Tag: teachings of Jesus

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To Whom Much is Given

And he said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on.  For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.  Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them.  Of how much more value are you than the birds!”  Luke 12:23-24

Having dropped this bombshell on “the crowd,” he turns to “the disciples.”  They’re probably scratching their heads about his definition of “foolish” and “wise” and what’s worth worrying about.

It’s a matter of heart.  The rich fool’s heart was in his storehouses, ours should be in the Kingdom of God.  We’re living there now—if we could only see the solid walls around us, the sheltering roof over our heads, the rich robes of christ’s righteousness that we wear, the nourishment of doing God’s will (for, “I have food to eat that you know not of” Jn. 4:32)—if we could only live in that reality, our present concerns about this day-to-day reality would melt away.

Easy for you to say, Jesus—you’ve charmed the world into caring for you.  Look how these women follow you around, making sure your clothes are washed and your bread baked or bought.  You live off contributions, but nobody’s going to pay me to make speeches or hold seminars.

And yet . . . we have the same Father.  Isn’t that his point?  The Father knows what we need.  He provides what we need, just as he feeds the birds and decks out the wildflowers.  But not always, right?  Birds occasionally starve, and wildflowers shrivel up and meet the mowing machine. Even people starve sometimes—in page ages, they starved pretty often. What’s the answer to that?

This: “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”  Some translations read “delight.”  It is his delight to make us heirs of riches beyond our imagination.  It pleases him, like it pleased your mom and dad to put special presents under the tree on Christmas Eve—they wanted to see your face when you found those things in the morning.  The difference is that we asked for those presents.  We chose them and cut out pictures of them and dreamed of them and cleared space in our rooms for them.

The Father is planning to give us something we do not have the imagination or expansiveness of soul to mystery-giftask for.  It’s wrapped in plain brown paper, all but hidden among the other shiny things we think we want.  People have been asking Jesus about present concerns: touch me, heal me, show me a sign, tell my brother to share.  He often grants present concerns, too, for “Your Father knows you need them.”  Our Father made us to need food and clothes—of course he knows.  But the present day is a threshold, like childhood.  Beyond it is the Kingdom in full, where our food will be the will of God and our clothing the righteousness of Christ.  How does that sound?  If we want that, or even if we want to want that, we are in a sense already there.

For the original post in this series, go here.

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The Father’s Delight

And he said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on.  For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.  Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them.  Of how much more value are you than the birds!”  Luke 12:23-24

Having dropped this bombshell on “the crowd,” he turns to “the disciples.”  They’re probably scratching their heads about his definition of “foolish” and “wise” and what’s worth worrying about.

It’s a matter of heart.  The rich fool’s heart was in his storehouses, ours should be in the Kingdom of God.  We’re living there now—if we could only see the solid walls around us, the sheltering roof over our heads, the rich robes of christ’s righteousness that we wear, the nourishment of doing God’s will (for, “I have food to eat that you know not of” Jn. 4:32)—if we could only live in that reality, our present concerns about this day-to-day reality would melt away.

Easy for you to say, Jesus—you’ve charmed the world into caring for you.  Look how these women follow you around, making sure your clothes are washed and your bread baked or bought.  You live off contributions, but nobody’s going to pay me to make speeches or hold seminars.

And yet . . . we have the same Father.  Isn’t that his point?  The Father knows what we need.  He provides what we need, just as he feeds the birds and decks out the wildflowers.  But not always, right?  Birds occasionally starve, and wildflowers shrivel up and meet the mowing machine. Even people starve sometimes—in page ages, they starved pretty often. What’s the answer to that?

This: “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”  Some translations read “delight.”  It is his delight to make us heirs of riches beyond our imagination.  It pleases him, like it pleased your mom and dad to put special presents under the tree on Christmas Eve—they wanted to see your face when you found those things in the morning.  The difference is that we asked for those presents.  We chose them and cut out pictures of them and dreamed of them and cleared space in our rooms for them.

The Father is planning to give us something we do not have the imagination or expansiveness of soul to mystery-giftask for.  It’s wrapped in plain brown paper, all but hidden among the other shiny things we think we want.  People have been asking Jesus about present concerns: touch me, heal me, show me a sign, tell my brother to share.  He often grants present concerns, too, for “Your Father knows you need them.”  Our Father made us to need food and clothes—of course he knows.  But the present day is a threshold, like childhood.  Beyond it is the Kingdom in full, where our food will be the will of God and our clothing the righteousness of Christ.  How does that sound?  If we want that, or even if we want to want that, we are in a sense already there.

For the original post in this series, go here.

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Rich toward God

In the meantime, when so many thousands of people had gathered together that they were trampling one another, he began to say to his disciples first, “Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy.  Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed . . .”  Luke 12:1-2a

The crowd is becoming a mob: so many they’re pressing in on every side, even trampling each other.   It’s a friendly mob—for now.  A leadable mob.  How many tyrants before or since have played to just such a crowd, putting on shows of outrage or grievance to sway them?

That’s not how the Kingdom comes.  Fresh from outraging and grieving the Pharisees, Jesus isolates himself momentarily from the crowd, warning his friends that they are not immune from hypocrisy.  The Kingdom is not to be paraded as a show or gussied up in false piety.  They won’t get away with it if they try: There is nothing covered that won’t be uncovered, nothing hidden that won’t be made known.

As for the people, his fans (he’s still talking to the disciples): Don’t trust them.  And don’t fear them.  This may have sounded strange to his hearers—weren’t the people on their side?  Why is he talking about fear?  Look at these thousands: all he has to do is say the word and they’ll rush to arms!  They would mob Jerusalem, thrust Herod from his palace and the gushing Sadducees from the Temple, and put Jesus over both.  With a single word he could move them to the left or right; he’s in control.  Which means we’re in control.  But wait a minute–

“Fear Him who has the power to throw body and soul into hell.”

Perhaps he gestures downhill at the milling throng.  “All they can do is kill you.  He can curse you forever.  And he will.  They can be easily deceived; he never will be.  You can whisper a word in your closet, and he’ll shout that word from the rooftops.  He knows your plans before you do; you’ll never out-think him.”

They get it.  He’s not talking about the devil or some existential enemy: he’s talking about God Himself. This is sounding ominous–whom to fear, what to guard against, forgiveness withdrawn for blaspheming the Holy Spirit (whatever that means), standing up to authorities . . . So it’s not going to be unbroken triumph from now one?

And Jesus has been claiming to be God’s son—why does he talk as though God could be an enemy?  Even though each one of us is worth more than many sparrows.  (Well, that’s a comfort!  Er, how many sparrows, exactly?)

And what does he mean by whoever denies me before men?  Who would deny Jesus?  Look how many are vigorously affirming him, even to trampling on each other in their enthusiasm!  And this Holy Spirit he keeps talking about . . .

Oh, good: the private discourse is over.  Their heads are starting to hurt.  Back to the crowd, and some unambiguous, full-throated affirmation.

__________________________________________________

Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.”    But he said, “Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?”  Luke 12:13-14

It stands to reason that, if Messiah can heal diseases, he can fix family disputes, too.  Especially if one side is clearly right and the other wrong.  “Lord, he’s not sharing.  Tell my brother he has to share.”  Who wouldn’t sympathize?  Who hasn’t been through a family wrangle over the will, or at least heard of relatives who are no longer speaking to each other after she got what dad clearly promised to him?

“Friend,” Jesus addresses him—though most translations use “Man,” a more distant form of address.  Or how about “Dude”?  We can imagine slight variations implied in each form:

Friend: (You’re not going to like my answer, but try to listen.)

Man: (Buck up, because I’m not going to answer your question.)

Dude: (What kind of question is that, anyway?)

There’s a name for people who sift out arguments and determine the best way forward, and that is Judge.  Jesus is not the judge.  It’s not his job to help people get along with each other or restore family harmony–in fact, as he’ll reveal later on, he may divide families.  Everyday virtues like sharing are secondary to the establishment of his Kingdom.

barns

And amassing wealth may be directly antithetical to it.  Possessions do not equal life.  He has a story about that: The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, “What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops.”  And he said, “I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and all my goods.”  The man in his story is a type most of his hearers would consider virtuous and blessed.  Also prudent.  Didn’t Joseph build storehouses for the overflow of Egyptians harvests, in order to have enough during hard times?  You never know what will happen—in a world like this, it’s wise to be ready for anything.  And if famine comes, won’t he have enough to sell to his neighbors?  But while storing up his wheat and barley he also stores his heart.  That’s why God calls him

FOOL!

What a shock runs through the crowd!  This is the last person they would have labeled a fool; his actions are all the opposite of foolish.  Diligent husbandry, wise thrift, care for the future, enjoyment of a well-deserved reward—what’s wrong with any of that?

He’s rich from God, but not rich toward God.  Amassing wealth is not the problem; investing it is not the problem.  The problem is what amassing is for and what investing is in.  God has invested in this man’s life and received no return.  Therefore, the life is forfeit.

Do they get it?  Or is this one of those teachings that will eventually cause the wheels to come off the gospel bus and bring it to a screeching halt?

For the first post in this series, go here.

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The Ultimate Party Guest

While Jesus was speaking, a Pharisee asked him to dine with him, so he went in and reclined at table.  The Pharisee was astonished to see that he did not first wash before dinner . . .  Luke 11:37-38

When invited into the house of Simon the Pharisee a few chapters ago, Jesus was challenging but not confrontational.  Now he accepts the invitation of another Pharisee, who obviously doesn’t know what he’s let himself in for.

Why the invitation?  The Pharisee (we should call him something—let’s say Matthias) may be one of those muttering types, always in the background talking to his comrades behind his hand, disputing Jesus’s words or actions.  We can imagine some of those conversation: Did he really say he can forgive sins?  Certainly appeals to the great unwashed, doesn’t he?  Can you believe the ignorance of his followers?  A motley crew, that.  And just between us, I wouldn’t entirely rule out the Beelzebub connection . . .

Not to impugn the poor man’s motive, but—we can fairly assume he is not eager to hear and apply what Jesus said.  Perhaps the invitation is extended to get the man away from his adoring fans and settle once and for all some of the doctrinal questions his ministry raises.  Surround him with pundits and experts who won’t be impressed with his clever, crowd-pleasing answers.

If that was the intention, Jesus gets the jump on them.  Perhaps Matthias might have received a clue when his guest made an entrance, striding in with the ever-present twelve, bypassing the basin held by the towel-draped servant at the foot-washing stool, glancing about the banquet hall, choosing a place for himself, and settling in.

The muttering begins: Did you see that?  He doesn’t just come off the street—he brings it in with him!  Thinks he’s too good to wash?  Or is he showing off his common touch?Ancient-Wine-Cup

Jesus’ voice snaps like a whip. “You want to talk about washing?”  He reaches across the table to pick up an empty enameled cup (does Matthias wince at the dirt under his guest’s fingernails?)  “Look how meticulously you’ve cleaned the outside of the cup.  But inside–”  He runs a finger around the rim and inspects it critically—“full of greed and evil.  The widow you took this cup from in payment of a debt—why did you not consider canceling the debt instead?  You pinch out your tithe of mint and dill but strangle justice and love.  I ask you, what is the tithing for?”

An angry buzz begins, spreading throughout the room.  If nothing else, Jesus is displaying a severe breach of decorum, as he sits up and waves a hand at the head of the table, which the self-important guests have claimed.  “Woe to you, Pharisees!  You love those places of honor and salutations in the marketplace.  Little do the common people know you are walking over dead men’s bones!”

Now, really: this has gone far enough.  One of the scribes stands up and points a finger at him.  “Teacher.  When you say these things you insult us, too.”

Is there a glint in his eye?  “Do I?  Then let us remove all doubt: Woe to you scribes!  You know enough law to make it a burden—you load the people down with rules that you yourselves wouldn’t accept.  You sit in your synagogues and figure out ways to look pious.  You have buried the heart and purpose of the law, so it’s no benefit to you or anyone else.”

They are all on their feet by now, shouting, waiving arms, shaking fists.  The twelve are giving it right back when Jesus rises, shakes his head at them, smiles at a serving girl while lifting a fig off her tray, and leads the way out.  He’s left his host and the others tied in knots, and from now on there will be no pretense at reaching a compromise.

For the original post in this series, go here.

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Jesus’ Mother’s Day Sermon

As he said these things, a woman in the crowd raised her voice and said to him, “Blessed is the womb that bore you, and the breasts at which you nursed!”  Luke 11:27

A random voice calls out a blessing on his mother.  What was behind it?  Perhaps it was totally heartfelt and spontaneous: a woman lays hold on womanhood, goes back to Eve the mother of all living and drags her forward as some sort of honored consort or partner to Messiah.  Or this might be a customary blessing among women for a favored son.  Or maybe she’s looking for a way to distinguish herself and attract his attention (full disclosure: that would be my motivation).  There’s nothing wrong with her—no malady or affliction to catch his eye or attract his touch, but there’s something about him that opens people up, especially—perhaps—women.  None of that fierce, forbidding air that keeps them at arm’s length from the prophets or rabbis.  For whatever reason—probably a mix of them—she cries out.mother's-day

Whatever she expected, his response is not it.  “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and keep it!”  This is not a put-down; it’s a correction.  He does not deny his mother’s blessedness, spoken by her cousin Elizabeth (1:42), but he shows it’s beside the point.  Motherhood, fatherhood, family tranquility, child training and childlike love, all are beautiful things.  But they are not primary things, or stand-alone things.  Mother’s day is subordinate to Pentecost, and enjoying God’s order is secondary to hearing and doing his word.

It’s not a pink carnation.  But carnations don’t last long anyway.

Along about now, a subtle shift occurs.  His teaching, always a challenge to the listeners, is taking on an edge: “This is an evil generation.  It demands a sign”—harking back to 11:16, where some stubborn individuals were demanding a confirmation from heaven even as Jesus was driving out a demon on earth.  His word should be enough—pagans in Nineveh, the world’s most wicked city at the time, recognized the word when it came to them.  The Queen of Sheba understood where Solomon’s wisdom came from.  But this generation is privileged to have One greater than Jonah, Solomon, Elijah, even Moses standing before them, and they don’t recognize him.  (He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him, John 1:11.)

But do we?  He says “something greater,” not “someone greater.”  The “thing” must be the kingdom, heralded by signs and manifested in words.  We recognize the One but not always the Thing—that is the lordship, the authority, the demands, the rewards, the response, the life that man and his kingdom demand of us.  It’s all wrapped up in him, but it requires everything from us.

For the original post in this series, go here.

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Take Care How You Listen

Then his mother and his brothers came to him but they could not reach him because of the crowd.  And he was told, “Your mother and your brothers are standing outside, desiring to see you.”  But he answered them, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.”  Luke 8:19-21

Everyone hears, but who really listens?  His own family hears selectively.  Mark tells us that they had decided Jesus was mad.  It’s easy to imagine the older brother James calling a family conference, as he is evidently a take-charge kind of guy.  What’s going on with Jesus?  Is this Messiah business starting to get out of hand?  After all, there is a lot of madness going around: plenty of demons freeloading on human hosts, and one of them may even have hitched a ride on big brother.  He was always pretty intense, you know.  We’d better to check it out, because he could get into serious trouble . . .

Whatever the family decided to do was doubtless “for his own good.” Let’s suppose that Mary, James, and Joseph Junior set out to find him.  Perhaps they only wanted to check out the situation first: compare the crowd-sensation Jesus to the everyday-carpenter Jesus they had known in Nazareth, then make an evaluation and determine what to do from there.

Finding him is the easy part—everybody knows where he was last seen, and where he might be headed.  Getting to him is another matter.  He’s like a rock star barricaded by his entourage (though that analogy would not have occurred to them, of course).  The house where he’s staying is not only filled, but packed five or six deep around the doors and windows.  Let us through—we’re family!

Somebody agrees to pass on the message.  After a while, word comes back: the Master says there’s a new definition of “family.”  What I said about hearing?  This applies.  The family has been reorganized, with Jesus at its head.  You become a part of it by first using your ears, then your hands and heart.  Listen and do.  His biological mother brothers never got a chance to speak to him.  Because from now on, he does all the speaking, and eventually they will hear.

the storm

We are called to hear, even (or especially) when the interference is so loud it drowns out everything else.  Like, for instance, we are tossed on the waves or circumstance, with a howling wind in our ears.  Grief is like that, or shock, or unforeseen tragedy.  Master! Master! We cry, barely able to hear our own voices.  “Can you see what we’re going through?  Don’t you care?”  He’s right there.  Though we hear no response, though he may seem to be asleep, he right there.  In the boat.  With us.  When the time is right, he will get up and rebuke the circumstances as he rebuked that storm on the Sea of Galilee:

“PEACE!  Be still.”

Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea, or demons or men or whatever it be, no waters can swallow the ship where lies the master of ocean and earth and skies.*  All creation hears him.  Sometimes even before his family and followers do.

*”Master, the Tempest is Raging,” by Mary A. Baker

For the original post in this series, go here.

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Judging and Being Judged

Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you . . .  (Luke 6:37-42)

The most-quoted passage of scripture is not John 3:16 or Genesis 1:1.  It’s this right here: Judge not.  Smug unbelievers hurl it frequently against smug believers, typically with scraps of tacked on theology like, Who are you to speak for God and You’re not acting very Christ-like are you?  What would Jesus do, you hypocrite?  In other words, judging. We all judge.  We all have some sense of moral hierarchy, and the real question is not, Who are you to speak for God? but Who is God to speak to me?  The point here is not that we can’t make any judgments about anything ever, because we do that practically every time we open our mouths.  However screwed up our morals may be, we are still moral creatures.

The point is, Where does the judging start?  If my judging doesn’t start with judging me—always—I’m in danger of making myself the judge.   judging

To understand Judge not, we must take the Jesus’s previous words in one hand and his subsequent words in the other. “Children of the Most High” who are “merciful as their Father is merciful” (vs. 36) will not reassure fellow sinners that their sins are okay with the Big Guy.  They will not tie blindfolds over their eyes and proceed to lead the blind (vs. 39).  If the Lord has opened your eyes, what do you see?  You see Him and his commands—and most acutely, you see how you’ve broken them every day of your life, both carelessly and willfully.  You see how he’s held on to you while you were pulling away from him.  You see how his mercy reeled you in, whether little by little or all in a rush.  When tears of remorse have washed all the crud out of your eyes, you can see how that friend or relative or fortuitous stranger is making the same dumb assumptions you once did.

What would Jesus do?  He would pay for all those dumb assumptions and willful flaunting and innumerable offenses, because somebody had to.   Judge not doesn’t mean there’s no judging going on, only that we’re not the ones who pronounce sentence.  Someone does, someone will, and someone pays.  See to it that it isn’t you.

For the first post in this series, go here.

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Love Your Enemies

But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.  To  one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic either.  Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back.  And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.  Luke 6:27-31

I wonder how many listeners got past the first three words: Love your enemies?! What kind of teaching is this?  No wonder he began with a warning note (I say to you who hear sounds like, “Listen up!”).  This is explosive stuff:

Love your enemies

Do good to those who hate you

Bless those who curse you

Pray for those who mistreat you . . . .

But if we’re really listening, we might understand that it’s not a new teaching.  We might even catch a few echoes from the past:

They despised his pleasant land, having no faith in his promise . . . Nevertheless, he looked upon their distress when he heard their cry  (Ps. 106)

They forgot the LORD their God . . . But when the people of Israel cried out to the LORD, he raised up a deliverer, who saved them (Judges 3:7,9)

When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son.

The more I called to them, the more they ran away, sacrificing to the Baals and burning offerings to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to talk; I took them up by their arms, but they did not know that it was I—

I led them with cords of kindness, with the bands of love;

I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws; I bent down to them and fed them . . . (Hosea 11:1-4)

All we like sheep have gone astray.  We have turned—every one—to his own way . . .  (Is. 53:6)

The echoes go back and back, all the way to, Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?

How would you define the word “enemy”?  Someone who doesn’t like you?  Maybe, but if that person keeps his distance, you can live with that (and besides, you may not like him much either).  An enemy is someone who opposes you—not accidentally, like the driver who changed lanes and forced you to stamp on the brakes and lay on your horn–but deliberately.  The committee chair who shoots down all your ideas, the supposed bff who spreads lies about you, the rival contractor who underbids you, the woman who leads your husband astray—that’s your enemy.

But what about the wife with the wandering eye, or the child who runs away while you’re calling him to come back–runs right into the street?

The Lord’s own children opposed him.  They ran away deliberately, right into the street.  They made themselves his enemies, disregarded his words, gobbled up lies about him and squandered his blessings.  Have you ever held a rebellious child while she’s in the throes of self-destructive rage, thrashing his arms and legs and screaming, “I hate you!  I hate you!  I HATE you!”  What’s your reaction?

angry boy

Can God feel like a battered husband or a rejected parent?

Listen: Anyone can love somebody who makes them feel good.  Anyone can return a favor or make a loan when the collateral is up front.  Kindness can be its own reward, if it earns you a warm inward glow instead of a kick in the teeth.  Like you’d get from an enemy.

But the Kingdom again turns our world on its head.  Our reward is not a result of loving enemies, it’s the cause of loving enemies.  It’s the very reason we can love, and do good, and lend with no expectation of return, even a murmured “Thank you,” from the objects of our largess.  If we are children of the Most High, our account has already been paid into:

For he is kind to the ungrateful and the unjust.

If the ungrateful and the unjust don’t say it, the angels will: Look at that.  Loving their enemies–just like their Father.

For the first post in this series, go here.

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The Great Reversals

Luke 6:17-18, 20: And he came down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea and Jerusalem and the seacoast of Tyre and Sidon who came to hear him . . .   And he lifted up his eyes on his disciples, and said . . .  

Blessed are the poor . . . Woe to you who are rich;

Blessed are the hungry now . . . Woe to you who are full;

Blessed are you who weep now . . . Woe to you who laugh now—

His mother spoke of this: “He has toppled the mighty from their thrones and exalted the lowly.  He has satisfied the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (1:52-53).  This is how it begins: on a level place, with the hungry and lowly crowded around and power coming out of him, “healing them all.”

If you were a disinterested observer tagging along you might wonder what all the fuss is about.  Or just where this great teacher is.  He doesn’t stand out: you might think the tall muscular fellow listening indulgently to a sorrowful woman might be the one, or the attractive youngster spiritedly arguing with a couple of Pharisees.  But when the crowd sorts itself out and grows quiet, he appears in the middle of three concentric circles: the crowd, the disciples, the twelve, and . . . You blink your eyes: that’s him?  He doesn’t shine, he’s not dressed in white, and he’s not especially handsome—so ordinary, in fact, that you won’t be able to visualize him tomorrow.

But you won’t forget the voice, or the words.   His words shake and remake the world you know.

Kings are not visibly falling from their lofty thrones, nor are the rich seeing their wealth melt away before their eyes.  Instead, here’s another way to understand riches and poverty, power and weakness.  Matthew calls it the Kingdom.  Luke doesn’t use that term as often, but he’s talking about the same thing.  It’s the alternate world, the real-er world.

Alternate universes are all the buzz in theoretical physics.  What Jesus introduced 2000 years ago is the alternate world.  Real, not theoretical.  The Kingdom.  Beyond his startling reversals that level the rich and raise the poor stand a shimmering outline of gates, turrets, and towers any materialist would classify as illusion.  But is it?

This place we live now—it’s real.  He never said it wasn’t.  Hunger, sorrow, lack and want, all real.  The doordifference is not between real and illusion, but between “now” and now: a time bound by walls of circumstance, and a time set free.  It’s like we’re living in the anteroom, or even the coat closet where we wait in rags and muddy boots.  You can start taking those off now, he says; all your disappointments and deprivations are to be left here.  Don’t mind the walls—anticipate the door.  Are you poor, hungry, sad?  A joyful feast waits behind that door.  Do you come well-fed and expensively dressed?  Those designer labels and fast cars are worthless in the Kingdom.  There’s a whole other currency, didn’t you know?  And your accolades and reputation won’t carry over.  They speak a different language there; try to boast in your own achievements and all you will get are puzzled frowns.

He makes it sound so . . . well, so real.  So certain.  While he speaks the gates of the Kingdom grow taller, thicker, definite, as though an angel were beside it with a measuring rod, marking off the cubits.

But I say to you who listen . . . Keep listening!

Up next: Love your enemies!?

For the original post in this series, go here.

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