Investigation

"It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard it ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world." - John 4.42

This is the verse that ends the well-known story of the woman at the well in the fourth chapter of John's gospel. The Samaritan woman who encounters Jesus there goes back to her village to tell them about him (in something of a hurry apparently; she left her water jar at the well). It's interesting to me that we typically make this story about what happened to her, while the passage actually goes on to tell a story about the rest of her village. We actually don't know what happened with her, though we do know what happened with her village. The others in her village actually respond to her report. They have a process of investigation - we see it in verses 39-41 - they didn't just fall prostrate at the feet of Jesus without further ado. They want to see who this Jesus character is for themselves. The word of one of their own got them that far, but more was required. They needed to experience Jesus, not just believe someone else's story about him. They wanted to have their own stories. They didn't want to live vicariously.

At the end of verse 42 the Samaritans respond, "...we know that this is truly the Savior of the world." John is choosing his words carefully. There are several words that can mean "to know" in Greek, and they're all nuanced differently. The word used in this passage is oidamen, which is the first person plural of the verb eidon, which has to do with knowledge gained by personal perception. You're not relying on someone else's testimony, though that might be the impetus for your investigation; you've seen it with your own eyes, you've verified it, and now you know something. You own it.

The Samaritans understood something that we forget: we can't live someone else's relationship with the Lord. We have to build our own, one brick at a time. We have to investigate it and critique it. We have to confront the things we think we know, find out that they were borrowed from someone else, then give them back and start over. The word of someone we trust might be important; maybe very important, but sooner or later we have to form our own, unique connection with our Savior.

When faith is acquired by way of our own experiences, it takes the shape of our souls; it becomes who we are and not just what we believe. You can't broker belief that someone else bought; you have to pay for your own.

The Wedding and the Wine

It's funny what happens when you come back to a story that you haven't read in a while. This morning I read the story of the wedding at Cana, the site of Jesus' first act of power, in John 2. I have a very different viewpoint on this story, and the bible in general, than I had years ago.

A brief synopsis: Jesus and his disciples are at a wedding feast in Cana of Galilee. When the wine runs out, Jesus' mother brings the issue to his attention, drawing what seems to be an irritated response from Jesus. In an interesting little exchange, Jesus' mother, ignoring his vexation, turns to the servants and instructs them to do whatever Jesus tells them to do. Doesn't that sound like something a mother would do? He has the servants fill six stone jugs, which were intended to be used for the Jewish purification rites, with water. Jesus then has the Chief Steward, the person in charge of making this wedding go off properly (kind of a 1st century wedding planner), sample the wine. The Chief Steward, unaware of the source of the wine, remarks to the bridegroom (whose honor was on the line if the wedding feast didn't meet expectations) that the best wine had been saved till last.

What's fascinating to me is the way Jesus re-purposes vessels intended for use in the Jewish purification rituals, filling them up with new wine that was better than the guests had received until that point. Even the bit about the way the inferior wine was usually served last adds to the meaning. The implication is that the Chief Steward *had* been serving the best that was available; what Jesus created was even better than that. Judaism was the best that was available until Jesus came; he created new wine, a new opportunity, something better and more like what God had intended since Abraham. There would be no use for purification rituals; Jesus would be, himself, the purifying act, who would fill empty stone vessels. One could even connect this image to Ezekiel 36, in which God promises to remove from us our hearts of stone and replace them with hearts of flesh.

The wedding feast was in danger of failing, of not being what it was supposed to be. Jesus rescues it with an act of creative power. Wedding imagery is a crucial lens through which the bible views our relationship with God, for bad (e.g., the wife of Hosea in the book that bears his name) or for good (e.g., Isaiah 62 or Matthew 22.1-14). It's so very appropriate that Jesus performs this miracle at this time in this place. The wedding God has always planned, where he would take us to be his bride forever, was on the brink of failure. Things were not as God had intended them, but Jesus changed everything with one act of creative power. What we have now is better than the best that was available then.

Of course, this all may be the merest coincidence. John may not have meant to convey all of the things I'm writing about. There's really no solid evidence that he did. I might be making all of this up, casting back into the story the things I believe to be true in retrospect. Maybe God does mean for us to know all of these things though, and it may be that he doesn't much care where they come from so long as they come.

It may just be me though. I'm prone to these kind of thoughts, here in this dark room early in the morning.

The Great Exchange...

I had a "eureka" moment this morning while reading Luke 23. Typical of "eureka" moments, I wonder now how I could have read this passage hundreds of times and missed this. It's that obvious.

The story goes that Jesus is brought before Pilate under charges of leading the Jewish people astray and (basically) fomenting rebellion against the empire. As Pilate examines Jesus, he quickly comes to the conclusion that he won't be able to make any of the charges stick under Roman law, and offers to release Jesus three times (compare to Peter's thrice denial of Jesus). Enter to laos, the "nameless mob" (see Joel Green's commentary on Luke), who up to this point have been Jesus' ardent supporters, but now show a nasty, fickle side: they turn against Jesus now, demanding the sentence of death for Jesus and the release of a notorious rebel and murderer, Barabbas. Pilate, in a show of weakness that typified his reign as governor, relents and does as they ask.

Aside from the rather obvious literary irony, I think Christianity has often made this passage about the injustice of the trade; the innocent dies and the guilty goes free. We've read the passage as a mere reinforcement of the fact that Jesus' death was unjust and undeserved. Yes, that's true. Here's the obvious thing though, the thing that made me laugh out loud at 6:15am:

We are all Barabbas.

We are all guilty, released in trade for the death of the Messiah.

We are all Barabbas.

We are not just people guilty of bad behavior; we are lestai, rebels and brigands just like Barabbas, convicted of insurrection against our just and rightful Lord, for which only one penalty has ever been appropriate.

We are all Barabbas.

We are the beneficiaries of our Lord's unfair, irrational love, of a verdict that seems unjust: "You are guilty; you may go." Because Jesus walked the road to Golgotha, we walk the road home.

This is the blessed exchange, wherein Jesus received the sentence we deserved and we received the sentence he deserved. It is the fulfillment of Isaiah 53.5:

"But he was wounded for our transgressions,

crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the punishment that made us whole,

and by his bruises we are healed."

The Mercy of The Judge...

I heard a sermon a few days ago from a well-known pastor at a big conference. The gist of it was the question of who is at the bottom of your faith, you or God? Do we live to glorify God or do we love him because he loves us so much? Those are good questions...certainly worth thinking about. However, then he trotted out Matthew 25 - the Sheep and the Goats - making the age-old claim that some (presumably those who love God because he loves them so much) would not inherit the Kingdom of God even though they themselves were sure that they would. I'm not saying that this won't be a reality; it will. I hate it, but it will.

Here's the thing: I found myself, over the next day or so, pondering my behavior as a Christian. My anxiety rose as a tried to determine whether I was in category one or category two. Was my response to God correct? Was it adequate? Was it the specific response that he was looking for or would I find myself standing before Jesus on Judgement Day condemned, realizing that I'd been utterly deluded the whole time, that I'd walked through the green door when true justification was actually behind the blue door?

This morning I read Luke 18.9-14...the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. As the story goes, the Pharisee is absolutely sure that he's "in". He holds all the right values, does all the right things and has the identity badge of Torah - his get-out-of-jail-free card - to rely on. His prayer reveals as much. After all, who else would God be glorified through other than his covenant people? On the other hand you have the Tax Collector, hated by his people and excluded from the promises of God by his betrayal of the deepest Jewish values. He knows his condition and throws himself on the mercy of God. That is his only hope. Jesus points out that he goes home justified while the Pharisee does not.

The bottom line is this: after responding to the saving work of Christ in repentance and faith comes only one thing: continued response in repentance and faith. Loving God is about total reliance on what he's accomplished, not about searching for the "correct" or "adequate" behavior, the activity that makes me feel the most justified. In the end we will all throw ourselves on the mercy of the perfectly just judge, who will know perfectly that he himself has done everything necessary to secure our salvation not because we loved him but because he loved us (John 4.9-10).

In this and this alone is God glorified: our total reliance on the fact that he has done what only he could do. Lord, make me like this Tax Collector...

They're all there.

I can't believe I never noticed it before, but all three of the most hated groups in Jesus' day (sinners, tax collectors and prostitutes) are represented in Luke 15, and not in hard-to-discern, allegorical ways either. Look:

• Sinners: they were the ones who rejected the Father, asking for something that isn't there's to ask for (Lk 14.11-12). Torah, and thus vindication on the last day, belonged to God's covenant people Israel. If you read the verses carefully, you'll see that it's not about money at all really; it's about love and family. The rejection of that necessarily includes the lost of the inheritance.
• Tax Collectors: the issue with tax collectors was not really about money either. They were gathering Israel's resources (including people and land occasionally), sometimes dishonestly, and sending them off into the hands of pagan oppressors (Rome specifically). This was the betrayal that they were hated for: they squandered the inheritance God promised to Israel in foreign lands (Lk 15.13).
• Prostitutes: they come up twice in the narrative. The Greek word used for "dissolute living" (asotoce) carries the implication of sexual immorality, if somewhat vaguely. It's more explicit in 15.13b. The Greek word used there is pornwn, which can only mean one thing given the context. The idea Luke wants us to get is this (in 20th century American imagery): John-Boy asked Pa for his share of the farm, which he then sold in order to move to L.A. so he could live like a rock star and blow it all on heroin and porn stars.

Of course, all of this makes perfect sense given the fact that Jesus is accused of identifying with (and building his movement around) marginalized, excluded people more in Luke than anywhere else.

Why would that be?

Because Luke was writing to an audience who felt excluded from the gospel: Romans and other Gentiles primarily, but by extension all the others who didn't make the cut for whatever reason, inside or outside of Judaism. Luke 15 says the same thing that Matthew 5.25-34 says. If a sheep or a coin are worth so much to the one who has lost them, how much more valuable is a lost person to the Father who loves him/her?

All have value. None are excluded now that Jesus is Lord.