Why I Like Jesus’ “Water of Life” Comparison:

“If anyone thirsts,” Jesus says, “let him come to me and drink.”

And with that, he brings all of the truth of water—raindrops and waterfalls, fountains and springs, rivers and brooks, lakes and oceans, sometimes dripping, sometimes drenching, always cleansing, the power of steam, the beauty of snow, the mystery of ice—and applies that truth to Himself.

Covering three quarters of the earth, water is everywhere—and the places it isn’t are barren and wasted. Powerful, delicate, lullabying, destructive, healing—it carves canyons then fills them, laps up on the shores of Ephesus and San Francisco, Barcelona and Calais; collects as dew in backyards and city parks; gives life and carries nutrients, washes the filthy and wakes the sleepy, carries ocean liners and covers trenches.

Water both conceals and reveals: The same explorer who plumbs its depths for the secrets it cloaks reaches down and scoops a handful to wash a muddy artifact and reveal its details.

We do not use it, we only borrow it; for whether through the ground or the sea or the air, in time it will reenter its never-ending cycle, the same drop perhaps visiting us 10 times before we die.

Water is in everything and through everything—it is the stuff of clouds and rainbows and icicles, forever present, forever valuable. Those who view our blue planet from space know—water makes our world what it is.

And because of this, Jesus calls on one of his favorite elements to bear witness to the truth of Himself.

Well done, Jesus.

No Possible Term of Comparison

Love this statement by Napoleon. An empire founded upon love. Revolutionary.

Want To Miss What God Is Doing? Decide What God Should Do.

Preached last night on the road-to-Emmaus encounter in Luke 24. Great story about missing God. Two disciples, leaving Jerusalem, talking on the road about Jesus’ death that weekend and the reports about his missing body.

Then Jesus shows up and starts walking with them.

But they don’t know it’s him.

They seem to have decided the resurrection talk is foolishness, holding on to the disappointment that’s inevitable when the man you thought was going to lead a revolt against Rome ends up getting executed.

And now, that same man has risen from the dead and is walking right next to them. And they have no idea.

Lesson? The best way to miss what God is doing is to misunderstand what God wants to do.

These guys had decided (for God) what God should do. They were wrong. And because of it, they almost completely missed the incredible thing God had done.

Truth is, God may show up in my life and do something fabulous. But if I’m blinded by disappointment that He didn’t do what I wanted, I’ll never see it.

Here’s to letting God do what He wants to do, how He wants to do it. And here’s to hoping I don’t miss it.

Body Parts, Pagans, and Jesus

Heard a fascinating lecture this week on archaeological insights into the Apostle Paul’s time in ancient Corinth. Lots of cool stuff, but one detail really stuck with me.

DISMEMBERED REMEMBRANCE
Corinth’s major medicinal activity happened at a kind of temple/hospital facility called the asklepieion (named after Asklepius, the Greek god of medicine and healing). Archaeological digs have uncovered a very peculiar ritual practiced by the people of Corinth: body part votive offerings.

Here’s the deal: to commemorate their request for healing, suffering people would create or purchase a life-sized clay model of the afflicted body part and leave it as an offering to the gods.

Evidently, this happened a lot.

AN EPIDEMIC OF SUFFERING
According to Princeton’s American School of Classical Studies at Athens, “The accumulated mass of life-sized votive limbs and organs found in the Asklepieion precinct amounted to some ten cubic meters and included examples of almost all parts of the body: legs, feet, arms, hands, ears and eyes, torsos, heads, female breasts and reproductive organs, and male genitalia.”

The professor giving the lecture showed slide after slide of votives like these—piles of arms and hands, ears and vaginas, all intended to elicit the help of someone who didn’t even exist.

How sad. In an age before effective medicine, when a tumor or a bone spur or almost anything else was a lifetime sentence of agony and suffering, hurting people left tangible monuments to their pain—graphic, life-sized depictions of bodily suffering that must have paled in comparison to the spiritual agony they felt daily in a life without God.

“They were saying, ‘I need help,’” the professor said, his voice trailing off now, sad and full of sympathy. “And that’s why Paul went there.”

OUR CORINTH
I couldn’t help thinking of the night Jennifer and I watched the film version of Rent, a play about 8 New Yorkers (among them a stripper, a drag queen, a bisexual, a gay man, and two aids patients) and their (largely unfruitful) search for love and meaning.

We wept.

A few months later, we had sold most of our things, packed the rest, and moved to Brooklyn with the sole purpose of bringing Christ to New York City.

They were saying, “I need help.”

And that’s why we went there.

How To Conquer Well

Have you heard the story about Hernando Cortés burning his ships off the Veracruz coast? Great story.

In 1517, Cortés set sail for Mexico under the orders of Diego Velázquez, governor of Cuba (then a colony of Spain). Velázquez wanted Cortés to initiate trade relations with Aztec tribes along the Yucatán coast. Of course, eventually conquering the Aztecs was certainly in Velázquez’s mind, but he wanted to reserve the privilege of leading that war for himself.

Cortés, though, knew that if he were to conquer the Aztecs, his glory and favor with the Spanish king would quickly eclipse that of Velázquez. So he did.

But not everybody was up for it. In fact, when Cortés’ plans became clear, a group of his men still loyal to Velázquez conspired to seize a ship and escape to Cuba. Cortés, though, learned of their plan.

So he burned his ships.

Talk about a clear message. Cortés wanted complete loyalty—he was fully committed to the mission, and he expected his men to share his allegiance. As one source says, “Cortés effectively stranded the expedition in the so-called New World and ended all thoughts of loyalty to the Governor of Cuba.”

If only Jesus were so insistent. If only Jesus, at every hint of rebellion or misplaced loyalty, burned the ships and made it impossible for his followers to leave. If only Jesus stranded people in the mission.

But he doesn’t.

Instead of might, he rules with love. Instead of force, he leads by example. Instead of clinging to power, he died for the powerless.

Seems like this wouldn’t be successful.

…But then, whose mission is still going strong?

Looks like you don’t have to burn the ships if you bear the cross.

Hosanna!

Preached last night about Jesus’ Triumphal Entry and discovered several things I hadn’t realized before I studied for the lesson.

For instance:

The people shouting “Hosanna!” (literally, “God, save us!”) and hailing Jesus as King aren’t the people of Jerusalem. They’re disciples who’ve come with him from Galilee for the Passover. So the “Triumphal Entry” is this moment when Jesus’ enthusiastic disciples who aren’t citizens of the city herald his arrival among the less-than-enthusiastic Jerusalemites.

This reminds me of those of us who follow Jesus now.

Stationed at our various points in this world, we announce his presence and hail him as king, while the crowds look on skeptically. Our “Hosannas” seem to them to be overstated and ill-informed—a foolish amount of confidence to place in the imposter of Nazareth.

But we know differently. So we proclaim him still, lining his path and offering our praise, hopeful that his time in the city will turn the tide—that skeptics will become believers and that those who plot against him would instead sing his praise.

The difference is, of course, that we know how the story ended then, and how that it will end similarly this time—with a terrible, beautiful climax—a combination of grace and justice, of mercy and consequence, of death and life. There will be tears and there will be glory. And in the moments between then and now, all we can do is proclaim to the city that the King is here, that He must be worshipped, and that only He can save us.

Pass/Fail

Powerful words from Jesus:

“Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters.” (Mt. 12:30)

I guess the million dollar question is, What would it look like if I was truly with Christ? What would it look like if I was actively gathering with Jesus?

If my life doesn’t match that picture, well…I’m on the wrong side.

The Day Jesus & Moses Had A Conversation

There are a few moments in history I’d pay some good money to have witnessed.

Jesus’ transfiguration is one of them.

I preached about it yesterday, and in my preparation came across a really cool detail. When Moses and Elijah appear and begin talking with Jesus (while Peter, James, and John watch, flabbergasted), Luke says they talk about Jesus’ coming “departure.” Luke was talking about the crucifixion. But the word he uses for “departure” is actually the word exodus.

This, of course, was a topic with which Moses was familiar.

After uncovering this, I found a beautiful paragraph by William Barclay exploring this connection. Barclay talks about how the Exodus was this moment when God’s people adventured into the unknown, required to trust completely in God’s power and care. The way would be beset with trouble. But the end would result in glory.

What a perfect description of what Jesus was headed for.

His wilderness would be a cross. His immediate future was an abyss of uncertainty and dread, so that proceeding would demand full trust in his Father. The way would be difficult.

But the end would result in glory.

And in an incredible, momentary, face-to-face conversation, Moses helped Jesus to see this.

I’m so glad he did.

Emmanuel

Welcome to the day after Christmas.

Jesus is here now. Everything’s going to be okay.