Toolkit of verses for my own temptations

Last week's post reviewed the verses that Jesus employed to rebuke the tempter. 

My own temptations are different. Of course I'm as much at risk of temptation as any person is. Still I am confident that the tempter will never try to goad me to turn stones to bread or offer me the kingdoms of the world. 

So what are my own common temptations? What verses would I want to call to mind for the temptations I am likely to face? 

1. The temptation to over-rely on knowledge, or to consider it the most worthwhile thing for me to develop: 
   Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. (I Corinthians 8:1)
   
   
2. The temptation to overvalue work, and to undervalue rest: 
   In six days you shall do all your work, and on the seventh you shall rest. (Exodus 20:9-10)
   
   If ever I faced the opposite temptation, to overvalue rest and undervalue work, it would also be a suitable verse. 
   
   
3. The temptation to anxiety about the future: 
   And who among you, by being anxious, can add a single hour to his life? (Matthew 6:27)
   
   
4. The temptation to resentment about ill-treatment, especially from people from whom I could (by relation) hope for fairness. 
   Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord. (Psalm 19:14)

I expect it would be a good practice for me to review what temptations I've faced each day, and review the places where I'm taught to fend it off. 

Grappling with Christ's sacrifice

The ancient sacrificial system makes little sense to me. I cannot relate to the idea of bringing goats or pigeons as an act of atonement. 

But I can relate to the idea of being in deep regret or shame, and wanting to bargain my way out of it, make some kind of substitution, any kind of substitution. What about one of those moments in life that I'd give anything to take it back? I can imagine myself bargaining ... "Anything, I see how wrong it is but there's no way to take it back. Just don't let that ruin everything!" Some people say that bargaining like that is futile, but is it? What if God said "Okay"? What if God took the deal with one condition: He would pay the price instead. 

In some ways, the question of "How could a good God allow evil?" is the question how a good God could allow agency to people who are so flawed. I've heard skeptics and scoffers list their reasons to disbelieve in God, and they are often lists of things that humans do to each other. Even on that level, God bears the shame of any wrong I've done. 

May I consider, in those moments where I feel that urge to bargain away my regrets, that God accepted. 

The Stone The Builders Rejected

During the season of Lent, we remember the events leading up to Jesus' crucifixion. Jesus proclaimed himself as the fulfillment of the prophecy of the stone that was rejected by the builders, the one that still becomes the cornerstone. All of us are builders in some way. So I'd like to consider how that warning would apply across the years to us today. 

• When Jesus proclaimed forgiveness, the leaders' reaction stemmed from not knowing who Jesus was: No one can forgive sins but God alone. Or is it that on some level, leaders -- or anyone else -- can gain power by not forgiving others? When we find fault with others, our human desire is not always the good, but the desire to elevate ourselves or put down someone else. Forgiveness can rob us of a weapon. 
• When Jesus cleansed the Temple of merchants to restore it as a house of prayer, the leaders' reaction revealed that they had lost sight of the holiness of the Temple. In the aftermath, the verbal sparring showed that these particular leaders had stopped seeking truth about certain things, and had begun using knowledge (and strategic ignorance) as pawns. It had become more important to them to maintain power, prestige, and legitimacy. Those are necessary, aren't they? But it becomes part of that human picture that we are willing to gain our own prestige at others' expense. If Jesus is the cornerstone, then we are not. Our efforts -- along with our demands for prestige -- are not as vital as we would like to think. Very human to resist. 

The temptations that led his accusers astray were temptations common to us all. 

"Purple Heart" in life

"Bear each others' burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2)

Each Lent, it's useful to me to take up a spiritual reflection. This year I have been trying to become more aware of the burdens that other people carry. It helps me be more loving to them, more considerate, less likely to be impatient or critical. And how can we "bear each others' burdens" without knowing them? 

When a soldier has been wounded, they may be considered for a Purple Heart -- a medal that recognizes an injury received, and in general injuries are not forgotten. Life in general has no Purple Heart -- at least not officially. And yet life is full of "walking wounded" who may not get recognition, honor, or respect for what they have endured. When I find myself tending toward critical thoughts of someone, it's helpful to run through the Purple Hearts they have earned in life, whether struggles with illness, disability, loss, or any other hardship. 

May I slow down my critical thoughts, and respect and honor people for the hardships they have faced. That is one help in bearing each others' burdens. 

Lenten Journey: Jesus and Barabbas

Now at that feast the governor was accustomed to release to the people a prisoner, as they chose. And they had then a notable prisoner called Barabbas. So when they were gathered together, Pilate said to them, Whom do you choose that I release to you? Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ? (Matthew 27:15-17) 

That's an interesting benefit or crowd-pleaser for the government to offer: a pardon for a criminal. The tradition of pardons extends even to this day. Is it a recognition that "justice", left to politicians or mobs, often goes wrong? Is it a recognition that laws can be rigid and life can be complicated? Is it a recognition that sometimes a clean slate, and reconciliation, is the best justice?

In this case, with Jesus and Barabbas, it's easy to imagine Barabbas pointing the finger at Jesus as the truly dangerous one. When faced with an always-broken justice system, even someone who isn't a criminal could experience the fear of blame, the fear of shame. Someone without a clean conscience might be even more eager to point a finger at the other guy. 

And it's easy to imagine our Lord wondering, "Is this the answer to the prayer in Gethsemane, that the cup should pass from me?" Would it have taken any more than the apostles calling loudly for Jesus to be the one freed? But if Jesus were freed, would Barabbas have died? If Jesus escaped then and there, the rest of us would have been left without that pardon.

And so today I join the long tradition of people who are grateful that God allows Barabbas to go free. That God recognizes that sometimes a clean slate, and reconciliation, is the best justice. May I remember it when I interact with others, and set aside any yearning to keep score, to balance my books at their expense.

Lenten journey: Doubt, bitterness (and theodicy)

"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." (Martha to Jesus, John 11:21)

This is my second week considering Martha. Last week we saw her being anxious and troubled about many things. This week we see her in the bitter devastation of an unanswered prayer. She had asked Jesus to come when she was worried about her brother's health and Jesus had not answered -- or not in time, as she saw it. Now her brother was dead. The normal grief and loss at a death was made more bitter by the knowledge that a request for help had gone unanswered. These are the things that make people question God's goodness: we ask for help, we pray for help, we beg for help, and help does not come. Few people get the chance to say it in person: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." (One way to see the subtext: This is on you.)

Jesus explains to Martha, "I am the resurrection and the life," and after explaining more fully he asks her, "Do you believe this?" Interesting question because on one level the question is pointless: its truth doesn't depend on her belief. But the truth doesn't do any good to her, in the here and now unless she believes it. 

I was in a similar situation a few years back with an unexpected health problem. I had some friends who were absolutely sure that it would pass, that within a year it would be behind me. After finally getting a correct diagnosis and a good few months of physical therapy, they were right. And it was always likely that they were right, considering my age and general health. All the same, their words of comfort did me no good because I didn't believe those words. The anxiety and stress -- or doubt and bitterness -- that I felt at that time were not strictly because of a medical problem; it was because I expected the worst, and couldn't believe otherwise. And so much of that distress was preventable. 

So today I hope to remember that my own frame of mind can make a big difference in how stressful things are. Even in times that are legitimately bad, a certain mind-frame can make it worse. And the truth only does me good here and now if I believe it. 

Lenten journey: Anxiety and resentment

But Martha was busy with serving, and came to him, and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her therefore that she help me." And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things "... Luke 10:40-41 

Normally when I read this passage, I rush past Martha and look at Mary: Mary who sat and listened as Jesus spoke, Mary who (as Jesus says) chose better. But during Lent, I can see that sometimes I resemble Martha. It looks like she resented her sister, or resented the lack of help, or resented the burden of the chores, or was jealous of the chance to sit and rest, or of the chance to be included in the conversation. There are a lot of possibilities. Did she mind that she was busy, or did she mind that her sister wasn't? Jesus calls Martha twice -- did she need a moment to slow down and breathe, to hear his voice and see his face? He says Martha is "anxious and troubled about many things." Being anxious and troubled about many things can lead me to miss what is important. Being anxious and troubled can tempt me to resent those who are not. Anxiety and fear do not bring out the best or kindest in us. Our frantic efforts to make things right can cause us to miss out on what is better. 

Lenten self-examination: The disciples disputed among themselves ...

And he came to Capernaum: and being in the house he asked them, What was it that you all disputed among yourselves along the way? But they held their peace: for along the way they had disputed among themselves, who should be the greatest. And he sat down, and called the twelve, and said to them, If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all. (Mark 9:33-35)

There are a few times where the gospels show the disciples arguing amongst themselves. It's human nature; divisions occur. And disputes over the top spot, the MVP, the prestige, the leadership -- things haven't changed much since the disciples' day. 

In my self-examination this week I found that I'm determined to be the best. That's not quite the same thing as determined to be excellent, or determined to be the best that I can be. There's a competitive edge to it. When other people are recognized and honored, do I rejoice for them? Or do I wish it had been me? I find it reassuring that the disciples went through the same thing, so common a human temptation. I find it reassuring that Jesus addressed it. Jesus lived his own words: he made himself servant of all, found himself a convicted criminal. That kind of "best" is not at anyone else's expense, and does not covet another person's position or reputation or recognition. That kind of "best" is the kind that meets the needs of others. That kind of "best" is compatible with loving our neighbors as ourselves. 

Lent Self-Examination: put away "evil speaking"

Lent is a time for self-examination and repentance. Here I would like to focus on part of Paul's instructions that also came to mind last week: 

Ephesians 4:31   Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamor, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice.  

The "evil speaking" that I do tends to stay inside my head. That does not make it good. And Paul's observations are on-point: the evil speaking tends to grow out of anger. If someone has caused harm to me or my children, if something or someone threatens my livelihood or attacks my good name, it is natural to feel angry -- and it is good to stop the harm. Fuming inside myself increases the anger and does not address the harm. 

Paul's comments are much like Jesus' own comments on that: 

Matthew 15:18   But those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man.

So the words may stay inside my head and heart, but that's far from the clean heart that we pray for. 

For this week, I plan to focus the self-examination on when any kind of "evil speaking" is on my mind. 

Luke 11:39   And the Lord said unto him, Now do you Pharisees make clean the outside of the cup and the plate; but inside ...

Lent Self-Examination - Resentment and Responsibility

Ephesians 4:31   Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamor, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice. 

Paul's instructions are not hard to understand, but they are hard to do. I can struggle with knowing where to start. It turns out that a resentments inventory is a tool fairly well designed for that purpose. 

For anyone who has never taken a resentment inventory, the first action is simply to make a list. If there is any person, principle, or institution with which we are not at peace and it involves a resentment, the task is to name the person and name the cause of the resentment. One that is done, then we name how the thing resented affects us. 

When looking at my own list, I can see the same trend from the example in the AA fellowship text: a resentment often grows around times when I feel wronged, slighted, or see that my long-term plans are threatened. When practicing self-examination, after the list is made we set aside the other person's role. When left to my own devices, I would never set aside the other person's role. In my own mind, the focus of a resentment is always the person or thing resented. But if our goal is self-examination, then what the other person did is not actually our problem. Granted that another person said unfair things about me; wasn't I prepared to judge the situation for myself? Granted that another person interfered in my plans; why did I allow that to happen? Why it affects us, how it affects us, these are more worthy of consideration. 

I find that I tend to resent people and things that devalue me, with an underlying trend of doubt about belonging, doubt about being valued, and fear of problems that I cannot solve myself. I also hold resentments about things that put my own goals and dreams at risk, again with an underlying fear: that opportunities lost may not be recovered, and some blame-passing about whether I am responsible for ordering my own life. So a step back from the original resentment, and focusing on my own part rather than someone else's, tends to show fear or self-doubt or blame-passing. As long as I am in resentment, I have adopted a passive stance. Looking at the underlying causes opens up some doors out of the situation. 

(To be continued.)

"I am responsible"

There is a sign that generally hangs in 12-step meeting halls: 

I am responsible.

When anyone, anywhere reaches out for help, I want the hand of AA always to be there.

And for that, I am responsible. 

Imagine the same principle adopted by people of faith. 

It is some years ago now that I began participating in 12-step meetings again. And as they say, I've kept coming back. In some ways the 12-step groups are a direct offshoot of Christianity, having been born out of "the Oxford Group", a Lutheran minister's outreach to alcoholics in the early 1900's which was founded on explicitly Christian principles. The founders of AA were influenced by that and kept much of the spiritual practice. However, the Christian origins were disguised: instead of "self-examination", the 4th step calls for a "fearless and searching moral inventory of ourselves". Instead of "confession", the 5th step walks through admitting "to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs." It continues through penance in a more classical sense, where the point of the actions is restoration and healing. There are a number of other disguised Christian practices and beliefs, seen easily enough by those who are familiar with both. 

Where many spiritual practices have fallen out of our culture, those original practices have remained vibrant and strong in 12-step groups. I think it is the core reason why the "twelve steps" -- spiritual exercises based on Christian beliefs -- have been of help in so many different fellowships, and adopted as the foundation for so many recovery and support groups. So this year as we approach Lent, my intent is to take a classic "resentments inventory" as the act of self-examination for this year's solemn season. (Yes, by this point I've done an inventory more than once, including of course the standard resentments inventory. Still, it needs doing again.) 

What Christianity shared with the 12-step groups in the early 1900's, the 12-step groups may yet share again with the Christian community here in the 2000's. 

Forgiveness: The no-shows at our big moments

This continues a series on forgiveness. 

 "But Thomas, one of the Twelve, called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came." (John 20:24)

Thomas is one of Jesus' chosen Twelve apostles -- a high honor in this world. And yet he is most famous for doubting. Who was he doubting?* Did he doubt the women's story? He might have convinced himself that Mary and the others were confused. Did he doubt the other disciples? He must have; they carried the word to him also. He was likely to have heard the report of Mary and the others who had gone to the tomb. Thomas chose not to be there in the upper room that night; he may have been expressing his doubts already by his absence.

So Thomas missed Jesus' first supper with his disciples after the resurrection. Thomas missed the joy, and continued in grief. He wasn't there for Jesus; he also wasn't there for his fellow apostles to console each other in their sorrow. We're not sure where he was when his fellow apostles found him, but as they brought him the news of Jesus' resurrection, Thomas made his doubt and skepticism plain: he didn't believe them, and wouldn't take their word. ... Not entirely. He did believe them, or want to believe them, just enough that he was in their company the next time that Jesus came to see them. And Jesus met Thomas' skepticism with compassion, with a willingness to relieve his doubts and fears, to spend some extra time to strengthen him.

There are times when people have been no-shows at my big moments in life -- or, I wonder, have I sometimes been a no-show at theirs? Jesus' patience with Thomas is encouraging -- even knowing his doubt, he meets it with understanding. He considers it worth the effort to reach out, and (to their credit) so did the other apostles. 

Lord, in someone's absence, may I withhold judgment and consider that I may not know what doubts are on their minds. At the right time, may we see each other and resolve the doubts. For those where I have been absent, may I seek the new occasion to be there for them again.

---

* Yes, I'm aware that it's still officially on English style-guides that it should be "Whom" at the start of the flagged sentence; that's also (in practical use) considered at least semi-archaic. I choose to use "who" in the hopes that future style guides will adopt what is becoming de facto standard, if not yet formal standard. Even if the style guides do not adopt that standard, it is likely that less formal readers already have.

Forgiveness: Those who scored personal points at our expense

This post continues the Lenten series on forgiveness. 

As soon as he (Pilate) knew that he (Jesus) was under Herod's jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod who was himself also in Jerusalem at the time. ... And Herod with his soldiers despised him and mocked him, and dressed him in a bright robe, and sent him (Jesus) again to Pilate. And that same day Pilate and Herod became friends: for before they were at enmity between themselves. -- Luke 23: 7, 11-12

People trade favors all the time. In this broken world, mistreating other people or passing around a famous prisoner could be a token of friendship, a way to curry favor. And so the man who would soon authorize Jesus' execution became friends with the man who had ordered the death of John the Baptist. 

Jesus endured another round of needless mocking and manhandling by the soldiers, and interrogation by arrogant officials with nothing (they thought) at stake. It was a favor, some blend of power trip and bonding exercise, where two officials scored points at the expense of their prisoner. 

The stakes for me have never been that big. Still in my own way I have been on the short end of mocking where people bonded by joining together to make fun of me, or scored points at my expense. In some earlier posts in this series it is unclear whether there was intentional wrong-doing so much as weakness or fear. Here, there is the arrogance of people who used another human being as a pawn, the callousness of enjoying someone else's troubles, the indifference to justice. Here, forgiveness needs to be made of stronger stuff, and repentance would see the person gaining more humility -- and compassion -- than when they had begun. It's very worldly to be carried away by a thought of our own advantage, or enjoyment, or entertainment, or opportunity; it's very human. It's not one of humanity's finer moments. It is Jesus' humility and compassion which brought him there, to a place where he could work out our forgiveness. 

Lord, may I seek a greater measure of humility and compassion. May I see my own repentance as gain rather than loss, as freedom from an unhealthy and unkind spirit. And may I consider, "We all do pray for mercy, and that same prayer teaches us all to render the deeds of mercy" (Shakespeare, in case the quote is unfamiliar to anyone, with the wording slightly modernized). 

Forgiveness: Those who counted the cost -- and ran

This continues a Lenten series on forgiveness, focusing on all-too-human sins that Jesus encountered and forgave. 

We have looked at Jesus' understanding of Peter, James, and John's weakness in the garden. We have considered Jesus' compassion for Peter's denial. For the rest of them? When faced with a squad of soldiers, to put it plainly: most of the disciples ran. Jesus was facing an arrest on capital charges -- with a speedily-held trial in a politicized court where innocence didn't matter, and sentenced to death in a manner that was designed to terrify people into compliance. It largely worked. The disciples were afraid. When they saw the price tag of sticking with Jesus on that night, most of them ran away. 

Jesus had known they would. He told them in advance, at dinner that night, that all of them would leave him. And still they went to the garden with him. He still wanted their company, and they wanted his. The Gospel of John regards the disciples leaving as the fulfillment of the prophecy that Jesus had lost none of those the Father gave him (John 18:9) -- that their lives truly would have been in danger if they had stayed. Had he told them in advance so that, from the safety of their hiding place, they would know that he had understood? 

There have been times in my life when I have been in need. So far those times have been few and far between, though they have stood out in my own mind. A few years back I took a blog break for health reasons, when for a few months I was nearly a medical shut-in until a health issue was resolved. The memory of people turning away can lead me to some uncharitable thoughts toward people that I had hoped would be there for me, and who decided that they just couldn't or wouldn't be there for me, not right then, not in that particular hour of need. No way to get groceries? There are delivery services. No way to get the yard cut? It's possible to get that hired. It's not necessarily other peoples' problem that I was in need. Those who take care of their own concerns may have valid concerns. Have I never turned down a request when my own life was tricky, or someone asked more than they seem to realize? Those who did stand by me in times of need are especially close to my heart. Those who did stand by me -- that's a gift, not an obligation. 

Lord, may I forgive the sins -- whether real or perceived -- from those who did not stand by me in my troubles. May I let go of grudges or bitter thoughts, and have the courage to face troubles graciously. 

Forgiveness: Those who tapped out when we needed them

This continues a Lenten series on forgiveness, focusing on the same kinds of sins that Jesus encountered and forgave. 

On the night in which he was betrayed, we know so many details of what Jesus did. And after dinner, he and some of his disciples went to a garden called Gethsemane. Jesus prayed. He asked his disciples to stay with him. His closest disciples, he asked them to stay close by him, to keep watch with him as he prayed. And they kept falling asleep. Over and over again. How often does Jesus ask for moral support? At the all-too-human moment of facing his own death, even as he prays, he asks for the company of his friends. And he keeps finding them asleep. It is an honor to be asked to watch with someone in their dark hour; that's easy to forget when it's late at night.

Are they unwilling? That's not the problem. He asked and they came with him. But after a good meal, and as the night wore on, their human frailty got the better of them. As Jesus said when he found them napping, "The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak."

There are times when I am angry at the people who were not there in my hour of need. As we see with the disciples, that can happen even from a simple thing like a late hour and a good meal: the eyelids grow heavy, and we truly hope nobody needs us because we will not be awake. I tend to imagine that people would be there for me if only the other person really cared -- but Jesus teaches me better: sometimes it's not right to doubt the sincerity of their compassion, so much as to remember the weakness of our humanity.

Lord, help me to forgive those who did not do what they could, when I asked for support. May I call to mind their willingness, and the weakness of humanity that we share.

Forgiveness: Promises not kept

This continues a Lenten series on forgiveness. The series follows kinds of sins that Jesus encountered and forgave, and if I could find the grace to forgive others for the same. 

• "Even if all should fall away, I will not." -- Peter, on the night in which Jesus was betrayed
• "I don't know the man!" -- Peter, within 24 hours ... outside the place where the trial was held

Peter tried. He really did. When Jesus was arrested, most of the disciples scattered. Peter didn't run away, he followed. He said he'd be there for Jesus even if it cost his own arrest, even if it cost his own life. He wanted to have that much courage. He watched the others run to avoid arrest, even his own brother Andrew and his old fishing partners James and John. He watched his leader arrested, watched him being mocked and slapped around by the soldiers. He was the only one of Jesus' followers there, but he wasn't alone. He was surrounded by people who were on the other side, and they were starting to turn their attention to him. At some point his nerve failed. 

It's easy to blame him, and maybe easy to forgive him. The reason we see his failings -- and his alone: honestly, wasn't that because he was the only one who was still there? Yes, he fell away, but everyone else had fallen away sooner. 

There are times when I look at people who made promises they did not keep. Am I sure I've never been the one who fell away? Am I angry or disappointed when someone makes a promise they didn't keep -- but give a pass to people who didn't even try? Sometimes we hit our limits. We're human. As we remember in Lent: We are dust, and to dust we will return. 

Lord, may I forgive the promises not kept. May I remember the hope and well-wishes that were the intent of the promise, and forgive the human weakness that prevented its fulfillment. May I remember how easy it is not to know quite what we're up against, not to know what the future holds -- and show mercy gladly and willingly for those who offered a promise that they had intended to keep, but later did not. 

Forgiveness: Sins committed in ignorance

Jesus often focused on forgiveness. If the central focus of his life is found in his journey to the cross, then forgiveness deserves a more central place in my own thoughts and my own life. When I think of forgiveness, I often think of the forgiveness that I need to receive. How often do I think of the forgiveness that I need to give? 

First I will focus on something that may be easier for me: sins against me that were done in ignorance. 

"Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they're doing." -- Jesus, at his execution

In the Bible, the Law of Moses has a thread of teaching that sins of ignorance are more easily forgiven than sins of defiance (see, for example, Numbers 15:22-30). The apostle Peter speaks of sins committed in ignorance (Acts 3:17), as did the apostle Paul (Acts 17:30, 1 Timothy 1:13). Most notably, Jesus spoke of it at his execution, praying that his executioners be forgiven because they did not know what they  were doing (Luke 23:34). 

Of the times that other people have wronged me, were some of them done unknowingly or because of mistaken information? Once I heard someone make a passionate speech for action and I wanted to find a way to help, asking "What can we do?" She publicly mocked me for being defeatist. Looking back, I know that "What can we do?" is sometimes used in a defeatist way, but I had meant it sincerely. It stung to be publicly held up to ridicule, especially when my meaning was very much the opposite. Again, once I knew some people who were continually hostile to me, and I did not find out til years later that someone had been telling them tales which were far from true. I suppose it's possible the tale-teller believed the things they were saying -- that didn't make it right, or any more pleasant to find out that anyone believed it. Confusions and misunderstandings, missing information and missed guesses, they're all part of the world we live in. If I were the one who made the bad assumption, what would I think if someone held a grudge against me for it? 

I consider when Jesus was being executed. The judges had ordered him to be put to death. How were the soldiers to know the rest of the story? They were caught up in other peoples' mistakes or lies or corruption. Jesus forgave them. So if someone misunderstood or misinterpreted my meaning, if someone believed a lie told about me -- am I willing to forgive them? 

Lord, may I forgive the sins committed against me in ignorance. May I remember how easy it is to simply not know the truth, or not know the fullness of the truth, to trust the wrong person -- and show mercy gladly and willingly for those who have wronged me, not knowing what they do. 

A question about fasting and Lent

The other day someone asked me about Lent: If a person gives up something for Lent, is it ok to substitute something else to make that easier? It's an interesting question so I thought I'd check around for peoples' thoughts here.

Off the top of my head, my own thoughts were: 

• If something given up for Lent is bad in itself, then replacing it with something good or even neutral would be a good thing. But replacing it with a different kind of bad is no sacrifice at all. 
  

• If something given up for Lent is good and the fast is for the sake of self-denial, self-control, or otherwise setting boundaries for ourselves, then any substituting could undermine the whole effort.
  

I would be interested to hear other peoples' thoughts on that.

Self-love and self-denial

Jesus taught us that the most vital commandments were to love God and to love our neighbor as ourselves. The key to a healthy love of neighbor is a healthy love of self. So the self-love isn't about ourselves alone: it's about our neighbor too. It's about the nature of love: a connection of value and affection and goodwill, so that this love builds a community where people are treasured and flourish.

But in the harshness of Lent we hear, "Take up your cross, deny yourself and follow me." No one can want to deny the self; it's against the nature of desire and the nature of the self. Despite the harshness, I continue because I want to know Jesus. No other person in the long history of the world has captured my attention so thoroughly, gained my trust so convincingly, that I find myself believing him that he is the way, the truth, and the life. 

In one sense, I can follow him as I read the accounts of his life: he goes to Jerusalem for the Passover. He goes to the Mount of Olives and prays. And he faces the prospect of death and prays that gut-wrenching prayer: "Not my will but yours." He denies himself. It's not possible for person with a healthy mind and body to want death. He can only take up a cross after denying himself. He doesn't ask us to do anything he hasn't done. He wasn't asking us to follow him like a facebook narcissist who wants to ramp up his follower count. He asks us to follow him and we're all in it together. Even the self-denial builds fellowship.

Palm Sunday - The Victory Not Yet Seen

Fear v celebration

Of all Christian holy days, Palm Sunday has a distinctive emotional note: the triumph celebrated before the battle, with the people anticipating a very different battle than what was fought on Good Friday. When the time came, Good Friday looked like an irretrievable defeat. Only the later event of Jesus' resurrection revealed it as the most enduring victory of the ages.

The people expected a different battle, a worldly battle that they saw as a proxy for the spiritual one. The week definitely brought worldly political maneuvering: betrayals, in-fighting, favor-trading, posturing, even a CYA move by Pontius Pilate that still couldn't quite hide the fact that everyone's hands were dirty. Even among the "leaders of the light", the battle lines ran down the middle of the human heart. The fight that mattered saw Judas betraying, Mark (as tradition has it) fleeing, Peter talking a good game when he was safe but then before the night was done weeping in shame. Even the best of us aren't saviors. As far as the political fight, God had other plans. He was accomplishing a far larger victory than they had imagined.

Jesus' death looked like an irreversible defeat. Isn't death the ultimate irreversible defeat? By Friday night, the original Palm Sunday parade might have looked like nothing but a farce. The victory was not yet seen; the defeat seemed the obvious thing. The disciples were behind locked doors, hiding in fear.

We can find ourselves in a similar situation: where by outward appearances faith is foolish, celebration either naive or in bad taste. Palm Sunday leaves me with just one question this year: do we trust in the victory not yet seen? In some ways, Palm Sunday is the day that is most like where we are in the sweep of history: we have seen the savior, and we celebrate his coming even if we treasure our own personal interpretations of his agenda. But God's plans never take the easy way, and accomplish a larger victory than we image.

Are we willing to celebrate the victory not yet seen? Here's to a foretaste of the feast to come.