Subtle Texts and Lent: Volume Three of Reflections on Lent

Well, we've looked at Surprising Texts and Strange Texts and now I want to look at Subtle Texts in connection with Lent. As is the case with most Subtle Texts, it takes someone else to point it out to you, so today's reflection is surely not my own. (It comes from the blog of a prof/friend of mine.) Also, to follow Beth C.'s lead in emphasizing dialogue and working out mission through the text together, I only ask the questions...we need to arrive at the answers together. Anyway, here's the reflection.

In chapter 4, Luke records Jesus' temptation and rejection in Nazareth and work in Capernaum. In Capernaum, in the temple, no less, Jesus drives out the demon first recorded by Luke. Could it be that Luke puts this account of Jesus' work for God's Kingdom in the temple because we too often focus on where the Kingdom isn't coming in other areas to the neglect of our own? Could it be that Luke is putting the issue in the face of those who were to embody God's Kingdom most accurately--those in the temple? Are there those needing the power of God's kingdom on the doorstep of our own church?

It becomes quite easy for us to think of people in our own lives who we need to minister to...but most of the time that ministry burns out quickly. We are not meant to achieve God's Kingdom on our own, nor can we embody it by ourselves. To answer the questions above, we have to think in terms of our church--not just our individual lives; that's the only way sustained ministry happens--together.

Strange texts and Lent, vol. 2

In Old Testament accounts the first words of a character are meant to give us a glimpse into the deeper aspects of the person's life. If their first words are wise, then we will likely come to see them as wise; if they are words of praise, we should understand that they are people of praise, and so on. In 1 Samuel 1, we are introduced both to Eli and to Hannah. Eli is a priest, Hannah is a barren woman. One trip to Shiloh, where the temple was located, Hannah and Elkanah, her husband, are eating and drinking. Afterwards, Hannah begins praying and asking God for a child. Eli, just having seen her drink wine, thinks she is drunk and says, "How long will you keep on getting drunk? Get rid of your wine" (1:14). Hannah responds that she is not drunk, but deeply troubled. She promises to give her child to God if God grants her request for a child.

There is a sharp contrast between Hannah and Eli: Eli assumes the worst of Hannah with his first words, whereas Hannah's first words are prayers to God. Eli's children meet demise in battle (4:17) and Eli himself dies, as well. [Interestingly, the same way we are introduced to Eli--sitting down (1:9), is the same way we are introduced to his death (4:13, 18)]. Hannah's child, however, is one of Israel's greatest leaders of all time--Samuel.

One of the purposes of Lent, in preparing to have proper mind to appreciate the sacrifice of Christ, is to help us see where we might be "Eli's": We are sometimes people who jump to conclusions and who have wrong interpretations of others--even those we'd least suspect to have the proper attitude like Hannah.

Surprising texts in the Bible and Lent, vol. 1

As much as the Bible highlights important characters, it also highlights inconsequential ones. It mentions people and lets them fade into nothingness--they are never mentioned again. Another blog pointed this story out to me this morning and made the point that while we often get centered on ourselves--even in Bible reading (how does this text apply to me? What change does it bring in my life? How does it meet me today?)--the inconsequential characters make us realize that there are lots of other smaller stories that God is paying attention to.

Here's one such story: 1 Sam. 25 describes David's gaining a new wife in Abigail. Saul takes his daughter, Michal, another of David's wives, and gives her to Paltiel, instead. Later on when David is coming to power in Israel, he wants Michal back. 2 Sam. 3 records Ish-Bosheth (Saul's son) taking Michal from Paltiel and sending her back to David. Paltiel follows her, weeping behind her for a long distance. He has just lost his wife! Finally, Abner (a military man loyal to Saul, later to David) sends him back home. Paltiel goes home and is never mentioned again. On the honour of a potential King, Paltiel has his life turned upside-down; he weeps. The story shows us that God remembers and sees Paltiel even if he isn't considered very important; even if his honour is worth nothing to military commanders and politicians.

The time we are in is Lent. It is a season of mournful preparation for the Crucifixion of Jesus. In it Christians sacrifice some aspect of their life in order to identify with the sacrifice of Jesus. Sacrifice and Lent help us take our eyes off ourselves. This Lent, I am now trying think (often unsuccessfully) about the Paltiels of our own world--those who are trampled because they are powerless and beneath the honour of the powerful. Whoever thinks consistently of this world's Paltiels walks the road to Jerusalem with Jesus because only there can we see what the true King thinks of those beneath Him; on that road we see that even though we are all Paltiels, God considers us worth the sacrifice of His own honour.

Forgiveness and reconciliation

Gene Hendrickson passed a great quote along to me today by C.S. Lewis (I paraphrase): To be a Christian is to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in us. Lewis then fleshes this out a little bit: It is to forgive the inexcusable because forgiving the excusable really isn't forgiveness; it's fairness. To this I add, coming to God in confession and repentance and offering excuses is to reject the forgiveness he offers: How can you accept forgiveness if you offer excuses for what you've done? This isn't to say that there isn't a story or context to wrong acts. Of course there is. What it is to say is that forgiveness is a very serious thing because it deals with a very serious issue: sin. And sin cannot be forgiven without being admitted as sin.

Some think that forgiveness is giving up justice. This is wrong. Rather, forgiveness takes justice very seriously. If you forgive someone or are forgiven yourself, it means that there is acceptance of wrong. If I were to come up to a complete stranger and say, "I forgive you," they would be offended (rightly so!). What wrong had they done that deserved forgiveness? You see, in forgiving someone, we also blame someone. Rather than dismissing justice, forgiveness enforces justice: it makes sure that what was done that was wrong is declared wrong.

In giving us the ability to forgive, God has also given us the ability to have justice even when no courts are involved. He has given power to the powerless! The command to forgive then, is better understood as part of the good news that the Kingdom of God has come: Even the least powerful can have justice--divine justice--by doing one of the most difficult things a human can: forgiving.