is a piece of work. He tries to validate himself by bragging about his sexual conquests, making lame, degrading jokes at other players’ expense, and similar middle-school fare. The only thing I can think about him is that he is playing the wrong game, by the wrong rules.

In the time of Jesus, the Jews were looking anxiously for a Messiah. Chafing under Roman rule, they longed for the glory days (at least the stories they had been told) of David and his kingdom, and Solomon, when Israel was a nation to be reckoned with. They were ready for the kingdom to be restored.

But Jesus didn’t quite fit their expectations, In fact, he threatened the status quo, and the leaders feared for their power. So they tried to set traps for him, to trick him into saying something that Rome would find offensive, so they could eliminate him and keep things the way that they were.

It was in this context that the experts in the law sought to trap Jesus by asking him if it was right to pay taxes to Caesar. Of course, someone who was trying to restore the kingdom of David would oppose the oppression of Rome. And someone who submitted to Rome would be rejected by the people. They had to be impressed by their cleverness.

But Jesus’ response, besides defeating their clever plans, exposed a whole other truth that they were not prepared to accept. They were playing the wrong game, by the wrong rules.

The kingdom of God is not of this world. Surely, God is sovereign, and his rule extends into this world. But the kingdom of Heaven that Jesus was proclaiming was not an earthly kingdom, and it is not measured by material things. People who chase after those things have missed the boat.

The kingdom of God is any place where God is honored, served, and worshiped as king and as lord. This earth, this world system, the power and authority structures, the wealth and all the things valued by men are all going to pass away. And those who chase after them are playing the wrong game. By the wrong rules.

Let Caesar have his due. It’s all going to burn anyway. But whoever lays up for himself treasures in heaven will not be disappointed.

“Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”
Exodus 3:5

Holy Week. Suddenly, I was struck by the oddity of that term. What makes a week holy?

In the Old Testament, there are two conflicting concepts, uncleanness and holiness. A number of things make a person ritually unclean simply by coming in contact with them. An unclean person was required to perform a cleansing ritual before coming into contact with others in the community or entering God’s presence to worship. The penalty for violating this requirement was steep, as God wanted his people to be very cognizant of how they were called apart, and to not take worship for granted.

The concept of uncleanness is intuitive to us. One time, a plumber friend was installing a new toilet for me. After he finished caulking around the base of the toilet, he washed off the excess caulk from his fingers in the toilet bowl. Even though I intellectually knew that the toilet had never been used, and was therefore “clean”, still inwardly I said “ewwww”. We know what toilets are used for and that they are therefore “unclean”.

On the other hand, the things in the temple, where God dwelt, were considered holy. The temple was surrounded by a wall, separating the building from the commotion of the rest of the city. Even this area was divided into different areas, the outermost area being as far as Gentiles and women could go. The next area was where men could go to offer sacrifices through the priests. In this place was the altar of sacrifice. Within the building was the Holy Place, where only the priests could go, to burn incense, care for the lamps, and replace the bread of the presence daily. Beyond that, separated by a thick curtain, was the Most Holy Place. Here, the presence of God dwelt between the cherubim on the ark of the covenant. Only the high priest could ever enter, and then only once a year to offer the blood of the atonement sacrifice. The holy things were set apart from the common things, and were not entered into lightly.

Through the sacrifices, we have a powerful picture of the power of holiness. Once an animal was killed, skinned, and cut into pieces, it was placed upon the altar to be burned. Because this altar was holy, dedicated to the sacrifices of Jehovah, anything that touched it was also holy. In fact, simply offering an animal to be sacrificed made it holy. The portion given to the priest was holy, and could only be eaten by members of the priest’s family who were ritually clean. The clay pot in which the priest’s portion was cooked was holy, and had to be broken after use, to ensure it could never be used for any other purpose.

Here is the mystery and the majesty. While touching a dead animal would make a man ritually unclean, the priest was able to kill and sacrifice an animal and rather than becoming unclean, the animal became holy. Coming into contact with uncleanness makes one unclean, but coming into contact with holiness makes one holy. Holiness is more powerful than uncleanness.

Just as the dirt on the side of the mountain around the burning bush was made holy by God’s presence, so this week, the week of the Passion, is made holy by the intersection of God’s presence with creation. The triumphal entry, the teaching in the temple courts, the last supper, the betrayal, crucifixion, and ultimately the resurrection were the final acts of the incarnate God fulfilling purposes set in place before the creation of the world.

The Passover Seder begins with the youngest child asking, “why is this night different from any other?” In other words, why is this night holy? The Seder goes on to tell the story of how God delivered the Israelites from Egypt in great power, and passed over their houses because of the sacrifice of blood that covered them. God’s power revealed to Israel makes that day holy.

But Passover is just a picture of what God was going to do through Jesus. The blood of the Passover lamb caused the angel of death to pass over the houses of the Israelites, delivering them from the death of the firstborn, but only those who put their faith in God and remained in the houses marked by blood were protected. In the same way, the blood of Jesus causes the judgement of God for sin to pass over those who put their faith in God by claiming it for forgiveness. The deliverance of Israel from Egypt pales in comparison to the deliverance of all mankind from the power of sin and death.

If God’s presence in the temple made it holy, and God’s purposes for the sacrifices made them holy, and God’s power at Passover makes it holy, then how much more is this week made holy by God’s presence in Jerusalem in the person of Jesus, his purposes revealed in his atoning death on the cross, and his power revealed through the resurrection? Yes, this week is indeed holy. Let us not enter into it lightly.

“You shall have no other gods before me.”
Exodus 20:3

We see the world through the flimsiest of lenses, constructed of our wishes, desires, and beliefs (but rarely constrained by reality). “All the world’s a stage,” begins one of William Shakespeare’s most famous monologues. We see ourselves as the star of the show performed on the stage of our minds, played out with the background narration of our self-talk.

Whether you are brash and arrogantly obnoxious (like me), or demurely self-deprecating, your thoughts and your actions betray the intrinsic ego-centricity that is the human condition. In your world, the spotlight shines steadily and unflinchingly upon your performance as the Star, surrounded by various supporting characters.

While this is the way I see myself, I am not the star of anyone else’s show. My illusions of my own significance were unceremoniously shattered when my son told me of his plans to get married. Of course, we were delighted and couldn’t wait to meet his intended. She did not disappoint, and is the most delightful and complimentary mate my son could have chosen. I found myself desperately wanting to know her, in the intimacy that introverts require, and in the way I know my own daughters, who have lived under my roof for most of their lives.

The harsh reality is, I’m just not that important in their world. When she looks at him, her eyes sparkle and there is barely room for anyone else on the stage. As much as I’d like to have a bigger part, it just wasn’t written for me. When I think the the relationship I have with my in-laws, and that of my wife with my family, I realize that I will, at best, have a minor supporting part in their play. And I’m humbled.

I shared this insight with my high-school daughter, and she really resonated with it. When you think of all the drama that makes up the high school experience (who likes whom, who said what, who did or didn’t do what), the reality is that we have a much smaller role on someone else’s stage than we think we do. They just don’t think about you nearly as much as you think they do. They don’t care what you wear, they don’t care what you say (unless it’s about them), and they don’t care what you think. They are much more preoccupied with their illusion of their own significance in your performance.

Now here is the rub. We actually are all players on God’s stage and He is the star of the show. As the saying goes, history is His story. When I think I’m the star, I sin against God. We tend to simply call it selfishness, but in reality it runs much deeper. I have become convinced that selfishness is the root of pretty much every sin. What did the serpent say in the Garden? “You will become like God…” Wanting to take God’s place was Lucifer/Satan’s rebellion; it is actually idolatry: worshipping the created thing instead of the creator.

Many people think the Ten Commandments are proscriptive, keeping us from doing what we want to do. In reality, they are a part of God’s blueprint for living. I have tried this God thing, and I’m not very good at it. So when I realize that I am a supporting player — dearly loved, bought with a great price, but not the star — I am freed from the pressure of trying to make everything turn out all right. Letting God be God is not a burden, it is liberating.

In my household, my wife and I have different roles. I make the money, and she spends it. It is an arrangement that exploits our strengths and minimizes our weaknesses. I have a skill that is very marketable, and she is a gifted shopper. If we tried to play each other’s part, it would not end well. I don’t shop, I buy (and I hate doing it); my wife despises rush hour traffic and workplace pressures. But when we each fulfill our role, play our part, together we make a successful household.

So it is in the spiritual realm. We each have a part to play, just not the main part. It has been said that the first two rules of human enlightenment are: there is a God; and you aren’t him. So stop trying to be.

Put the spotlight where it belongs. And walk in freedom.

We are all like one who is unclean,
all our so-called righteous acts are like a menstrual rag in your sight.
We all wither like a leaf;
our sins carry us away like the wind.
Isaiah 64:6

Anger is not a primary emotion. It is an expression of another, deeper feeling, such as disappointment, fear, hurt, etc. A powerful generator of anger in my life is offense against authority. When my kids fail to do what I tell them, I get angry. If someone were to break into my house and steal my stuff, I would get angry. And (being the spiritual guy that I am), when God’s laws are transgressed, I get angry.

Each one of us is motivated by our personal code of conduct, which fundamentally defines what is “right” and what is “wrong”. We act in accordance with this code, and while it is comprehensive, it is not necessarily consistent. That is, when I do something, it is “right” and when you do the same thing, it may be “wrong”. This is because what I decide is “right” is really defined by “what I want”. If you want the same thing, we are going to have a problem. Let me illustrate with an example.

Now, let me preface the following by stating up front that most drivers on the road today are idiots. At least, that’s my personal observation. I’ve heard that 70% of American drivers believe their skills are above average (and 82% of all statistics are made up).

I’m really annoyed by people in the right lane on the freeway who are going much slower than me but decide that they need to change lanes in front of me because someone in front of them is going too slow. In other words, their sense of “right” (I don’t want to be behind this slow car) impinges on my sense of “right” (I don’t want to be behind this slow car). In response to their offense against my code for the world (everyone should stay out of my way), I get angry.

The problem is that too many of us (or maybe it’s just me) have substituted our code for God’s. In effect, I put myself in the place of God. God does have a standard of right and wrong. And unlike you and me, God is objective, consistent, and impartial. Sin is sin, and it doesn’t matter who commits it.

But here’s the thing: being guilty is not the same as being condemned. Like the little kid whose face is covered with melted chocolate chips and cookie crumbs, our guilt before God is self-evident. Even, when we think we are doing good things, compared to the perfection that is God, our good is as disgusting as a used tampon (if my choice of words is shocking, consider that the Hebrew of the above verse is equally explicit).

Now, sometimes I (surely, I’m the only one) might point out the cookie crumbs on your face to deflect attention from the cookies falling out of my own pockets. After all, if you are guilty, then we can all focus on that and no one will pay attention to me. Or, as is popularly said today, “don’t judge me because I sin differently than you.” But this deflection misses the very crucial point.

The issue is not how we sin, it is that we sin. God’s standard of righteousness is utterly and absolutely pure. Any sin at all irreparably damages the whole. It is why James says “For the one who obeys the whole law but fails in one point has become guilty of all of it.” (James 2:10) And why Paul says “For the wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23)

Since we are all hopelessly flawed, does God’s definition of right and wrong go out the window? Of course not. It was for this reason that Jesus came into the world, to deliver us from the power of sin and death. And rather than simply putting a bandaid on a severed artery (like I tend to do), God dealt with the issue at its source. The sin nature had to die, so that those who believe could be reborn as new creations.

There is much more to be said on that, and the new life in Christ is a prerequisite to even having this conversation, but it isn’t my point for this post. My point is that I need to set aside my personal code that has my self-interest at the center, and stop judging and holding people accountable to me, and instead live in whole-heartedly surrender to God’s new creation in me, living according to the new nature of “son of God” that has been given to me.

This is an evolving journey for me. A while ago, I was set free from the need to defend God. This means that when people transgress God’s law, or believe things contrary to his word, I don’t have the compulsion I used to have to make them agree. God is a big boy; he can defend himself. I am just a witness to the truth.

My next step has been to release anger, and not let the offenses of others rob me of the joy of my salvation. When I focus on the wrong suffered, my offense and anger are fueled. When in focus instead on all that I have been given in Christ, “these light momentary afflictions” pale in comparison. I’m still working on this.

Recently, God challenged me: “What would it look like if you released all judgement?” Meaning, rather than condemn the idiot in front of me for failing to drive in a manner conducive to my expeditious and impediment-free commute, I don’t even criticize their failings. This is a God-sized challenge for me, as anyone who has driven with me can attest.

What about you? Are you still intent on holding the world accountable to the law of “you”, where everyone is judged by your standards? Or have you humbled yourself before the holiness of God, to live your life according to his standards? I’ll tell you a little secret: being the judge of the universe is an exhausting job, and one for which you are not qualified. It is enough for me to just be obedient.

One person considers one day more sacred than another; another considers every day alike. Each of them should be fully convinced in their own mind. Whoever regards one day as special does so to the Lord.
Romans 14:5-6

My wife left me today.

She hates when I do that. I took her to the airport in the middle of the night and said goodbye as she left for a two-week visit to see her parents and attend to her father as he recovers from hip-replacement surgery early this week. I’m actually exceptionally excited that she is spending this time with them. But I get ahead of myself.

Ordinarily, we would mark this day by buying some premium steaks and enjoying a family meal with my parents. This year, however, with my wife traveling, and my mother just coming off a two-week hospitalization, it just seemed best to put off the steaks. You see, it’s not really about the specific day, it’s about spending time together (plus, the steaks are really good!). This is not a new thing in our family. My birthday is perilously close to Mother’s Day, and we have been extremely flexible about when certain things are celebrated.

I’m not a big fan of celebrations. When we were first married, I suddenly found Valentine’s Day approaching, and decided that I should be proactive and set the bar low. I suggested to my wife that there is no reason why one day of the year should be considered “the” day to express love, just because the greeting card companies want to turn a buck. Surprisingly, she bought in to the idea. In fact, I had her so convinced that when I actually gave her a gift, it took a while before she realized what was happening.

I feel the same way about Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. I love my parents. I even like them. I certainly respect them. But they are at a stage of life where they don’t need me to give them any gifts. So what is the point of singling out one day of special honor?

Dr. Gary Chapman’s seminal work, “The 5 Love Languages” has had a profound effect on my understanding of giving and receiving love. It has helped me in my marriage to identify that my wife and I speak different languages, and it takes additional effort to speak in the other’s native expression. I don’t care that much about gifts. Nor am I overly attached to my family. If I were a Star Trek species, I’d probably be Klingon (the Worf kind, with human honor and dignity, rather than the villainous Klingons of Kirk’s era).

Somehow, God gave me a daughter who is all about family and gifts and such, and she takes special delight in finding and presenting the ideal gift to the people she cares about. I spent some time video calling her so she could watch me open the perfect gift she found for Father’s Day (great job, Bekah).

But when God said, “Honor your father and mother,” I have to think that it goes a bit deeper than just sending a card or a gift once a year. I saw this demonstrated by a couple of different men in ways that have made an indelible impression on me.

We were at a small church being pastored by a man not much older than I. His father had come to be his assistant pastor (a remarkable gift in itself; how many men can take a back seat to their son?), and he and his wife quickly because dearly loved by the congregation. Then one day, he announced his resignation because he said that they needed to be with his wife’s parents. He felt an obligation to care for them in their final days. Something about that (would you quit your job for YOUR in-laws?) just cried out “honor” to me, and I filed it away in the back of my mind.

Later, I watched my own father commute across the state of Texas (remember, everything is bigger in Texas, including the drives) to give his mother dignity as she lost her final battle to bone cancer. She died in her home, thanks to a wonderful friend and doctor who made house calls, and several others who provided terminal care. After the funeral, I watched him help his father make the transition to a retirement community nearby. He continued to commute across the state to care for his father for several more years until his death.

If there is one word to describe my father, it is “duty” … and “honor”. The two words that describe my dad are “duty” and “honor” … and “dignity”. Three words to describe my father are “duty”, “honor”, and “dignity” … and “faithful” … (enough of the Monty Python homage).

Now, I am nothing if not my father’s son. So my disdain for celebration is inherited, if not learned. The key thing is not the day, but the honor. Consequently, I have made a conscious decision to intentionally be engaged with my parents. I have to, because otherwise I would let life drive me along and fill my days with other stuff and suddenly I’d find that I had no time for them. Other people may not have a problem with that. Perhaps you are one who calls your parents every day. That’s great, but it’s not me. I asked each of my parents leading up to their respective days how they would like to be honored, and they both said that they already feel honored. I guess I must be doing something right.

In this same vein, I am anxious for my wife to be able to give her parents the gift of her presence, her love, and her care during a particularly trying time. It’s difficult to be removed by significant distance, and it takes some extra effort to ensure that your parents feel honored. But there can be no higher calling. I just don’t think anyone really understands just how happy I am that my wife left me today.

So here’s the thing. If this day is a big deal to you, then make it a BIG DEAL. Show your father how much he means to you. Celebrate him, cherish him, honor him. One of my friends just recently buried his father and this day is all the more poignant to him for the freshness of the loss.

If this day isn’t a big deal to you, just another day, then show your father how much he means to you. Celebrate him, cherish him, honor him. Because our fathers (and mothers) deserve to be honored every day. At least that’s what God said, so I’m going with that.

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.
Colossians 3:15

Today, we were challenged to consider how to let peace rule in our hearts. As I thought about it, a vignette came to mind.

There was a terrible storm. The wind was blowing, the waves were crashing, and the small boat was in danger of going down. The men were experienced sailors, fishermen, who knew these waters well. And they feared for their lives. It was the antithesis of peaceful.

Yet, in the back of the boat a lone figure slept serenely. The noise of the wind and the storm did not disturb him. The pitching of the boat in the waves did not disrupt his rest. Even the soaking from the rain and the water coming over the bulwark did not rouse him from his slumber. He was the embodiment of peaceful.

Finally, when things looked to be their worst, the sailors woke the man in the back. “Teacher,” they said, “don’t you care if we drown?” On the surface, this would seem to be an odd interaction. They were the experienced sailors; this man was a carpenter. Surely he had nothing to offer to the immediate problem. On the other hand, misery loves company and perhaps they couldn’t stand to face their demise while someone else was peacefully oblivious.

Or maybe it was something else. Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope. They had seen this man do amazing things, miraculous things. Even though they were constantly perplexed by his teaching, they knew there was something special about this man.

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.
He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
Mark 4:39-40

What I find odd about this story is that he rebuked them for their fear. Fear seems like a perfectly natural and appropriate response to a life-threatening storm. My dad, a career Naval officer, has a desk plaque with the Breton Fisherman’s Prayer: “Oh God, Thy sea is so great, and my boat is so small.” As a land-lubber myself, I can empathize with the sentiment here, but I have not actually experienced the vastness of the sea and the insignificance of my boat. But the men who live on the sea know its power and their impotence. Sailors have no illusion of taming the sea; they just hope to peacefully coexist with it until they can return safely to port.

Maybe you aren’t a sailor either, but there are raging storms that are threatening to shipwreck your life. Perhaps it is a life-threatening or chronically debilitating illness. Maybe it’s impending financial ruin, a wayward child or an unfaithful spouse. You look at the wind and the waves and you know you have done all that you can do, and it is never going to be enough. The boat is going down.

Fear is a perfectly natural, seemingly appropriate response to these situations. And yet, there is Jesus, asleep in the back of the boat. He is not concerned. What does he know that you don’t?

The difference I see in this story between Jesus and his disciples is that Jesus knew that his father’s will would prevail. He knew that he had a mission to complete and that dying in this boat was not a part of it. He also knew that all of heaven and earth was subject to the power of God. His knowing was not simply an intellectual self-persuasion exercise, it was a deeply rooted, experiential confidence and awareness of and in the very presence of God.

Our English words seem so weak to convey this point; in the King James Bible, it says “Adam knew his wife and she conceived.” In the same way (level, or degree) that Adam knew his wife physically, Jesus knew the Father spiritually. Trying to explain it another time, he said “I and the Father are one.”

Now, of course, I’m not Jesus and neither are you. I don’t (this side of heaven) have the level of intimacy, experience, or dare I say, faith that Jesus had. But I am learning. And neither do I know of a certainty what my mission here on earth is, when my end will come, or what it will look like. It may very well be that this storm actually will take me down. So instead of worrying about what I can’t control, I’m working on focusing on the one who is in control.

Peace rules in my heart as I consciously abandon myself into the care of my Lord. If I die, I die to his glory. If I lose it all, then so be it; “the just shall live by faith”. If my child or spouse or friend or even my enemy betrays me, I know that God will never leave me or forsake me. In the mean time, let’s get on about the business of the Kingdom, doing what I know that God has called me to do.

I think I’m going to take a nap.