In writing these articles each week, as well as writing sermons and other programming, the hardest part for me is always selecting a topic.  It’s not for any shortage of material, but because there’s so much to cover, and so choosing one tiny aspect of God’s will and our efforts to please him is a daunting task, each and every time the decision must be made.

On those occasions when nothing in particular jumps out at me as uniquely pertinent and urgent, I find myself looking over what has been covered lately, and asking the question, “what is missing?”  Phrased another way, it sounds like a question someone once asked Jesus: “what do I still lack?”

When Jesus was posed this question, it was a by a rich young man who led not with this open invitation to hit him where he was most vulnerable, but with a more detached, “what good deed must I do to have eternal life?” (Mt 19.16)  Jesus passes by the man’s profound misunderstanding of the kind of covenant he is inaugurating, and instead addresses the question from an Old Testament perspective, telling him to keep the commandments, “You shall not murder, You shall not commit adultery, You shall not steal, You shall not bear false witness, Honor your father and mother, and, You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (vv18-19).

Now comes the question that got our attention in the first place—he responds in v20: “All these I have kept. What do I still lack?”  This question is frustrating as we attempt to follow the story and, in a sense, attempt to experience this interaction ourselves through our reading of it.  The words alone do not tell us the man’s thoughts, and his thoughts are what would seem to hold the greatest insight for us.  But we’re left with ambiguity—is the man sincere?  Much has been made of Mark’s note, that “Jesus, looking at him, loved him” (Mk 10.21), but that doesn’t mean he’s sincere.  After all, Jesus loved a bunch of horrible sinners enough to die for us (Ro 5.8), so there’s not an easy answer to the question.  Is he asking in good faith?  If so, that would leave us with one lesson to take from this interaction, and especially Jesus’ response to the man.  But if he’s insincere, it would be a different lesson, although the two would have much in common.  As so often happens in the Bible, the ambiguity is deliberate—God uses the record of this one interaction to speak to people coming from different directions, and to thereby focus the lessons they need to learn better.

Perhaps the man is just fishing for a compliment—he’s kept these commandments, or so he thinks, and so he hopes this famous Rabbi will give him a pat on the back and validate his membership card for the holier-than-thou club.  He expects Jesus to respond by saying something like, “you lack nothing; well done.”  That, I’m sure makes it quite an unpleasant surprise when Jesus smacks down his ego by poking exactly at his most vulnerable spot—his love of wealth.  It teaches us not only a lesson about greed, but also about about arrogance, about self-righteousness, and about the massive shortcomings hidden by those who appear outwardly to be perfect specimens of piety.  All the details about him running to meet Jesus, kneeling before him (again, Mark supplies these), addressing him tones of great respect, and even the questions he asks, are now tainted by the man’s selfish hypocrisy, and we’re left passing judgment on the man before we even realize it.

But while that lesson would be valid, it’s not necessarily the case for this man.  Perhaps he really is sincere.  Perhaps his display of humility before Jesus is just that; perhaps he really regards him as the Good Teacher; perhaps he really has kept the Law of Moses without any obvious failures.  In that case, when he asks the question we’ve been considering, it’s suddenly very meaningful that he hasn’t asked, “do I still lack anything,” but “what do I still lack?”  He takes for granted that he does fall short, even though he’s not sure why.  This innate conviction of his own shortcoming now speaks well of him—as if he’s actually a great guy, but hasn’t gotten a big head, and never looks down on others, because he’s too busy trying his best to be what God wants him to be.  Now, the end of the interaction becomes all the more poignant: “Jesus said to him, ‘If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.’ When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions” (Mt 19.21-22).  He was convinced he wasn’t good enough; and he was right.

Of course, in both cases the greater lesson is that we must be willing to give everything for Christ, and when push comes to shove, must follow through on that willingness and truly devote our lives to following Christ, rather than pleasing ourselves; but because of the way this story is related, there’s much more depth, and a more personal, exposing, motivating punchline, since it applies to all of us, no matter how different we are from one another.

In the end, it may seem better for the man not to ask the question—since he has, in the one scenario he’s an arrogant blowhard, in the other a self-flagellating no account—but I don’t think the exchange is intended to teach us that.  Rather, its very ambiguity prompts us to realize that we’re all asking that question, constantly, whether sincerely or not; and while it’s better to be the honest and humble one, the truth is that, regardless of whether we ask out of pride or humility, the answer to the question “what do I still lack?” Is always the same: plenty.

Jesus gave an answer to the rich young man; have you done what he said?  Have you given your all to the pursuit of discipleship?  I’m sure that even Peter, John, James, and Paul were looking at themselves regularly, routinely finding something more they could’ve given.  In fact, Paul tells us as much in Philippians 3.12-14:

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

This is not a part-time job, or a passing phase.  It’s about our entire lives, and whether we truly surrender everything to Christ and his will.  That doesn’t mean we should leave the world—the world is where Jesus wants his work to be done!  But it does mean that we should be sojourners here, making it the goal of our every thought, action, and moment to get home to him.

Jeremy Nettles

A careful reading of all four Gospels reveals that a period of at least weeks separated Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness of Judea, from his preaching to great crowds in Galilee.  In between, he acquired his first several disciples, traveled back home to Nazareth, attended a wedding, moved with his family to Capernaum, attended the Passover festivities in Jerusalem, performed miracles, taught and baptized around the Judean countryside, preached the Gospel to Samaritans, and learned that John the Baptist had been thrown in prison (not all in that order).

Yet, Matthew’s Gospel mentions a couple of those events in passing and blitzes right past most of it, going from Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness to the Sermon on the Mount, with only a few verses in between.  He has a purpose for doing this, and it’s obvious that he wants to portray Jesus as coming out of his corner swinging, given that chapters 5-7 comprise the longest continuous sermon of Jesus that is recorded for us.  He wants to highlight that, from the beginning, Jesus knew what he was talking about, that there was no awkward, beginning phase full of errors and missteps—he was competent, coherent, and effective from the very start.

The point is well made, and Matthew’s extensive coverage of this particular sermon has led most of us to focus intently on this version of the sermon, nearly to the exclusion of the very similar one found in Luke 6.20-49, which may or may not be a shortened version of the same exact occasion.  That’s fine, especially since the contents of Luke’s version can almost universally be found either in Matthew’s version, or elsewhere in Jesus’ teachings throughout the Gospels.  Almost.

The major difference occurs in the intro, which is made up of a series of statements called The Beatitudes (because Latin).  While Matthew’s version focuses on spiritual things (par for the course with Jesus), Luke’s is decidedly more…fleshy.  Where Matthew says “poor in spirit” (Mt 5.3, my italics), Luke just has “poor” (Lk 6.20).  Where Matthew says “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” (Mt 5.6, my italics), Luke says “Blessed are you who are hungry now” (Lk 6.21).  The difference isn’t as pronounced in the rest, but these two already show a pretty significant shift.

It’s natural that most of us have only paid significant attention to Matthew’s version—the spiritual, we are told throughout the New Testament, is more important than the physical.  The spiritual realm is where all the really significant stuff takes place, and even in the earthly rendition we read in Luke 6, Jesus has the spiritual in the background, slightly out of focus.  In addition to this, most of us have never tasted poverty and hunger of the level that was normal to most of Jesus’ audience.  Even when we’re pretty poor, in this day and age, and especially in this country, we are rich beyond the wildest imaginations of a rural day-laborer in Galilee in the 1^st century.  We take for granted luxuries that would have been mind-boggling to them—indoor plumbing, air conditioning, copious artificial light after sunset, cheap clothing and shoes, telecommunications, vast quantities of information at our back and call, a selection of affordable foods from all over the world that would’ve been impossible, and impossibly expensive, just a couple centuries ago, all ready to be kept in a magic box that keeps them frozen until we stick them in another magic box that warms them up just unevenly enough for us to complain that we might as well be living in the dark ages…the list goes on; we’re rather pampered.  I suppose it’s a little embarrassing, to me at least, when I read the simple, pared down, earth-focused beatitudes of Luke 6, because although at numerous points in my life I’ve been quite poor, at least in comparison to the people around me, even during those times I fit better in the next section:

“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.

“Woe to you who are full now, for you shall be hungry.

“Woe to you who laugh now, for you shall mourn and weep.

“Woe to you, when all people speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the false prophets.” (Lk 6.24-26)

This is a brutal reminder of the transience of earthly wealth and prosperity, and perhaps we’re getting the first taste of that reality, right now.

Woes

The economic news keeps getting worse and worse.  As I write this, the unemployment rate, so recently a stunningly good 3.5%, has crossed the threshold of 20%, which is the highest rate since the depths of the Great Depression.  In a word, this is no good.  Since my family has moved three times in the past seven months, and we’ve traveled all over the country, and I’ve changed jobs twice, my wife and I have adopted a saying, “every day is an eternity, but the weeks fly by” since we’ve lived in a constant state of flux for so long.  However, since the pandemic response has come into force around here, that’s been reversed, at least from my perspective: the days fly by, but every week is an eternity.  So little time has really passed, but we’re cooped up at home, we don’t get to spend time with many of the people we love, and it seems as if our whole lives must, for a time, revolve around the coronavirus.  We’re still, in some regard, in the early stages, and although I hope the easing of restrictions and the alleviation of threats will not only come soon but also usher in a period of great resurgence and growth in this country, we ought to consider the possibility that it’s not going to get better.

No one but God knows how this will play out.  Thought I hope not, it’s possible that we’re a the beginning of a second Great Depression; about to become truly poor, hungry, and saddened, as the new normal.  Take some time, then, to consider Jesus’ words all together:

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

“Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you shall be satisfied.

“Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh.

“Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude you and revile you and spurn your name as evil, on account of the Son of Man! Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets.

“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.

“Woe to you who are full now, for you shall be hungry.

“Woe to you who laugh now, for you shall mourn and weep.

“Woe to you, when all people speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the false prophets.” (Lk 6.20-26)

No matter what happens, no earthly disaster can compare with the heavenly gifts Christ has given.  However bad things get in this life, remember that the kingdom of God is open to you.  No matter how hungry or thirsty you may become, remember that Jesus is true food and drink.  No matter how saddened you are by the suffering and death around you, remember that through Christ you can be reconciled to your loved ones to live with him forever, where there is no more pain or sorrow.  No matter how much the world may vilify you as a Christian and blame you for the evil in this age, remember that Jesus’ approval means more than the whole world’s hate.

Perhaps, even if the tragedies keep compounding, bringing an economic collapse on top of a public health collapse, spiraling ever downward until the deaths from privation far outstrip the toll from the virus itself…spectacularly unlikely as that scenario may be, perhaps the silver lining for all of us would be learning to depend more heavily on our Savior, coming to more fully understand through grim experience why he calls the poor, hungry, weeping, and hated, “blessed.”

Jeremy Nettles

I once attended a small town, rural, high school production of Fiddler on the Roof, an experience I fully expected from the start I’d regret later.  I do not like musicals, partly because of the wishy-washy, sometimes dramatic, sometimes operatic nature of the thing, and partly because the music is often irritatingly catchy, yet void of any depth or value.  Of course, when put on by a high school the point really has less to do with the artistic production, and more to do with kids going out on a limb, and parents being proud of them for it; but nevertheless I had every expectation I would happily forget the entire experience immediately.

For the most part, that’s what happened, but one of these kids, while not musically or dramatically gifted, had a startling level of confidence and charisma that made it obvious why he’d landed the lead role, a Russian Jew at the turn of the 20^th century named Tevye, around whom the plot revolves.  This kid surprised me, and so his first big song, “Tradition,” stuck with me.  From what I gather (mercifully, that day was the only time I’ve ever seen Fiddler on the Roof), the story involves Tevye doing his best to live by the traditions passed down by previous generations, during a tumultuous period of radical—often violent—social and cultural change; and this song, extolling the virtues of tradition, sets the stage for the struggle that follows.

Back in the real world, this same struggle is often seen, almost always between the older generation and the younger, in which the elders appeal to their own authority as elders to bring the whippersnappers in line, and the kids scoff at the old timers and their outdated ideas, resisting their guidance.  There’s usually fault on both sides, and there’s also value on both sides.

Tradition, or Commandment?

Jesus himself had to deal with this conflict during his time on earth.  One of my favorite examples of this is found in chapter 7 of Mark’s Gospel.  Here, the Pharisees and scribes notice a breach of etiquette among Christ’s disciples, and without a shred of self-awareness, ask him in v5, “Why do your disciples not walk according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” Mark has already primed us to see the problem in their notion of authority, pointing out rather deliberately that this group included scribes (v1), i.e. experts in the Law of Moses, and twice calling their scruples tradition, while attempting to demonstrate how ridiculous these traditions had become, before the scribes and Pharisees themselves appeal to “the tradition of the elders.”

But on the other hand, it would be difficult to argue that washing before eating is a bad thing; nor should they have ignored everything their elders told them—the Bible itself teaches the younger to treat those who are older with deference and respect, for example in 1Pe 5.5 and 1Ti 5.1.  We can see the wisdom in this when we examine our own traditions—we have many of them passed down to us from previous generations, and by and large, while they are not commandments of God, they are wise conclusions, sage advice, and good practices to safeguard against many different threats.  

Yet, the circumstances do not always lend themselves to the keeping of even wise traditions.  Jesus defended his disciples on this account a handful of times, and his approach reflects even greater wisdom than the traditions of the elders—he doesn’t catalog extenuating circumstances, appeal to a vague smell-test, or get bogged down in the fine details of when a person’s responsibility is to keep the tradition or not.  Instead, he simply calls out the accusers’ hypocrisy, and highlights the difference between tradition and commandment—a comparison which does not reflect well on the self-important authoritarians.

And he said to them, “Well did Isaiah prophesy of you hypocrites, as it is written, ‘This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’ You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men.”

        And he said to them, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to establish your tradition! For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever reviles father or mother must surely die.’ But you say, ‘If a man tells his father or his mother, “Whatever you would have gained from me is Corban”’ (that is, given to God)—then you no longer permit him to do anything for his father or mother, thus making void the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And many such things you do.” (Mk 7.6-13)

Today, we might call this deflecting, or even “what-about-ism,” but he makes a good point!  It’s not just that these scribes and Pharisees don’t abide by their own standard, it’s that they have the wrong standard!  Jesus’ reply carefully avoids saying, “your traditions don’t matter,” because that’s not really the case; it’s just that they are traditions, and traditions, however good, ought not to be considered binding; the Word of God, however, ought not to be ignored!

Today

This is an important lesson for all of us to understand and implement: live by what God says, and then pay attention to the collective, inherited wisdom, too—but remember that only one of these is authoritative.  It was important when Jesus walked the earth in the flesh, it was important a year ago, and it’ll be important next year and forever, until the Lord returns.  But we are in a position of having to deal with a major upheaval of our traditions, right now, and we’d do well to heed Jesus’ words in all of our decision-making.

With this unprecedented pandemic response, we all are stuck with some counterintuitive wisdom, like “don’t go to work,” “don’t have in-person interactions if at all possible,” and “don’t go to church.”  Understandably, many people are chafing under these new norms—we all should!  We’re left, seemingly, trying to juggle the commandment to love the Lord, and the commandment to love our neighbors, when they may appear to be irreconcilable.  Of course, this is not the first time Christians have faced such a quandary.  The New Testament is filled with examples of such, we just usually don’t think about them in those terms.  Acts 6, 10, and 15 all record instances where Christians—Apostles, no less!—struggled to one degree or another with this balance, and it’s not until a solution is found, in each case, that it becomes clear, there really is no conflict between the two commandments, after all.

As we all wrestle through this frustrating and seemingly unending attempt to preserve lives and avoid enabling or contributing to our neighbors’ suffering, let’s keep in mind that stopgaps, substitutes, and solutions to the current problem can, and must, be found without rejecting God’s commandments.  They won’t often adhere to “the tradition of the elders,” though.  That’s ok, considering the circumstances; but we should all look forward to a time when we can again make use of the wisdom passed down to us from previous generations.  “Do not move the ancient landmark that your fathers have set” (Pr 22.28).

Jeremy Nettles