Barrabas and Me

From David Mathis at Desiring God Blog:

Who do you identify with in the Passion narratives?

Of course, as good Christians, we say Jesus. He's the good guy, our protagonist. As we relive the story, we pull for him, and against his enemies. And a long list of enemies it is: Judas who betrays him, Peter who denies him, the chief priests who hate him, Herod who mocks him, the crowd that calls for his crucifixion, Pilate who washes his hands and condemns him, and Barrabas who is guilty but gets to go free.

Wait a minute.

Barrabas—the guilty one who gets to go free?

In his 23rd chapter, Luke leads us sinners, in his careful wording of the narrative, to identify in this significant way with Barrabas. As Jesus' condemnation leads to the release of a multitude of spiritual captives from every tribe, tongue, people, and nation, so also his death sentence leads to the release of the physical captive Barrabas.

In verse 15, Luke quotes Pilate to establish Jesus' manifest innocence: "Look, nothing deserving death has been done by him." Then he confirms Barrabas' guilt in verse 19, as "a man who had been thrown into prison for an insurrection started in the city and for murder."

In verse 22, after the mob has called for Jesus' crucifixion for a third time, Luke emphasizes Jesus' innocence again in the words of Pilate: "Why, what evil has he done? I have found in him no guilt deserving death." But unconvinced, the crowd continues to demand the death of Jesus and, wonder of all wonders, the release in his place of the manifestly guilty Barrabas.

So Pilate "released the man who had been thrown into prison for insurrection and murder, for whom they asked, but he delivered Jesus over to their will" (verse 25). Here's the first substitution of the cross. The innocent Jesus is condemned as a criminal, while the criminal Barrabas is released as if innocent.

And still today, because of the willing substitution of the innocent Jesus, Barrabases like us go free.

Boomerangs

Great post by Jon Acuff at Stuff Christians Like. Make sure you click here and read his blog. One of the funniest places on the internet. He has a new book out also that is hilarious.

I only shaved a vanilla Ice inspired “rap stripe” in my eyebrow once.

I only almost killed myself skateboarding once.

I only got busted by the police for shoplifting once.

If I think about it, there are a handful of mistakes I have only made once. But for the most part, if I am honest, I tend to boomerang a lot of my sins. I’d like them to be “one and done,” an action that’s undertaken one time and then forever forsaken, but often I come back for a second go round.

Like Paul doing the things he doesn’t want to do, I catch myself being a repeat offender. If you’re like me and that happens, you probably swallow two of the bitterest pills around. They’re called “By now” and “still.”

I’ve written about these before. “By now” is what you say when you feel like you should have reached some level of Christian maturity that seems to be eluding you. “I’ve been a Christian for years. By now I should know not to look at online porn.” And “still” is similar, it’s a word of shame. “I still struggle with lying. I can’t believe I still do! If I were a better Christian, I wouldn’t still do this.”

I wish I could convince you to retire those two phrases, but I’m not sure if that is possible today. What I am going to do though is remind you of someone else who struggled with boomerangs. Someone else who did the same thing you’re doing. Sinning, repenting, and then sinning all over again. You’ve probably heard of him before. His name starts with an A and ends with a “braham.”

I’ve been reading Genesis lately and it appears that in addition to being the father of a nation, Abraham was the father of a boomerang. It starts in Genesis 12, where God gives who is then called “Abram” a very impassioned promise that he will make him into a nation. Believing in that, trusting in that audible call, Abram leaves his land and sets out on mission. Next thing he does? He lies to Pharaoh about his wife because he’s afraid, bringing a serious disease on Pharaoh’s house because of the sin.

Whoa, lesson learned. Game over. We’re good. You’re God, I’m Abram, my bad. Won’t happen again. God jumps in, gives Abram an even more detailed covenant in chapter 15. Actually puts him in a thick and dreadful darkness, similar to the smoke monster in Lost. Abram, completely down with God now, circumcises his entire household. Then he meets the Lord and three visitors who are on their way to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah. At this point Abraham talks God out of killing both cities if he can find 10 righteous people there. Crazy scene. God and Abraham are tight, right?

Nope.

Despite seeing angels and the Lord and the cities destroyed and the power of a most holy God, Abraham is a rascal and pulls the same stunt in chapter 20, telling Abimelech that his wife is his sister. (Which is technically true, an added element of the lie Abraham layers on.)

Abraham spoke to God multiple times. He witnessed God’s closeness and power like few people who have ever lived. He is arguably one of the most important figures in the entire Old Testament. And you know what he did? He returned to the same sin. He trusted the same lies and tricks he had used before.

But that’s not even the crazy part. The real craziness is what we see God do immediately after Abraham boomerangs back to sin. He smites him. He drops an elbow of death of Abraham that ricochets for the ages. He punts him like the Black Adder would punt Baldrick. Not really.

Know what the first verse in chapter 21 says? This is the chapter immediately after Abraham’s old sin of lying has been found anew. You know what 21:1 says,

“Now the Lord was gracious to Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah what he had promised.”

What? That makes no sense. No one and nothing in life operates that like. When you blow it still, when you haven’t learned your lesson by now, there is punishment and lightning bolts and the wrath of heaven unleashed. That’s got to be a mistake.

But it isn’t, in fact, because God loves you enough to be repetitive with his grace, he repeats that same exact scenario a few chapters later. You know what Isaac, Abraham’s son does in chapter 26? He lies that his wife is his sister. (Like father like son.)

And so you know what happens immediately after that? Here is what Genesis 26:11 says:

“Isaac planted crops in that land and the same year reaped a hundredfold, because the Lord blessed him.”

Are you kidding me? The guy was a liar. The guy was a mess. The guy was repeating the sins of his father.

But we don’t get what we deserve. We don’t get what our actions have earned. We get grace. We get a God who rises to show us compassion.

I hope you’re not holding a boomerang right now. I hope there’s not a boomerang that’s swallowed your life whole in it’s awfulness, but if there is, know this, you’ve got a God who loves you. A God who can’t wait to be gracious. A God who forgives boomerangs.

Do We Really Understand What It Means to Ask God for Our Daily Bread?

This is a great post by Allan Bevere who blogs here:

Many years ago on a mission trip in Haiti, our group was ministering in the isolated mountains in the west near the Dominican Republic. They village where we stayed was where the road ended. To say it was a “road” was an exaggeration. Early one Sunday morning, we mounted horses and made our way to another village, even more remote, to worship with the believers there. We gathered with them in their sanctuary, a rectangular banana leaf hut. The worship was quite meaningful even though none of us understood Creole. Nevertheless, we didn’t need to speak their language to know that God was being worshiped and Jesus was being glorified.

After worship we gathered at the pastor’s house, a small hut, and we were served dinner. Some of us noticed that none of our Haitian brothers and sisters joined us, but for some reason we didn’t think to ask. We ate a variety of foods and when we were finished, we were quite satisfied.

Later in the day when we were on our way back to the village of our temporary residence, the missionary who was hosting us told us something that made the rest of the trip quite quiet. He informed us that our Haitian brothers and sisters of the village had given up their daily meal, the food they had for that day, so that we could eat. They had given up their daily bread so that we could have ours.

Do we really understand what it means to ask God for our daily bread? We who have more bread than we need? Somewhere, I can’t remember, Bishop William Willimon reminds us that most of us have in the affluent West have more bread than we need. Indeed, more of us in the affluent West will die of too much bread rather than too little bread. How serious can we be when we pray each Sunday, “Give us this day our daily bread?”

I have no doubt when the brother in Christ in Haiti utters that line in prayer, it means something very different from when I pray it. I am sure that when the sister in Jesus offers that request to God in Ethiopia, it is sincere in a way that I cannot fathom. When I say, as I do every Sunday along with the rest of the congregation, “Give us this day our daily bread,” how desperate, and therefore, how sincere am I, in what I say?

Is it possible for me to understand what it means to ask God only for the bread I need for today, when I have bread in the freezer at home? Perhaps, when I ask God for my daily bread each week, such words should remind me of how I must give out of my abundance so that others, who pray the same words, will receive the bread they need just for the present day.

May I be so willing to give up my daily bread, so that others will receive theirs.

“Is it me, Lord? Is it me?”

Trevin Wax writes on his blog called Kingdom People:

In the Gospel of Mark, each time Jesus predicts his suffering, the disciples demonstrate their pride and weakness. The scenes are sadly comical. Jesus talks about going to the cross, and the disciples begin trying to one-up each other for glory in the kingdom.

But there is one scene that stands out. At the table during the Last Supper, Jesus tells the disciples that one of them will betray him. Based upon everything we know of the disciples, we might expect them to begin looking around at each other, trying to figure out who is the villain.

Maybe it’s Peter. He thinks he’s so devoted…

I bet it’s John. He loses his temper and can’t control himself. Maybe he’s mad at Jesus…

It’s probably Simon. Jesus isn’t a Zealot, and Simon might be wanting to go back to his old life…

Maybe it’s Levi. The money from the tax booth is calling him again…

We expect to see the disciples looking suspiciously at one another, trying to figure out who might be the betrayer. We expect them to point the finger and say, “Is it him?” Instead, they point the finger back at themselves and say, “Is it me?”

If there’s any encouragement in this passage, it’s that the disciples immediately start looking at themselves and their own hearts. They don’t immediately judge the others.

Whenever we see someone fall into sin, our temptation is to puff up and think, “I’m glad I’m stronger than that.” Often, when we hear a sermon that should step on our toes, we think, “I hope so and so is taking notes. They really need to hear that!”

We excel at finding faults with others when we should be finding faults in ourselves.

Next time you hear of someone failing the Lord, look inside your own heart and say, “Lord, don’t let that be me! I don’t want to be the one who lets you down! Shower me with your grace again and remind me of my weakness.”

Lent is a time to reflect. And it’s a time to ask: “Is it me, Lord? Is it me?”

The Scandalous Mathematics of Grace

Philip Yancey in "What's So Amazing About Grace" discusses Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard found in Matthew 20:1-16.

"Jesus' story makes no economic sense, and that was his intent. He was giving us a parable about grace, which cannot be calculated like a day's wages. The employer in Jesus' story did not cheat the full-day workers. No, the full-day workers got what they were promised. Their discontent arose from the scandalous mathematics of grace. They would not accept that their employer had the right to do what he wanted with his money when it meant paying scoundrels twelve times what they deserved. Significantly, many Christians who study this parable identify with the employees who put in a full day's work, rather than the add-ons at the end of the day. We like to think of ourselves as responsible workers, and the employer's strange behavior baffles us as it did the original hearers. We risk missing the story's point: that God dispenses gifts, not wages. None of us gets paid according to merit, for none of us comes close to satisfying God's requirements for a perfect life. If paid on the basis of fairness, we would all end up in hell."

Deceptively Good

Is Pete Wilson right in this post? Are "good things" taking us away from God? The beach, the lake, little league, dance recitals, etc?

We’re in a series at Cross Point entitled “Seriously” where we’re looking at some of the tough teachings of Jesus. This past Sunday (you can watch the message HERE) we talked about Luke 14 where Jesus says…

If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple.

Now clearly Jesus is not condoning hating those closest to you. He’s purposefully using hyperbole to help us understand that we must love everything else less. Following Him must be our number one priority. We can’t allow good things (even family) to become ultimate things.

As I meditated on this passage last week I felt God impressing this on me:

Your greatest temptation will not be to chase after what is ridiculously evil, but what is deceptively good.

I have a tendency to allow good things (money, success, family, ministry, etc.) to become ultimate things.

How about you. Where are you tempted to take something that is good and make it ultimate?

Avett Brothers - Murder in the City

Lots of Grace and Mercy in this song....

If I get murdered in the city
Don’t go revengin in my name
One person dead from such is plenty
No need to go get locked away

When (not if) the righteous suffer...

Ray Ortlund -- Pastor of Immanuel Church in Nashville has an interesting post on his blog about Job and Suffering

I used to think the book of Job is in the Bible because it presents a rare and extreme case of human suffering. “Look at this worst case scenario. If you can see the truth here, then surely in your comparatively small problems . . . .”

Now I think the book of Job is in the Bible because the story is so common. Many are thinking, “What on earth has happened to me? I can’t see what I’ve done that explains this devastation. Where is God in this?”

Enter Job’s three friends. They were cautious at first. But with their tidy notions threatened by his untidy realities, the moralism started pouring out of them: “Come on, Job, get real with us. You must have some dirty secret that explains all this. Admit it, and this misery will start going away.” Their finger-pointing oversimplifications intensified Job’s sufferings, and this too is a common experience.

I don’t think the book of Job is about suffering as a theoretical problem — why do the righteous suffer? I think it’s about suffering as a practical problem — when (not if) the righteous suffer, what does God expect of them? And what he expects is trust. When the righteous cannot connect the realities of their experience with the truths of God, then God is calling them to trust him that there is more to it than they can see. As with Job, there is a battle being fought in the heavenlies.

Trust in God, not explanations from God, is the pathway through suffering.

The Look of Love

Each of the four gospel writers record that faithful night when the apostle Peter denied our Lord with three statements of increasing rejection. They tell us of Peter’s bitter weeping when he realized that Jesus correctly predicted his denials before the rooster crowed. But Luke includes a profound little detail.

Luke 22:61 says that just as Peter was denying Jesus for the third time and the rooster crowed, “The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word the Lord had spoken to him….”

That look must have killed Peter a thousand ways! When the Lord looks at us in our sin and rejection we can’t help but be stricken with grief. And the truth is, the Lord sees us all the time in our various faults, sins, denials, and rejections.

But what was this look. What did Peter see in Jesus’ eyes? Did the look say, “I told you so”? I don’t think Jesus was gloating over Peter’s failure.

Did Jesus look at Peter with eyes of fire, angry. I don’t think so. Jesus will not break a bruised reed or snuff out a smoking candle.

Did the look say, “How could you?” I don’t think the look communicated personal hurt. Jesus did not come to burden us with guilt, but to take it away.

I think the look was pure and holy love… which we cannot bear to see in our sin. In our self-righteousness, we could understand—even want—anger or disappointment or hurt or even an “I told you so!” But when the Lord continues to look at us with unfeigned and unblemished love… it robs us of all self-righteousness and makes us see what holy love we rejected… and what wretched messes we are. We can’t bear to see him look at us with such pure and holy love when we’ve failed so miserably. So, like Peter, we turn our faces away and weep bitterly when we fail our Lord.

And that’s a terrible mistake. If when we sinned against our Lord, we could continue to look in His face, we would eventually see that this holy love accepts us. It pardons. It cleanses. It relieves guilt and removes shame. It heals the broken and lifts the worthless. If we could but look in His face, we’d see a loving look that says, “Come unto me.”

It’s a face of One who loves in such a way as to overcome our sin… to take our sin as His own… to bear our guilt as if it were His… a love that joins us to himself. To look into that face by faith… is to feel and know the holiest, most sacrificial, redeeming love possible.

Peter’s biggest problem isn’t that he denied Jesus three times. He will be restored from that. Our biggest problem isn’t our failing or denying Jesus.

Peter’s biggest problem is that he wept alone and turned away… rather than run to Jesus’ loving face. Our biggest problem is looking away from Jesus. He has taken away our sins. Now we must look to Him and continue looking to Him until we rejoice in His loving acceptance.

If we’re Christians for any length of time, we come to discover that our lives are full of failure and sin… even denials of various sorts. But we also discover that He keeps looking on… and He keeps calling us to himself. Christian… look to Jesus. Do not turn away.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in His wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of His glory and grace.

WRITTEN BY Thabiti Anyabwile - Senior Pastor of First Baptist Church of Grand Cayman and a native of Lexington, North Carolina. He began serving as senior pastor in August 2006. He served previously as an assistant pastor at Capitol Hill Baptist Church (Washington, DC) and as an elder at Church on the Rock (Raleigh, NC).