Bible Challenge Week 34: Messiah – The Forerunner

This week we turn a page–literally.  And we turn an age.

When we left the Israelites in Babylon, they were no longer Israelites.  Instead they were called “Jews,” a name derived from the last tribe to claim its own territory: Judah.  The Jews were allowed to return to their capitol city and take up temple worship again–as soon as the temple was restored.  Also, they were apparently no longer tempted to combine worship of the Lord with rites for the pagan gods around them.  Malachi, the last prophet, had other complaints to make against them, and after him the Lord was silent for 450 years.

But the last book of the Old Testament ends with a specific promise: the promise of a blazing “day of the Lord” to be preceded by the prophet Elijah.  Does that mean Elijah, first of the prophetic age, would be resurrected to bring about a new age?  450 years of wondering followed Malachi, and 450 years of expectations about what this day, and this prophet would look like.

“For behold the day is coming, burning like an oven . . .” Mal. 4:1

As usual, God kept his word.  But not in the way that anyone expected.

For this week’s Bible Challenge, with scripture passages, discussion questions, and activities, chick below:

Bible Reading Challenge Week 34: MESSIAH – THE FORERUNNER *

*Please note: In the .pdf I mis-identified Herod as a Samaritan.  He was actually an Idumean, or Edomite (descendant of Esau), raised as a Jew.

(This is a continuation of a series of posts about the “whole story” of the Bible.  I plan to run one every week, on Tuesdays, with a printable PDF.  The printable includes a brief 2-3 paragraph introduction, Bible passages to read, a key verse, 5-7 thought/discussion questions, and 2-3 activities for the kids.  Here’s the Overview of the entire Bible series.)

Previous: Week 33: Prophets – Daniel

Next: Week 35: Messiah – Birth & Boyhood

Confrontations

One day, as Jesus was teaching the people in the temple and preaching the gospel, the chief priests and the scribes with the elders came up and said to him, “Tell us, by what authority you do these things, or who it is that gave you this authority.” Luke 20:1-2

He has established himself in the same courtyardas if he owned the place! they keep thinking.  The crowds are thronging, the news is spreading, and alarm among the elites casts a pall over what was meant to be another orderly, peaceful Passover.  The chief priests, whose family lineage goes back to Aaron, the elders whose claim to authority even the Romans defer to, and finally the scribes and their Pharisee allies, who often clash with the priestly crowd, all meet to talk it over.

This disturbance, they all agree, has its roots in John the Baptist, who kept shouting about a new age until his ministry abruptly ended at the edge of a broadsword.  John’s death was a relief—one thing they could think that idiot Herod for—until the rumors of Jesus of Nazareth began circulating and swelling and all but shrieking at them.  Even at that, Jesus might have been manageable if he’d stayed in Galilee, but his appearance in Jerusalem is the worst kind of omen.

(Oh Jerusalem . . . if you only knew what makes for peace.)

Pharisees from those northern regions (those tiresome hicks, with their nattering about the Law and its proper observance) have brought troubling but useful reports about his weird claims and cheeky challenges to the old order.  Also rumors of signs and wonders, which can’t be confirmed even though they persist.  Now that he’s in the city he, doesn’t seem to be healing people (or pretending to), but his teaching is an even greater threat.  The way he talks, about my kingdom, my house, my Father—who does he think he is?

(How often would I have gathered you, as a hen gathers her chicks, but you would not . . . the more I called you, the more you ran away from me.)

There is no help for it.  For all kinds of reasons–political, social, religious–he must be destroyed.  And not in some back-alley garroting, but out in public.  First, though, it’s imperative to undermine his moral authority.  How much moral authority can a backwater preacher from Galilee have, anyway?

That afternoon, as the Nazarene is teaching in the courtyard, here they come: elders, priestly representatives, phariseescholarly scribes and Pharisees in their robes and tassels, marching across the tiles with the rocked-ribbed confidence of a Roman phalanx.  “Tell us,” say the eldest of the elders, whose name is Johannes, “by whose authority did you clear this place and take up this false teaching?”

The teacher doesn’t appear to be alarmed or taken aback.  He doesn’t even take time to consider the ramifications of the question.  “First, let me ask you something.  Remember John’s baptism, which people were pouring out of this city to receive?  Was it by the authority of heaven, or of a mere man?”

The elder opens his mouth to reply before recognizing the trap.  “One moment.”  With a jerk of his head, he draws the others aside.

“Where did that come from?” a Pharisee wonders.  “How strange—we were just talking about John!”

“Never mind where he got it,” Johannes snaps.  “He probably has his spies everywhere.  What is our answer?”

“The teaching was from men, of course,” one of the scribes whispers.  “John was a lunatic.”

“That’s not what the people think,” hisses Johannes.  “They still believe John was a holy man and a prophet.”

Eliphaz nods.  “Proclaim to the mob that John was mad and they’ll tear us to pieces.  No thanks.”

Maimonides, another elder, throws up his hands.  “Very well, then! Tell him it was from heaven.”

“And what will he say then?”  Johannes glares at each one of them in turn.  “That we should have listened to John!  Should have tossed dust on our heads and put on sackcloth and paraded down to the Jordan for that madman to baptize us.”  A seething pause follows, in which they realize they’ve been outmaneuvered. “We’ll get him next time.”  Turning back to the teacher, Johannes announces, “We can’t say for sure where John—that holy man of lamented memory—got his authority.”

“You can’t?” their adversary repeats.   “Then I needn’t tell you where my authority comes from.”  He nods in dismissal.  “Priests, elders, scribes—until we meet again.”

His disciples and all hearers are delighted to see the snobs put down.  But his closest friends hear a disturbing echo: priests, elders, scribes . . . they have not seen the last of these.

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For the original post in this series, go here.

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Are You the One?

The disciples of John reported all these things to him.  And John, calling two of his disciples to him, sent them to the Lord, saying, “Are you the one who is to com, or shall we look for another?” (Luke 7:18-19)

Meanwhile, things haven’t been going well for John.  We already know (3:20) that he’s been locked up for preaching a little too close to home for the local authorities, and (holy as he is) it’s only human to have some doubts.

Envy has nothing to do with it.  He always knew that Messiah must increase.  But now he’s now sure the man he baptized and witnessed to is really the One.  Where’s the winnowing fork?  Where’s the ax laid to the root?  Where’s the fiery Holy-Spirit baptism?  Prison is not the problem, for John was prepared for anything.  Hang him up by his thumbs, roast him slowly over hot coals—no big deal as long as his message was true.  Get ready! Repent! Judgment is on its way with the Kingdom of Heaven close upon its heels!

But the reports he is hearing are not what he expected.John-in-prison

Messiah is making news, all right, but instead of judging people, he’s healing them.  The gist of his sermons is about loving your enemies and being like your Father in heaven.  Father?  And what’s all this about “Do not judge”?  John’s sermons were all about righteousness and the Kingdom and–yes, judging.  The righteous judgment of God was the whole point.  Languishing in Herod’s prison, his life hanging on the whims of a vindictive woman, John can’t take the ambiguity anymore.  He has to get an answer, even though Jesus might be angry.  Are you the one?  Or to put it another way, did I dedicate my life to cutting a path for you . . . for nothing?

The two disciples come back with some reassurance: Jesus wasn’t angry.  But he wasn’t a model of clarity either.  Imagine the conversation: “We stayed all afternoon and watched him heal people.  Scores of people—blind, cripples, lepers, demon-possessed.  He healed them all.  You should have heard the demons screaming as they gave up their grip!  In between, he talked.  Lots of people came just to listen to him.  He quoted that passage from Isaiah, the one about the Spirit of the Lord being on him and preaching good news to the poor.”

Good news, thinks John.  Not judgment, after all?

“He told us to tell you what we saw.  And one more thing: a message for you.”

“Yes?”

“He said, ‘Blessed is the one who takes no offense at me.”

Offense?! thinks John.  Was he taking offense?  No, he was just asking . . . or maybe . . . Well.

The prophet sitting in the dungeon, soon to lose his head, has no superior in the old order.  Elijah, Elisha, Isaiah—none are greater than he.  Yet this kingdom he preached was beyond even his comprehension.  The youngest child who finds a place in it is “greater” (in understanding, experience, love) than John.  Many, many years later, Jesus’s half-brother James would acknowledge this while writing to fellow believers: Elijah? Just a man, like you.  But he had no more access to the Father than you.  In fact, you have more.  You have a blood relationship, a living Spirit.

John, don’t be offended . . . The great message you delivered was vital and necessary, but only the half of it.

Elsewhere in Galilee, Jesus pauses in his healing and preaching to glance over at the ever-present peanut gallery: the scribes and Pharisees who, Luke informs us, rejected God’s plan for themselves.  They disapproved John, they disapprove Jesus: one a fanatic, possibly possessed; the other altogether too friendly with good food and wine and tax collectors.  The only religious figure who would satisfy them might be found by looking into a mirror.  Yet—“Wisdom is vindicated by all her children.”  The children, a motley rag-tag group for sure, are beginning to make themselves known.  In fact, well see one in the next chapter.

For the original post in this series, go here.

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The Lord’s Trumpet

. . . the word of God came to John the son of Zechariah in the wilderness.  And he went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Luke 3:2b-3.

Years pass.  The fullness of time bubbles and swells under the placid surface of unrecorded history until the moment assigned for it to break out.  It has a mouth, and its name is John.

The excited chatter that surrounded his birth is finally verified.  His father Zachariah is long deceased but there are probably those alive who remember the moment the old man’s tongue was loosened and broke out in impromptu song . . . something about a horn of salvation and being delivered from our enemies, and the sun rising on a defeated nation.  The people who dwell in darkness have seen a great light.  Is John that light?  He’s already living the life of a holy man in the wilderness, with his paleo wardrobe and six-legged diet.  In the wilderness the word of God overpowers him, and next thing you know he comes roaring out of the desert.  He takes up residence at the Jordan, a river famous for crossing over (Josh. 3:14-17), where Naaman the Syrian was miraculously cleansed from leprosy (II Kings 5).  There John begins a ministry of cleansing and crossing over as he preaches the good news.

His news is bad before it’s good: “Brood of vipers!” are his first recorded words.  Just part of his job: to shake Israel out of her complacency and convict her of sin.  That was every prophet’s job, from Elijah to Malachi—waking up the sleepers.  It’s time to get ready, take heed, beware.  Most of all: Repent! The Kingdom of Heaven is approaching!  Abraham was your father, not your savior.  Judgment is on its way, clutched in Messiah’s hand—a winnowing fork for separating wheat from chaff, an ax laid to the bitter root of the tree.

Chop. axe&tree

Chop.

Chop.

The people were in expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Christ.  You could hardly blame them—John was every inch the prophet; he even dressed like Elijah (Would he call fire down from heaven? Or raise the dead, or hop aboard a fiery chariot?)  The Baptist always denied it when asked, turning their attention to the one whose sandals he was not worthy to untie.  Messiah is coming, winnowing fork in hand.  Better get ready, because you don’t want to fall with the chaff, come under the ax.

Like all God’s prophets, John was right in substance, but hazy in particulars.  Messiah did not hold those tools; he was those tools. And subject to those tools.  Judgment was indeed about to fall.

Who knew that he would step in its way?

For the first post in this series, go here.

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His Name Is John

When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb . . . “And why is it granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?  For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.  And blessed it she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.”  Luke 1:45

This was no ordinary baby—everybody agreed about that.

His father’s inability to speak, so sudden in onset, and now so suddenly undone, signaled great things to come for those who saw it.  The very sight of Elizabeth—wrinkles, gray hair, and all—waddling about with her swollen belly like a barely-wed bride, was the talk of the town.  When was the last time something like this happened?  Does the name Sarah ring a bell?  Not since the days of the patriarchs had something like this come about, a sure sign that a new age was at hand.  Would the “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” henceforth be known as the “God of Zechariah, Elizabeth, and John”?  It could happen!

John, the name they originally protested because it had no family pedigree, was obviously divinely ordained.  They didn’t call him that: in Hebrew, the name is Yochanan—“the Lord is gracious.”  Very fitting, because the Lord’s hand was on him (vs. 66) in such an obvious way that his friends and neighbors probably watched him intently while he was growing up—parsed his every word, noted his every pious action, and nodded sagely to each other when he wandered off into the desert to join the Essene community: “Mark my words—we haven’t seen the last of that young man.”  It’s very likely that their hopes and their attention followed him into the desert and seemed close to fulfillment when he appeared again, calling sinners to repent.  Could this be the Messiah?

But did any of them know of his encounter, while yet unborn, with the gracious hand of the Lord?  The johnincarnate Lord, that is, barely formed enough to possess an actual hand.  Only John’s mother knew at the time: imagine her sitting quietly in her own house with her six-month belly, expecting a visit from her young cousin.  Word had come to her of a band of pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem, and Mary among them.  With news.  Now her ears perk up at the sound of a young woman’s voice calling her name.  And then she bolts upright, clutching her sides.

She’d felt the baby kicking for some time now—the normal twitches and jerks that every expectant mother feels.  But this is different, not a random jerk of an arm or a leg, but a whole-body, intentional movement.  He springs, he dances—he may even have turned a somersault.  She holds her breath as Mary’s voice comes closer, and when the young woman enters the house, slim and breathless, Elizabeth is so full of her own news she doesn’t even pause to embrace her.  Words bubble up, fill her mouth, pour out: Blessed are you, above all women . . . the mother of my Lord . . . My baby heard your voice, and do you know what he did?

Mary stands there, the mother of our Lord, speechless with surprise.  First at the sight of the old pregnant lady, and then at what she said.

In days to come, she will not always feel blessed: eyebrows will raise, whispers will increase the bigger she grows. The joyful wedding she had always hoped for will be hasty and quiet, if Joseph agrees to take her.  But those are only the obvious, predictable inconveniences.  She doesn’t yet anticipate giving birth anywhere but her mother’s house, not in a smelly cave 90 miles from home.

But blessed is she who believed in the fulfillment, though she doesn’t know what fulfillment will look like.  Her own heart fills with spilling-out words: My soul magnifies the Lord . . .  David could have sung this song; it’s all about the Almighty showing strength, scattering the proud, bringing down the mighty and exalting the humble, filling the hungry, sending away the complacent.  But where is all this happening?  All we see is two women clutching hands, prophesying giddily to each other with one bouncing baby between them, destined to become a superstar.  Much more famous, for a while, than his embryonic cousin, before whom he dances like David before the Ark.

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