Have I thought enough?
Commentary
Object:
The award-winning 1968 movie A Man for All Seasons portrays a portion of the real-life story of Sir Thomas More. More was a devout and serious Catholic at the time of Luther's Reformation in Europe and the reign of Henry VIII in England. He became conspicuous for his unwillingness to support Henry's divorce from Catherine and Henry's assumed title as head of the church in England.
At one moment in the film, Henry asks More whether he has given any more thought to the question of Henry's divorce. More indicates that the more he thinks about it the more sure he is that he disagrees with Henry. And without hesitation, the king responds, "Then you haven't thought enough!"
I do not endorse Henry's arrogance, of course, but I do like something about his response. While a relativistic culture is rather naturally fond of endorsing the individual's disagreement with whatever authority, that mentality is folly when the authority is God's word. The modern critic likes to dismiss the ancient word as "time-bound" and "culture-bound." But is it more time-bound and culture-bound than I am? How do I presume to see, know, and understand more than it?
Consequently, without condoning Henry's life or choices, I borrow something from his attitude and read scripture with something of the same kind of prejudice. Namely, I reckon that if I do not agree with what is written there, then I haven't thought enough. If I am uncomfortable with what the Lord seems to be saying, then that discomfort becomes my invitation: not permission to dismiss or discount the passage, but rather an invitation to think on it some more.
So often in our contemporary study and discussion of scripture, it seems to me, a half-baked intellectual achievement passes as genius. That is to say, we applaud the identification of a problem, but we do not insist on a solution to that problem. Yet how much of an achievement is that? To simply locate a difficulty and point it out should not be heralded as either insightful preaching or great scholarship. Copernicus, Newton, and Einstein were not giants simply because they identified challenging problems. Their genius was in their ability to push through the challenges and come to understandings of the solutions.
This week's readings prompt us to consider and wrestle with the written word of God. Some of the passages may seem problematic. But if I stop with the problem, then I haven't thought enough.
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
This is not the sort of passage that you hang on a wall. A lot of us grew up seeing decorative renditions of the Lord's Prayer, Psalm 23, the Beatitudes, and such hanging in our church parlors and hallways. Perhaps we saw similar kinds of sacred texts hanging in our parents' or grandparents' homes. But who puts this kind of text on their walls? My complaint is bitter? If only I could vanish? God is hiding from me, except when he is terrifying me?
Likewise, the Sunday school classrooms where I spent my childhood featured pictures of cherished Bible scenes and characters. There was Jesus with the children gathered around him or Noah with the animals gathered around him, or perhaps a cheerful picture of Adam and Eve in Eden or Paul preaching in Athens. But I never saw a picture of Job agonizing on his ash heap.
For as well-known as his name and his story are, the words and pictures of Job are not high-profile in our churches. Indeed, the most familiar of Job's words are the ones that Handel put to music, and those are more triumphant than tortured. But the kind of content from Job that we explore this week may be entirely unfamiliar and surprising to the people in our pews.
The golfer sometimes has to hit out of unfavorable positions -- from in the sand or behind a tree. That takes particular skill. Likewise for the preacher who has to preach a sermon from the setting of despair. And it is an essential skill, for on any given Sunday we may well be preaching to people who are living in a setting of despair.
Which brings us to the first virtue of this passage: The people in the pews who are living with pain and despair may complicate their circumstance by feeling unfaithful on top of it all. These words from Job -- from scripture, that is -- may reassure them. This passage should give them a sense of license to feel what they feel and even to express aloud what they feel. There is no penalty in scripture for saying candidly to God whatever is on your heart.
Second, there is faith implicit even in the midst of Job's despair. After all, the crisis he expresses is not merely about physical pain and loss. No, his real crisis has to do with God. And while that is a more unsettling predicament, it is true-to-life, and it is its own kind of affirmation of faith. After all, if Job did not believe that God was merciful, powerful, and just, there would be no crisis or confusion.
Finally, just as the despairing may take comfort that this passage is part of scripture, they may also take comfort that this passage is not the whole of scripture. Job raises problems that are familiar to all believers who suffer unjustly. But those problems do not go unanswered. Indeed, as we read the rest of this week's passages, we cannot help but think that Job longs for exactly what the writer of Hebrews encourages: a bold approach to the throne of grace! Yes, the questions and complaints of Job invite the good news response of the rest of scripture, for the very God Job sought to find has put on flesh to come and find him.
Hebrews 4:12-16
Theologically, this handful of verses from Hebrews 4 invites us to consider two major doctrines. What do we believe about scripture, and what do we believe about Jesus? And then, beyond the theological substance, the passage also offers profound personal encouragement for us in Christ.
First, there is the dramatic assertion about the word of God. The folks in our pews who are unfamiliar with the Old Testament prophets may be surprised by Hebrews' characterization of God's word. "Living and active" are not necessarily the first words that come to most folks' minds when they think of the Bible (i.e., the written word of God). Yet that sort of imagery is in perfect resonance with how we see the word of God revealed in the Old Testament. Time and again that word "comes to" the prophets. It guides, enlivens, motivates, shapes, and judges. Indeed, the word of God is arguably one of the central characters in Old Testament history, for all significant causes-and-effects in the plot involve the people's response (or lack of response) to that word.
And we see the word continue to play that same role in the teachings of Jesus. The crucial difference between the soils in his parable of the sower (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23) is nothing less than how they respond to the word. Likewise, the 180-degree difference between the two house builders (Matthew 7:24-27) is in their response to the word. His word is the watershed both in history and in every individual life.
Here in Hebrews, the word of God is identified as the sharpest of swords, and the subsequent imagery prompts the modern reader to think in terms of a scalpel or even a laser. Such is the penetrating sharpness and precision of this word. And anyone who has allowed himself or herself to go under that knife knows its probing capacity and its potent effect.
For us as preachers, of course, this truth about God's word is something of a two-way street. On the one hand, it should give us great confidence that there is less burden on us to try to be spectacular or insightful or relevant, because we may trust that his word is all of those things. On the other hand, the power of this word should give us pause, lest we mishandle it or bungle its use in people's lives. A sharp scalpel in the hand of a careless surgeon is no blessing.
The writer's assertion about God's remarkable word flows next into his declaration about Christ. His language continues to be picturesque and symbolic. As the word is portrayed as a sword, so Christ is depicted as a high priest. And of course this latter imagery is of particular importance to the writer, as he is so concerned throughout his book with the truth that Christ is anticipated by and is the fulfillment of the Old Testament Law and the Levitical code.
The letter to the Hebrews has some of the most soaring language about Christ in all of the New Testament. He is superior to the angels, to Moses, to every priest, and to every sacrifice. Yet, significantly, a high Christology does not yield an out-of-reach Christ. On the contrary, Hebrews celebrates the one who is sympathetic with our weaknesses and acquainted with our experiences. The CEO who occupies the corner office on the top floor has also worked the mailroom and scrubbed the toilets.
What does that mean for us? The Christological affirmation of this passage is not detached theology but rather carries lovely and encouraging implications for the individual believer. "Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness" is our invitation.
Charles Spurgeon famously preached on this "Throne of Grace,"1 and he masterfully set the scene for his hearers and readers. On the one hand, there is the majesty and awesomeness of this throne, which should inspire within us a trembling humility. On the other hand, it is "grace enthroned," which evokes a joy, hope, and even boldness in the petitioner who approaches the throne.
You and I no longer live in a world of thrones and monarchs. It is difficult for us, therefore, to appreciate either the sovereignty or majesty of a king or the intimidation and privilege of the subject who comes into his presence. When we can wrap our minds around these, though, then we can begin to marvel at the "boldness" encouraged by Hebrews. Yet it is not a boldness that takes too lightly the throne or takes too seriously our merit. No, it is a boldness rooted in the person and work of our "great high priest." And so Wesley sings, "Bold I approach th' eternal throne and claim the crown through Christ my own!"2
Mark 10:17-31
Whose favorite passage is this?
There are so many stories and passages that we cherish. We love the 23rd Psalm, Romans 8, and 1 Corinthians 13. We cherish familiar words from the Sermon on the Mount and Luke's Christmas story. We treasure the stories of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, of Noah and Daniel, of Joshua and David.
But who loves the story of the rich young ruler?
At a minimum, the story is an unhappy one for us to read because of its very sad ending. Here is a young man, after all, who is earnest enough to seek out Jesus, insightful enough to ask an excellent question, and careful enough to have lived his life in accordance with God's law. It's a story with very promising beginning, therefore, but see how terribly it ends. "He went away grieving," the narrator reports, and we never see him or hear from him again. Awful.
In addition to being an unhappy ending, we also find this story an unsettling one because of the content that comes prior to that ending. Almost everything Jesus says to this man gives us pause, after all. He challenges the man's salutation, he initially seems to give a kind of works-righteousness answer to the man's question, and then he makes the unreasonable demand that ultimately sends the man away unhappy.
As I shared above, however, I read scripture with a prejudice in favor of scripture. My assumption, therefore, is that whatever Jesus says to a person -- and, indeed, whatever he demands of a person -- must be good. So we are invited to consider the good news here, notwithstanding the man's unhappy response to it.
It is good, first of all, because the rich man perceives a need, he brings his need to Jesus, and Jesus presents the solution. Consider, after all, the initial disappointment in the man's voice when he says, "I have kept all these (commandments) since my youth." He clearly feels the need for something more than mere obedience to the law, or else he would not have sought out Jesus with his question. If Jesus had nothing more to offer than that, he would have been justified in walking away sad.
Second, it is good because it is liberating. The fact that the tragic figure in the story refuses to be liberated, of course, does not diminish the truth that Jesus endeavored to liberate him. Specifically, Jesus sought to set him free from the thing that owned and oppressed him: namely, his "many possessions."
That sounds facetious or unserious, for "many possessions" seem to be a desirable goal in our culture. Yet our culture also provides ample proof of how futile and unfulfilling a goal they are. If they were ultimately satisfying, after all, then this man would not have needed to come to Jesus in the first place. If they were ultimately fulfilling, then the man would not have walked away sad, inasmuch as he was able to keep -- and had chosen to keep -- what was most important to him. Clearly, however, the "many possessions" were not deeply satisfying and yet they stood diabolically between this man and Jesus, which reveals their role as a commonly tragic obstacle. Hence Jesus' sober observation that "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."
Finally, Jesus' word is good news because the answer is him. That is to say, the ultimate satisfaction is not found in obedience to the law, which the man had already tried. It is not found in material riches, which the man already possessed. It is not found in acts of charity, or else "give the money to the poor" would have been the final instruction. No, the ultimate satisfaction is found in "follow me." Jesus is the answer and that is good news for us every day and all the way into eternity.
Application
I have a prejudice in favor of scripture. If the book and I disagree, I assume the book is right. If the text presents a problem, I am challenged to seek the solution. If the words make me uncomfortable or confused, then I haven't thought enough.
The writer of Hebrews, as we have seen, encourages a high view of scripture. No, not a high view of it, but a proper understanding of it. The word of God conveys the wisdom of God and the power of God. I must read it and preach it accordingly.
In the passages from Job and Mark, we are presented with sad cases and uncomfortable words. This is not, as we have noted, the cherished language of Psalm 23 or Romans 8. And yet, the very passages we cherish reveal our need for the gospel to speak to real-life experience. After all, our favorite passages are not air-brushed, pie-in-the-sky fiction. No, for the beloved 23rd Psalm bears witness to the presence of the enemies and the valley of the shadow. And Paul's testimony in Romans 8 includes all manner of peril and hardship. We do not cling mindlessly to some fairy-tale gospel.
Even within the sadness of the rich man who walks away, we see gospel truths. After all, the homeowner also bears witness to the truth whose house, built on sand, lies in ruins. His case is sad, not false, and it brings into greater clarity the truth of the gospel for us in our day.
Then there is Job. Specifically, there is a passage from Job that throbs with existential pain. But that too is true-to-life. It reminds us that our faith is no head-in-the-sand ostrich. And the music we hear from Job leaves us with a chord that longs for resolution: a resolution found and heard more fully later in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Alternative Application
Mark 10:17-31. "How much is this picture worth?" It's one of the saddest pictures in the Bible. Indeed, it is one of the saddest pictures imaginable. It is the tragic snapshot that comes at the end of the Jesus' encounter with the wealthy man of Mark 10.
"He went away grieving."
I have seen several portraits of Jesus talking to this man. I have never seen, however, a painting of this moment: the man walking away. Yet this is one of the most poignant scenes in all of scripture -- in all of life, really -- for it is the moment when a person decides to turn and walk away from Jesus.
In the long view of history, of course, we can see clearly the tragedy of that decision. What became of the "many possessions" of that man? And what ultimately became of that man?
Even apart from any eternal reward, the men who dropped their nets, left all, and followed Jesus are still remembered by name twenty centuries later and all around the world. Countless churches, schools, hospitals, streets, and even cities are named for them, and they are arguably the most depicted group of people in the history of the world. This man from Mark 10, who no doubt eclipsed them by every contemporary standard of earthly importance, is now known only for this one decision and not even known by name at that.
The man who tripped over the buried treasure understood the mathematics of his decision (Matthew 13:44). The pearl merchant made the right calculation (Matthew 13:45-46). Peter, Andrew, James, and company all saw clearly and chose rightly. But this man, who probably had a good head for numbers, badly miscalculated. He was likely a guy who prided himself on knowing the value of things, yet he did not recognize the value of the one who called him or the comparative poverty of his "many possessions." Paul learned the "surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:8), but the poor soul in Mark 10 never did.
His picture is so sad. Yet it is tremendously valuable to us, for we human beings often see more clearly at a distance. While our own personal decisions may seem complex and unclear, we see with marvelous clarity the decisions of others. Since we see plainly the massive miscalculation of this man, we may be instructed for our own moments of decision about Christ.
__________
1. http://www.spurgeon.org/sermons/1024.htm
2. Charles Wesley, "And Can It Be," United Methodist Hymnal #363.
At one moment in the film, Henry asks More whether he has given any more thought to the question of Henry's divorce. More indicates that the more he thinks about it the more sure he is that he disagrees with Henry. And without hesitation, the king responds, "Then you haven't thought enough!"
I do not endorse Henry's arrogance, of course, but I do like something about his response. While a relativistic culture is rather naturally fond of endorsing the individual's disagreement with whatever authority, that mentality is folly when the authority is God's word. The modern critic likes to dismiss the ancient word as "time-bound" and "culture-bound." But is it more time-bound and culture-bound than I am? How do I presume to see, know, and understand more than it?
Consequently, without condoning Henry's life or choices, I borrow something from his attitude and read scripture with something of the same kind of prejudice. Namely, I reckon that if I do not agree with what is written there, then I haven't thought enough. If I am uncomfortable with what the Lord seems to be saying, then that discomfort becomes my invitation: not permission to dismiss or discount the passage, but rather an invitation to think on it some more.
So often in our contemporary study and discussion of scripture, it seems to me, a half-baked intellectual achievement passes as genius. That is to say, we applaud the identification of a problem, but we do not insist on a solution to that problem. Yet how much of an achievement is that? To simply locate a difficulty and point it out should not be heralded as either insightful preaching or great scholarship. Copernicus, Newton, and Einstein were not giants simply because they identified challenging problems. Their genius was in their ability to push through the challenges and come to understandings of the solutions.
This week's readings prompt us to consider and wrestle with the written word of God. Some of the passages may seem problematic. But if I stop with the problem, then I haven't thought enough.
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
This is not the sort of passage that you hang on a wall. A lot of us grew up seeing decorative renditions of the Lord's Prayer, Psalm 23, the Beatitudes, and such hanging in our church parlors and hallways. Perhaps we saw similar kinds of sacred texts hanging in our parents' or grandparents' homes. But who puts this kind of text on their walls? My complaint is bitter? If only I could vanish? God is hiding from me, except when he is terrifying me?
Likewise, the Sunday school classrooms where I spent my childhood featured pictures of cherished Bible scenes and characters. There was Jesus with the children gathered around him or Noah with the animals gathered around him, or perhaps a cheerful picture of Adam and Eve in Eden or Paul preaching in Athens. But I never saw a picture of Job agonizing on his ash heap.
For as well-known as his name and his story are, the words and pictures of Job are not high-profile in our churches. Indeed, the most familiar of Job's words are the ones that Handel put to music, and those are more triumphant than tortured. But the kind of content from Job that we explore this week may be entirely unfamiliar and surprising to the people in our pews.
The golfer sometimes has to hit out of unfavorable positions -- from in the sand or behind a tree. That takes particular skill. Likewise for the preacher who has to preach a sermon from the setting of despair. And it is an essential skill, for on any given Sunday we may well be preaching to people who are living in a setting of despair.
Which brings us to the first virtue of this passage: The people in the pews who are living with pain and despair may complicate their circumstance by feeling unfaithful on top of it all. These words from Job -- from scripture, that is -- may reassure them. This passage should give them a sense of license to feel what they feel and even to express aloud what they feel. There is no penalty in scripture for saying candidly to God whatever is on your heart.
Second, there is faith implicit even in the midst of Job's despair. After all, the crisis he expresses is not merely about physical pain and loss. No, his real crisis has to do with God. And while that is a more unsettling predicament, it is true-to-life, and it is its own kind of affirmation of faith. After all, if Job did not believe that God was merciful, powerful, and just, there would be no crisis or confusion.
Finally, just as the despairing may take comfort that this passage is part of scripture, they may also take comfort that this passage is not the whole of scripture. Job raises problems that are familiar to all believers who suffer unjustly. But those problems do not go unanswered. Indeed, as we read the rest of this week's passages, we cannot help but think that Job longs for exactly what the writer of Hebrews encourages: a bold approach to the throne of grace! Yes, the questions and complaints of Job invite the good news response of the rest of scripture, for the very God Job sought to find has put on flesh to come and find him.
Hebrews 4:12-16
Theologically, this handful of verses from Hebrews 4 invites us to consider two major doctrines. What do we believe about scripture, and what do we believe about Jesus? And then, beyond the theological substance, the passage also offers profound personal encouragement for us in Christ.
First, there is the dramatic assertion about the word of God. The folks in our pews who are unfamiliar with the Old Testament prophets may be surprised by Hebrews' characterization of God's word. "Living and active" are not necessarily the first words that come to most folks' minds when they think of the Bible (i.e., the written word of God). Yet that sort of imagery is in perfect resonance with how we see the word of God revealed in the Old Testament. Time and again that word "comes to" the prophets. It guides, enlivens, motivates, shapes, and judges. Indeed, the word of God is arguably one of the central characters in Old Testament history, for all significant causes-and-effects in the plot involve the people's response (or lack of response) to that word.
And we see the word continue to play that same role in the teachings of Jesus. The crucial difference between the soils in his parable of the sower (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23) is nothing less than how they respond to the word. Likewise, the 180-degree difference between the two house builders (Matthew 7:24-27) is in their response to the word. His word is the watershed both in history and in every individual life.
Here in Hebrews, the word of God is identified as the sharpest of swords, and the subsequent imagery prompts the modern reader to think in terms of a scalpel or even a laser. Such is the penetrating sharpness and precision of this word. And anyone who has allowed himself or herself to go under that knife knows its probing capacity and its potent effect.
For us as preachers, of course, this truth about God's word is something of a two-way street. On the one hand, it should give us great confidence that there is less burden on us to try to be spectacular or insightful or relevant, because we may trust that his word is all of those things. On the other hand, the power of this word should give us pause, lest we mishandle it or bungle its use in people's lives. A sharp scalpel in the hand of a careless surgeon is no blessing.
The writer's assertion about God's remarkable word flows next into his declaration about Christ. His language continues to be picturesque and symbolic. As the word is portrayed as a sword, so Christ is depicted as a high priest. And of course this latter imagery is of particular importance to the writer, as he is so concerned throughout his book with the truth that Christ is anticipated by and is the fulfillment of the Old Testament Law and the Levitical code.
The letter to the Hebrews has some of the most soaring language about Christ in all of the New Testament. He is superior to the angels, to Moses, to every priest, and to every sacrifice. Yet, significantly, a high Christology does not yield an out-of-reach Christ. On the contrary, Hebrews celebrates the one who is sympathetic with our weaknesses and acquainted with our experiences. The CEO who occupies the corner office on the top floor has also worked the mailroom and scrubbed the toilets.
What does that mean for us? The Christological affirmation of this passage is not detached theology but rather carries lovely and encouraging implications for the individual believer. "Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness" is our invitation.
Charles Spurgeon famously preached on this "Throne of Grace,"1 and he masterfully set the scene for his hearers and readers. On the one hand, there is the majesty and awesomeness of this throne, which should inspire within us a trembling humility. On the other hand, it is "grace enthroned," which evokes a joy, hope, and even boldness in the petitioner who approaches the throne.
You and I no longer live in a world of thrones and monarchs. It is difficult for us, therefore, to appreciate either the sovereignty or majesty of a king or the intimidation and privilege of the subject who comes into his presence. When we can wrap our minds around these, though, then we can begin to marvel at the "boldness" encouraged by Hebrews. Yet it is not a boldness that takes too lightly the throne or takes too seriously our merit. No, it is a boldness rooted in the person and work of our "great high priest." And so Wesley sings, "Bold I approach th' eternal throne and claim the crown through Christ my own!"2
Mark 10:17-31
Whose favorite passage is this?
There are so many stories and passages that we cherish. We love the 23rd Psalm, Romans 8, and 1 Corinthians 13. We cherish familiar words from the Sermon on the Mount and Luke's Christmas story. We treasure the stories of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, of Noah and Daniel, of Joshua and David.
But who loves the story of the rich young ruler?
At a minimum, the story is an unhappy one for us to read because of its very sad ending. Here is a young man, after all, who is earnest enough to seek out Jesus, insightful enough to ask an excellent question, and careful enough to have lived his life in accordance with God's law. It's a story with very promising beginning, therefore, but see how terribly it ends. "He went away grieving," the narrator reports, and we never see him or hear from him again. Awful.
In addition to being an unhappy ending, we also find this story an unsettling one because of the content that comes prior to that ending. Almost everything Jesus says to this man gives us pause, after all. He challenges the man's salutation, he initially seems to give a kind of works-righteousness answer to the man's question, and then he makes the unreasonable demand that ultimately sends the man away unhappy.
As I shared above, however, I read scripture with a prejudice in favor of scripture. My assumption, therefore, is that whatever Jesus says to a person -- and, indeed, whatever he demands of a person -- must be good. So we are invited to consider the good news here, notwithstanding the man's unhappy response to it.
It is good, first of all, because the rich man perceives a need, he brings his need to Jesus, and Jesus presents the solution. Consider, after all, the initial disappointment in the man's voice when he says, "I have kept all these (commandments) since my youth." He clearly feels the need for something more than mere obedience to the law, or else he would not have sought out Jesus with his question. If Jesus had nothing more to offer than that, he would have been justified in walking away sad.
Second, it is good because it is liberating. The fact that the tragic figure in the story refuses to be liberated, of course, does not diminish the truth that Jesus endeavored to liberate him. Specifically, Jesus sought to set him free from the thing that owned and oppressed him: namely, his "many possessions."
That sounds facetious or unserious, for "many possessions" seem to be a desirable goal in our culture. Yet our culture also provides ample proof of how futile and unfulfilling a goal they are. If they were ultimately satisfying, after all, then this man would not have needed to come to Jesus in the first place. If they were ultimately fulfilling, then the man would not have walked away sad, inasmuch as he was able to keep -- and had chosen to keep -- what was most important to him. Clearly, however, the "many possessions" were not deeply satisfying and yet they stood diabolically between this man and Jesus, which reveals their role as a commonly tragic obstacle. Hence Jesus' sober observation that "it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."
Finally, Jesus' word is good news because the answer is him. That is to say, the ultimate satisfaction is not found in obedience to the law, which the man had already tried. It is not found in material riches, which the man already possessed. It is not found in acts of charity, or else "give the money to the poor" would have been the final instruction. No, the ultimate satisfaction is found in "follow me." Jesus is the answer and that is good news for us every day and all the way into eternity.
Application
I have a prejudice in favor of scripture. If the book and I disagree, I assume the book is right. If the text presents a problem, I am challenged to seek the solution. If the words make me uncomfortable or confused, then I haven't thought enough.
The writer of Hebrews, as we have seen, encourages a high view of scripture. No, not a high view of it, but a proper understanding of it. The word of God conveys the wisdom of God and the power of God. I must read it and preach it accordingly.
In the passages from Job and Mark, we are presented with sad cases and uncomfortable words. This is not, as we have noted, the cherished language of Psalm 23 or Romans 8. And yet, the very passages we cherish reveal our need for the gospel to speak to real-life experience. After all, our favorite passages are not air-brushed, pie-in-the-sky fiction. No, for the beloved 23rd Psalm bears witness to the presence of the enemies and the valley of the shadow. And Paul's testimony in Romans 8 includes all manner of peril and hardship. We do not cling mindlessly to some fairy-tale gospel.
Even within the sadness of the rich man who walks away, we see gospel truths. After all, the homeowner also bears witness to the truth whose house, built on sand, lies in ruins. His case is sad, not false, and it brings into greater clarity the truth of the gospel for us in our day.
Then there is Job. Specifically, there is a passage from Job that throbs with existential pain. But that too is true-to-life. It reminds us that our faith is no head-in-the-sand ostrich. And the music we hear from Job leaves us with a chord that longs for resolution: a resolution found and heard more fully later in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Alternative Application
Mark 10:17-31. "How much is this picture worth?" It's one of the saddest pictures in the Bible. Indeed, it is one of the saddest pictures imaginable. It is the tragic snapshot that comes at the end of the Jesus' encounter with the wealthy man of Mark 10.
"He went away grieving."
I have seen several portraits of Jesus talking to this man. I have never seen, however, a painting of this moment: the man walking away. Yet this is one of the most poignant scenes in all of scripture -- in all of life, really -- for it is the moment when a person decides to turn and walk away from Jesus.
In the long view of history, of course, we can see clearly the tragedy of that decision. What became of the "many possessions" of that man? And what ultimately became of that man?
Even apart from any eternal reward, the men who dropped their nets, left all, and followed Jesus are still remembered by name twenty centuries later and all around the world. Countless churches, schools, hospitals, streets, and even cities are named for them, and they are arguably the most depicted group of people in the history of the world. This man from Mark 10, who no doubt eclipsed them by every contemporary standard of earthly importance, is now known only for this one decision and not even known by name at that.
The man who tripped over the buried treasure understood the mathematics of his decision (Matthew 13:44). The pearl merchant made the right calculation (Matthew 13:45-46). Peter, Andrew, James, and company all saw clearly and chose rightly. But this man, who probably had a good head for numbers, badly miscalculated. He was likely a guy who prided himself on knowing the value of things, yet he did not recognize the value of the one who called him or the comparative poverty of his "many possessions." Paul learned the "surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:8), but the poor soul in Mark 10 never did.
His picture is so sad. Yet it is tremendously valuable to us, for we human beings often see more clearly at a distance. While our own personal decisions may seem complex and unclear, we see with marvelous clarity the decisions of others. Since we see plainly the massive miscalculation of this man, we may be instructed for our own moments of decision about Christ.
__________
1. http://www.spurgeon.org/sermons/1024.htm
2. Charles Wesley, "And Can It Be," United Methodist Hymnal #363.
