Authority To Serve - How I realized I was insecure because of my pride.

The well's been a little dry, folks. I promise there have been three days between last week and this where I pulled up Blogger to write. All three times, I sat there looking at the cursor, thinking about Billy Crystal at the beginning of Throw Mama From The Train. "The night was... moist..."

Somewhere, at some time, I developed this idea of the Press as a serious source of theological thought. But the name of the blog itself should remind me I'm just a dude. 'Am-ha'aretz, ordinary and unlearned. Not every post is going to make you weep with its depth of sensitivity and thought. Sometimes I like to post Judas Priest videos.

And that's okay.

But sometimes I hang myself up on the thought of how much people like me. Of course I assume people like me less than they do in real life. But the idea, the thought, will drive me to do what I think will make you all like me more. Which probably makes me less likable in the end.

And, if you can believe it, I know this spiral happens because of my pride. I sit at the bar in my head talking to the Me I think I am and say, "People should see how great I am. You've got to do a better job letting them know."

Before the apostles were "the apostles", they were "the disciples". In Luke 9:1-2, Jesus gave his disciples authority to minister to people. This is pretty early in the book. The disciples sometimes found themselves in the same pride/insecurity cycle I've ridden all week. They argue over who is the greatest among them while they're walking next to God incarnate. Two of them want Jesus to guarantee places of honor and respect, so they have their mom ask him for it. I mean, really, would you have your mom ask your boss to give you a promotion?

But Jesus had given them authority to minister. He knew they were ordinary and flawed. So when they were proud, he reminded them greatness is found in serving people. Greatness is in humility. The cycle should rotate the other way. If we think we're great, our greatness should motivate us to minister to others. To serve them in their need.

By minister, I don't mean simply preaching or imparting wisdom (although that can certainly be a part of it). Luke 9:1-2 described it as healing people, releasing them from spiritual bondage, and telling people about the kingdom of God. In the next chapter, the disciples return and say, "Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!" And Jesus tells them, "Hey guys, that's great, but don't rejoice in your authority. Pride caused Satan to fall. Rejoice in the fact you know me and have salvation." That was my paraphrase, but you get it.

Jesus gave the disciples authority, but they were proud screw ups. Did that mean he didn't want to them to keep ministering? Did they need a week of paralyzing self-doubt to get their heads straight? No, guys. That doesn't work for, like, anyone.

A friend of mine once said, "You don't have to have everything figured out in order to help other people. It's okay if you're only a step ahead of where they are. Help them make that next step."

So, my apologies for standing still. In the future, if we're going to stand around, we may as well watch some YouTube together.

Nobody Here But Us Paralytics - How I recently discovered a new way to look at grace.

Lately, whenever I feel like a failure for missing my (self-imposed) weblog deadlines, I tend to think of posts on the subject of grace. If it's a pattern, I've only just now begun to realize it.

Patterns are fun, right? I get pretty psyched about palindromes and finding abecedarian words. But I've never taken the time to look back through my now 150 posts to see if there are any long-running themes to The Press.

Do you know how many times I think I've written a post before, but don't take the time to confirm my suspicions? I'm on a tight schedule most days. I'm busy. Or my wife wants me to watch Battlestar Galactica with her.

If I were to look back through my posts, I wonder how many of them would have comparisons of how I understood the Bible as a kid and how I understand it now. Having read the Bible a few times already, I became familiar with many of the passages. While that's sort of a goal in reading the Bible, I also find it's easy to skim over the familiar parts because I don't think I need to learn the same thing twice.

But then, if I take the time, I always learn something new in the familiar. This time it happened while I read the story of Jesus healing a paralytic man in Luke 5:17-26.

A large crowd had gathered around a house where Jesus taught and healed people. "And behold, some men were bringing on a bed a man who was paralyzed, and they were seeking to bring him in and lay him before Jesus, but finding no way to bring him in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and let him down with his bed through the tiles into the midst before Jesus. And when he saw their faith, he said, "Man, your sins are forgiven you." Then Jesus heals the guy. The dude carries his own bed (I imagine it was more like a rug I slept on for a few months) out of the meeting.

Now this is interesting. Jesus forgave the sins of the man and healed him. But this could give you a theological headache if you think about it. What did this guy do to receive either forgiveness or healing? Did he pray a certain prayer of repentance? Did he even ask for healing? Based on the text, it looks like they just wanted to be near Jesus.

Here's my new reason for loving this story. The guy couldn't do anything for himself. He was completely helpless. Just like me. By forgiving and healing this man, Jesus gives an amazing demonstration of grace.

Now I'm sure there's more to this story, more lessons, more ways to understand my relationship with Jesus. I expect this story will get more interesting the more familiar I become with it.

The Humble Peasant King.

If you've paid attention for the last few weeks, you know how slowly I have crawled through the first two chapters of Luke. Even though I've read the book several times, I continue to find parts of the story I've never noticed.

In Luke 2, we find the Christmas story as made famous by Charles Schultz. Verse 7 says Jesus was born in a stable because there was no room for his family at the Inn. I never asked myself why God would orchestrate the birth of His son like this. If not in a palace, why not at the very least have him born in a comfortable place? Why invite the local ner-do-well shepherds to the party?

I think Jesus hinted at this later to his disciples in 22:24-27. "A dispute also arose among them, as to which of them was to be regarded as the greatest. And he said to them, 'The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you. Rather, let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves. For who is the greater, one who reclines at the table or one who serves? Is it not the one who reclines at the table? But I am among you as the one who serves.'"

If Jesus had come to earth as a powerful or wealthy man, people may have felt compelled to listen and obey. He might have found more panderers than genuine followers. More than anyone, though, Jesus demonstrated humility and became a servant.

Do you think you would have had an easier time listening to a humble peasant or a proud ruler?

When Disappointment Becomes Too Familiar.

Last week, I wrote about how we respond to God's promises. Zechariah responded with doubt and Mary with trust. But I didn't ask myself why Zechariah responded the way he did.

Last Sunday, my pastor made an observation I hadn't considered. Luke 1:6 says Zechariah and Elizabeth were both great people who loved God, but they were old and childless. When Gabriel appears before Zechariah in the temple, he says, "Your prayers have been heard." Clearly, they wanted a child and had asked God. My pastor remarked on the disappointment Zechariah and Elizabeth must have felt up to this point.

For those of you who have read this story, doesn't it confuse you how Zechariah first feels terror when he sees the angel, but then gets a little lippy? I wonder if Zechariah had become so used to disappointment he expected a letdown, no matter how powerful the promise.

Imagine how much it hurt Zechariah as a priest, as someone who always tried to do the right thing, as someone who loved God. Imagine the hurt year after year as he and his wife grew older, watching the possibility of a family shrink and vanish.

Suddenly, Zechariah's response to Gabriel makes more sense. "How shall I know this?" I don't mean to say he should have doubted, but I do know how he felt. What startled me was how he asked this in the middle of an audible and visible message from God. Would my disappointments harden my heart to a point where I would question God's promises even if He told them to me in great supernatural power?

The Motive Of A Question.

Recently, my wife and I began a study in the book of Luke. Having grown up in the church and read the Bible a few times over, I wanted to try reading this gospel as if I hadn't read it. You might know what I mean if you've grown used to God.

I find whenever I read a book, any book, expecting to learn something, I learn quite a lot. I notice more when I read with a goal than when I casually read a story for fun. Midway through the first chapter, I saw something I had never seen before.

Luke opens his account of Jesus with great detail. Much of it deals with Mary and her family leading up to the birth of Jesus. In 1:5-25, Luke introduces Elizabeth and Zechariah, Mary's cousin and her husband. As a priest, Zechariah is chosen one day to enter into the most holy place of the temple and burn incense. While in there, the angel Gabriel appears and tells Zechariah he and Elizabeth will have a son.

Zechariah replies, "How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years." The angel tells him of his coming son then says, "You will be silent and unable to speak until the day that these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time."

A few verses later, Gabriel appears to Mary and tells her she will give birth to Jesus. Mary also asks a question. "Mary said to the angel, 'How will this be, since I am a virgin?'" The angel explains how the Holy Spirit and the power of God will come upon her so she could give birth to the Son of God. Mary then tells the angel, "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word."

I never thought to ask this before, but why did Zechariah get gagged when both he and Mary questioned the angel? Looking again, I saw they asked different questions. Zechariah wanted a sign because he doubted. Mary wanted to know more about a promise she already trusted.

If God were to give you a promise, something that seemed totally impossible, how would you respond? After reading Luke 1, I think it might be a good question to ask yourself.