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Crowding Out My Faith

23When Jesus returned to the Temple and began teaching, the leading priests and elders came up to him. They demanded, “By what authority are you doing all these things? Who gave you the right?”
24“I’ll tell you by what authority I do these things if you answer one question,” Jesus replied. 25“Did John’s authority to baptize come from heaven, or was it merely human?”
They talked it over among themselves. “If we say it was from heaven, he will ask us why we didn’t believe John.26But if we say it was merely human, we’ll be mobbed because the people believe John was a prophet.” 27So they finally replied, “We don’t know.”
And Jesus responded, “Then I won’t tell you by what authority I do these things.
28“But what do you think about this? A man with two sons told the older boy, ‘Son, go out and work in the vineyard today.’ 29The son answered, ‘No, I won’t go,’ but later he changed his mind and went anyway. 30Then the father told the other son, ‘You go,’ and he said, ‘Yes, sir, I will.’ But he didn’t go.
31“Which of the two obeyed his father?”
They replied, “The first.”
Then Jesus explained his meaning: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do. 32For John the Baptist came and showed you the right way to live, but you didn’t believe him, while tax collectors and prostitutes did. And even when you saw this happening, you refused to believe him and repent of your sins.  Matthew 21:23-32

Standing in the shadows in the Temple, I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Things are getting extremely intense. I don’t know if the crowds sense it yet, but the leading priests, the elders, the religious leaders definitely do.

Every interaction between Jesus and these leaders is a confrontation. A calling out by Jesus of the posturing and public hypocrisy these priests and Pharisees embody. The truth and conviction of Jesus’ words strike hard and the resulting fear is palpable.

But it is not truth that they fear. Nor is it this man Jesus that they fear. At least not in the way that perhaps they should.

Yes, they fear his popularity. Yes, they fear his ability to lead the people, their people, away from them. Yes, they fear his influence on the crowds. But they do not fear him, this man Jesus. This Son of God. This Word made flesh.

He is the One with the power to convict and the power to redeem. But they are not afraid of him.

Who do they fear? The crowds.

playing to the crowd (photo courtesy of Peter Suneson on stock.xchng)

playing to the crowd
(photo courtesy of Peter Suneson on stock.xchng)

When pressed with Jesus’ questions or presented with Jesus’ parables, their anger flares. How dare he say such things about them. And like a defendant at his trial, like a witness under fire, they confer in whispered tones. They weigh their options. They consider the crowd’s reaction to their response.

As I watch them from the shadows, I can see that they convict themselves by their words and by their actions. They are not concerned with the truth Jesus offers. They are concerned with how they look. How they are perceived by others. How they appear to the crowd.

Watching them, I see myself in them and I sink deeper into the shadows to reflect on this revelation. This truth.

How many times have I worried more about what others think about me than what Jesus thinks of me? What the crowd thinks about these words I write. What the crowd thinks about me because I believe in and trust in Jesus. What the crowd thinks about my impetuous Simon-Peter convictions or my belief that right and wrong is not relative.

Growing up and even now, faith and life were considered separate pursuits. The first is lived out in private and the second is lived out in the world at large, and ne’er the two shall meet. Declarations of faith, of trust in Jesus were often met with a polite smile. With a patronizing pat on the head. With the sentiment, if that works for you. 

And without pause, too often I chose the acceptance of others over my relationship with Jesus.

I was afraid of the crowds, whether the crowd was my family, my friends or the world at large. I wanted their acceptance. I wanted their approval. I wanted to fit in, to belong, to blend in.

And if I am not intentional, I fall back into this way of thinking. And this way of being. The world feels so immediate and their judgments so much more real. And they are. In a sense. On this side of eternity. But where does that leave Jesus?

Where does that leave me?

Every day offers abundant life, but that looks different depending on the lens through which I view it. 

I can have joy or I can have happiness.

I can seek the crowd’s approval or I can accept Jesus’ reproach, repent and live redeemed.

I can live for today or I can live for eternity.

I can leak Jesus into the world and the lives around me or I can hide him and horde him, letting others fend for themselves.

This journey to Jerusalem is demanding. It requires more of me than I anticipated or could have imagined. And I am thankful for the opportunity to witness all of these things. These things that Jesus did and the events of his journey. And these things that are becoming a part of my journey.

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Fig Trees, Fruit and Faith

12The next morning as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. 13He noticed a fig tree in full leaf a little way off, so he went over to see if he could find any figs. But there were only leaves because it was too early in the season for fruit. 14Then Jesus said to the tree, “May no one ever eat your fruit again!” And the disciples heard him say it.
15When they arrived back in Jerusalem, Jesus entered the Temple and began to drive out the people buying and selling animals for sacrifices. He knocked over the tables of the money changers and the chairs of those selling doves, 16and he stopped everyone from using the Temple as a marketplace. 17He said to them, “The Scriptures declare, ‘My Temple will be called a house of prayer for all nations,’ but you have turned it into a den of thieves.”
18When the leading priests and teachers of religious law heard what Jesus had done, they began planning how to kill him. But they were afraid of him because the people were so amazed at his teaching.
19That evening Jesus and the disciples left the city.
20The next morning as they passed by the fig tree he had cursed, the disciples noticed it had withered from the roots up. 21Peter remembered what Jesus had said to the tree on the previous day and exclaimed, “Look, Rabbi! The fig tree you cursed has withered and died!”
22Then Jesus said to the disciples, “Have faith in God. 23I tell you the truth, you can say to this mountain, ‘May you be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and it will happen. But you must really believe it will happen and have no doubt in your heart. 24I tell you, you can pray for anything, and if you believe that you’ve received it, it will be yours. 25But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too.” Matthew 21:12-21

It is early and the crowds of yesterday have not yet returned. In the quiet, I watch with the disciples as Jesus approaches a leafy fig tree a short distance away. He is hungry and he is hoping to enjoy some of its fruit. But it has no fruit to offer.

In what seems like an uncharacteristic response, Jesus curses the lonely tree. His strong words seem unwarranted and they confuse me. But do I dare question this moment? And yet how can I not? Because when we pass by the same tree the next morning, it has withered and died.

It seems incongruous, this response from Jesus to a fig tree. It isn’t even the time for it to bear fruit. Or is it?

lush green fig leaves indicate the presence of fruit (photo courtesy of francesca antichi on stock.xchng)

lush green leaves on the fig tree indicate the presence of fruit
(photo courtesy of francesca antichi on stock.xchng)

The tree is full of lush, green leaves. Yes, it is out of season, but there are the leaves. This alone indicates that there may be fruit. But Jesus is not as interested in the tree and its fruit, or lack of it, as he is in the fruit, or lack of it, of his followers.

Jesus’ response to the fig tree is not so incongruous after all. He sees a teaching moment and he takes it. He has, after all, come to Jerusalem to die and to redeem. The shouts of celebration, the leafy green response of the crowds, will soon turn to demands for his death. Jerusalem will wither. Hope will die.

Religion will conquer faith. In the coming days, as Jesus prepares for the Passover meal here, his run-ins with the Pharisees and religious leaders will only increase.

Jesus knows the stakes are high. He knows that the disciples need to understand what is about to happen. So he uses a lonely fig tree that is blooming out of season to make his point.

Point taken.

Especially if I take a moment to examine myself, my heart, my motivations. Am I bearing fruit? Or am I simply outwardly playing a good part, seeming to bear fruit from a distance, but withering in my faith upon closer examination? Am I a Pharisee? Am I more religious than faith-filled?

If Jesus approached me, drew near to me, expecting fruit, what would he find?

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The Dead Come to Life

12 The next day, the news that Jesus was on the way to Jerusalem swept through the city. A large crowd of Passover visitors 13 took palm branches and went down the road to meet him. They shouted,“Praise God!Blessings on the one who comes in the name of the Lord!Hail to the King of Israel!”14 Jesus found a young donkey and rode on it, fulfilling the prophecy that said:15 “Don’t be afraid, people of Jerusalem.Look, your King is coming,riding on a donkey’s colt.”16 His disciples didn’t understand at the time that this was a fulfillment of prophecy. But after Jesus entered into his glory, they remembered what had happened and realized that these things had been written about him.17 Many in the crowd had seen Jesus call Lazarus from the tomb, raising him from the dead, and they were telling others about it. 18 That was the reason so many went out to meet him—because they had heard about this miraculous sign.       19 Then the Pharisees said to each other, “There’s nothing we can do. Look, everyone has gone after him!” John 12:12-19

Can you imagine what it was like to be Lazarus?

He isn’t one of the 12 Apostles, but he is a dear friend of Jesus. And he is here to celebrate Jesus coming to Jerusalem. But he is as much of a celebrity as Jesus. Maybe more so. Many of the crowd are talking about when Lazarus stepped out of the tomb alive and well. And that’s one of the things that has brought so many people to come see Jesus today.

Who wouldn’t want to see, hear, touch, meet the person who brought a man back from the dead?

But what about Lazarus? What is he thinking? I can’t help but wonder as I watch him celebrating his friend’s arrival. As I watch the smile that spreads across his face and radiates the incredible joy and gratitude that fills him. As I watch him watch his friend. His savior.

Does he know that Jesus is here to die?

Golgotha (image courtesy of Bartek Ambrozik on sxc.hu)

Golgotha
(image courtesy of Bartek Ambrozik on sxc.hu)

Does he know that Jesus will suffer greatly before he dies?

Does he know that like him, Jesus will step out of the tomb? Alive and well? Resurrected? Radiating Life itself?

Standing here in the midst of the crowd I yearn to sidle over to Lazarus and pull him away from the crowd. To bend his ear. To ask him what it was like to die. Did he go to heaven? Did he see God? Did he witness the mourning that came before the joy that dawned at the sound of Jesus’ voice?

I want Lazarus to tell me what he’s thinking as we stand together and watch the crowd swell around Jesus.

I want him to share what he knows of God and Jesus and heaven.

In fact, I want to know the secrets that he knows. I want to know what it is to be that close to Jesus. I want to know what it is like to be so intimately linked to him that he wept for you, that he restored you, that he resurrected you.

And that’s when it hits me. Those are not Lazarus’s secrets alone. Jesus is intimately linked to me. He loves me. He has wept for me, restored me, resurrected me.

Because Jesus died for me.

Jesus.

Died.

For.

Me.

Like Lazarus, this man I am watching and that I am standing beside, Jesus brought me back to life. No, he did not call me from the grave. But he did call me out of the pit of despair and he did breathe new life into me and he did call me by my name. Because he loves me.

Every night at bedtime, I sing the song, Jesus Loves Me to my girls, except that ever since they were babies I have sung it as, Jesus Loves You. When you sing those words enough, when you hear those words enough, they take on a bigger, deeper meaning.

I’m weak. He doesn’t care.

I’m afraid. He doesn’t care.

I’m needy. He doesn’t care. (In fact, he loves this about me.)

I am dead. He doesn’t care.

Because he is Life. And he wants to share that Life – His life — with me.

This journey to Jerusalem is filled with truths such as these. And even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to take this trip with him, Jesus is okay with that. He is okay with my faltering steps because he sees the desires of my heart.

The desire that longs for him and that pursues him and that leaves the darkness behind for him. The desire to draw near to him in spite of my fear. The desire to know the celebration that comes when we choose to follow him.

The desire to come to Life.

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In the Company of Judas Iscariot

{this post is part of Five-Minute Friday at Lisa-Jo Baker}

How it works: Write on one word for five minutes. No editing. Then link up your post with the rest of the brave writers on Five-Minute Friday and encourage them by reading and commenting on what they’ve shared. {All the details for how to play along are here.}

Today’s word: Willing…

{Go}

1Six days before the Passover, Jesus therefore came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. 2So they gave a dinner for him there. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him at table. 3Mary therefore took a pound of expensive ointment made from pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (he who was about to betray him), said, 5“Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?” 6He said this, not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief, and having charge of the moneybag he used to help himself to what was put into it. 7Jesus said, “Leave her alone, so that she may keep itfor the day of my burial. 8For the poor you always have with you, but you do not always have me.” John 12:1-11

Today, on the journey to Jerusalem, we stop in Bethany, the place where Lazarus lives. The Lazarus who lives because Jesus raised him from the dead. And so, I recline with Jesus and Lazarus at the table.

But my focus is not on Jesus as we sit around this table. It is on Judas Iscariot.

Who is this man that travels with Jesus? I know where some of the other disciples come from and remember how Jesus called them to follow him. But Judas? I don’t know much about him.

And so today I think about him. This man who has been in the company of Jesus for three years.

He was willing to follow Jesus.

He was willing to steal from Jesus.

He was willing to betray Jesus.

He was willing to risk so much to betray the One who loved him without condition. The One who loved him even though he knew what Judas would do.

selfish gain leads us away from the light photo courtesy of Michal Zacharzewski on stock.xchng

selfish gain leads us away from the light
(photo courtesy of Michal Zacharzewski on stock.xchng)

But that is not really my focus as I sit around this table. As I sit in the company of Jesus and watch the way Lazarus looks at him with love and gratitude. And watch the way Mary pours out the expensive, pure nard on the feet of Jesus. And watch the indifference that Judas seems to have toward Jesus.

How is it that Judas is in the presence of Jesus, not just around this table, but for three years now, and still his heart is not willing, or perhaps is not able, to embrace Jesus? To embrace love. To embrace hope? To embrace what Jesus is about.

And as I watch Judas, his indignation at the extravagant love poured out over Jesus’ feet by Mary and feel the overwhelming love that flows from my heart for this man and savior who loves me with all my flaws, I wonder.

How many times have I looked more to my gain than to the Savior?

How many times have I, like Judas, missed the opportunity set before me for the plans of my own messed up heart?

I am thankful as I sit at this table where Martha serves and Mary worships and Lazarus adores for an opportunity to examine my own heart and my own motivations.

Today, I am willing to look at the deep, dark places and ask Jesus to shine his light there. To seek forgiveness for the times I have put my desires for gain above my need for Jesus. Forgiveness for chasing personal gain instead of helping others.

Forgiveness for my Judas moments.

{stop}

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In the Eyes of Jesus

Who is this?

Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.

Yes, but who is he?

This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.

Can anything good come out of Nazareth, they asked not long ago. This morning, they seem to believe it can.

Kedron Valley/Mount of Olives photo courtesy of Henrik Bernhard (stock.xchng)

Kedron Valley/Mount of Olives
photo courtesy of Henrik Bernhard (stock.xchng)

This morning, I am standing with the crowd on the road into Jerusalem, watching and wondering. There is a lot of noise, voices raised in song and celebration but also in questioning. Jesus rides on a donkey. He quotes scripture, indicating it is being fulfilled.

Around him is chaos.

We don’t know it yet, watching him enter Jerusalem, that everything is about to change. Right now, we shout and celebrate. This moment requires nothing more of us than joy. It is easy to join in and so I do.

Watching him, following him, my stomach flutters with a sense of anticipation. Something big is about to happen; I can feel it. I can see it in his eyes. Though the crowd is singing and shouting and stirred up in jubilee, his eyes tell a different story.

He knows something the rest of don’t and it shows in his eyes. There is a sadness there. Or maybe it is resignation? While the people swirl around me in celebration, I stop shouting and stare at him, trying to take him in. Trying to discern what I see.

As I watch him, as I study his face taking in the faces of the crowd that surrounds him, I recognize that what I see in his eyes is compassion. It is love.

An extravagant, unconditional love.

This extravagant love flows out from him and it is palpable. It wraps me in it like an embrace. It comforts me. It draws me in and it is why I follow him even though I am jostled and crushed by the throng of jumping, dancing, exuberant people.

When he looks at me, I start. For a moment, I feel compelled to look away. Shame creeps into my consciousness. I am not worthy of this king, humble though he appears. But I don’t look away. Something in his eyes holds mine.

It is his extravagant, unconditional, passionate love for me.

Even so, I am afraid. I am afraid because I know he sees me, all of me. I am afraid because his love is overwhelming and yet intimate. I am afraid because I know that when this king, this Jesus, enters Jerusalem, the rules are going to change.

His eyes betray his determination. He has come for a reason. He is here for a reason.

There is purpose in his eyes, in his riding on a donkey, in his very being, his every breath. Everything he has done up to this point has led him here. Has led all of us here.

And so we enter Jerusalem. Together. As he enters the city my sense of anticipation ignites a desire in me to draw near to him. To stay close to him. To follow him. To love him.

With as an extravagant love as I can. Even if I am afraid of what that love will require. Which I am beginning to realize as I watch him move slowly through the crowded street is nothing less that all of me.

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Restlessness and Readiness

Today is Ash Wednesday. Today is the beginning of Lent and the opportunity to turn our hearts toward Jesus. To join him on the journey to Jerusalem.

Yesterday, I felt restless. I couldn’t quite tell you why, nor could I quiet it despite my best efforts. I guess not recognizing the reason for the restlessness, I couldn’t quite figure out a way to sate it. I cleaned out clutter from the living room. I organized toys scattered around the floor. I read inspiring blog posts. I rearranged my birthday flowers, clearing out wilted ones and trimming stems.

And still I was restless.

I put on favorite play lists. I tried new play lists. I sorted paperwork. I tended the fire.

And still I was restless.

I prayed in short bursts. I prayed longer, stilted prayers. Prayers with which I could not truly express my needs or my heart’s desires. I read my truth cards and other favorite Scripture passages. I sensed a familiar peace.

But still, I was restless.

photo courtesy of Kursad Keteci on stock.xchng

Jerusalem (photo courtesy of Kursad Keteci on stock.xchng)

After girls were in bed and the kitchen cleaned and the day done, my husband and I sat together. I told him that I felt restless. I asked him if he ever experienced a sense of anticipation for something that he didn’t know and couldn’t express. I told him that I didn’t feel ready for anything. Not for big dreams. Not for small steps. Not for Lent.

Not for anything.

He sat for a moment and then smiled. His eyes met mine and as he looked at me, he reminded me, “Well, the good thing about Lent is that it’s not about being ready; it’s about getting ready.”

And he’s right.

I’ve lost a little bit of my focus recently. Instead of keeping my eyes and my heart on Jesus, I’ve been darting about. Seeking what my heart and my soul craves from things or people that cannot meet those deepest needs. Substituting busyness for my daily relationship with Jesus.

As a result, I’ve felt restless. I’ve felt more needy. I’ve felt less peace.

And yet, over the last few days I’ve also felt a deep sense of anticipation. A whispering to my heart of things to come. I don’t yet know what these things are, but I believe they are coming. I believe that they are drawing near. I believe that as I draw near to Jesus, these things are drawing nearer to me.

I believe that as I travel this Lenten journey with Jesus to Jerusalem, to the cross, these things to come will become clearer to me. Become clearer to my heart.

Lent is about getting ready.

And, for me, the getting ready includes expressions of extravagant love.

The extravagant love of Jesus taking my place and dying on the cross. The extravagant love of the woman with the alabaster jar of perfume that she poured out on the Savior. The extravagant love of the empty grave and conquering death and defeating the Enemy.

The extravagant love that is mine to experience, to share, to practice in the small moments of my days. The extravagant love that I hope will mark the days of this journey to Jerusalem.

To the cross. To the death of Jesus. And, eventually, to the new life in that empty tomb.

Thank you, Jesus, for the restlessness and for the anticipation. Thank you for calling me back to you. Thank you for meeting the deepest needs of my heart that I cannot give words to. Thank you for knowing and nurturing the desires of my heart.

Thank you for inviting me on the journey with you through the days of Lent and to sit at your feet.

Thank you for your extravagant love that you pour out on me today.

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Would You Like Fries with That?

{this post is part of Five-Minute Friday at Lisa-Jo Baker}

How it works: Write on one word for five minutes. No editing. {All the details for how to play along are here.}

Today’s word: Choose…

{Go}

The other night as I was driving home, I stopped at a fast-food restaurant. Because I really wanted to get home, I chose to go through the drive-thru rather than park and go inside. I usually choose to go inside.

It has been a long time since I’d been to this franchise and I wasn’t familiar with the choices available to me. And the thing about the drive-thru? Even if there’s no one behind me, I feel like I need to choose quickly.

photo courtesy of lily5555 on Flickr

photo courtesy of lily5555 on Flickr

But the thing is, I couldn’t quite take in all of the choices available to me. I knew what I wanted, you know? But I couldn’t scan the menu fast enough to find what I wanted. So, when my eyes fell on something that looked like what I wanted, I told the disembodied voice my choice.

As it turns out, it wasn’t what I wanted.

It wasn’t awful. But it wasn’t what I really wanted. It was mediocre and felt like money poorly spent.

And it occurred to me, how often do I do this in life? How often do I feel too harried, too rushed, or faced with too many choices? So I just choose something. Anything.

It’s not that I make a terrible choice. But it’s not what I wanted. Not what I would have chosen if I’d taken time to consider my choices.

Today, I will take the time to slow down. Today, I will take the time to look at the options, the choices I have. Today, I will choose what I matters, not just what is available.

Today, I will choose excellent, not mediocre. I will choose the sacred.

Because the choice is there. The choice is always there.