O come, O come Immanuel and ransom captive Israel that mourns in longing exile here until the Son of God appear.  Rejoice!  Rejoice!  Immanuel has ransomed captive Israel.  

“The people who walk in darkness will see a great light; those who live in a dark land, the light will shine on them.” (Is. 9:2)

The season of Advent is unique.  While most of our holidays are centered around reflection and celebration, the season of Advent is an invitation to join in solidarity with those who mourn in anticipation of Immanuel.  The latin word adventus means “arrival” and is often used in contemporary Christendom to emphasize a season of waiting for the arrival of messiah.  Isaiah and other prophets shared the Holy Spirit’s revelation that Immanuel would come and shed light on people walking in darkness.  

But this is a difficult statement to grasp because “people walking in darkness” can mean different things.  “People walking in darkness” can refer to those who don’t know the Lord and haven’t received the Holy Spirit.  In other words, this can be referring to the “lost” and “unsaved.”  “People walking in darkness” can also refer to people going through a dark and seemingly hopeless situation.  For example, the Israelites, the “chosen” people of God who had been conquered and led into captivity for centuries, serving this or that empire and all the while wishing to return to their days of autonomy and freedom.  But again “people walking in darkness” can also refer to us.  We live in a dark time and in a dark land by some accounts.

We live in a world and creation, as Paul describes it, that is groaning and suffering the pains of childbirth (Rom. 8:22).  But what does that mean?  Perhaps it means that all of creation has suffered the unnatural effects of the Fall, and continues to seek its reconciliation to the Creator.  Only in this state – the state of creation as it was designed to function and operate – will the groaning and pains be resolved.  

But what do we mean when we say that all of creation groans?  What do the groans sound like?  Perhaps they sound like warring nations, political polarization, racial tensions, gender identity crises, economic uncertainty and global pandemics.  Perhaps it is the looks of depression, anxiety, fear, loneliness and mistrust in the eyes of those who were never meant to bear such burdens.  And perhaps it is the unnatural feeling of separation brought about by the death of a loved one.

The spirit of Advent is the humble acknowledgement that creation can not be fully restored without the Creator’s intervention.  Just as Israel pled “O come Immanuel” to rescue them from their darkness, so also we may plead “O come Immanuel” to rescue us from our darkness, both personally and collectively.  We wait for the arrival of Immanuel to once again ransom our captive world.

But we do not wait in hopeless mourning (1 Thess. 4:13).  Neither do we bury our responsibility and then blame God for our inaction (Matt. 25:24-28).  Just as with the servants in Jesus’ parable, we have each been given stewardship of tremendous resources and invited into the ministry of reconciliation – to be a kingdom of priests bringing the light of Christ with us everywhere we go.  We are the light of the world (Matt. 5:14-16) who have been called to go into all the world and make disciples (Matt. 28:19-20), teaching them of the hope, truth and freedom of Immanuel – God is with us.  His Holy Spirit lives within us.  We then get to be the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophetic vision, to be and to bring the great light to the people who walk in darkness.

And so we do wait in solidarity with those who mourn over creation’s labor pains, but we wait in hopeful anticipation of Immanuel, who has proven Himself to be more than faithful time after time.  In fact, I wonder if perhaps this Advent season God is waiting for the arrival of His Church on the scene.  Perhaps He is waiting for us to pick back up our shovels and hammers and to rejoin the work of reconciling all of the creation back to Him.  Perhaps we can let our light shine before men in such a way that they may see our good works, and glorify our Father who is in heaven.  

Or I suppose we could just close our eyes and go around wondering why everything is so dark.  You know, dealer’s choice.

We are members of a race that isn’t always described as being especially content or grateful.  Many are caught up in the game of achievement and status while others seem to enjoy spending their time in jealous admiration of the first group.  “It must be nice to have ______…”  “If I had _______, life would be a cake walk.” And so on.  And we can fill in the blank with whatever IT is: time, energy, skills, connections, relationships, money, opportunities, looks, luck, etc…  The challenge facing each group is that there is often an ethereal and abstract notion that somewhere out there…. sometime in the future, I’ll finally be happy.  Indeed it seems that this is one of the most successful ploys of the accuser, the deceiver.  For as long as we are focused on somewhere and sometime other than here and now, he can keep us spinning our wheels and running in circles.  Sadly, his focus is not on how to make us happy in achieving our ambitions and greed, but rather on how to keep us unhappy and miserable, and preferably to spread that misery to others.

However, the Christ-follower has a different set of instructions.  We are to take every thought captive (2 Cor. 10:5), and to “show gratitude, by which we may offer to God an acceptable service with reverence and awe” (Heb. 12:28).  This means we are to recognize and acknowledge the schemes of the devil for what they are and then to refuse to play into them.  Consider the familiar story of the Fall in the Garden of Eden.  The serpent in all its craftiness succeeded in coaxing Adam and Eve to feel greed, envy, a longing and dissatisfaction.  Rather than expressing gratitude for their free access to the vast garden, they immediately conspired to grasp at straws for an intangible and abstract “better”.  All the while, they were giving up the best to do so.  How different would their story, and ours, have been if they would have instead given thanks to God for every spiritual blessing (Eph. 3:3)?  

It strikes me that gratitude is the key to contentment.  Contentment is a state of soul (as opposed to a state of mind) we experience once we have tallied up the score and realized that God really has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in Christ, and we have then taken the time to express gratitude for these blessings.  It also extends beyond the spiritual and metaphysical and into our physical, tangible blessings.  Are you grateful that you have a place to live?  A means of transportation?  Access to doctors and health care?  What about access to information and the ability to learn?  This is one of the reasons I love the American holiday of Thanksgiving so much.  It is a time that we are encouraged to express gratitude for the things and people in our lives that mean so much.  But to the follower of Christ, we have the Holy Spirit-given ability to live in this gratitude-fueled contentment all the time.  Paul gives an encouraging testimony in Philippians 4:11-12.  

“I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.  I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need.”

The gift of contentment is not an ephemeral implausibility reserved for isolated monks and “super Christians,” but rather the dwelling place of every thankful heart.  I love the description of peace offerings of thanksgiving as outlined in Leviticus 7:11-14.  The picture we’re given is that the more thankful a person is, the greater their offering of thanksgiving should be.  A thankful person doesn’t show their thanks by giving as little as possible.  Think of Zaccheus, who was so overcome by joy and gratitude at meeting the Messiah that he immediately gave away half of everything he owned in celebration.  While we may each respond in different ways – offering words of gratitude, lending a helping hand, or simply resting contentedly in God’s presence, may we each make the deliberate decision TO respond to God for all He has done, is doing and will do, in us, through us, around us, and even in spite of us.

In a previous post we asked the question, what is faith?  Feel free to go back and review that post in preparation this follow up question, how does faith work?

We are aware of the significance of faith in the Scriptures.  Habakkuk 2:4 contains a familiar passage, “The righteous will live by his faith.”  So also Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 5:7 that “we walk by faith, not by sight.”  And then we’re given examples of faithful individuals who God worked through to accomplish significant things (see Neh. 9:8 and pretty much all of Heb. 11).  And this all lines up well with our new working definition of biblical faith, which is our confidence or trust in a person or thing (in our case, God) that is rooted and grounded in proof and evidence.  It is the substance and evidence of our hope.  It is no mere belief system (Ja. 2:19) but rather a lifestyle – a series of faithful actions fueled by our confidence in, and the evidence of God’s faithfulness.  It is our stability, our fidelity, our faithfulness.

And once again, our faith is revealed in how we live.  Who do we trust?  What authority do we accept and place ourself under?  What ideas, concepts, abstractions, conclusions and assumptions do we consider to be credible?  Are we more quick to accept an idea based on who said it, or on how logically consistent it is, or how comfortable it makes us feel or how progressive, radical, conservative, liberal, conventional, traditional, new-age, religious, irreligious, abstract, concrete, analytical, artistic or beautiful it is?  

But how does faith work?

Fortunately for us, Jesus taught on this very subject.  “The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’  And the Lord said, ‘If you had faith like a mustard seed, you would say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and be planted in the sea”; and it would obey you.  Which of you having a servant plowing or tending sheep, will say to him when he has come in from the field, “Come immediately and sit down to eat”?  But will he not say to him, “Prepare something for me to eat, and properly clothe yourself and serve me while I eat and drink; and afterward you may eat and drink”?  He does not thank the servant because he did the things which were commanded, does he?  So you too, when you do all the things which are commanded you, say, “We are unworthy servants; we have only done that which we ought to have done.”’” (Lu. 17:5-10)

We (and perhaps the disciples) often mistake faith for belief, and can sometimes find ourselves asking for a larger measure of faith as if it were a limited and diminishing resource.  I’ve heard it said that while we need the faith of a mustard seed to move mountains, we often get stuck trying to amass the faith of a mountain only to find out that we can’t even move a mustard seed.  But size and quantity are not the point.  The mustard seed grows very fast and rapidly spreads new seeds – like a weed, if you will.  And what do plants need in order to grow?  Water, sunshine and good (or even adequate) soil.  So then what does your faith need in order to grow?  What are your inputs?  Dive in to these and study with diligence because our inputs determines our outputs.  When we spend daily time with Jesus (John 4:10), reading, studying and applying His Word (Ps. 119:105) and loving His creation with diligence (Eph. 3:17), we may well notice this rapid organic mustard seed growth in our faith.  

In Matthew 13, Jesus also explains the different “soils” that encounter the “good seed” of God’s Word and Gospel message.  Some hear the Word but don’t understand it.  The devil snatches it away before the seed could be sown in their heart.  Others receive the Word with joy, but grow no roots, and when the emotional high is gone and difficulties comes along, they fall away.  Others hear the Word but are busy with their idols – worry, accomplishment, possessions, etc. – and bear no fruit.  But others are “good soil.”  These hear the Word and understand it, and then apply it to their lives, immediately bearing fruit and rapidly multiplying their joy and faith (like a mustard plant).

But there’s another fascinating principle in Jesus’ teaching back in Luke 17.  Jesus offers the analogy of a good servant diligently working.  There is no pomp and circumstance celebrating their diligence because the servant has simply done that which was expected.  While this undoubtedly addresses Peter’s earlier question about how many times to forgive his brother (the answer was “infinity” by the way), this also provides a fascinating insight into the nature of faith and how it works.  Faith grows as one uses it as a servant.  Its end is service; faith is never an end in and of itself.  This may strike many of us as odd because we’ve grown used to the idea of faith as simply a belief system or intellectual ascent.  But really what we can learn from this passage is that faith is something different from mere belief, not only in how it’s defined, but also in how it functions.  We don’t grow in faith by amassing more belief, but rather by nourishing our spirit with the proper “water,” “sunlight,” and “soil.”  The growth process of our faith then is an organic byproduct of both our spiritual health and the service we’ve been directing it (our faith) to.

One of the most foundational terms in Christianity (and other world views for that matter), I am astounded with how often faith is referenced but neither defined nor taught about in modern times.  Jesus and others spoke/taught about faith on a regular basis, but today we seem to assume everyone instinctively understands what faith is and how it works.  Rather than settle with that flawed assumption, let’s take a moment to explore faith through a few different lenses.

First, we’ll start with the trusty dusty dictionary definition, which considers faith to be: confidence or trust in a person or thing, a belief that is not based on proof.  Not surprisingly, this seems to be our culturally adapted view and is prevalent in movies and tv shows.  This also seems to be the common working definition for most of the people I’ve met and had conversations with through the years.  But does this tell the full story?  Or is there something more that we’ve been missing?

For those who’ve been around church for a while, you’ve probably come across the book of Hebrews at some point, and more specifically its famous passage “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Heb. 11:1).  We are immediately met with a direct contradiction to the dictionary definition of the word.  Where the dictionary supposes faith to be (partly) a belief that is not based on proof, the author of Hebrews supposes faith to be (partly) the evidence/proof of things not seen.  

To make matters even more confusing, James makes a sharp distinction between belief and Biblical faith.  “You believe that there is one God.  Good!  Even the demons believe that — and shudder.” (Ja. 2:19).  And in fact, much of this same chapter outlines James’ assertion that faith is not merely a belief system, but rather a lifestyle – a series of faithful actions fueled by our confidence in, and the evidence of God’s faithfulness.

But this by itself might feel unclear.  Perhaps a brief exploration into the original Hebrew and Greek words of Scripture can provide further insight.

The two Hebrew words for faith come from the same root, and have similar but distinctive meanings.  Emun (ay-moon) means established, trustworthy, faithful, true.  And the other word, Emunah (ay-moon-naw) means firmness, security, stability, moral fidelity, and faithfulness.  We are at once met with the recurring themes faithful and faithfulness.  If the language itself serves any indication, the Israelites would not distinguish between faith and faithfulness.  In other words, to say I have faith in God would to be also saying that I am living in faithful relationship with God and in accordance with His Word.  It is no mere belief system detached from my actions and lifestyle.

So what about the New Testament? 

The Greek word for faith, pistis, means persuasion, credence, moral conviction, assurance, belief and fidelity.  This reveals that there is an element of belief in faith, but it also goes beyond simple belief, and once again there is that element of fidelity/faithfulness that is inseparable from the rest.  And this seems to be the very thing James was emphasizing in chapter 2:  “faith” without works/faithfulness is impossible, dead, doesn’t exist.  In fact, faith is evidenced and proven by our actions.

Our faith is revealed in how we live.  Who do we trust?  What authority do we accept and place ourself under?  What ideas, concepts, abstractions, conclusions and assumptions do we consider to be credible?  Are we more quick to accept an idea based on who said it, or on how logically consistent it is, or how comfortable it makes us feel or how progressive, radical, conservative, liberal, conventional, traditional, new-age, religious, irreligious, abstract, concrete, analytical, artistic or beautiful it is?  

And if so, why?  And if not, why not?

In a sound-bite culture, we have grown uncomfortable with the idea of evaluating our own thoughts, actions and faith.  And yet the fact persists that every person is a person of faith – all that remains to be determined is who or what is the object of our faith.

And here once again the author of Hebrews provides unique insight for our consideration.  “Now faith (pistis) is the substance (hupostasis) of things hoped for, the evidence (elengkhos) of things not seen.”  Hupostasis is a firm support/foundation, confident assurance or substance, and elengkhos is proof, evidence or conviction based on evidence.  

And with that, I submit that we have a quality working definition of faith.  What follows, then, is an admonition for each of us to evaluate and assess the source and worthiness of our faith.  What are the foundations we’ve been building our life on?  What evidence and proof are we basing our decisions and actions upon?  If we claim faith in one thing or person but our lifestyle proves our faith is in something or someone else, we have lied to ourselves and to others.  The good news is that while it may be too late to go back and re-write our beginning, we can still start now to write a new ending to our story.  I’ll leave you with the famous charge from Joshua, “Choose this day whom you will serve… but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Josh. 24:15).

Elijah has long been one of my favorite figures in the Old Testament.  As a prophet of God, Elijah was privileged to not only speak God’s truth to the Israelites, but also to bear witness to many astounding miracles.  In what may be his “crowning moment,” Elijah arranged a showdown on Mount Carmel with 450 priest-prophets of Baal – a pagan Canaanite god which many of the Israelites had taken to worshipping in lieu of God.  God (and thereby Elijah) emerged victorious, and a great revival broke out as a result.

But then Elijah received a personalized, hand-delivered death threat from the wicked Jezebel, and his victory dance was cut short.  Fearing for his life, Elijah fled to Beersheba (in Judah), journeyed into the wilderness, sat under a juniper tree and requested for himself that he might die.  “It is enough; now, O Lord, take my life, for I am not better than my fathers.” (1 Kings 19:4)

Isn’t it good that God doesn’t give us everything we ask for?

Elijah was experiencing a type of exhaustion that follows an adrenaline spike, and I would wager that many of us have experienced a similar exhaustion at some point.  We  had put on the brave face and encouraged others, serving as a steadfast bulwark in their dark nights, but it took its toll and left us depleted.  That, of course, is when the enemy ramps up his attacks (not nice).

But God responds graciously to Elijah, providing him with food, water and rest.  More than this, God had a plan to meet with Elijah at Mount Horeb in a very intimate way reminiscent of a famous meeting with Moses centuries before.  So while he gave room for Elijah to rest, recover and grieve, He also gave Elijah the sustenance and energy for the next journey.  “Arise and eat, because the journey [to Mount Horeb] is too great for you.”  Indeed the journey took Elijah 40 days, but oh was the journey ever worth it.  God met with Elijah in a powerful and unique way, and their prayers back and forth were fascinating.

I always find it fascinating to ponder the biblical accounts of prayer, and particularly the accounts of God’s words in prayer with His people.  Of course we know that prayer is dialogue – a conversation – but we often place most of the emphasis on our words and heart in prayer, unwittingly neglecting the listening aspect.

Having 40 days and nights to reflect on his situation, it appears that Elijah did not have greater clarity, but rather greater despair.  He lays out his situation as he sees it in a complaint before the Lord.  “I have been very zealous for the Lord… but the sons of Israel have forsaken your covenant… and killed your prophets… and I alone am left; and they seek my life…” (1 Kings 19:10)  I am reminded of the story of the old eskimo dog trainer who had fed one dog more than the others and then remarked how it had grown stronger.  We can choose what thoughts and ideas we feed and nourish to become strong – do we want negative thoughts to run our lives, or positive thoughts?

But here in the cave on Mount Horeb, God meets with Elijah in a beautiful and powerful way, asking a deeply profound question: “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

WHAT are you doing here, Elijah?  This is an invitation to honest self-reflection.  What are we doing, thinking, saying, manifesting in the presence of God?  Are we co-laboring with God in the ministry of reconciliation?  Are we acknowledging His beauty and power?  Are we wallowing in self-pity and despair?  Let us be mindful to take every thought captive (2 Cor. 10:5).

What are YOU doing here, Elijah?  This is an invitation to personalization.  Not, “hey what are the Israelites doing?” or “tell me about the prophets who have been persecuted,” but “let’s talk about you for a minute.”  Going back to the previous points, we know that we are often “locked in a prison” of our own design, and “guarded” by our own soundtracks.  These can change, but it starts with an honest and personal evaluation of self and reality.

What are you doing HERE, Elijah?  This is an invitation to treat this ground as “holy ground” like when Moses spoke with God at the burning bush.  A place is not inherently holy or unholy based on external factors, but by how we interface with God and man.  Even Solomon’s temple – the “most holy” building in antiquity was naught but brick and mortar when the people had rejected God so thoroughly that His Holy Spirit left the temple.  So also, a mundane hillside where one keeps dirty smelly sheep can become holy ground when we revere the God of heaven there.

I’ve long since appreciated Elijah, finding him to be very relatable in his “high’s and low’s.”  May we, like him, pause long enough to recognize the voice of God as a gentle whisper in our busy lives, and pause to reflect when He asks us the same question: “What are you doing here?”

Have you noticed how some people seem to focus chiefly on what differentiates themselves from others?  “Those fitness freaks…” or “The 1% snobs…” or “The blue-collar, white-collar, no-collar, etc.”  

In some cases these differences can be good things.  They might facilitate a stronger bond with others of similar interests (sewing circles, sport leagues, car clubs, etc.), and in many cases these differences are harmless – welcoming outsiders of similar interest to be a part of our “tribe” rather than to be excluded.

But in other cases these differences are emphasized in order to cause separation, exclusion or even excommunication.  In the most sinister of cases, this can even be applied as a justification for separating people from God.  “God’s grace extends to most people, but not to them.” is the sentiment, whether spoken or simply implied.

Even in the Church, many well-meaning folks have spoken phrases that sound innocent enough on the surface, but which convey a tragic message when followed to their logical conclusions.  You may have heard some of these phrases before:

“Jesus came only to save sinners…”

“Jesus came only for the down and out…”

“God loves you, but everyone else thinks you’re a jerk.”

The astonishing reality is that during Jesus’ earthly ministry, he made time for every people group, some of whom we might expect and others that might come as a surprise.

Many of His teachings and many of His healing miracles were to the Jews, God’s “elect” people, going back to the Abrahamic covenant.  But Jesus also ministered to and taught Samaritans (see John 4), who were considered “impure half breeds” by the Jews, and were the faithful companions to the Jews in a long-standing blood feud.  Jews and Samaritans usually avoided each other because it was the only way they could think of to avoid bloodshed.  They didn’t view each other as neighbors but rather as enemies.  But Jesus ministered to them.  Worse yet, Jesus championed a “good” Samaritan in a parable when responding to a question about how to love our neighbors.

Jesus ministered to Pharisees (see John 3), and to rulers of synagogues (Jairus in Luke 8), and to many other hard working Jews (farmers, shepherds, fisherman and the like).  But Jesus also ministered to politicians (herodians – see Matthew 22), Roman centurions (Matthew 8) and Gentiles (Mark 7:24-30).

Jesus ministered to the masses (Mark 6), to individuals (Luke 8:43-48) and even to demons (Luke 8:26-32).  But Jesus also ministered to the social outcasts on the fringes of society: children (Luke 18:16), beggars (Luke 18:35-43) and rich men (Luke 19:1-10).

Jesus ministered to everyone, but He never forced His grace on anyone.  A rare and astounding gift is the Gospel, but it is a gift that may be received or rejected.  Perhaps we can learn from the example of our Lord, and offer this same grace freely and without qualification.

And all things through wisdom and the discernment of the Holy Spirit, of course.  I’ve heard it well said that, “I’ll minister to anyone, but I choose my influencers very carefully.”  This is an excellent mindset, and I’ll offer a re-phrase to compliment it: “Choose your influencers very carefully, but minister to everyone.”

In Matthew 20:1-16, Jesus presents a parable to help explain the nature of the kingdom of heaven, and indeed the nature of God Himself.  

It is the time of harvest so a landowner rises early in the morning to hire day laborers.  (These would compliment the landowner’s full-time staff, who might otherwise be overwhelmed by the rapid demands of the harvest.)  They agree upon a fair wage – a denarius (average day’s wage) – and the laborers head to the vineyard and start working.  The landowner goes back out about the third hour (roughly 9am) and saw others idle in the market place.  He also hires them for the day, promising to pay them whatever is right.  

It’s possible that these had spent the earlier hours reaping their own harvest on their own, smaller estates before finishing and heading to the market place in search of additional work.  These would have expected to receive less than a full day’s wage on account of the reduced work-day.

The landowner goes back out at the sixth hour (noon), and again at the ninth hour (3pm), and even once more at the eleventh hour (5pm) when there was only about an hour of daylight remaining.  Each time, he makes similar arrangements with the workers, promising to pay them what is right, and each time, the workers would have expected less compensation due to their reduced work day.

So far so good.

But then Jesus goes and messes up the whole parable by throwing in a curve ball.  The landowner has his foreman call in all of the workers and pay them, starting with those who had worked for the least amount of time, and finishing with those who had been working for the full day.  To every worker, the landowner pays a denarius.  And to this, the laborers who had worked the full day grumbled, thinking it unfair that they should receive the same wages as the others who hadn’t worked as long.

But the landowner responds, “Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for a denarius?  Take what is yours and go, but I wish to give to this last man the same as to you.  Is it not lawful for me to do what I wish with what is my own?  Or is your eye envious because I am generous?”  Jesus then finishes this parable by repeating his statement in Matthew 19:30, “Many who are first will be last; and the last, first.”

This parable is a problem for most of us 21st century Americans.  But to our defense, this parable was also a problem for most 1st century Palestinians.  And why is that?  I think it is problematic largely because we read it through stingy, envious eyes.

Jesus intended to show us the radical generosity of the Father and His kingdom, but we (and the original audience) despised it.  Our misguided sense of fairness and equality balk at this despicable generosity.  And yet, this need not be the case.

The first group of laborers, those who worked the full day, were the only group to negotiate and agree upon a fair compensation, and at the end of the day, they received precisely that.  So when it’s all said and done, they had received perfectly fair treatment and compensation.  On any other day and in any other circumstance, they would have been happy and content with the arrangement.

Out of the generous abundance of the landowner’s heart, he decides to also pay a denarius to every other group, so although the compensation is equal, the effective hourly rate is significantly different.  You can imagine the surprise of each group as they received their denarius, “Wow, I only worked 9 hours, but still got a denarius!”  “Wow, I only worked 6 hours, but I still got a denarius!”  And on down the line.  Truly generosity goes above and beyond what is expected.

Many scholars believe that Jesus was referencing the entitlement of the Jews and their disdain for gentiles.  The Jews were the First, at least in their own eyes, and the gentiles were the Last.  They had then assumed that their first-ness then entitled them to something greater than whatever the gentiles might receive, especially those who were only just now converting and choosing to follow God.  And sadly, this is not an unpopular sentiment even today.  Some folks ask silly questions like, “If I can get my ticket heaven on my deathbed, why would I spend my whole life trying to follow God?”  

This proves that we’ve been greatly deceived about the nature of life, sin, and God.  Jesus clearly states that the enemy ONLY comes to kill, steal and destroy, but Christ/God/the kingdom’s goal is that we would experience life to the max.  When our eyes are clear, we see that the real question should be, “If I can spend the rest of my life experiencing the best of the best – life abundant – then why on earth would I settle for wallowing around in a garbage dump all my life, only to emerge on my deathbed, if at all?”

 Borrowing terminology from this parable, we are “laborers” for the kingdom of God.  Do we expect anything different for those who accept Christ on their deathbed than for us who’ve labored longer.  If we think we deserve something more, it’s probably because we’re viewing our walk with God as a lousy job than as a beautiful relationship.  “The world of the generous gets larger and larger; the world of the stingy gets smaller and smaller.” (Prov. 11:24, The Message).

May we be refreshed in the joy of our salvation, and renewed in our heart of hearts to see God’s generosity as beautiful, and not despicable.

One of the most common mistakes I see when it comes to misunderstanding a particular Biblical passage comes down to a misunderstanding of its context.  While there are many categories of context, one that is often forgotten is literary context – that is, understanding the type of literature in question.

The arrangement and ordering of the Bible is not specifically chronological, but is rather categorized by literature types:

• Torah/Law/Pentateuch (Genesis through Deuteronomy)
• History (Joshua through Esther)
• Poetry (Job through Song of Solomon)
• Major/Minor Prophets (Isaiah through Malachi)
• Gospels/Theological Narrative (Matthew through John)
• History (Acts)
• Epistles (Romans through Jude)
• Prophecy (Revelation)

It is important to recognize the type of literature we are reading and to interact with it accordingly.  Philip Yancy shares an excellent personal example in his book The Bible Jesus Read:

Psalms belong as a part of God’s Word, but in the same way Job or Ecclesiastes belongs.  We read the speeches of Job’s friends – accurate records of misguided thinking – in a different way than we read the Sermon on the Mount.  “The psalms do not theologize,” writes Kathleen Norris in The Cloister Walk, “One reason for this is that the psalms are poetry, and poetry’s function is not to explain but to offer images and stories that resonate with our lives.”

Understanding this distinction changed the way I read Psalms.  Formerly, I had approached this book as a graduate student might approach a textbook: I skimmed the poetry in search of correct and important concepts to be noted and neatly classified.  Psalms resists such systematization and will, I think, drive mad anyone who tries to wrest from it a rigid organizational schema.

We could look at additional examples, of course, but the simple concept is that different types of literature are meant to influence us differently.  In the same way, we ought to approach different types of literature with unique and specific goals.  I wouldn’t critique poetry as a historical narrative.  Neither would I expect a theological narrative to read like a prophetic book.  There will be consistent threads in regards to content, of course, but nearly everything else would be different and unique.  For example, I might pick up on something of the nature of the Kingdom of God in the Psalms, and I might find direct teaching about the Kingdom of God in the gospels, and then I might see examples of historical figures living and advancing the Kingdom of God in the historical book of Acts.  In each case the Kingdom of God is the common theme, but gain something unique and different in each case which produces a broader and more full understanding of the one concept than we could get from just a single type of literature.

From time to time I’ll overhear someone talking about how sophisticated we are in the modern era – particularly in comparison with the superstitious simpletons of the past.  Those old cavemen went around worshipping the sun and hitting things with clubs.  And so we can appreciate the first couple of commandments given to Moses and the Israelites in Exodus 20: “You shall have no other gods before Me.  You shall not make for yourself an idol.”  This seems to make sense in view of the polytheistic culture surrounding the Israelites, but it can perhaps feel distant and disconnected from us.

I’ll concede that we are indeed more sophisticated in many ways – in our technologies and medical breakthroughs, for example – but it seems that we have yet to develop sophisticated souls.  The fundamental problems and challenges we face today are the same fundamental problems and challenges our ancient ancestors faced: pride, hedonism, egotism, idolatry, polytheism…

Wait, what?  How did those last two end up in the list?  We don’t worship idols or believe in a pantheon of gods, do we?

As a matter of fact many, if not most, people today are what I would describe as practical polytheists.  Oh sure, we’ve gotten away from giving proper names to our modern idols, but they’re effectively the same gods the Israelites flirted with throughout the Old Testament.

Adrammelech was the Sepharvite god of war and love (see 2 Kings 17:31).  Nebo, after whom was named a mountain and several towns (see 1 Chronicles 5:8), was the god of wisdom, literature and the arts.  Ashtoreth, also referred to as Astarte or Ishtar, was the Sidonian goddess of sex and fertility (see 2 Kings 23:13).  And of course Jesus addressed the worship of Mammon on numerous occasions in the gospels.  Mammon seems to be an Aramaic rendering of the Roman god Pluto, of the Greek god Plutus, and represents greed and dishonest gain.

So maybe you don’t worship Adrammelech, but do you crave violence, war or the power to control?  Do you worship key relationships in your life, making them the chief focus of your attention?

Maybe you don’t worship Nebo, but do you worship knowledge, progress or artistic expression?

Maybe you don’t worship Ashtoreth, but do you worship sex and/or fertility?

And maybe you don’t worship Mammon, but do you crave what others have?  Do you worship the idea of financial abundance, thinking that if you can just “get enough” and “have enough” that life will be all good?

As is often the case, when we “peel back a layer” of Scripture or history, we realize that we’re not so very different from those old superstitious simpletons after all.  And so it is that the guidance and wisdom God gave to them also applies to us, to neglect our idols in favor of God, who is all-in-all, and who is life abundant.  Our fulfillment is not found in obtaining this or that, nor in achieving this or that, but rather in discovering the One who made us, and walking each day, each moment beside Him.  This is how to gain sophistication of the soul.

As we’ve just completed our annual celebration/observance of the events of Holy Week (Palm Sunday, The Last Supper, The Crucifixion and the The Resurrection) I’m struck with how easy it is to simply “go through the motions” of observance, and in so doing to run the risk of missing the plethora of significant revelations and insights into the heart of God, the ministry of Jesus, and the purpose of the Cross and Resurrection.

Take, for instance, the Triumphal Entry of Jesus on Palm Sunday.  Mark 11 chronicles the disciples’ task of locating and requisitioning the donkey (or colt specifically), and then the peaceful procession of the Jews laying out their cloaks and palm branches for Jesus’ entry as they called out “Hosanna in the highest!”

If we skim right over these events, we can miss the depth of meaning and significance, and even find ourselves criticizing the Jews for turning so quickly on Jesus and crucifying Him just a few days later.  Why would they do that?  

But there are other questions worth asking about this text.  Why did Jesus ride in on the foal of a donkey rather than on a horse?  Why didn’t the Romans intervene?  Were the Jews simply praising Jesus, or were they asking for something?  And of course, why did the Jews change their minds and decide to crucify Jesus later that week?

Let’s start with the donkey.

Middle eastern officials often rode donkeys for civil, not military processions.  Notably, and perhaps of most significance to the Jews present was that Solomon himself rode on King David’s donkey as a part of his coronation ceremony in 1 Kings 1.  It’s entirely possible that the crowds were thinking of this as Jesus’ coronation procession, after which He would rise up and declare His kingly right – to declare war on the Romans and take back the Promised Land in military might.

Already this insight serves to answer the second question.  Why didn’t the Romans intervene?  There could be a few answers.  Perhaps the European/Roman culture didn’t utilize donkeys in the same way as the middle eastern cultures did.  Kings were often displayed and paraded on horses, and this would have been immediately recognized as a royal, if not militant claim.  But even if donkeys were used in these same sorts of civil processions, it’s almost certain that the Romans didn’t know the history of Solomon’s coronation, and so they didn’t perceive any threat from this curious display.

But Jesus wasn’t just riding on a donkey, He was riding on a colt, the foal of a donkey.  This was another somewhat common custom when “unspoiled” animals would be set aside for a specific or even “holy” purpose.  And of course the younger animal would also symbolize less aggression – i.e. peace and humility.

This was a fulfillment of the prophecy in Zechariah 9, which goes on to explain/promise the dominion of this savior king to be expansive, and to usher in a reign of unprecedented peace. 

Next let’s look at “hosanna” and “son of David” (which several of the gospel accounts include).

“Hosanna” simply means “O Save.”  The people were looking for a deliverer – a messiah that would save them.  And “Son of David” was a recognition of Jesus’ royal lineage.  The people were primarily quoting from Psalm 118.  Psalms 113-118 compose the “Hallel,” which was sung regularly during the Passover season, so this would’ve been fresh in everyone’s mind.  The Hallel is quoted/sung about the (future) redemption for which the people hoped.  In Psalm 118 in particular (the section where “O Save” shows up), the Psalmist is making the salvation request to the Lord.  And so it is interesting that the crowds were announcing Jesus’ claim to royalty as a son of David while also quoting a Psalm that referred to God.  Perhaps they were beginning to believe that God really had taken on flesh to dwell among them.

“Hosanna in the highest” also conjures a peculiar image – “O save in the highest.”  It could be emphasizing the reference to Lordship as just mentioned above, or perhaps “in the highest” was meant in the sense of “save us utterly and completely from our oppressors.”  But what if the words were right and it was the intention that was wrong?  What if “in the highest” was referring to a salvation in the highest places – a salvation in the part of us that is the most unique and the most like God – that is, a salvation of our spirit?

It is fascinating that Jesus neither rebukes the crowds nor the words they use, even though it seems clear that they misunderstood the nature of salvation and the very ministry and mission of Jesus.

So then, why did the crowds turn on Jesus shortly after the Triumphal Entry on Palm Sunday? 

A couple of insights may prove helpful here.  First is what Jesus did immediately after arriving in Jerusalem.  Both Matthew and Luke record the account of Jesus entering the Temple courts and driving out the money changers and merchants.

To understand this event, we have to first understand that this version of the Temple was referred to as Herod’s Temple.  The original temple, commissioned by Solomon, had effectively a single court and every Israelite and Gentile would have equal access.  Only the priests operated and maintained the interior of the temple, including the holy of holies, but outside of that there was no hierarchy or separation.  This temple was destroyed, and years later Zerubbabel and others rebuilt the temple in a similar fashion.  Centuries later, Herod wished to leave his architectural mark on the temple by renovating it and expanding the courts.  Unfortunately, Herod did what the Jews had been hoping, which was to introduce a system of hierarchy to temple worship, making it more difficult for most people to approach the temple and to pray/worship peacefully.  Where there used to be a single mixed court, now there was the Jewish/Israelite court (nearest to the temple) followed by the court of women (effectively second class citizens) and lastly the court of the gentiles (effectively third class citizens).  Beyond the walls of the courts then was the marketplace, where money changers and merchants would conduct their business.  

The Jews had largely always viewed themselves as God’s chosen people, and had come to idolize their national identity to the extent that they didn’t even want to worship along side of gentiles or women.  So this very layout of Herod’s design only served to reinforce the idea of a temple hierarchy that comes about from the will of man, rather than from the will of God.

To top it all off, adding insult to injury, money changers and merchants had been invited into the court of the gentiles to conduct their business, but their business should have been conducted out in the marketplace.  The noisy and distracting hustle and bustle would not have affected the Jewish men or even the Jewish women, but it would’ve been incredibly troublesome to the gentiles who were in Jerusalem seeking to worship God at the temple.  All of a sudden, Jesus’ display makes much more sense because He was attempting to remind the people of the purpose and original design of the temple.  This was meant to be a house of prayer for all people, not a way to assert moral or nationalistic dominance, not a way to separate people from God.

In short, Jesus’ message rebelled against the idolatrous nationalism of the day.  His message was that we all have the same access to God, and even salvation (of the soul) will be for all people – not just the nation of Israel.

So this is the first helpful insight.  The second helpful insight comes from Zechariah 9:9-10.

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!  Shout in triumph, O daughter of Jerusalem!  Behold, your king is coming to you; He is just and endowed with salvation, humble and mounted on a donkey, even on a colt, the foal of the donkey.  I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the horse from Jerusalem; and the bow of war will be cut off.  And He will speak peace to the nations; and His dominion will be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.

Chariots, horses and bows were images of warfare and violence, but here in this prophetic text we see that Israel’s king will be peaceful.  The weapons and implements of warfare will be cut off – that is, they will not be the methods utilized by the king.  Salvation does not come with war, but with peace.  And He – their king – will speak peace to the nations, not just to the Jews.

And so we get the picture that the crowds on that Palm Sunday were largely filled with people who were doing their best to disregard the Law and the Prophets and the clear guidance these offered in regards to their coming savior.  They instead were preferring a sort of pax romana – the “peace” of Rome, which comes about by violently obliterating all opposition.  They preferred to replicate the folly of darkness rather than to walk as children of the light.

So may we learn from their mistakes.  But more importantly may we learn from our Lord and His peaceful triumph.  This triumph, as Paul noted to the Ephesians, is not against flesh and blood, but against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.