Dear Theophilus,
There are so many times when I
wonder if I could ever be good enough.
Jesus issues such difficult challenges that I don’t believe I could ever
come close to being a good follower.
You, a dedicated Christian, admit that you struggle to obey his
commands! How could I even come
close? I am so far behind you that I can
barely see you on the horizon, and you’re indicating that it’s even farther
still to a place of faithful discipleship!
I do not have the years left in this body to ever reach what seems to be
an acceptable level of faith. I can
scarcely understand what Jesus is saying much of the time, and to change
everything in my life to match this jumble of teachings seems to be an obstacle
I am unable to overcome. I have such a
struggle even discovering the truth of Jesus’ real identity—deciding how it
affects my everyday life seems to be another mountain to climb, and I doubt I
have the energy to do so. I have kicked
over quite an anthill, Theophilus, and I don’t seem capable of corralling the
ants that are now running wild in my life!
I have an account of yet another
confrontational story of Jesus. I know
some people who would be tempted to accost Jesus if he spoke so directly to
them, but it seems like Jesus knows exactly how far he can push some
people. I think I would be insulted if
he spoke this way to me, highlighting my faults, but perhaps I would be willing
to learn.
Anyway, these men were described to
me as individuals with the highest possible opinion of themselves. They were certain of their standing before
God and wanted all others in the community to know, too. They looked down on others, certain that such
regular people could never achieve the lofty status to which their own lives
had carried them. They were arrogant,
like the judge you described in your letter.
Jesus describes how one of these
arrogant men, a Pharisee, would stand by himself in the temple. He didn’t want to be associated with anyone
else and wanted to ensure that he was noticed, and he would pray by thanking
God that he was better than other people, such as thieves and bandits,
adulterers and tax collectors. He would
then go on to list his merits, such as his fasting and his tithing, so that
everyone could hear.
A nearby tax collector could not escape
overhearing the Pharisee’s words, and surely he heard himself included on the
list of the man’s sinners. It made no
difference to the tax collector, though, because he was there with a heavy
heart, unable to summon the courage to even look up to heaven, thrashing
himself and praying that God might have mercy on him. Rather than list all those who might be worse
than him, the tax collector admitted his role as a sinner to God, pleading for
mercy.
I suspect that Jesus’ audience
clearly associated with the Pharisee, rather than the tax collector. This type of man would probably rather die
than ever be associated in the same class as a tax collector. So it was probably with shock and horror that
they heard Jesus say that it was the tax collector who went home and was right
with God rather than the Pharisee.
Before their dissent could even register, Jesus told them that the
proud, those who choose to exalt their own deeds and qualifications, will find
humility the hard way, while those who choose the path of humility will find
laud and exultation.
There is no reaction from the men
who were listening to Jesus. I am
certain the black cloud brewing in their hearts made its way to their faces,
but their words are not recorded, although I’m sure they had plenty to
say. He is confounding those who would
seem to know the most about religion while exalting those who don’t pretend to
be certain about the way God works. I do
take some comfort in this—while Jesus’ standards seem so lofty as to be
impossible, Jesus does continue to lift up those who are clearly not experts on
faithful living. Perhaps there is hope
for this confused soul after all.
Jesus goes on to challenge all my
assumptions after this incident with the proud men. In this case, the disciples were busy shooing
away the parents who brought their infants to be touched by Jesus. I’m sure the disciples saw it as a silly
distraction, business not important enough for Jesus to deal with, but I’d
guess the parents thought very highly of it.
After all, if the man could cure the sick and the lame with a touch,
wouldn’t that same touch offer some measure of protection or blessing to an
infant?
Rather than affirming to his
disciples that he was too important for such a thing, he not only corrects them
but also offers up a lesson to them, one that must have kept them guessing as
to its exact meaning for some time. He
ordered them to stop obstructing the children and to allow them to draw near to
Jesus, not just because he liked children, but because God’s kingdom belongs to
ones like them. He then tells them that
one cannot enter God’s kingdom unless one receives it like a child.
Theophilus, I look at children and
wonder what this means. I see their
innocence and their wonder at the world, which is so much larger than them, and
yet I also know that they have so much still to learn. There is much they don’t understand, and they
are not very productive most of the time.
I sometimes envy the freedom with which children laugh and play, and yet
I don’t know what it means to welcome God’s kingdom like a child.
Sincerely,
Luke
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