Category: <span>Devotional</span>

Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon’s son, to betray him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him John 13:3-5 ESV (cf. Phil 2:3-11)

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” John 13:34-35 ESV 

Can you think of a time in your life when you were asked to give up something that was rightly yours (position, title, honor, convenience, etc.) in favor of someone else. How did you feel about it? Did you do it? 

Life gives us daily opportunities to love others well, and often these opportunities require us to lower ourselves. Sometimes in big ways, but usually in the seemingly unimportant moments of life. Let me give you some examples of the choices I’ve had to make just today. Will I choose to walk the dogs in the morning so my family can sleep in? Will I make time for a friend who is going through a rough patch even though I’m very busy? Am I going to be interruptible by my daughter who wants to talk about *shudder* feelings? After all, I have a devotion to write. I won’t tell you what I chose, but each moment presented me with a choice that I could ignore, enter into willingly, or enter into resentfully, and each option really counted.

The passage that I’ve quoted from John’s gospel above is part of an extended scene that takes place shortly before Jesus crucifixion. Before he shared a final meal with his disciples, Jesus demonstrated what love looked like by washing the feet of his disciples. I’m not the most imaginative person in the world and have sometimes found that art, especially classical art, can illuminate scripture in a very helpful way for me. So, I searched the internet for artwork of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet. What I found was that it is incredibly difficult to find a picture that accurately depicts John’s account of the foot washing.  

Almost without exception, everything I found depicted a noble looking Jesus – fully clothed and respectable – washing feet in a highly ceremonial way. In this kind of art, Jesus typically has a halo, and the disciples have puzzled expressions on their faces as they line up for their turn. Go ahead, google it for yourself. Try searching “classical artwork of Jesus foot washing” or “foot washing, ancient art” or simply “Jesus foot washing.” Heck, look at almost any TV show or movie on the topic for that matter. It’s all beautiful and not without edification, but the passage is much earthier than our best imaginings. John is not showing us a noble teacher who temporarily lowers himself in order to point to a timeless truth. Rather, Jesus acts as a house slave before his disciples. It’s scandalous, and it’s life changing. 

You see, in a dry and dusty climate where most roads were dirt and there was no trash collection, feet needed to be washed frequently as sandals were the du jour footwear of the day. Any household that could afford it had a servant or slave, and it was common hospitality for the host to have his servant wash his guest’s feet. Foot washing was one of the most degrading jobs a person could do, so much in fact that it was optional for a Jewish servant in a Jewish household – they could never be forced to do it. For a Jewish teacher to lower himself in this way before his Jewish disciples? Unheard of! Peter said as much to Jesus: “You shall never wash my feet” (v8)

By washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus revealed a humble love that changes everything that it touches. His command to his disciples that “just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another,” was given based on the authority that he acted as a servant and his disciples’ obedience to that command changed the world. As Jesus followers today, we are bound by the same mandate: as we have been loved by Christ, so we are also to love others. Jesus held nothing back in demonstrating love while he was on this earth, not even his dignity. Let me personalize it for my own soul: In the same way that I am loved by Christ, so I am also to love others.

Returning to classical art for a moment: It could well be that Jesus is depicted as royal and fully clothed because of contextualization and consideration of the intended audience. I do wonder though, if at least part of the reason is because it is incredibly challenging to imagine Jesus as a voluntary slave. It certainly gives his words a much harder edge:

…I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them. (John 13:15-17)

Jesus expects his followers to lower themselves like he did. Yikes!

The only valid response is to ask: how then do I do the same? This is an uncomfortable commandment on a good day, let alone the troubled times of social division that we find ourselves in. What does it look like to love as Jesus loved? To serve as he served? 

What I know is that Jesus calls me to a life of love and service which will be an affront to my pride and my desire to say “I’m too good for that.” If Jesus can take on the most degrading job around as a prelude to ultimate indignity of the cross and essentially say “do what I just did and you’ll be blessed,” then the implication is that there is no action I can take on behalf of others which is somehow “beneath” me. 

There are some very uncomfortable questions that this brings up for me:  

• When I encounter someone who is somehow different, in race, creed, politics, or social status, do I honor them in word and deed? For example: How welcome would a non-Christian feel at my house?
  Or, more provocatively: How would I as an ordained man respond to feedback and critique of my work by the lay woman who owns this site?
• When I am upset by someone’s perceived foolishness, or challenged by their “differentness” how do I relate to them? For example: As I scroll through social media and see posts that I perceive to be ignorant or tone deaf, how do I interact with the person who posted them?
• When someone’s beliefs are different to mine on a topic I care about, how do I respond? For example: Could I be more than a casual acquaintance of someone who identifies as LGBTQ?
• Is status or being right more important to me than loving and serving others? For example: Can I apologize when I’m wrong? No matter how public the apology needs to be? 

I don’t have neat answers here. These are questions I have to resolve in my own soul. I wish my answers were a resounding yes, but my actions don’t always bear that out. 

I think that, like the artists, my imagination is simply not big enough to fully grasp what Jesus is inviting me into. I know that I’m uncomfortable. It seems awfully hard, and probably very messy. But to acknowledge that fact does not mitigate the authority of Jesus’ command in any way. What I can do then is start by obeying in the small situations of life, as I have daily opportunity: to love others unconditionally, and to give what I have (time, love, emotional energy, resources) without reserve. In prayer, I can ask for – and confidently expect – Jesus’ help to expand my capacity to do so (1 John 5:14).  After all, loving others well is God’s work, and Jesus promises that it will be blessed. 

• Can you think of time in your life that someone served you in a way that was surprising or meaningful? What was it about the other person’s actions that was so memorable?
• What would it look like for you to try and imitate Jesus’ love at home? At work? At play? On social media? 
• Who has God placed in your life to demonstrate love to today? How could that love be shown practically?

Mark 10:14-15

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

We visited the Grand Canyon when Emelie was 3 and Peter was 11 months old. I had never been there before, and I had always wanted to go. I remember being filled with awe at that first sight of the canyon – the enormity of it and the way the colors shifted in the changing sun angles. Pictures can never do it justice because a picture can’t give you the feeling of being there. 

If I’m honest, though, the feeling I remember most from those few days at the Grand Canyon is fear. Little Peter didn’t walk yet and sat happily in a stroller or a hiking backpack most of the time. Emelie, on the other hand, was very physical in expressing her joy at the beauty of this place. She wanted to get right up close to it at every chance she got. She was completely fearless at that age and at times I was honestly not sure she would survive that trip. I just couldn’t relax and enjoy myself. I was so grumpy (and one of the days I split my new hiking pants and spent the whole day with my jacket tied around my waist, but that’s another story). My memories of the Grand Canyon are completely overshadowed by that fear.

I kept trying to make her understand the dangers of going too close to the edge. I tried to convince her to enjoy it from a safe distance. She would have none of it. The beauty of it called to her and she made no effort to resist it. We hiked a trail along the rim. At the edge of the trail, a stone wall that was about 3 feet high protected hikers from slipping down over the edge of a drop-off and also helped prevent the trail from eroding. Emelie insisted on walking on top of that wall. At first we let her, when there wasn’t much drop on the other side. As it grew steeper, however, I wanted her down. She held my hand and said, “I can’t fall Mamma! You are holding me!” 

For nearly 8 years, this has been my image of what child-like faith and trust looks like. 

We both knew that if she slipped up there, I would do everything in my power to keep her from falling. She trusted that that would be enough, and I knew it might not be. My hand was getting sweaty from holding hers for so long – she could just slip away from me in a second. So she had no fear and I had nothing but fear.

But when I read Jesus’ words about receiving the Kingdom like a little child, I picture receiving the Grand Canyon like a fearless 3-year-old. Can I approach the Kingdom like an encounter with something so beautiful that I’m willing to throw myself off a precipice to be a part of it? Does it call to me, drawing me ever closer? Am I hanging over the railing longing for more?

Or am I happy to enjoy the view from a safe distance? Do I hold it at arm’s length and see only the dangers? Am I willing to let my fears spoil the experience of something that deep down I am longing for?

It is hard to approach the Kingdom like a child. When God is calling me to walk the beautiful trail along the rim, too often I’m content to walk on the road instead. The road will lead me to the same destination eventually, but I miss so much beauty along the way. It’s safer on the road, so I’m content to only catch glimpses of the spectacular view between the trees. The trees that feel like they’re protecting me are actually blocking me from experiencing the fullness of where I am. God seeks me out from my hiding places and reminds me that he will hold my hand on the trail. 

Courage, my child. I am here. Come walk with me.

When I watch my kids I notice that their response to fear depends less on their circumstances than on who is with them. Last summer, a dog knocked Micah down on the beach and ate his snack, so now Micah is pretty shy of big dogs. But when he sees a dog, he doesn’t run away from the dog, he runs to me or Staffan. He wants to be with us, even if where we are is right next to the dog.

We are free to hide from our fears and turn down Jesus’ invitation to experience more of his Kingdom with a child-like trust. He won’t force us to leave the security of the treeline. But prioritizing safety in God’s Kingdom is like driving to the Grand Canyon but refusing to get out of the car in the parking lot. You’re there, but have you really experienced it?

I want to hold God’s hand and walk on the wall. Who’s with me? 

Genesis 32:28

“Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.”

“What’s in a name?” Juliet famously wonders. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Juliet is, of course, lamenting that Romeo is from the other side of a bitter feud. If one or the other of them just had a different name, everything would be fine. But they don’t. Spoiler alert: everyone dies. Names matter. (Oh, if my 9th grade English teacher could see this and know how much he taught me.)

Long before Shakespeare’s star-crossed lovers, the Bible offers many examples of the importance of names. People’s names carried meaning and told you something about the person. Because of this, a significant life change could bring with it a name change as well. Think of Abram and Sarai becoming Abraham and Sarah when they entered into a covenant with God (Genesis 17:5, 15). Jacob is also called Israel after he spends a night wrestling with God (Genesis 32:28), and this identity of struggle with God becomes the identity of God’s people for centuries. The pattern continues throughout the Old Testament and into the New, as we see Jesus give Simon the new name Peter (Matthew 16:16 / John 1:42) as a sign of the calling given to him. 

God also chooses to reveal things about himself by giving us different names he can be called. Most notably, perhaps, is the name he gives Moses when Moses asks who he should say has sent him. God gives him the name I AM – the essential nature of God, eternally existing in the present tense. But God shares other names with his people. For example, God Almighty (El Shaddai) is the name he uses in confirming his covenant with Abraham (Gen 17:1). He also reveals himself as Jesus. The God who saves.

Names don’t carry quite as much significance in our culture today. Sure, parents choose their children’s names carefully, and most of us look at what a name means before naming a child. But when I first meet people, I don’t assume that I know anything about them by learning their names. My name, Christine, means believer in Christ, which fits me. But I was one of five Christines in my elementary school class (Christine, Christy, Chrissy, Chris, and Chrissy 2 to make things easier) and the same cannot be said for all of them, as far as I know. 

For the most part, this change in the importance of names is a cultural difference and not something that is good or bad. Something I think we’ve lost along the way, though, is understanding the power of naming things. 

When it comes to feelings, fears, worries, or even decisions or conflicts, unnamed issues hold a strange sort of power. When I’m feeling emotional but don’t stop to identify more specifically what I’m feeling, I feel overwhelmed and out of control. A general sense of fear is impossible to overcome without naming what it is I’m actually afraid of. Decisions can’t be made until the decision can be clearly defined, and conflicts can’t be resolved until the central issue has been identified. It might sound obvious, but think of how many times we skip the step of naming things before trying to struggle through.

When I was upset or worried about something as a kid, my dad used to ask me, “What’s the worst that could happen?” I would name whatever worst-case scenario I could think of and then he’d ask again, “Ok, and then what’s the worst that could happen?” Over and over, usually until the conclusion was so ridiculous that I was laughing and realizing how unlikely all these worst-case scenarios actually were. It’s still a technique I use as an adult sometimes, not only to gain perspective, but because describing the worst thing that could happen is a way of naming the fear. Once you’ve named it, it loses some of its power.

Writing things down is another way of naming fears and robbing them of their influence. When I’m feeling really busy and scattered with juggling different tasks, it helps me to make a list. What often happens when I make the list is that I see that all those things felt like more than they actually were, and once I have it down on paper I don’t need to reserve mental and emotional space for them anymore. Journaling about fears forces us to try to put words to the intangible feelings. Once we’ve named them, we can often see that they aren’t quite as bad as they seemed, and we don’t have to hold space for them anymore. 

Perhaps a rose by any other name would smell just the same, but naming it is still important.

Take some time today to name your fears in the presence of the God who bears many names. And may you discover that one of them is Jehovah Shalom – the Lord is Peace (Judges 6:24).

Matthew 4:6-7

“If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written:

“‘He will command his angels concerning you,

    and they will lift you up in their hands,

    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’”

Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

Did you ever read the account of when Jesus was tempted by the devil and wonder what would have happened if Jesus had given in or fallen victim to the devil’s tactics? 

Before anyone cries heresy and blocks me on social media, let me clarify. Jesus was the sinless Son of God and there was never a risk that this would really have happened. It’s simply a thought experiment. If Jesus had chosen to respond to the devil’s taunts (If you are the Son of God…) the way many of us might (What do you mean if? Watch this!) and thrown himself down from the highest point of the temple, what would have happened? Would an angel army have rescued him, even though his decision meant that the critical mission had already failed? 

It’s a purely hypothetical question and we can’t be sure. Thankfully, Jesus saw through all the traps the devil tried to catch him in, but this one in particular really grabs my attention. Not only did the devil question Jesus’ identity, but he quoted scripture in order to do it. Obviously Jesus knew his Bible well enough to recognize this misuse of the text and counter with another verse. Would God the Father have rescued his Son from going splat in the temple courtyard? We will never know, because Jesus knew better than to put God to the test. 

The passage quoted by the devil in this scene is Psalm 91:11-12. Psalm 91 is so interesting and relevant for many reasons, and I encourage you to look it up and read the whole thing, but pay attention to verses 5-7:

You will not fear the terror of night,
    nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
    nor the plague that destroys at midday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
    ten thousand at your right hand,
    but it will not come near you.

Violence? Pestilence and plague? Thousands dead? Check, check, and check. It’s like the psalmist is foretelling 2020. But we will not fear these things because they won’t come near us, right? God promised, right?

It has been suggested that taking precautions to slow the spread of covid-19 is faithless, and a sign of living in fear. For example, being careful to wear masks when we go into public places, or continuing to avoid large group gatherings such as church services, is a sign that we do not trust God enough. If I understand the argument correctly, we should rely only on God to protect us from the virus, and if he doesn’t it would be because it’s our time to die anyway. In other words, it doesn’t matter what I do, I won’t die until God wants me to. And if God is ready to call me home, nothing I do will prevent it. It sounds pious and spiritual, but it is a form of thinly veiled fatalism that has no place in Christian theology.

The description of the interaction between Jesus and the devil shows us that not every philosophy or logical reasoning that is based in the words of Scripture is automatically godly. Jesus knew the “master plan,” and he knew that it was not his time to die, so in theory he could have hopped off the roof of the temple. But his response, also firmly grounded in Scripture, is an example for us as well: Do not put the Lord your God to the test.

Avoiding taking simple precautions to protect yourself and others from the spread of covid-19 is a new form of snake handling. Though the practice is now illegal in most states, some Christian traditions still teach that people can test for the presence of the Holy Spirit by handling poisonous snakes. If the snake does not bite you, it is because God has protected you. The Holy Spirit is in you. If it does bite you, then the believers gather around and pray for you. If you recover, it is because God wills you to continue living. If not, then they believe that God has shown his will by allowing you to die.

I realize I may be stepping on some toes here, but grocery shopping without a mask is neither proving your faith nor protesting against tyranny. If there’s even a chance that covering our faces in public might help to protect someone else, shouldn’t the followers of Jesus be 100% behind that? 

Of course there may be reasons people are unable to follow suggested guidelines to help prevent the virus from spreading. We should not judge the individuals around us, nor assume that we know the reasons behind each person’s choices. You have flesh and blood – you are not my enemy. Nor am I yours.

This is not to say that we should surrender to fear. Taking reasonable precautions is not the same as living in bondage to fear of the coronavirus. The mask I wear to go grocery shopping is not a sign that I lack faith or the ability to think for myself. It would be wrong to assume those things about me, just as it would be wrong of me to assume that everyone I see without a mask is callous or selfish. Just because you saw it on a meme on Facebook doesn’t make it true.

It is vitally important that we examine the source of the fatalist ideology that is creeping into our theology in new ways during this crisis. We know that the enemy knows the words to Psalm 91. Perhaps we need to take a cue from Jesus and respond with the words of Deuteronomy 6:16: “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”