Dear Theophilus,
Your relating of these Sabbath
events fascinates me—not necessarily because I am interested in the Sabbath, a
foreign concept to which I am grateful for helping me get time off work, but
rather because you talk about Jesus’ efforts to change the hearts of
people. I have known many religious
people over the years, and their efforts always seem to be focused on actions,
but much like our not-so-beloved Pharisees in these tales. Religious leaders seem to be constantly
focused on the actions of the people, believing, I suppose, that the hearts of
the people will follow later. That, or
they simply aren’t concerned with the hearts but are content with proper
actions.
I wonder how many people will
debate this over the years—the difference between the heart and the hands in
the work of faith. Obviously, one can’t
have a heart committed to God and hands committed to a life of deviance and
crime. Well, at least I suppose they
can’t. It makes sense to me to think
that the work of one’s life, the usage of the hands, would follow the
leadership of the heart—and if the heart is fully focused on God, then what is
produced in the life of the believer will be a fitting tribute to one’s God.
Jesus doesn’t try to coerce anyone
by guilt, or remonstrate them for what others would call sinful lives. He calls them back with gentleness, not
necessarily using guilt like I might, but rather pointing out an alternative
way and encouraging them to see its superiority. It makes sense what he says, judging by the
number of followers he has. I’d just
like to hear what he would have to say to me today—how would my life change,
and would it necessarily be better? Can
he guarantee what he promises, or am I left to blind faith and hope?
In short, Theophilus, I understand
why so many followed him, and I understand why those in power didn’t like
him. He would have been so refreshing
after generations of leaders rebuking individuals for not toeing the line set
down in accordance with the laws. He’s
like a wind that rushes down and upsets the religious landscape, and when
people manage to get their heads around what Jesus is saying, they recognize
his brand of religious teachings as far more palatable, and so they rush after
him. The leaders, on the other hand, see
crowds flocking to hear him teach what they consider to be violations of the
law, or at least very loose interpretations of it, and they are irate that
they’d chase after this new thing, rejecting their staunchly conservative
values and teachings. They love the
structures, but the people strain to see the value in them, and fall in love
with a new type of religion.
I think it’s impressive that Jesus
went out to pray by himself in the mountains.
I have so little trust in religious and secular leaders today who seem
so interested in forwarding their own brand—they’re always on, always seeking
out some new growth strategy, and it’s hard to trust them. Jesus, alternatively, seems so comfortable
with who he is. He seems grounded, and
he takes this time off to further ground himself, to make sure that he is being
consistent, living with integrity. He
must have turned his back on the crowds to go invest this time in prayer, and
while I don’t know what he was praying for, I have to imagine that some would
have drifted off after finding him unable to keep up a constant level of
amusement for the crowds. It doesn’t
seem to be about the entertainment for Jesus, but rather about seeking a new
level of relationship, about teaching the crowds something meaningful, something
worth doing.
After spending an entire night in
prayer with God (Someday, Theophilus, I’d love to hear how you might do
this. How do you spend a whole night
talking with someone you can’t see or hear or sense? What do you say for hours on end to a being
that you’re not even sure is there? How
do you know that you’re not just wasting your time, talking to the air while
assuring yourself that someone is listening?
Do you ever feel like a fool for praying?), Jesus called his disciples
together and chose twelve. I don’t know
how big the crowd was—it might have been fifteen, or it could have been two
hundred. With all of the miracles Jesus
performed, I would guess it’s on the larger end, but it couldn’t have been easy
to follow Jesus, between the constant travel and the threatening presence of
the Pharisees, hanging like a black cloud over all that Jesus did. Surely, some potential disciples would have
felt threatened by the heavy hand of power, be it the religious leaders or the
never-distant Roman empire. I wouldn’t
want to find myself in an outlying, controversial group in those days. Death was never too distant. The twelve, who were called apostles, were
Simon, whose name was changed to Peter, and Andrew, his brother, James, John,
Philip, Bartholomew, James (son of Alphaeus), and Simon (called the Zealot) and
Judas (the son of James) and another Judas Iscariot, about whom we will hear
much more later, who will live in infamy as a traitor.
After singling out these twelve,
they stood in a level place, and the remainder of the disciples and thousands
from Judea, Jerusalem and the coast of Tyre and Sidon gathered around him. What a sight it must have been! Jesus held the attention of the masses who
had gathered to hear him, to watch him perform miracles. Many were healed of diseases, and others had
spirits cast out of them. The crowd
would surge as he performed these great acts, trying to touch him whenever they
senses power breaking out. He healed
them all, each one who came, and the ones who left were replaced by ten more
crying out for his presence, for his power, to change them, to make them whole.
It would have been a scene from a
movie, with some trying to control the crowd and others willing to risk
everything just to be near him. I doubt
those Pharisees and other scoundrels went far, but probably stayed near the
edge, shaking their heads and discounting the passion of the people. It would have left an impression, and Jesus
would have been the center of everyone’s attention, minding each soul that
appeared before him, paying attention to their needs.
What incredible stories circulate
about this man! His celebrity is larger
than any I can imagine, and even I find myself drawn to the story, to the
man. I do not have record of what he
said—perhaps it is lost to the pages of history, recorded in some dusty hall
and then never seen again. Or perhaps
your records complete the account I have related? I eagerly await word.
Sincerely,
Luke
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