Everyone Who Acknowledges Me

Everyone Who Acknowledges Me.  That belief in the gospel is personal, as opposed to collective, is central to the Scriptures. Even the few times a collective response to the gospel is recorded, such as the conversion of the entire household of the Philippian jailer, the primary thrust is always personal and singular. “Then he brought them out and said, ‘Sirs, what must I do to be saved?’ And they said, ‘Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household’” (Acts 16:30-31). The once-and-done verb in verse 31, “believe” is a second-person singular command, not plural. Also, the always-and-forever promise, “you will be saved,” is second-person singular, not plural. Furthermore, the extension of the salvation promise, “you and your household,” maintains its emphasis upon the singular and personal, which is to say: in the same way that the jailer believed and was saved, so also can his entire household be saved through their individual belief in Jesus Christ as the only Savior of sinners! The gospel is public; the faith-response to the gospel is personal.

However, personal faith that “Christ suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God” (1 Pet. 3:18), is not private. It is not secret. It certainly begins in the hidden recesses of the heart, but it quickly and necessarily pours forth from the hidden heart into the public sector, usually beginning with water baptism, verbal testimony, and good works likened to “the fruit of the Spirit” (Gal. 5:22). “So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased three bears bad fruit … every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Matt. 7:17, 19). The scenario of a healthy tree keeping its fruit private (i.e., hidden, secret) simply doesn’t exist. Personal faith becomes public witness.

Nearly constantly, the top fear listed by modern people is public speaking. It seems that ancient people, too, feared their ability to communicate in public what was dear to their heart. Jesus spoke comforting words to his disciples who were about to enter the public arena of two-by-two ministry: “Do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say, for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour. For it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you” (Matt. 10:19-20). “It was not humiliation which early Christians dreaded, not even the cruel pain and the agony. But many of them feared that their own unskillfulness in words and defense might injure rather than commend the truth. It is the promise of God that when a man is on trial for his faith, the words will come to him” (William Barclay, The Gospel of Matthew). Do not court martyrdom, since Jesus allowed, “When they persecute you in one town flee to the next” (Matt. 10:23) yet “have no fear of them” (Matt. 10:26). “So, everyone who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven, but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven” (Matt. 10:32-33). When the heart is healed, then the mouth will open.

A Very Present Help in Trouble

A Very Present Help in Trouble.  The psalmist implies a question to his audience: where do you take refuge in times of trouble? He answers his own implied question in the opening verse of Psalm 46, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Drawing upon the long history of Israel, the psalmist alludes to the earthquake at Sinai when Moses walked into the storm, at the edge of Egypt when the Hebrews walked into the Red Sea, and at the flood when Noah walked into the ark. “Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling” (Psa. 46:2-3). Fright cannot be controlled since it is a physiological reflex, but fear can be displaced as the primary motivator for action in time of trouble. Trembling knees do not prevent us from bowing our knees before God in the storm. In a sense, it is precisely when our knees are trembling that we can show the most faith.

Trust does not require that the storm breaks before our worship starts. Peace exists independently from the storm. “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns. The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psa. 46:4-7). The Lord is central, not the storm or even our relationship to the storm, but the Lord’s relationship with us. Because he has done everything necessary in the past, we can trust him to do everything that will become necessary in the future. “Come, behold the works of the Lord, how he has brought desolations on the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire” (Psa. 46:8-9).

“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psa. 46:10-11). Stillness is spoken, not to the storm but to the people in the storm. Cease from panic-fueled attempts to save self, like Moses spoke at the Red Sea: “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent” (Exo. 14:13-14).

He Has Done All Things Well

He Has Done All Things Well.  G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936), the English humorist, journalist, and apologist, wrote several famous books in his prestigious career including, What’s Wrong with the World (1910). The inception for that book, apparently, was a short letter that Chesterton received at The Times when he was editor: “What’s wrong with the world today?” His short reply to the question was classy and classically Chestertonian: “Dear Sir, I am. Yours, G. K. Chesterton.” His book was the product of answering that question more fully. As Chesterton was known to do, simultaneously tying knots in some while untying knots in others, he wrote in this book: “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.”

All the perfectionists in the audience probably suffered a visceral reaction to Chesterton’s line, but his reasoning holds true. Chesterton, at the end of Part Four, Chapter 14, Education: Or the Mistake about the Child, defended the informal education of children by non-professional teachers precisely because those teachers, usually mothers, are non-professionals. Professionals, he argued, tend to become specialists and grow loveless in their expertise. Mothers, however, are first and foremost loving, making their attempt at the education of their children better, even if their style might be worse than a professional’s. Chesterton’s principle obliterates perfectionism. Performance does not establish worth.

Here we find a bridge to the Bible. When Jesus was constantly evaluated by the religious leaders, their conclusion was that, since he was different than they were, then he must be evil. “He is possessed by Beelzebul … by the prince of demons he casts out the demons” (Mark 3:22). But when Jesus was constantly evaluated by the common people, their conclusion was that, since he was different than they were, then he must be good. “He has done all things well” (Mark 7:37). Goodness is a moral category; it is an internal virtue akin to righteousness. The opposite of goodness is evil. Excellence is a practical category; it is an external quality akin to appropriateness. The opposite of excellence is badness. Thus, someone could perform his duties excellently but be evil. Equally, someone could perform his duties badly but be good.

Humans, whether ancient or modern, dangerously conflate goodness and excellence. We celebrate excellence but neglect goodness. Pop songs inaccurately sing that if it feels this good then it might be right. Moralists wrongly connect a favorable turn of events to a good deed done in the past. The religious leaders of Jesus’ day falsely assumed that they were morally good because they acted appropriately.

Jesus gave playful commentary on the true nature of goodness, indirectly asserting his own divine status. “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone” (Mark 10:18). Jesus is both. He is good and he did all things excellently, the only one able safely to conflate goodness and excellence in his own person!

A Holy Kiss

A Holy Kiss.  Any reader of the world news barely needs to peek past the ongoing Israel-Hamas war, Ukraine, or the failed state of Haiti to observe turmoil. Today, India retaliated against Pakistan’s attack in the disputed Kashmir territory. Civil war in Khartoum, Sudan, predictably swells and recedes displacing millions as refugees. In Myanmar (Burma), despite recent earthquakes and promises to a ceasefire for humanitarian aid, the controlling military junta continues to shell its own people since their coup d’état in 2021. Mexican drug cartels, MS-13 gang violence, military assets in the South China Sea, and non-stop cyberwarfare show that conflict remains high despite global trade, instant communication, and cuddly cat videos on Instagram. The more we advance toward cooperation the more we revert to tribalism.

Entering this worldwide scene of incurable turmoil, quietly and unassumingly, is the church. On any given Sunday morning, in virtually any functioning New Testament church, a miracle blooms. Not the kind of miracle that televangelists obsess about, but the ordinary kind that the world cannot accomplish despite all its (so-called) improvements. Blink and you might miss it, but when the saints of God pass to one another the peace of God in the name of God, with such frequency that it might even seem boring to some, is shockingly miraculous.

When the apostles concluded their letters to the churches, five times written in a command form, “Greet one another with a holy kiss” (Rom. 16:16; 1 Cor. 16:20; 2 Cor. 13:12; 1 Thess. 5:26; 1 Pet. 5:14), they were walking where angels fear to tread. In a hostile slice of history where infiltrated spies, betrayals, inquisitions, persecutions, imprisonments, and martyrdoms were common (not unlike today in many nations), the Lord wanted the saints to extend and receive social greetings in the fellowship. Ah, but what a vulnerable act a greeting is! 

In America, we don’t have cultural kisses, but we have handshakes and high-fives. In many countries, friends greet one another with a kiss. Left-right-left, or right-left, or an air-kiss, a cultural kiss is not a small thing. Skip it, botch it, or spoof it and one might find himself henceforth unceremoniously disinvited to every social interaction. But the kiss isn’t the miracle; the holy kiss is. The holy kiss treats the other person as a saint. I endorse you as an insider. Even at first introduction, simply by naming the Name, the saints skip all the probationary customs of slowly, suspiciously affording a foreigner the status of guest, candidate, and brother. Christian fellowship starts at hello! Whether or not we engage with an actual kiss, we begin as friends—even Jews and Gentiles, patriots and loyalists, free and slave.

Peek back again at the world news. What miracle would it take for Indians and Pakistanis to forgive each other, for el policía and los cartelistas to sit next to each other at church sharing a hymnal, for Israelis and Palestinians to extend a holy kiss to each other freely, willingly, frequently, and publicly? None of that comes except by way of redemption through Christ.

The Battle Is the Lord's

The Battle Is the Lord’s.  When we imagine ourselves inside the narrative of the Bible, which is generally a profitable exercise, we often cast ourselves as the protagonist. So, when Peter walks on water, we frequently assume the role of Peter in our mind. When Daniel prays from the lions’ den, we rehearse what our prayers might have been along with Daniel. When Esther risks her life to make an unsolicited request of the king, we sympathize with Esther. This enveloping quality affirms the power of story and the nature of Scripture’s profitability “for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness” (2 Tim. 3:16). But statistically, geographically, and rationally, at our default setting we probably have more in common with the antagonists: with the villagers who are glad when Jesus sails away with his friends, with the bureaucrats who support legislation which their bosses tell them to support, with the troublemakers who forced Esther into a dangerous scenario in the first place.

When David selects a stone out of his shepherd’s pouch, I am most likely part of the rabble on Goliath’s side. Before Christ graciously interrupted my story, I was the Gentile, blasphemer, and scoffer who had grandiose plans back in Philistia once these silly roaches were squashed on the battlefield. Not many of us are heroic. Not even David knew that he was the hero of the story when he brought lunch to his older brothers. Heroes don’t presume heroism. Heroes think of themselves humbly and accurately: “And David said to Saul, ‘Your servant will go and fight with this Philistine’” (1 Sam. 17:32). Saul’s servant never sees himself as Saul’s successor.

Deftly, David never claims that he would prevail over Goliath but that God will do the fighting. “Your servant has struck down both lions and bears, and this uncircumcised Philistine shall be like one of them, for he had defied the armies of the living God” (1 Sam. 17:36). That’s perhaps the biggest part of this hero story, David’s willingness to go with the foundational understanding that “the Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine” (1 Sam. 17:37). It is straightforward.

David does not win by shirking trends in conventional warfare, believing in himself, or carving his own path to victory. David wins by openly hiding. “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust” (Psa. 91:2). David stands apart but never alone. “For by you I can run against a troop” (Psa. 18:29). David knows that he is nothing, that only God matters, which in God’s kingdom is something rare and precious. “He chose David his servant and took him from the sheepfolds” (Psa. 78:70). David succeeds by faithfully deferring his case to a higher court. “For the battle is the Lord’s” (1 Sam. 17:47a). David survives by ceasing to save his own life but trusting the Lord to fight for the Lord! “And he will give you into our hand” (1 Sam. 17:47b). 

The Love of Christ

The Love of Christ (Eph. 3:14-21)

14 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father,

15 from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named,

16 that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being,

17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith--that you, being rooted and grounded in love,

18 may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth,

19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

20 Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us,

21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

He Breathed His Last

He Breathed His Last.  “On the physical death of Jesus Christ,” an article which appeared in the March 21, 1986, edition of The Journal of the American Medical Association (Vol. 255, No. 11, pp. 1455-63) is annual reading for many during Holy Week. There are many ways to download this article for free or read it online, including: https://www.godonthe.net/evidence/on-the-physical-death-of-jesus-JAMA.pdf.

A medical review of the torture of Roman crucifixion is unavoidably gruesome since the Romans engineered it for maximum gore. “The actual cause of Jesus’ death, like that of other crucified victims, may have been multifactorial and related primarily to hypovolemic shock, exhaustion asphyxia, and perhaps acute heart failure” (p. 1463). “He breathed his last” (Luke 23:46) is entirely consistent with the medical cause of death by crucifixion. Asphyxia happened but Jesus was not a passive victim. Jesus actively permitted his death to happen, a feat which only he could do. He laid down his life just as he foretold, “No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again. This charge I have received from my Father” (John 10:18). 

Invented by the Persians and advanced by the Carthaginians, crucifixion was perfected by the Romans to humiliate and prolong the execution process of its worst criminals and enemies of the state. Women and children were generally exempt from crucifixion, as were Roman citizens, unless they were soldiers who deserted. Roman citizenship is why Caesar Nero (54-68 A.D.) crucified Peter (upside-down) but beheaded Paul (humanely). Yet, crucifixion was prefigured in Deuteronomy 21:22-23 where, after executing a person who had openly rebelled against God, the community was instructed to hang his corpse on a tree (outside the camp) in effigy. Due to the threat of polluting the good land, the corpse must not hang on the tree overnight. The reasoning behind this especially brutal practice, Moses stated plainly: “For a hanged man is cursed by God.” He got what he deserved is the unavoidable take-away.

It was this divine cursedness of the executed that colored in the lines of Isaiah’s prophecy of Messiah, “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted” (Isa. 53:4). Paul connected those two references to the cursed, hanging man in Galatians 3:13, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.’” 

To hasten the death of the crucified, the Roman soldiers broke their victims’ legs, eliminating their ability to exhale. “Adequate exhalation required lifting the body by pushing up on the feet” (p. 1461). When the soldiers came to break Jesus’ legs, they found that he was already dead (Luke 19:33). The soldier’s spear thrust to Jesus’ side, therefore, did not kill Jesus but confirmed his death, since separation of the blood and the water (plasma) happened post-mortem (John 19:34). That Jesus’ death came in only six hours, as opposed to several days, was so surprising to Pilate that he sought verification from the centurion (Mark 15:44).