Jesus the Shrewd Manager

In Last Sunday's Gospel Lesson, Jesus set before us a rather difficult parable: The Parable of the Dishonest Manager.  The parable seems to teach us: be dishonest.  Such a message is offensive, and sends the sensible Christian spinning.

We can tell that the author of Luke is also scrambling to find his ethical bearings, because he tacks on three different sayings of Jesus to the end of the parable, perhaps hoping one will stick for the reader.  Verses 9, 10-11, and 13 are glosses that have been added.  Although they are most likely words that Jesus spoke, Luke threw them in here.  Each saying is about money, after all, and the parable is about money.  Each of the glosses, however, lead us away from the story, and leave us with only more questions when we try to measure them against the message of the parable itself.

I, and other scholars (i.e. Robert Farrar Capon) argue that interpreters must look at the parable alone, without all of the editorial glosses.  Jesus' parable ends with verse 8.  The story is rather simple:

A rich man hears accusations that his manager is squandering his property.  Without ascertaining the truth of these allegations, the Master summons the manager, asks for his spreadsheets and tells the manager that he will be fired.  The manager scrambles to figure out what to do.  He is now unemployed and he is too weak for manual labor and he is too ashamed to take on a life of begging.  Then an idea hits him.  While he still has the authority to do so--in his final official acts--he calls upon those who still owe his Master.  He sits down with these debtors and he lessens their debt considerably.  The manager comes before the Master to receive his pink slip, and the Master congratulates--commends--the manager for acting so shrewdly.

The manager is commended for cooking the books and cheating his master out of what was rightfully owed him.  At this, our moral compass starts to spin so wildly that we can't wait to move on to the glosses in verses 9-13 and forget all about the manager and his wily, but deplorable actions.  How much nicer to focus on the ultra-moral, proverbial saying: "Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much...."  But don't give into the temptation to ignore Jesus.  Stay with him.

The manager was dishonest.  However, he was operating within a different ethical structure, to wit, what theologian James Cone calls the slave ethic.  In Jesus' day, the position of manager of an estate was often, if not solely, given to a slave.  This was an old tradition, since even in the book of Genesis we see a slave, Joseph, given a high position of power in ordering a property owner's wealth, the Pharaoh's, in Egypt.  So, the manager was a slave.  Cone, a foundational thinker in modern Black Liberation Theology, argues that slaves exist within a different moral and ethical place in relation to their masters.  Ethically, the slave must first look out for his or her own survival and the well-being of his or her community--that is, his or her fellow slaves.  Slaves are not ethically bound to those who have subjected them in to absolute servitude.  Thus, even stealing and deception are allowed, as long as these acts are directed against their masters and not against their own community.  James Cone relates a story in his book, God of the Oppressed:

"A housemaid who had the reputation of being especially devout was suspected by her mistress of having stolen from her bureau several trinkets.  She was charged with the theft, and vociferously denied it.  She was watched and the articles discovered openly displayed on her person as she went to church.  She still, on her return, denied having them--was searched and they were found in her pockets.  When reproached by her mistress and lectured on the wickedness of lying and stealing, she replied with the confident air of knowing the ground she stood upon, '...don't say I'm wicked...its alright for us poor colored people to appropriate whatever white folks' blessings the Lord puts in our way."

The oppressed reside in a unique moral and ethical region when it comes to relating to their oppressors. If this sounds abominable to my Dear Readers' ears, allow me to bring to light an hypocrisy.  Take, for example, the Boston Tea Party.  On December 16th, 1773, colonists, dressed as Native Americans (deception), threw three shiploads of tea into Boston Harbor (stealing, or more specifically, squandering  the property of others).  These colonists felt justified--and we still today consider them justified--in this act because of the oppression the colonies endured under the British crown, particularly regarding the matter of representation in the governance of the colonies.  Dressing as Mohawk Indians not only obscured the identity of the tea party participants, but also served a symbolic purpose: colonists identified themselves with America over against their official status as British subjects.  The colonists were making clear what community held their moral and ethical obligations--the oppressed and not the oppressors.

The libertarian Tea Party movement, which began in 2006, has taken on its name to evoke the powerful image of that famous protest in Boston harbor.  By taking this name, Tea Party members are implying that they are being oppressed under the status quo, and so it is time for protest and for drastic measures in order to bring about freedom and equality (particularly in governmental representation).

In the minds of white Americans, the Boston Tea Party, as well as all of the espionage and guerilla violence of the Revolutionary War are ethically and morally justified because liberty and justice themselves were at stake.  To deny, in turn, that a slave ethic is morally justifiable is hypocritical.  Especially when the Revolution was about power (colonists were still making money for their work, and they were not against taxes per se.  The heart of the issue was having a voice in governance, again, all about the power).  Meanwhile, at stake in American slavery were still more fundamental human rights.  The first is a matter of liberty and justice, and the second is about that too, with the added matter of life and death.

And so, the manager in our parable is commended because he found a way to lie, cheat and steal his way out of a problem.  More than that, he figured out how to orchestrate matters in such a way that his master had no recourse.  The slave could not be punished for cooking the books and gyp-ing the master out of money owed him, because he committed these acts while he still had the authority to do so as manager of the estate.  Besides, what was the Master going to do?  Fire him?

Here, in the manager, we find an anti-hero akin to Robin Hood.  The manager steals from the rich master (who, note, only thinks about how much money he could be making), and gives to the poor who are stuck with exorbitant debts that they cannot pay.  The manager is thumbing his nose to the master, who assumes the allegations of squandering are true without an investigation--who is the master loyal to?  Mammon.  The manager is acting in his own best interests since the system is looking to destroy him.  And the manager is allying himself with the poor, oppressed debtors, so that they might band together for mutual benefit and survival.

Christ takes on the same role of anti-hero when he takes on flesh.  The manager in the parable, is the one with whom Jesus Christ must be identified.  For Luke, Jesus came down to take from the rich, righteous and powerful, and give to the poor, sinful and weak.  Jesus is the one who, under a higher moral and ethical authority, steals from the Master of this World in order to save the poor and oppressed debtors.  We are the debtors.  And unlike in many of Jesus' parables, the Master in this parable is not God the Father, but  rather the Devil.  Because of our sins, we are in debt--enslaved not to God, but to sin, enslaved to the Old Foe.  But Jesus, by becoming dishonest (that is, by taking on our sins), fools the devil and helps us free us from our debt.  See, the manager was wrongly accused of squandering, but he, ironically, became dishonest in order to save not just himself, but those who were in debt to the Master.  Just so, those in power were out to get Jesus early on.  They accused him of breaking the Law and instigating against Roman oppressors.  What did Jesus do?  Instead of trying to prove his innocence he went ahead and broke the Law.  He hung out with sinners and the unclean of all kinds.  He broke sabbath and purity laws.  Jesus broke the Law himself, and what's more, he payed the punishment for the sinfulness of all.  The Devil thought he had Jesus right where he wanted him in order to get rid of him--on the cross.  But the cross turns out to be the shrewd action that brings freedom and forgiveness to the oppressed...and loss to the Devil.  Meanwhile, Satan, though bested, can appreciate the shrewdness of the plan.

This parable is about what Jesus does with the Devil's property in order to save the ones the Devil oppresses.  It is a parable about what Jesus does--bears the Cross.  It is not about morality and ethics.  If you want to learn the other side, that is, what to do with your wealth, just peek ahead to the end of the 16th chapter of Luke (v.19ff) to another parable that begins, "There was a rich man who...". 

Thus, the Parable of the Dishonest Manager becomes a teaching about the victory and redemption won on the cross.  Such a reading is supported by the context of the parable in Luke.  First of all, Jesus is being hounded by the Pharisees just then for breaking the Law.  They are trying to defame him and dismiss his authority.  Second, at the time Jesus tells this parable he is already on the road to Jerusalem.  He has set his face to the cross, and that act is starting to become his main focus.  In the same way, when reading the Parable of the Dishonest Manager, the Cross must be our lens.

Books used, mentioned and/or quoted in this blog:

Capon, Robert Farrar.  Kingdom, Grace, Judgement: Paradox, Outrage and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus.  Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.: Grand Rapids, Michigan, 2002.

Cone, James H.  God of the Oppressed. Orbis Books: Maryknoll, NY, 1997.

God Loves the 1%

-or- "The Gospel for You"

So [Jesus] told them a parable: "Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?  When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.  And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.'  Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance."

In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Spock sacrifices his own life in order to save the starship Enterprise from obliteration.  As Spock is dying from radiation poisoning, Kirk is distraught and asks why Spock did it.  Spock responds with a now well-known quote: "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few...or the one."  The idea is that Spock's death is a small price to pay for the safety of the lives of the entire Enterprise crew.  Ethically speaking, such an argument is compelling.  We often, particularly in the West and particularly in the United States, strive for the greatest good for the greatest number of people.  But is this ethical mandate consistent with Christian ethics?  Jesus' parable about the lost sheep (and the two subsequent parables about a lost coin and a lost son) seem to argue for an opposing value.

In the parable, the Shepherd leaves the many in order to tend to the needs of the one.  And notice, that the Shepherd does not leave the 99 safe in a gated pen, but leaves them alone in the wilderness in order to go and find the one that went astray and got lost.  Jesus begins the parable with a question: "Which one of you would not leave the 99 in the wilderness and go after the one?"  Think about that.  Would you leave 99 sheep vulnerable to the dangers of the wilderness in order to track down one lone sheep?  If I were faced with the question, I would have to say no--I wouldn't risk the 99 for the sake of one.  Economics and politics talk about acceptable risks and acceptable losses.  Risking 99% of one's flock is not acceptable.  Losing one out of a hundred is an acceptable--even an expected--loss.

But faith does not make calculations in such a way.  For God, and thus for God's faithful people, no loss is an acceptable loss...and any risk to restore the one is an acceptable risk.

The irony found in the Star Trek movies is that while Spock's great sacrificial act lasts for a span of minutes, the story is turned around in the next movie, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, in which the Enterprise crew spends and entire feature length movie in the attempt to restore the one individual.  The point of the third movie is much more human, and I argue, much more Christian.  One individual is worth risking everything to save.  In fact, the Enterprise herself is destroyed in the third movie, and all for the quest of bringing Spock back.  And he is worth it.  Star Trek III sticks out as one of the dullest and most often forgot movies in the whole franchise.  Why?  Because the quest for the one is less dramatic and less heroic than the quest to save the many.

Ours is a culture that thrives on the dramatic and revels in the heroic.  We are a culture of numbers.  Are we not much more impressed by the business that touts "Billions Served" instead of the small, local restaurant that serves the same crowd week to week?  And how much more of a tragic impact is felt in an event that kills thousands compared to the murder of one--which event is called terrorism?  Which event is more likely to cause change?

Even in our churches, we are obsessed with the dramatics of numbers.  Who is satisfied with the one, when there are hundreds out there?  Which church would not rather have hundreds in worship on Sunday instead of tens?  And although many would rather have the great crowds in order "to make a bigger difference in the world" the desire is--at heart--selfish and self-serving.  It is far more Christian to risk everything--even the life of the congregation--for one person in need.  Our focus should and must be on the individual.

Now, perhaps you say to yourself, "But Jesus died on the cross for the many.  One man sacrificed himself to save all people."  One may look at it that way.  Indeed, we remember Jesus' words in the night in which he was betrayed, that he took the cup of suffering and gave it for all to drink saying this is "shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sins" (emphasis added).  But to understand the crucifixion in such a dramatic and heroic way is an misunderstanding.

Jesus did not die for the nameless masses.  Instead, the emphasis must be put on the words "for you."  Jesus died for one person: you.  And he died for each of us individually.  When we receive Jesus Christ week in and week out, we are reminded of this fact.  What is repeated to us is not that God died for all people, but that Jesus' body and blood are given "for you."

Moreover, the crucifixion event is only about a sacrificial hero if you forget what happened afterward.  Jesus--one man--was raised up to new life in the resurrection.  God came down to save the one lamb that was snatched away by wolves.  And not even death itself was able to deter the Shepherd from reclaiming the one Lamb.  That is the gospel promise!  When I go astray, God will come for me.  When I die, God will come and resurrect me.  A nation will not be restored, but a new kingdom (the Kingdom of God) will be established one-by-one.

And in our culture's mindset, we imagine that Jesus' motivation to be crucified was a heroic one.  We might believe that when Jesus faced his cross, that he was thinking about the masses of people around the world--just as Spock was thinking about the crew of the Enterprise: that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few...or the one.  But when we look at Jesus' struggle in the Garden of Gethsemane the night before he died, we are given a much different motivation.  At Gethsemane, Jesus is struggling with whether or not to go through the crucifixion.  It is his last temptation to save himself.  Ultimately, Jesus decides to face the cross, but why?  A reason is given...but people--the crowds, the "all people" who will receive his body and blood--are not mentioned.  Jesus doesn't go through with it in order to save the world.  The idea of being the world's heroic savior does not factor into the decision at all.  Instead, Jesus accepts the fate of the cross for one simple reason: it is God's will for him.  The passionate love for God, who Jesus trusts will come for him, is what gives Jesus the strength to face a horrible death.  It is not the ethical-dramatic thought of the masses, but the religious focus on his own relationship to God that gives him the faith and the will-power.

It takes great faith to risk the many for the sake of the one.  It takes a joyful heart, indeed, to rejoice over one who is found, in a world that focuses on the accomplishment only of quantity.

But remember, God risked it all for you.
And in gratitude, we turn and risk it all for another.
Thanks be to God for that.
Amen.
 

My Lord, What a Morning

Perhaps it was the dry, windy chill in the air.
Or maybe it was the warmth that came only when the sun's rays hit directly.
Whatever the reason, this morning more than any other morning this week--I might even venture to say this entire summer--has caused me to exclaim in my soul: "My Lord, what a morning!"

I woke today at an hour that I used to call "ungodly" but that most Tolucans would consider quite godly, indeed: 6am.  As I am not a particularly morning person, this was strike one.  Today I awoke to the pleading strains of Sasha's (my cat's) vocal cords, crying out for food or water or some such thing.  I don't know whether I snore or not, but I believe that Sasha is able to tell when I come up briefly from deep sleep in the morning, and she is able to catch me before I go back to sleep.  Either I snore or my breathing changes.  Regardless, she is attuned to my sleep cycles and she was the one who woke me up early on my day off--strike two.  Immediately recognizing the futility of returning to bed, I put on a pot of coffee.  Ah, the first cup of the day.  Base hit.

Energized by a cup of coffee or two, I decided to venture out for a walk.  I stepped outside.  Strike one.  The cold chased me back in, where I almost stayed, but for the motivation of the several tens of pounds I have gained in the last few months.  Resigned, I put on a sweatshirt, stocking cap and light gloves and returned to the brisk, fresh air.  I started walking in the cold.  And the wind.  Pop-up caught on the fly.  You're out.  I had no reason not to turn back right then.

Thankfully, just then I simply quit taking score.  Mindlessly, I walked forward.  Then, I reached the edge of town.  As trees and houses turned to corn and beans, I left the cold shadows of town and hit the sunshine of the open fields.  Or rather, the sunshine hit me.  (Take your base.)

Just then, my mindlessness dissolved, and a phrase bubbled up from my memory.  A hymn came to mind, and--of a sudden--my soul rejoiced within me.  I said to myself: "My Lord, What a Morning."

I didn't have very good reasons, but I had reason enough to be grumpy this morning (it doesn't always take much).  And yet, I was filled--for no particular reason--with joy and contentment.  And I gave thanks to God for the day.  And in my mind I sang the song, "My Lord, What a Morning."

That song is a curious song.  The phrase I kept repeating is one of astonishment and pleasure, but the song itself is about the end times:

"My Lord, what a morning; my Lord, what a morning;
oh, my Lord, what a morning, when the stars begin to fall.
You will hear the trumpet sound, to wake the nations underground
looking to my God's right hand, when the stars begin to fall."  (and so on...)

It is a song about the dread-filled end of the world.  And yet it is a song of hope.  For a morning is just a beginning, and who knows what the day might bring?  I am reminded of a phrase that the Klingons from Star Trek use before they go into battle or start a new venture: "Today is a good day to die."  Now, many might hear this and call it defeatist.  Certainly, the phrase is macabre and grim.  To think of one's death--to think that one might die today--is not usually a pleasant thought.  However, woven throughout the phrase is a healthy and very real zest for life.  There is contentment in the phrase, and even a joy in life, and the strivings that life brings.  I think it is a very Christian phrase, actually.  Since, the day that this world dies may be the day "you will hear the sinner cry," but it is the day that you will also "hear the Christian shout" (verses 2 and 3 of our song).  The day of our death, the day that the world ends--both of these are days of triumph.  How blessed to wake up on those days and say in one's heart: "My Lord, what a morning!"  and "Today is a good day to die!"

Have you ever felt that way?
Have you ever felt an overwhelming sense of joy?
Have you ever felt so passionate about the tasks of life and faith so as to exclaim such phrases?
Have you ever felt like thanking God in your heart out of the blue, for no discernible reason?

Well this morning I realized something.  You won't have anything to feel thankful toward God for, unless you first feel the overwhelming sense of joy, passion and gratitude.

We have it backwards.  We think that simply by receiving something--a gift--we will be inspired to gratitude.  Not true, not true.  Especially, with the gifts that we receive from God on a daily basis.  In repetition, we grow accustomed to the blessings God gives us, and we take them for granted or begin to feel entitled to them.  But this morning, I found that it isn't until you have been inspired by joy--it isn't until you have been inspired by gratitude that you really begin to notice all of the things that God gives.

This morning, I had plenty of reasons to be grumpy--many of which I did not and won't go into here.  But, all of a sudden, a wave of contentment and joy came over me: the Holy Spirit.  Then, and only then, was I able to give thanks for the sun, the brisk air, the ability to walk, the chance to be up in the morning, the opportunity to see and say hi to people around town as I walked, the insects and animals I saw and heard, and all of the countless other little things--each of which are gifts from God.

First  came the prayer: "My Lord, what a morning!"
Then, the whole world looked different, as though the stars fell and were replaced with the face of God.

I pray the Holy Spirit bring you many such days.
Amen.

Faith: Just Do It

-or- One Does Not Pay for the Gift of Faith

Last Sunday's Gospel reading was hard to swallow.  Jesus, followed by crowds full of enthused people, spoke on the cost of discipleship.  It was as though he questioned the hearts of those who were following, questioned whether they were full of mere enthusiasm or the passion of faith.  And so, he tells us what is required of his disciples, namely that we:

1. Hate father and mother, wife and children, sisters and brothers.
2. Hate life itself.
3. Carry your cross and follow Jesus.
4. Give up all of your possessions.

Let us examine what each of these really mean before proceeding.  First of all, what does it mean to hate family, friends and even life itself?  In Jesus' time, the word "hate" meant something a little different.  Today the word is laced with vitriolic, highly emotional sentiments.  Hate is one of the strongest words in the English language.  In Jesus' day, the word "hate" didn't have a lot of that baggage.  It meant simply: "turn away from," or "separate from."  Jesus is saying that we have to be willing to choose God over and against all other relationships.  This is harder than it sounds, and it sounds hard.  Abraham is our example of this: he left his family to start a new life in the land of Canaan.  God asked him to pick up and move and he did, forsaking the life he grew up with, forsaking the gods that his family worshipped.  Forsaking his loved ones.  And later, Abraham was even willing to turn away from his only son, Isaac--Abraham did not "hate" Isaac in the way we understand the word, rather he loved Isaac more than anything in the world.  But when God asked him to turn away from Isaac, Abraham was willing to hate Isaac to the point of murder.  If God calls on us to, are we willing to turn away from friends and family--not because we don't like them, but because God has asked us to, even while we still love and cherish them?

Second, what does it mean to hate life itself?  In today's age, when we hear "hate your life" we immediately jump to the desperation of suicide.  And so we may think that this requirement of discipleship is the willingness to die for the sake of the gospel.  Not true!  The next requirement deals with giving up our life (for that is what bearing the cross means).  So what does it mean, then, to hate one's life?  It means to turn away from one's life.  That is, turn away from the life that you have built.  What is life made up of?  People, activities, possessions?  All of these and more.  When you move to a new place, you must set up a new life--you find new routines, your old habits may no longer be available and so you take on new habits.  You must find a new support system.  When you move into a new house, you must find new homes for all of your possessions.  And when you have done all of these things and more, you have etched out a comfortable life for yourself.  All of this is what Jesus is calling us to hate.  Leave your comfort zone, take on new habits and activities, expand your friendships to include different people, etc.  Turn away from your routines and become someone new.

Third, what does it mean to bear the cross.  At times, I am willing to take the image of the cross as a metaphor, but not here.  I think here Jesus is speaking directly and without equivocation.  Here Jesus is saying be willing to die for your faith.  The cross is a symbol of death.  Simple as that.  And we are to bear the Word of God, the Gospel through every experience and event--even through death itself.

Fourth and finally, Jesus says that we must give up all of our possessions.  Again, Jesus is speaking clearly and directly here.  We are to sell everything we own, and give it away.  Only then, are we truly free to hate our life and embrace the new life that Jesus is offering us.  There is no metaphor here, there are no degrees of completing this requirement.  We get rid of all of our possessions.

Whosoever does not do these things cannot--is unable to--be Jesus' disciple.

It is so unfortunate, it is so off-putting, when Jesus speaks clearly and directly.  Oh, how pleasant it is when he speaks in soft parables that give us the wiggle room to make our own interpretations.  But, alas, here Jesus wishes to speak plainly.  Jesus wishes to show how offensive the gospel message really is to those who are comfortable in this life.

How many of us can say that we are willing to--or have already--done the things on this list of prerequisites?  I have not.  I have not even come close.  I, therefore, am unable to be Jesus' disciple.

And I think that is the point.
We are unable to do it.

So, Jesus launches into a couple of parables about measuring the cost of things before you jump into them.  "For which one of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it?"  And, "...what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand?"

Hearing these parables, my first thought is: "The cost of discipleship is too great.  I cannot do it.  Therefore, I shouldn't even try."

Is that the message that Jesus is sending us in this gospel passage?  It would seem so.

But there is hope.  The Kingdom of the World is caught up with trying to estimate costs and compare them to means.  But the Kingdom of God is more interested in people who venture out with faith, which augments ones means.

I think Jesus is telling us not to try estimating the cost of discipleship.  Instead, we are to just take the leap of following Jesus and deal with things as they come.  If we pause to figure out if we can do it or not, we have already stopped ourself from the leap of faith.  And if we go further with the calculations, we will find that we do not have what it takes and so we will never try to follow Jesus.  Instead, we must have the faith to simply begin following and, come what may, follow to the best of our abilities.

Life is such that counting the cost of anything ahead of time is just guesswork and hopefulness.  The one who sits down to build a house can plan all he or she wants.  They can get the proper financing, they can choose blueprints and hire the right builders.  But even the best laid plans are bungled by reality.  As the house is being built there are still so many unforeseen problems and decisions that have to be addressed along the way.  One must be constantly present and vigilant, lest those who are doing the work make decisions on the spot for you (workers who will do their best, but who will neither pay for nor live with the choices they make).  The reality is that the cost of building is usually much higher than the estimates at the beginning.

And as for the king who is estimating whether he will win or lose a battle against superior forces, no matter how accurately he accounts for resources, numbers, battlefield conditions and strategies, the battle's actual outcome is always unforeseeable.  The battle is not always won by the superior forces, or the better strategist, or the one whom the terrain and whether favors.  And the war is not always won by the one who wins the battle.

The changes and chances of life are always able to bungle the best laid plans.

Sitting down to estimate the cost of doing something, is only trying to minimize loses--to minimize the gamble.  And that simply cannot be done with faith.  In the passion of faith, we are to put everything on the line, trusting in God alone.  Again, just by sitting down to estimate the cost of what it means to be a Christian, we have already proven that we are not Christian.  Just that momentary pause in order to decide if we are willing to pay the price, is a hesitation that shows that we do not have faith.

Instead, faith is like life--we must not try to predict what will actually become, but rather we must face each moment as it comes.  We must simply jump into faith, trust God.  And if a trial comes that we fail, then we simply jump upon God's grace and forgiveness---but we never pause.  We continue moving, not despairing over the cost of discipleship nor our inability to pay that cost.  We keep moving, keep living.  And when we come to a tough requirement that we are able to pay.  When we come to a trial or temptation that we are able to beat with flying colors, keeping the faith, becoming an example and hero of faith--even then, we do not pause to account for our wins and losses.  For pausing to congratulation ourselves is also a hesitation that prevents us from following.

Therefore, I think Jesus is trying to tell us: do not worry about the cost.  Do not waste time trying to guess what God will require of you.  Simply follow me, and be ready for anything.  Discipleship is costly, but the reward, eternal happiness, is worth any cost.  We are to keep our eyes on the goal, keep our eyes on the road, and trust that the Holy Spirit will help us along the way.

Do not be like the kings and the builders of this world, who must account for every detail before they will do anything.  Instead, be a king and builder of the Kingdom of God: dream, work and sacrifice trusting that God will, in the end, make something of you.

In the end, God really doesn't have a use for our stuff.  God simply wants you...and me.
That is really the cost.  I must give God myself, in order for him to make something of me.
It seems like a gamble, but it is the only sure bet under the sun.
Thanks be to God for that.

Without Authority on the Holy Spirit

-or- Who is to Decide What the Spirit is Saying?

I despise one conversation in particular.  Most often, Christian clergy are the offenders in such a conversation (and bishops are the worst, since they believe they are given authority to make such calls on behalf of not only the laity, but also--and especially--the clergy), although the laity have taken on the bad habit as well.  The habit, the conversation, is namely, claiming to know the movements of the Holy Spirit in another's life.

If I experience some hardship, others are quick to claim that the Holy Spirit is using that hardship to test me, to purify me and make my faith in God complete.  If I am in some situation that causes offense or despair, the Holy Spirit has called me to it, has called me--please notice--so that I might grow.  We love to justify another's suffering by thinking and saying that it is good for them!

The damnable part of such "comforting" words is that one cannot argue against them.  That is not to say that they are true, but rather simply that such claims are unassailable.  

What follows is my assault on such claims as to how the Holy Spirit is moving in my life.

Please note, first of all, the possessive, first-person singular pronouns I use in that sentence.  True faith is and must needs be subjective.  God would have us each individually, as individuals, be transformed by the Crucifixion/Resurrection event.  Yes, I hear about the historical event from a third person, some apostle, and yet it means nothing unless I appropriate it myself.  Hearing the gospel means nothing unless the hearing of it transforms my heart, the way I think, and ultimately transforms the way I behave in the world.  In the moment that faith is born in me, I am divided from all others, and I relate singly to my God.  And it is only through God, by the act of Jesus Christ and through the power of the Holy Spirit, that I am united to others.  The Communion of Saints (whether here on earth or in heaven) is accessed only through Jesus Christ, who is the Way to the Triune God.  As Luther once said, there are two things that all must do alone: work out one's faith and die.  No one can die for me.  No one can believe for me (that is, no one can be transformed by the gospel for me, but only for themselves).

Only I can interpret what the Holy Spirit is calling me to do or be.  Because it pertains to the Holy Spirit to relate to me individually.  The task of faith is to discern the Holy Spirit's call for my life.  Other voices--even the voices of the most faithful, even the voices of those called to proclaim the gospel--are just as easily misleading as they are accurate.  In fact, the one who claims to speak for the Holy Spirit is in a precarious spot, since it is the greatest offense to be wrong about the Holy Spirit's intentions.  Indeed, one of the most destructive acts, for a Christian, is to wrongfully make a claim about the Holy Spirit's will and movement in the life of another person.

Imagine how debilitating it would be, if you were in a state of complete despair, to have someone (particularly someone who is so removed from your life as to be a stranger) to say to you: the Holy Spirit has called you to be in that situation, and it is the Holy Spirit that is instructing you precisely through this experience.  For surely, you currently think you know what you need, but that is only what you want---and the Spirit is calling you away from vain and selfish desires.  And now imagine that the person who says this is one who is supposed to have some spiritual authority, spiritual authority because of the call of the church.

Meanwhile, in your despair, it feels as though the Holy Spirit is saying just the opposite!  That, by humbling and depriving you of inspiration, by making you feel inhuman, making you feel other than yourself, the Spirit is telling you that you have not yet finished your journey.

Who is correct?  Whose is the right interpretation of the Holy Spirits communication?

Today, in our churches, there lives the sentiment that the individual cannot be trusted with interpreting the communications of the Holy Spirit.  But this is no different than it has always been.  The Pharisees did not trust that prototypical human individual: Jesus Christ.  And if you read the book of acts, there is a constant tension between the community of the faithful and the individual person of faith.  The Holy Spirit, paradoxically, gathers us into a congregation and then works unceasingly against the crowd.

Whenever someone other than yourself pleads with you: "Be open to the Spirit's call."  And if they say such a thing with the purpose of helping you come to terms with some particular circumstance, then do not listen.  It is the same as if you have an argument with someone and the argument ends without any resolution.  And the other person says to you, "Well, pray about it."  You know that the person has already decided what is "right" and they only expect you--through the vehicle of prayer--to come around to their point of view.  In the same way, people abuse the Holy Spirit.

Indeed, when people ask you to be open to the Spirit they--as often as not--are dissuading you from discerning the Spirit's true will for your life.  Just as when Peter was told by his Teacher "Get behind me Satan."  Peter was claiming to speak with religious authority, but he was unknowingly following the will of the demonic.

When I come to someone, I have no authority to claim what the Holy Spirit is calling them to do or to be.  I am without authority.  And it is my calling, as an ordained minister of the church of Christ, to help you ask that question for yourself: "What is the Holy Spirit calling you to do or to be?"

Because if I make a claim and it is false, I am condemned and I have positioned myself to stand alone--apart from God, because I have claimed to be God.  But if you make a claim for yourself about the Holy Spirit and are wrong, you immediately stand before God's graceful countenance.  You have not set yourself up as God, but have set yourself up as an individual human being in relationship to God--through your very attempt at discernment of God's will over above yours.

And even if I make a claim about the Holy Spirit's call to you, and I end up being correct--I have condemned us both!!!  I am condemned because I have still set myself up as God, and I have the added temptation of thinking that I am right in my claim for Godhood!  I have condemned you because I have forced you to relate to me and my words instead of relating yourself, as a singular individual, directly to God.  I cannot tell you what to be or what to do, but only help you ask the questions so that you stand before God in freedom of what mortals would influence you to be.

When someone says to you, "You must be open to the Holy Spirit."  And if they are referring to a particular situation, and vying in their heart for a particular outcome.  What they mean to say is this: "You are being difficult.  Stop making trouble for us."  And it is your right, indeed, your duty to resist such a claim on your life and fling yourself even farther out into the deep water.  It is your right and duty to ask the Spirit directly what it is God calls you to do or to be.

Ah, but blessed is the one who defends the question.  Blessed is the one who asks you, "What is the Holy Spirit calling you to do in this situation?"  Blessed is the one who merely helps you to understand the situation and--more specifically--helps you to understand the issue, that is, the question at hand.  Blessed is the one who empowers you to make the decision, instead of putting stumbling blocks in your way.

Finally, to overcome the stumbling blocks--to will to follow the Spirit when others claim the Spirit calls you to something else, to will to follow the Spirit while others say God calls you to do the opposite--such a trial is left for the hero of faith.  At some point we are required to stand against those we love, against those in authority, against even ourselves in order to follow the call of the Holy Spirit.

But only the individual can discern what is the trial and what is the call.

Because the Holy Spirit always speaks to you, always speaks to me--and does not speak to us.  

Yes, the Spirit gives us one mind in Christ Jesus.  But remember, the mind of Christ followed the will of the Spirit.  We are called to do the same--for ourselves, and not for others.

So, I ask you, "What is the Holy Spirit calling you to do or to be?"

The possibilities that present themselves when that question is asked in honesty and in earnestness will bring the individual anxiety.  Because the question is meant to bring freedom, and not captivity.

Thanks be to God.

Postscript:

Just as the Holy Spirit pours gifts into each one individually, so too the call to use those gifts is poured out individually.  It is impossible for the Holy Spirits actions, will or movements to be considered objectively.  For this reason, many of the symbols of the Holy Spirit are things can cannot be controlled: water, fire, wind.  Yes, these things can be contained, but it takes constant effort.  Woe to the one who uses their energy to contain the Spirit.  Woe upon woe to the one who tries to contain someone falsely under the name of the Spirit.  Here is the two-edged sword!  Here is the reason that I am without authority--even over myself.  How do I, then, discern the Spirit's call?  That is the question.  rha

It's About Time

-or- Free Will and What God Knows about the Future

If humans have free will, then God cannot be omniscient.
Omniscient is defined as "all-knowing."
Usually by "all-knowing," one means that God not only knows everything about what has been and what is, but also about what will be.  That is, to be truly omniscient, God would have to know the future.  However, if God knew the future, then the future would have to be determined.  And if the future is determined, then free will is impossible.

Let us take an example.  Tomorrow, I would like to take a bike ride.  Let's say I even plan on taking a bike ride.  I still do not know if I will take a bike ride tomorrow or not.  It is possible that I will, but it is also possible that it won't.  I, the actor, will not know until tomorrow comes and I actually take a bike ride, or I don't.  Oh, I can look at my schedule and see if I have free time for a bike ride.  If I do not, then the statistical probability that I will take a bike ride is very low.  It is, however, still possible.  In order for anyone to know--even God--whether or not I am to take a bike ride tomorrow, then the future would have to be predetermined.  True and correct knowledge is only of the actual and not of the possible.  I can know that there is a possibility that I will take a bike ride tomorrow, but that is only because there is an actual possibility (I have a bike, I am able to ride, bicycles exist, for that matter I exist, etc.).

If God has knowledge of the future, then as soon as God knows that future, possibility is destroyed and the only actual outcome must be what God knows.  Therefore, any future actualities that I may think are possible are really impossible.  Even if I still choose to ride my bike tomorrow, it is really a straw choice, since God has foreknowledge of the event.  If God knows that I will go on a bike ride, it must play out in that way--there is no other possible sequence of events.

One answer to this conundrum is to argue that God sits outside of time, and therefore can see the future without affecting its outcome by that foreknowledge.  On the face of it, this argument seems to solve the problem.  God can simply see now what I will freely choose tomorrow.  Time flows linearly, but God is standing outside of the stream, able to see up and down the timeline.  God stands outside of time, in eternity, and therefore can experience any moment in time at any point in (or, as the case may be, out of) time.

But when we explore this idea further, we realize that human free will is still in jeopardy.  Although God is atemporal, temporally all-encompassing, God's knowledge still delves into time when God looks forward to see the future.  Think, for example, about rewinding and fast-forwarding a movie.  I, the one who holds the remote control, stand outside of the flow of time within the movie.  At any moment, I can see any point in the movie that I want to see by choosing a scene and scanning forward or backward from that scene selection.  I can look ahead to see how the movie will end.  I can come to know this because the events in the movie are determined.  The movie will always end how it ends, and therefore, I can fast forward in order to know the ending before the sequence of events occurs that led to that ending.

If God is able to see ahead in time because he stands outside of time, free will is still abolished.  Not because God's knowledge somehow affects the determinacy of time, but rather because in order for God to be able to look ahead in time and know anything, then the future must be determined.  It is not the foreknowledge that makes predestination, but rather we see that predestination must be at work in order for anyone--even God, who sits outside of time--to know the future.  In other words, the phenomenon of free will is a variable of life that keeps everything in the realm of the possible until it becomes actual.  And so, if the actual is able to be known before it occurs, then all other possibilities are destroyed and the future is determined.

So, if God is to be omniscient even as human beings have free will, we must ask the question, "What does God know about the future?"  The answer reveals a God who is more spectacular than a being who can simply know the future: God has an omniscience that sees and knows all of the possibilities.    God can see all of the possible paths and the choices that we will be faced with in the future.  However, God is unable to see the actual, until the actual takes place in time.  [One of my underlying assumptions, clearly, is that there is something unique about the present.  That is, the present is absolute and universal.  At any given time, there is but one moment that is the boundary between past and future.  Moreover, that boundary is such that even God must experience time in that way.  God is able to look beyond the boundary of now into the future, but what he sees is not yet actual (because the moment of the present has not come yet), and yet God is able to see all of the possibilities beyond the present moment.]  God can still, in such a case, be surprised by our choices, without being taken by surprise.

Why does any of this matter?
Well, for me, God is a God of possibilities.  Evil is horribly unoriginal.  And when we are trapped into predetermined actions, we are essentially being held captive by sin--it is sin that is making us predictable, sin that is determining our choices.  But God always works to free us from sin, to give us more and more possibilities for the future.  Our God is a God that safeguards our freedom, making it possible for us to actually become new each moment.  And if the future becomes anything but a bundle of possibilities, then predetermination threatens the freedom God has given us.