On Dying to self and welcoming Christ: more thoughts

“Anyone who does not welcome the kingdom

of God like a little child will not enter it.” –Mark 10:35

“Welcome” is the word that troubles me in this passage. For me, it creates an image of the kingdom of God coming to us, coming for us, and what matters most is not was how prepared we are, but how we receive it. Will we let go of all that we cling to so that we can open our hands and receive it, or will we (like the rich man) go away sad because we have a great many possessions and letting go can be very hard.

Before I go any further, I want to say that I owe this meditation to a friend who commented on my last post (on dying and Lent). She reminded me that dying to our identity can be particularly hard when that identity is a false one that we have chosen for our self. We can become so wrapped up in our chosen identity that we might refuse to let it go.  Her kind note inspired me to go back to Mark’s gospel and reread the story of the rich young man, partly as a way to engage in a conversation with her, but partly to see if there was something I had missed. And as I did, my eyes strayed and I noticed something interesting; something I had missed. I noticed the ending of the seemingly unrelated story just before it (about the disciples trying to stop some apparently unsupervised children from coming to Jesus). It ends with this:

“Anyone who does not welcome the kingdom

of God like a little child will not enter it.”

Seeing that, I realized: These two stories are together for a reason.  Like most readers, I tend to accept that the stories in the Gospels are structured basically in a chronological order to tell a story from beginning to end as best they can.  I don’t tend to think of the author(s) trying to construct their narrative in a thematic or pedagogical style. And so, when things like this happen, I assume that is a sign of God’s authorship.  God wanted to say something that required these stories to be next to each other and so through fallible memory or through happenstance or through inspiration, the earthly author has divined a profound lesson by placing these unrelated tales next to each other.  Separately they are interesting vignettes from the life of Christ, together they become a profound lesson about the kingdom of God.

Let me move backward, as my eye did when it strayed; starting with the rich man, who is called the “rich young man” in Matthew’s version of the story. This man (young or not) comes to Jesus to ask how he can inherit eternal life.  After a brief discussion of the law, Jesus adds this:

“You lack one thing. Go and sell what you have,

give to the poor; you will have treasure in Heaven;

then come and follow me.” (Mk 10:21)

“Follow me…” Jesus is inviting the man to join Him, to –right then and there—enter into the kingdom of God, but we are told that instead the man “went away sad.” It was overwhelming to him, I would assume. The Lord was asking too much, it must have seemed.  Or the man simply lacked the faith.  We don’t know. Nor do we know if he later reconsidered and did as the Lord told him.  All we know is that he went away sad, “for he had many possessions.”

            And we can argue over what he should have done, or what we might have done in the man’s place, but what we have in that previous story is the answer; he should have welcomed the kingdom of God like a child –openly, freely, eagerly!

            Interestingly enough, at the very end of this chapter that is the image we are given.  Mark 10 ends with the story of a blind man named Bartimaeus.  Read it.  This blind man learns that Jesus is near and begins calling out to Him. As with the children at the beginning of this chapter, the disciples try to manage this scene. In fact, they rebuke the man for yelling.  But the man keeps on, and Jesus calls him over.  And when Jesus does, he throws off his cloak and springs up eager to meet the Lord –not unlike a child when Grandma comes for a visit, or they find out there’s no school.  But even more interesting is this: as soon as his sight is restored, the man “immediately” begins to follow Christ.  He gives up all he has in the world, his little piece of security –the place and the people he knows—and follows Jesus. Immediately. Like a child.

            Reading the Bible has opened my eyes to the beauty of God’s word, but again and again and more importantly it has opened my heart to the truth of it. 

            Too often when I seek something out, seek some sacrifice or some holiness even, I find myself rejecting it as soon as it arrives. This Lent was a bit like that. I had good intentions, but… overwhelmed, I turned away and often grew sad. But, it isn’t over yet. There is still time to make a good Lent.  In fact, there is still time to welcome it –like a child.

 

Lent and the practice of dying

“I will place my heart law within them

And write it upon their hearts…” –Jeremiah 31:33

“Unless a grain of wheat fall to the earth

And die, it remains but a grain of wheat…”  --John 12:20-33

 I’ve been thinking for some time about that grain of wheat.  It is an image that speaks to my soul.  It feels like something inexhaustibly true; as if that is exactly how God will write His law upon my heart –upon our hearts.  He will give us opportunities to die, to die to something, to our ego, to our security, to our dreams, to our appetites, to our self, and each time we die to something –no matter how small—God will write another piece of His law upon our hearts.

            This morning I read the passage in Mark about the rich young man (10:17-22). The young man comes to Jesus asking Him what he must do to “inherit eternal life,” and Jesus reminds him of the commandments.  The young man affirms that he has followed all these, and Jesus tells him this:

“One thing you lack: go and sell all you possess and give

it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven;

then come, follow me.” (10:21)

And it is then, scripture tells us, that the young man went away sad.  Because Jesus was asking him to die to his wealth, his power, his place at the table.  Apparently, the young man had received God’s law, thus far. He had lived a life honoring that law –thus far.  But now Jesus is asking him to take the next step; to die to himself, to let go of everything that protects him and keeps him safe from the hardships of life and the insecurities of the world, and “come and follow me.” And he went away sad.  Dying is hard. Letting go of control and security and comfort (and potato chips –for me!) is very hard.  I imagine the young man was looking for some kind of affirmation from Christ, and maybe an easier kind of dying.  But the easy that Jesus offers us, looks too much like the cross.  We tend to not want that. We tend to turn away from it, trying to rationalize our decision to hold onto things like wealth and treasures and comforts, not because we are bad people, but because we need them, or we plan to use them for some future good or just in case!

            It is hard to die to our wealth, yes; but even harder to die to our identity.  This is the “rich” young man, and Jesus is asking him to go and sell everything he owns and give it to the poor.  He will no longer be the “rich” young man in the eyes of the world. He will no longer be a man of importance and distinction.  He will no longer be the self he has become.  His charity, his righteousness, his success –they are his; they are who he is.  But Jesus is asking him to die to himself; to let go of that identity and come and follow Him.  And the promise is this: if we die to ourselves, if we fall to earth –like that grain of wheat—then, we will bear much fruit.  We will become a fruitful vine.  And I’m wondering if it isn’t through that fruitful vine that God reaches out to the world; and through that vine taking root inside us that God writes His law upon our hearts.  But for that vine to take root, there must be a death. And dying can be hard gift to receive –as we see in the rich young man’s reaction.

            But there is no sign that Jesus has given up on this rich young man. What we see is that Jesus looked at the rich young man with much love (cf. 10:21).   And that Jesus understands how hard it is for the rich to let go of their wealth and enter empty handed into the Kingdom of God: harder than a camel passing through the eye of a needle.  

So we must put our trust in God’s love, and in God’s patience. And we must day by day learn little by little to let go.  Most of us are not going to be Dorothy Day or Francis of Assisi. We are not going to simply let go of everything in one glorious gesture of dying to our old lives. For most of us, we must trust in God’s patience as He waits for us, like the soil waiting for the seed.  Trust that God waits for us to let go that we might receive the gift He has instore for us; in fact, that He might write it on our hearts.  

Lent is a time to practice dying.  And I was told by a priest last week (during confession) that it is never too late to begin a good Lent.  This was a difficult Lent for me, but I finally started mine.  And I have already failed --twice-- and started again. And like that other wonderful example from Mark’s gospel, I continue to pray:  Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. (9:24)

           

The Book of Judges: the oddness of scripture

“In those days there was no king in Israel

and everyone did as he saw fit.” –Judges 21:25

            This morning, I finally had a little time alone and just as I sat down to write, our kitten brought me a ball. She loves to play fetch, but most of the time she doesn’t bring the ball right to you. She drops it somewhere nearby and then watches to see if you will pick it up.  Today, the house to myself, I sit down at the counter with my Bible and my notebook and pen and suddenly there is a little gray and white cat, with her favorite green ball in her mouth, perched on the stool next to me.  She put the ball down on the stool and waited, watching me.

            And 15 minutes later I find myself still not reading or writing, but throwing the ball into the hall, again and again and watching her chase after it. Delighting in her oddness.  That is a gift, a blessing. And on a Sunday morning after church and biscuits and reading the funnies, what more should I hope for than to be given a few minutes of joy by one of God’s goofier creations. 

Ask for a sign, let it be high as the heaven or the depths below (cf. Is. 7:11).  

That’s what I did. And this is what I got. (And so much more…)

            What does that cute kitten have to do with the book of Judges? Well, I am still trying to figure that out. But, for now, let’s see where this blessing takes us.

One of the lessons I think I am learning from reading and contemplating scripture is this:  God is not out to get us!  God is not sitting on high judging our every move.  Like a good shepherd, He is always seeking us, trying to bring us always closer to Him, into the fold where we will be loved and cared for. 

How often do we ask: how do I know if this is God’s will for me? How do I know if this is the right choice?  Whether we are trying to discern a new vocation (or job), or where to go to college, or whether we should sell the house and move to the woods, many of us get tripped up by the fear that if we choose wrong God will hold it against us.  But that doesn’t seem to be the God we meet in scripture. Or the God I meet in life.   

             In the book of Judges we get a picture of Israel falling apart. They have followed Moses through the wilderness, followed Joshua into war to claim the Promised Land, and it seems that almost immediately after divvying it up amongst themselves they begin to collapse into selfishness and discord. Again and again in Judges we read: “The Israelites did what is evil in the eyes of the Lord” (cf. 2:13; 3:7; 4:1, etc).  This is a book about making bad choices.  But throughout this book –these often horrible choices-- God never abandons His people.  He keeps reaching out to them, sending help, lovingly guiding them, protecting them. This book is pretty short (only 21 chapters) and can easily be read in a couple of sittings.  There are several famous tales in it: Samson and Delilah being the most famous, but also the story of Gideon and the 300, Jotham’s allegory of the trees who want a king, and the tragic tale of Jephthah’s vow.  Yet regardless how heroic or painful the tales, over and over again the author returns to that same theme: Because everyone did as he saw fit, Israel began to do what was evil in the eyes of the Lord.

            This theme comes to a horrifying climax toward the end of the book (ch. 17-21), in two tales involving Levites (the priestly tribe of Israel).  The first is a tale of priestly corruption; a Levite agrees to serve as priest before a household idol in the home of a man named Micah. Basically, he becomes a priest for hire. Someone asks him what he is doing there, and he responds:

Micah pays me a wage and I act as his priest. (18:4)

There are several clues that something is terribly wrong here. First, this a clearly not what God intended for the Levites.  They were set apart to be His priests. Second, way back in Exodus we saw what happened when God’s people made idols.  Third, in Joshua we saw the trouble that arises when people set up strange altars (cf. 22:11ff). Last, consider the name Micah. It means: one who is like God.  A man who is like God hires a Levite to be his personal priest.  This is definitely not what God intended for His priestly people.

A few verses later this Levite is kidnapped by warriors from the tribe of Dan (still in search of a better piece of Promised Land).  These warriors want the Levite to now be their priest.  And like Micah, they seem to imagine that having a priest (regardless of how they got him) will gain them God’s blessing. But after marching against “a peaceful and trusting people” (18:27) whom they put to the sword and destroy, they rebuild their new town, and immediately erect Micah’s stolen idol for their own use (and set their new priest to work before it).  This is what happens to God’s people when they do whatever they like.

            After this tale, there is a second vision of priestly corruption that reveals greater societal corruption. It is the tale of Gibeah (ch.19) and contains echoes of the story of Sodom. In this tale a Levite and his concubine stay the night in Gibeah (an Israelite town) and while there some of the men of the town come and demand that their host send the Levite out for them to rape and have their way with him.  The host, unwilling to surrender his guest, offers the crowd his virgin daughter (like Lot in Genesis 19:8), but the men refuse his offer. So, the Levite “took hold of his concubine and brought her out to them.” (Judges 19:25) She is abused and raped and left for dead.  Though the host’s offer and the Levite’s act are both monstrous, the results are even more fearful. In the morning, scripture tells us, as the Levite leaves the house he finds the woman on the doorstep. He tells her to get up, but she makes no answer.  Which our clue that she has been killed. And yet the priest gathers her up, puts her on his donkey and takes her home.  What we see in the priest, this Levite, is a man devoid of humanity.  He cares only for himself. He does whatever he wills and has no fear of doing any evil in the sight of God. What he does next is even more frightening and strange.  He takes a knife and cuts his concubine limb from limb into twelve pieces and sends the pieces “throughout the territory of Israel.” (19:29)

            I read this story and asked myself –why is it here? Why would anyone include this in their sacred text?  If this is God’s word, then what is God telling us through it? 

When we make ourselves into gods, we lose our humanity.  We lose our place. We lose our Promised Land. Yes, we can do whatever we like –but in the end we won’t like what we do.

Judges is a vision of Israel collapsing almost as soon as it enters into the Promised Land.  And that makes me wonder if the promised land isn’t a place –it’s a way of life. Is it possible that the promised land is wherever we are as long as we are walking with the Lord –when and where we make Him our King, that is the promised land!

Again, I ask--what does this have to do with the goofiness of a kitten?

I’m not sure… But it got me writing.  For a few minutes I wasn’t living in my own ego. I stepped outside myself and just played. Present to the gift of the moment, I was set free from “ambition’s derelict dreams.” For a few minutes I was laughing and unconcerned about anything; maybe for a few minutes I was just present to the promise and the presence. Maybe. But I was certainly present to the cat.