Security
Commentary
When a young girl came home from Sunday school, her parents asked her about the lesson. “It was about a man who was traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho,” she said. “He was beaten up by some bad men, and they threw his body into the ditch. Then two preachers came along, but when they saw that the man had already been robbed and they couldn’t get anything more from him, they passed by on the other side!”
She along with many others seems to think that the church is always on the take, always asking for money. It’s just another robber, merely pretending to be sanctified by the piety of religious language. Dennis the Menace, in one of the comic strips, also believes that the church is about money. As he drags his parents off to church on a Sunday morning, later than usual, he says, “I hope we get in our seats before they serve the money!” We all know that the “serve” is really the weekly “take.”
The mega-church campuses of today, with multi-million-dollar buildings ringed by fleets of expensive motor vehicles, would likely have surprised Jesus. He did not have a great view of a money/religion mix, nor could he seem easily to connect wealthy people with God.
Of course, we’re quick to point out the sociological changes that have taken place since his days, and the fact that upper middle-class folk, as well as rich people, have done a world of good in the church and kingdom with their money. We would be quick to tell Jesus that his comments were for the godless rich of his day, and that we use our financial resources in a different way. But as Shakespeare said through Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks!” The bride of Christ certainly finds her fiscal welfare changed since Jesus’ days and, perhaps more than she would care to admit, her spiritual outlook along with it. At the height of the Middle Ages theologian Thomas Aquinas paused with the pope as a new shipment of offerings and artistic masterpieces entered the Vatican. Reflecting on Peter’s words to the paralytic beggar in Acts 5 the pope commented, “No longer do we have to say, ‘Silver and gold have I none.’”
With a sadly satirical twist of wit Aquinas replied, “Neither can we any longer say, ‘In the name of Christ, rise up and walk.’”
What makes money so important to us? At least in part it seems to be related to our perceptions of security. Don Marquis rightly said, “There is nothing so habit-forming as money.” Researchers claim that the major concern of most college and university students is getting the right education to land the right job in order to make the right amount of money. Money is perceived of as power and security — the more you have of it, the more you have of them.
Yet, as Job and Jesus and the writer of Hebrews show us in our lectionary readings, our perceptions about these things are not always accurate.
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Although there is a brief prose narrative which sets up the drama at the beginning (Job 1--2), a tiny prose interruption to explain a change of scenes in 32:1-5, and a short narrative concluding note (Job 42:7-17), the essence of the book of Job is found in the dramatic dialogues which make up its bulk. These are rhythmically arranged and contain nuances of theodicy which attempt to answer the question of why Job is suffering. After Job makes his initial lament (Job 3), there are three rounds of dialogue in which Job’s primary friends, Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, explain their views. Each time Job responds in an attempt to refute their harsh judgments about him. The friends focus on some secret, heinous sins that must recently have been uncovered by God, resulting in Job’s horrible current condition as divine payback in a tit-for-tat mechanistic moral world. Job continually protests his innocence and decries their poor bedside manners.
The third round of these dialogues seems to be cut short. As usual, Eliphaz (Job 22) and Bildad (Job 25) rush in to challenge Job, but Zophar is not included this time, and Job’s final response is more extended (Job 26-31). The apparent incompleteness of this round of disputations may be a literary device hinting that Job’s three friends have not been able adequately to respond. At precisely this moment a new voice enters (Job 32--37), bringing the younger and yet more complex and profound insights of Elihu. While the earlier interactions muddied down into almost tedious accusation and defense, Elihu adds the dimensions of divine chastisement and education as possible causes for pain. Although suffering is usually a sign of divine judgment for identifiable nasty deeds, Elihu notes, sometimes it comes merely because it is part of our lot as human beings living in a compromised world. Moreover, even where there are no specific sins on our part to merit punishment, God often uses pain as a means to keep us aware of our limitations and remind us of our need for divine help.
We are not given an indication as to how Job responds to Elihu’s assessment, for before Job can answer, Yahweh suddenly thunders in (Job 38:1-42:6). We do not know why God chooses to make a speech at this time, nor are we party to what conversations might have happened in the heavens of the opening scenes as the rest of the earthly exchanges unfolded. Also, to our frustration, Yahweh does not answer the assertions made by either the friends or Job. Instead, Yahweh gives ten object lessons from the physical realm (Job 38:2-38) and another ten object lessons from the animal realm (Job 38:39-39:30) which apparently are meant to remind the participants in the drama (and also those who read it) that Yahweh’s power vastly supersedes human exploration or co-engagement. Because of this, according to the brief encounters which Yahweh then has with Job (Job 40:1-42:6), we ought not presume too much about why things happen as they do, nor pride ourselves about any normative or comprehensive insights we might think we have.
In the end, although Satan is never mentioned again, nor are we taken back to the transcendent perch granted at the beginning, Job is vindicated. His suffering, which was not specifically brought on because of grievous sins in his life, is ended, and his world is restored to its former prosperity.
What are we to make of this drama? In answering that question, it is probably helpful first to sketch out the specific responses that are given in the book of Job to three questions: (1) who causes Job’s suffering; (2) what is the immediate cause for that suffering; and (3) what is the ultimate outcome expected because of that suffering?
When the drama is taken as a whole, it becomes apparent that Job’s message is not entirely about suffering. Instead, the book seems to be at least as much about what might be termed the fundamental values that make humanity human. Suffering merely provides a context in which the critical issues of meaning rise quickly to the surface.
Do we live in a world where we are masters to ourselves? No, this is a moral universe, and there are laws that must be obeyed if we are to survive.
But is it then a mechanistic cosmos in which cause and effect are the only determiners of outcome? Not at all, for above and around and beyond our typical powers of perception swirls a spiritual realm in which God and angels and demons take a vital interest into our habits and activities of life.
So, what can we learn about our existence from this drama? Mechanistic worldviews belittle and reduce life, either by claiming that physical possessions and prosperity are the end product of right living, or that pain and suffering will automatically drive one away from God. The former forgets that God desires to have meaningful relationships with humans, even when they are flawed and sinful. The latter believes that atheism is a viable option in a world where things no longer make any sense.
This is a moral universe, according to the drama of Job, though not all pain and problems are the direct result of our sinfulness. The normal or natural human identity involves acknowledging and worshipping God, but this worship cannot be coerced. The fundamental challenge to human living is that of continuing to be our truest God-worshipping selves even when the limited evidence of daily experience sometimes seems to speak to the contrary. Job neither gives in to his friends’ reductionistic worldview, nor gives up in the face of insufficient evidence to confirm God’s care or presence. In this, Job remains truly human at its most fundamental level: he believes in God not for the sake of trinkets he might gain by that relationship, but because to lose that transcendent connection would be to deny his very self and its reason for existence.
Hebrews 4:12-16
The tabernacle was more than a religious shrine for Israel. It was different than a mere ceremonial place for offerings. It was, in fact, the home of Yahweh at the center of the Israelite community. When the sun settled behind the horizon and the cooking fires were banked to save wood as the people traveled through the wilderness, one tent continued to have a light on all night. In the heart of the camp, the lamp glowed in the fellowship hall of the tabernacle; Yahweh kept vigil while the community slept. In the morning and evening, a meal could be taken with Yahweh (the sacrifices, burnt so that Yahweh might consume the divine portion by way of inhaling the smoke), and the feasting room was constantly made ready for the king to meet with his subjects.
What happened at Mt. Sinai? God formally claimed Israel as partner in whatever the divine mission was for planet Earth. Israel, in turn, owned Yahweh as divine King and Suzerain. In effect, Yahweh and Israel were married, and their starter home was built at the center of the camp.
Such is the theology behind both the tabernacle and its later expression as the temple. Both were different from mere cultic shrines. They were the resident of Israel’s true bridegroom and master. The destinies of God and Israel were inextricably intertwined.
At this point, the genius of the writer of Hebrews blazes again. He visualizes the movement of God’s people from the outer distances of the world and the camp toward intimate and personal contact with God. He then applies this same journeying imagery more specifically to his readers in their new and Christian context.
How did this psychological and spiritual and physical moving toward God take place in the tabernacle days? There were several successive steps:
The writer of Hebrews takes the topographical locations of the tabernacle and its surroundings, and sets the whole map on end, so that it begins in this world and ends in heaven. The scattered peoples of earth, including Jews, need to find and approach their loving Creator. But God is not to be found in any earthly building today. Instead, God resides in heaven, ruling from the mercy seat. And only Jesus, who is God, can come from that place to lead us back to that place.
Mark 10:17-31
One of the most widely viewed television programs of all time was the Fox-TV special “Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?” Fifty women from around North America were brought together for two-hours of interviews and beauty-pageant parading while a mysterious multi-millionaire sat cloistered in a booth observing by way of monitors. Friends and family of the tycoon assisted him in rating the ten semi-finalists and five finalists until the big moment arrived. With five women now clad in designer wedding dresses standing at attention before thousands in the auditorium and 23 million network viewers, the man who controlled all the shots stepped forward to grab one woman and wed her immediately before an authorized judge. The newly married pair danced their wedding tryst on a stage surrounded by 49 losers while credits rolled, signaling the end of the program.
There was a great deal of controversy in the days that followed. The woman quit her nursing job and disappeared from her family and friends. Investigators dredged up a woman-beating indictment issued years earlier against the millionaire. Moralists wrote columns about the scandal of television rating games, denouncing Fox for pulling off something the other networks wished they would have thought of first.
There was little said, however, about the strangeness of money itself that made this weird situation possible in the first place. An end-run was done around every element of courtship simply because one person had the financial resources to say so. While the marriage was arranged as completely as that of Isaac and Rebekkah, there was no wise parent or trusted friend who spent considerable time appraising the unknown person until a reasonable match could be made based on personality and values. Furthermore, the “winner” was truly a financial winner, with a great deal of wealth tagged to her new wedding ring. At the same time, the multi-millionaire was protected from financial ruin by prenuptials that guaranteed no sharing of resources.
In other words, the woman was bought like a prostitute for a one-night stand and no relationship was secured by it. The only person capable of pulling off something like this was a wealthy man. A poor man would have had to actually court a woman in order to move toward marriage. Wealth insulated the multi-millionaire from the messy stuff of making a relationship work. One day he bought a mansion. Another day he bought a yacht. That day he bought a wife.
Some time ago, June Fletcher wrote a perceptive article in the Wall Street Journal. “Behind walls, millions seek havens,” she said (February 2, 1996, p. B8). There is a mushrooming demand for “gated communities” in the United States, according to Fletcher. People put fences around their communities and push away those unlike them. One of the main reasons, according to Fletcher, was outlined in a massive study done by Philip Langdon. He said, “Although people are motivated by concerns about crime and intrusion, there’s also prestige in walling yourself off from others. It says that you’ve risen in the pecking order.”
The insulation of wealth invades churches as well as neighborhoods. A friend of mine was director of a Christian social agency some years ago. He said that the goal of his organization was to connect those in need with congregations where the needs could be met. People were referred to Christians who had the resources to meet one or two small needs. Too often, however, said my friend, the deacons of those congregations would call him asking that no more referrals be made. They would like to take up an offering, or perhaps do a food drive for a few weeks. But they did not want to have to deal with people in need directly. One pastor told my friend that his congregation was not into helping people directly. “Why don’t you tell us how much you need to operate next month,” said the pastor, “and we’ll cut you a check. We’ve got a lot of money in our benevolence account.”
Jesus seems incredibly hard-nosed about the nastiness of wealthy people. Yet it is impossible to ignore the reality that wealth isolates some people from others and insulates some hearts from true compassion. As the wealth of a congregation increases it tends to want to play the “Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?” game rather than invest time and effort in the courtship process of walking with those in need.
When Clarence Jordan, the author of the Cottonpatch Bible, started a Christian community on a farm in the south, many who admired his spiritual wisdom came to apply. A very wealthy woman approached him one day, begging a place among the group. Jordan agreed to receive her on one condition. “First sell everything you have and give it away,” he told her.
She was willing to sell everything, she said, and then to give the money to Jordan’s Christian community. He refused. “Don’t you need money to run this place?” she asked.
“We certainly do,” he replied. “We would love to have your money. But if you gave us your money and you became a member of our community, your money would keep you apart from everyone else. We would all know that we owed you a lot, and we would never see you as one of us.”
He was right. Jesus is not begging for rich people to donate to the church. He is pointing out that money is a god and until we deal with its power, we cannot find our place in the kingdom of God.
Money does not heal. Money does not cure. Wealth cannot protect or assist. Only people can help people. Only God and make life work. And he will never appear on a television show called, “Who Wants to Marry God Today?” He values us far too much to ever do a silly thing like that.
Application
A story of tandem bikers is telling. Riding their two-seater along a highway they encountered a steep hill. Panting and groaning, they finally achieved the summit.
“What a climb!” said one when they stopped for a rest break.
“Yeah!” said the other. “And if I hadn’t kept the brake on, we would have slid right down again!”
That’s often a picture of us, racing through life. We puff up the ladder of success, expanding our earnings while gripping the brake ever more tightly, scared of what might happen if we ever let go. Years ago, I sat with a man at a coffee shop. I was new in town, and he wanted to sell me some life insurance.
“How much security do you want?” he asked me. He had been a wheeler-dealer in Calgary during the oil boom, earning big money, living fast times. Then the boom went bust, his investments collapsed, and his wife left with another high roller. Now he was back in his hometown trying to start over.
“How much security can you offer?” I responded. His eyes lit up. His face got flushed. He was ready to move in for the deal. But then we started talking about the church. It soon became apparent that he had another agenda tucked behind his tycoon come-on. Did I really believe all this religion stuff? Could God really love him after all he had done, after the mess he’d made of things? He had been on the fast track: bright lights, big city. He wanted desperately to be loved, but one marriage was gone, and another relationship was souring. Money bought him nothing. Was there something more?
I could see my own heart reflected in his flush and fears. We are all looking for security. We think we can find it in money, in wealth, in possessions. And maybe for a while it works.
But one day Jesus comes along, like he did that day in Jericho when he met Zacchaeus. And when he tells us that he loves us, and when he tells us that his father is taking care of us, we can finally let our grabbing fists go, and ease the pain of our ulcers, and give away the possessions that have begun to possess us.
Ernest Hemingway used to give away some of his most valued possessions at the beginning of each new year. He said he did it to prove that he really owned them, and not the other way around. If he couldn’t give them away, they owned him. They controlled his heart.
That brings us back to Jesus’ words. Why is he so hard on the rich? Everybody can get into the kingdom of God. It is just harder when you don’t think you need it.
Alternative Application (Hebrews 4:12-16)
One fellow tells of his work as a hospital volunteer. He couldn’t believe the pain and suffering he saw there. Burn victims. Deformities. Terminal cancer. He watched the little ones cry. Some were so lonely: their parents couldn’t take the trauma, so they never came to see their own children. How horrible!
He decided to get a clown’s nose, and a pair of oversized shoes. Then he painted his face and pulled on a wig. When he went to work dressed like that the next day, some of the children were scared, some were captivated, and some even showed hints of a smile for the first time in ages.
But others could not stop wailing. They were consumed by agony. What could he do for them? The next day the clown brought along some popcorn. When he came to the side of a crying child, he took a kernel of popcorn, placed it against the child’s cheek, and soaked up the cascading tears with its fluff. Then he popped that kernel into his mouth and ate it.
It was a stroke of genius. The only time some of those children stopped crying was the moment they knew that somebody else cared enough to swallow their tears.
According to the writer of Hebrews, Jesus brings us to a place like that. He takes us, at the end of our journey, into the “sanctuary” of God, the holy of holies, where we approach the mercy seat of God’s throne with awe and caution, but also thankfulness and delight. Even though our daily walk is often in painful places, Jesus brings us through the house of God right into God’s merciful and protective presence. “Sanctuary” is refuge, fortress, safe house, security, arms of love, a place where someone cares enough to swallow our tears and protect us from the worst that could harm us.
And the reason that Jesus can do this is because he holds dual citizenship. On the one hand, he is a “high priest selected from among men” (Hebrews 5:1) who “is able to deal gently with those who are ignorant and are going astray” (Hebrews 5:2), because he “has been tempted in every way, just as we are” (Hebrews 4:15), and is “himself subject to weakness” (Hebrews 5:2), so that “he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears” (Hebrews 5:7) and “suffered” (Hebrews 5:8) all the way to death. Jesus is fully human, completely like us, aware totally of our needs and concerns and tears and suffering.
Yet on the other hand, Jesus is “the Son of God” (Hebrews 4:14) who “has gone through the heavens” (Hebrews 4:14), the “perfect” (Hebrews 5:9) one who “became the source of eternal salvation” (Hebrews 5:9). Jesus is fully God, with all the capabilities of divinity and its power. Because of that, he can deliver us from the spooky and scary things that go bump in the night.
In other words, Jesus has dual citizenship. He belongs fully to the world of humanity, sharing its sorrows, woes, pains, crises, and tears. But Jesus is also one of the only three who holds permanent and eternal citizenship in heaven, the deity who is absolutely and completely God, Son of the Father, and participant in all things divine from before time began.
Like those to whom Hebrews was written, the first coming of Jesus has brought us very near to the fullness of the kingdom of God. Eternity and the renewed creation seem close, but we are not there yet. We still spend time in the dark alongside those who wrestle with demons and shadows and beasties. Yet because of our confidence in the incarnation, we see the light, and clap our hands in celebration of the child who comes to dance around our fires.
He swallows our tears and fears, even as they keep recurring. And in his dance between earth and heaven, we are protected by the walls of grace that close the mouths of lions and cause Leviathan to frolic in the deeps.
She along with many others seems to think that the church is always on the take, always asking for money. It’s just another robber, merely pretending to be sanctified by the piety of religious language. Dennis the Menace, in one of the comic strips, also believes that the church is about money. As he drags his parents off to church on a Sunday morning, later than usual, he says, “I hope we get in our seats before they serve the money!” We all know that the “serve” is really the weekly “take.”
The mega-church campuses of today, with multi-million-dollar buildings ringed by fleets of expensive motor vehicles, would likely have surprised Jesus. He did not have a great view of a money/religion mix, nor could he seem easily to connect wealthy people with God.
Of course, we’re quick to point out the sociological changes that have taken place since his days, and the fact that upper middle-class folk, as well as rich people, have done a world of good in the church and kingdom with their money. We would be quick to tell Jesus that his comments were for the godless rich of his day, and that we use our financial resources in a different way. But as Shakespeare said through Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks!” The bride of Christ certainly finds her fiscal welfare changed since Jesus’ days and, perhaps more than she would care to admit, her spiritual outlook along with it. At the height of the Middle Ages theologian Thomas Aquinas paused with the pope as a new shipment of offerings and artistic masterpieces entered the Vatican. Reflecting on Peter’s words to the paralytic beggar in Acts 5 the pope commented, “No longer do we have to say, ‘Silver and gold have I none.’”
With a sadly satirical twist of wit Aquinas replied, “Neither can we any longer say, ‘In the name of Christ, rise up and walk.’”
What makes money so important to us? At least in part it seems to be related to our perceptions of security. Don Marquis rightly said, “There is nothing so habit-forming as money.” Researchers claim that the major concern of most college and university students is getting the right education to land the right job in order to make the right amount of money. Money is perceived of as power and security — the more you have of it, the more you have of them.
Yet, as Job and Jesus and the writer of Hebrews show us in our lectionary readings, our perceptions about these things are not always accurate.
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Although there is a brief prose narrative which sets up the drama at the beginning (Job 1--2), a tiny prose interruption to explain a change of scenes in 32:1-5, and a short narrative concluding note (Job 42:7-17), the essence of the book of Job is found in the dramatic dialogues which make up its bulk. These are rhythmically arranged and contain nuances of theodicy which attempt to answer the question of why Job is suffering. After Job makes his initial lament (Job 3), there are three rounds of dialogue in which Job’s primary friends, Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, explain their views. Each time Job responds in an attempt to refute their harsh judgments about him. The friends focus on some secret, heinous sins that must recently have been uncovered by God, resulting in Job’s horrible current condition as divine payback in a tit-for-tat mechanistic moral world. Job continually protests his innocence and decries their poor bedside manners.
The third round of these dialogues seems to be cut short. As usual, Eliphaz (Job 22) and Bildad (Job 25) rush in to challenge Job, but Zophar is not included this time, and Job’s final response is more extended (Job 26-31). The apparent incompleteness of this round of disputations may be a literary device hinting that Job’s three friends have not been able adequately to respond. At precisely this moment a new voice enters (Job 32--37), bringing the younger and yet more complex and profound insights of Elihu. While the earlier interactions muddied down into almost tedious accusation and defense, Elihu adds the dimensions of divine chastisement and education as possible causes for pain. Although suffering is usually a sign of divine judgment for identifiable nasty deeds, Elihu notes, sometimes it comes merely because it is part of our lot as human beings living in a compromised world. Moreover, even where there are no specific sins on our part to merit punishment, God often uses pain as a means to keep us aware of our limitations and remind us of our need for divine help.
We are not given an indication as to how Job responds to Elihu’s assessment, for before Job can answer, Yahweh suddenly thunders in (Job 38:1-42:6). We do not know why God chooses to make a speech at this time, nor are we party to what conversations might have happened in the heavens of the opening scenes as the rest of the earthly exchanges unfolded. Also, to our frustration, Yahweh does not answer the assertions made by either the friends or Job. Instead, Yahweh gives ten object lessons from the physical realm (Job 38:2-38) and another ten object lessons from the animal realm (Job 38:39-39:30) which apparently are meant to remind the participants in the drama (and also those who read it) that Yahweh’s power vastly supersedes human exploration or co-engagement. Because of this, according to the brief encounters which Yahweh then has with Job (Job 40:1-42:6), we ought not presume too much about why things happen as they do, nor pride ourselves about any normative or comprehensive insights we might think we have.
In the end, although Satan is never mentioned again, nor are we taken back to the transcendent perch granted at the beginning, Job is vindicated. His suffering, which was not specifically brought on because of grievous sins in his life, is ended, and his world is restored to its former prosperity.
What are we to make of this drama? In answering that question, it is probably helpful first to sketch out the specific responses that are given in the book of Job to three questions: (1) who causes Job’s suffering; (2) what is the immediate cause for that suffering; and (3) what is the ultimate outcome expected because of that suffering?
When the drama is taken as a whole, it becomes apparent that Job’s message is not entirely about suffering. Instead, the book seems to be at least as much about what might be termed the fundamental values that make humanity human. Suffering merely provides a context in which the critical issues of meaning rise quickly to the surface.
Do we live in a world where we are masters to ourselves? No, this is a moral universe, and there are laws that must be obeyed if we are to survive.
But is it then a mechanistic cosmos in which cause and effect are the only determiners of outcome? Not at all, for above and around and beyond our typical powers of perception swirls a spiritual realm in which God and angels and demons take a vital interest into our habits and activities of life.
So, what can we learn about our existence from this drama? Mechanistic worldviews belittle and reduce life, either by claiming that physical possessions and prosperity are the end product of right living, or that pain and suffering will automatically drive one away from God. The former forgets that God desires to have meaningful relationships with humans, even when they are flawed and sinful. The latter believes that atheism is a viable option in a world where things no longer make any sense.
This is a moral universe, according to the drama of Job, though not all pain and problems are the direct result of our sinfulness. The normal or natural human identity involves acknowledging and worshipping God, but this worship cannot be coerced. The fundamental challenge to human living is that of continuing to be our truest God-worshipping selves even when the limited evidence of daily experience sometimes seems to speak to the contrary. Job neither gives in to his friends’ reductionistic worldview, nor gives up in the face of insufficient evidence to confirm God’s care or presence. In this, Job remains truly human at its most fundamental level: he believes in God not for the sake of trinkets he might gain by that relationship, but because to lose that transcendent connection would be to deny his very self and its reason for existence.
Hebrews 4:12-16
The tabernacle was more than a religious shrine for Israel. It was different than a mere ceremonial place for offerings. It was, in fact, the home of Yahweh at the center of the Israelite community. When the sun settled behind the horizon and the cooking fires were banked to save wood as the people traveled through the wilderness, one tent continued to have a light on all night. In the heart of the camp, the lamp glowed in the fellowship hall of the tabernacle; Yahweh kept vigil while the community slept. In the morning and evening, a meal could be taken with Yahweh (the sacrifices, burnt so that Yahweh might consume the divine portion by way of inhaling the smoke), and the feasting room was constantly made ready for the king to meet with his subjects.
What happened at Mt. Sinai? God formally claimed Israel as partner in whatever the divine mission was for planet Earth. Israel, in turn, owned Yahweh as divine King and Suzerain. In effect, Yahweh and Israel were married, and their starter home was built at the center of the camp.
Such is the theology behind both the tabernacle and its later expression as the temple. Both were different from mere cultic shrines. They were the resident of Israel’s true bridegroom and master. The destinies of God and Israel were inextricably intertwined.
At this point, the genius of the writer of Hebrews blazes again. He visualizes the movement of God’s people from the outer distances of the world and the camp toward intimate and personal contact with God. He then applies this same journeying imagery more specifically to his readers in their new and Christian context.
How did this psychological and spiritual and physical moving toward God take place in the tabernacle days? There were several successive steps:
- People recognized the central place of God in their existences and sought to commune with God.
- So, they came to God’s house with gifts.
- At the entrance to God’s house, those entrusted with its care washed themselves so that they might be ready to receive these gifts on behalf of God.
- The gifts were quickly turned into meals that God and God’s people shared together in front of the tent.
- The keepers of God’s house would regularly enter the front section of God’s tent to express rituals of deepening hospitality symbolically:
- A table was set there, always ready, indicating a God’s delight in sharing a meal with God’s people.
- The lamp was lit, providing light in these more intimate and darker places.
- An altar of incense softened the mood and scented the air for deep companionship.
- And then, once a year, a representative who stood for both God and God’s people (the high priest), communed deeply with God in the sacred private space (the holy of holies) where God’s merciful throne (the ark of the covenant) stood.
The writer of Hebrews takes the topographical locations of the tabernacle and its surroundings, and sets the whole map on end, so that it begins in this world and ends in heaven. The scattered peoples of earth, including Jews, need to find and approach their loving Creator. But God is not to be found in any earthly building today. Instead, God resides in heaven, ruling from the mercy seat. And only Jesus, who is God, can come from that place to lead us back to that place.
Mark 10:17-31
One of the most widely viewed television programs of all time was the Fox-TV special “Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?” Fifty women from around North America were brought together for two-hours of interviews and beauty-pageant parading while a mysterious multi-millionaire sat cloistered in a booth observing by way of monitors. Friends and family of the tycoon assisted him in rating the ten semi-finalists and five finalists until the big moment arrived. With five women now clad in designer wedding dresses standing at attention before thousands in the auditorium and 23 million network viewers, the man who controlled all the shots stepped forward to grab one woman and wed her immediately before an authorized judge. The newly married pair danced their wedding tryst on a stage surrounded by 49 losers while credits rolled, signaling the end of the program.
There was a great deal of controversy in the days that followed. The woman quit her nursing job and disappeared from her family and friends. Investigators dredged up a woman-beating indictment issued years earlier against the millionaire. Moralists wrote columns about the scandal of television rating games, denouncing Fox for pulling off something the other networks wished they would have thought of first.
There was little said, however, about the strangeness of money itself that made this weird situation possible in the first place. An end-run was done around every element of courtship simply because one person had the financial resources to say so. While the marriage was arranged as completely as that of Isaac and Rebekkah, there was no wise parent or trusted friend who spent considerable time appraising the unknown person until a reasonable match could be made based on personality and values. Furthermore, the “winner” was truly a financial winner, with a great deal of wealth tagged to her new wedding ring. At the same time, the multi-millionaire was protected from financial ruin by prenuptials that guaranteed no sharing of resources.
In other words, the woman was bought like a prostitute for a one-night stand and no relationship was secured by it. The only person capable of pulling off something like this was a wealthy man. A poor man would have had to actually court a woman in order to move toward marriage. Wealth insulated the multi-millionaire from the messy stuff of making a relationship work. One day he bought a mansion. Another day he bought a yacht. That day he bought a wife.
Some time ago, June Fletcher wrote a perceptive article in the Wall Street Journal. “Behind walls, millions seek havens,” she said (February 2, 1996, p. B8). There is a mushrooming demand for “gated communities” in the United States, according to Fletcher. People put fences around their communities and push away those unlike them. One of the main reasons, according to Fletcher, was outlined in a massive study done by Philip Langdon. He said, “Although people are motivated by concerns about crime and intrusion, there’s also prestige in walling yourself off from others. It says that you’ve risen in the pecking order.”
The insulation of wealth invades churches as well as neighborhoods. A friend of mine was director of a Christian social agency some years ago. He said that the goal of his organization was to connect those in need with congregations where the needs could be met. People were referred to Christians who had the resources to meet one or two small needs. Too often, however, said my friend, the deacons of those congregations would call him asking that no more referrals be made. They would like to take up an offering, or perhaps do a food drive for a few weeks. But they did not want to have to deal with people in need directly. One pastor told my friend that his congregation was not into helping people directly. “Why don’t you tell us how much you need to operate next month,” said the pastor, “and we’ll cut you a check. We’ve got a lot of money in our benevolence account.”
Jesus seems incredibly hard-nosed about the nastiness of wealthy people. Yet it is impossible to ignore the reality that wealth isolates some people from others and insulates some hearts from true compassion. As the wealth of a congregation increases it tends to want to play the “Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?” game rather than invest time and effort in the courtship process of walking with those in need.
When Clarence Jordan, the author of the Cottonpatch Bible, started a Christian community on a farm in the south, many who admired his spiritual wisdom came to apply. A very wealthy woman approached him one day, begging a place among the group. Jordan agreed to receive her on one condition. “First sell everything you have and give it away,” he told her.
She was willing to sell everything, she said, and then to give the money to Jordan’s Christian community. He refused. “Don’t you need money to run this place?” she asked.
“We certainly do,” he replied. “We would love to have your money. But if you gave us your money and you became a member of our community, your money would keep you apart from everyone else. We would all know that we owed you a lot, and we would never see you as one of us.”
He was right. Jesus is not begging for rich people to donate to the church. He is pointing out that money is a god and until we deal with its power, we cannot find our place in the kingdom of God.
Money does not heal. Money does not cure. Wealth cannot protect or assist. Only people can help people. Only God and make life work. And he will never appear on a television show called, “Who Wants to Marry God Today?” He values us far too much to ever do a silly thing like that.
Application
A story of tandem bikers is telling. Riding their two-seater along a highway they encountered a steep hill. Panting and groaning, they finally achieved the summit.
“What a climb!” said one when they stopped for a rest break.
“Yeah!” said the other. “And if I hadn’t kept the brake on, we would have slid right down again!”
That’s often a picture of us, racing through life. We puff up the ladder of success, expanding our earnings while gripping the brake ever more tightly, scared of what might happen if we ever let go. Years ago, I sat with a man at a coffee shop. I was new in town, and he wanted to sell me some life insurance.
“How much security do you want?” he asked me. He had been a wheeler-dealer in Calgary during the oil boom, earning big money, living fast times. Then the boom went bust, his investments collapsed, and his wife left with another high roller. Now he was back in his hometown trying to start over.
“How much security can you offer?” I responded. His eyes lit up. His face got flushed. He was ready to move in for the deal. But then we started talking about the church. It soon became apparent that he had another agenda tucked behind his tycoon come-on. Did I really believe all this religion stuff? Could God really love him after all he had done, after the mess he’d made of things? He had been on the fast track: bright lights, big city. He wanted desperately to be loved, but one marriage was gone, and another relationship was souring. Money bought him nothing. Was there something more?
I could see my own heart reflected in his flush and fears. We are all looking for security. We think we can find it in money, in wealth, in possessions. And maybe for a while it works.
But one day Jesus comes along, like he did that day in Jericho when he met Zacchaeus. And when he tells us that he loves us, and when he tells us that his father is taking care of us, we can finally let our grabbing fists go, and ease the pain of our ulcers, and give away the possessions that have begun to possess us.
Ernest Hemingway used to give away some of his most valued possessions at the beginning of each new year. He said he did it to prove that he really owned them, and not the other way around. If he couldn’t give them away, they owned him. They controlled his heart.
That brings us back to Jesus’ words. Why is he so hard on the rich? Everybody can get into the kingdom of God. It is just harder when you don’t think you need it.
Alternative Application (Hebrews 4:12-16)
One fellow tells of his work as a hospital volunteer. He couldn’t believe the pain and suffering he saw there. Burn victims. Deformities. Terminal cancer. He watched the little ones cry. Some were so lonely: their parents couldn’t take the trauma, so they never came to see their own children. How horrible!
He decided to get a clown’s nose, and a pair of oversized shoes. Then he painted his face and pulled on a wig. When he went to work dressed like that the next day, some of the children were scared, some were captivated, and some even showed hints of a smile for the first time in ages.
But others could not stop wailing. They were consumed by agony. What could he do for them? The next day the clown brought along some popcorn. When he came to the side of a crying child, he took a kernel of popcorn, placed it against the child’s cheek, and soaked up the cascading tears with its fluff. Then he popped that kernel into his mouth and ate it.
It was a stroke of genius. The only time some of those children stopped crying was the moment they knew that somebody else cared enough to swallow their tears.
According to the writer of Hebrews, Jesus brings us to a place like that. He takes us, at the end of our journey, into the “sanctuary” of God, the holy of holies, where we approach the mercy seat of God’s throne with awe and caution, but also thankfulness and delight. Even though our daily walk is often in painful places, Jesus brings us through the house of God right into God’s merciful and protective presence. “Sanctuary” is refuge, fortress, safe house, security, arms of love, a place where someone cares enough to swallow our tears and protect us from the worst that could harm us.
And the reason that Jesus can do this is because he holds dual citizenship. On the one hand, he is a “high priest selected from among men” (Hebrews 5:1) who “is able to deal gently with those who are ignorant and are going astray” (Hebrews 5:2), because he “has been tempted in every way, just as we are” (Hebrews 4:15), and is “himself subject to weakness” (Hebrews 5:2), so that “he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears” (Hebrews 5:7) and “suffered” (Hebrews 5:8) all the way to death. Jesus is fully human, completely like us, aware totally of our needs and concerns and tears and suffering.
Yet on the other hand, Jesus is “the Son of God” (Hebrews 4:14) who “has gone through the heavens” (Hebrews 4:14), the “perfect” (Hebrews 5:9) one who “became the source of eternal salvation” (Hebrews 5:9). Jesus is fully God, with all the capabilities of divinity and its power. Because of that, he can deliver us from the spooky and scary things that go bump in the night.
In other words, Jesus has dual citizenship. He belongs fully to the world of humanity, sharing its sorrows, woes, pains, crises, and tears. But Jesus is also one of the only three who holds permanent and eternal citizenship in heaven, the deity who is absolutely and completely God, Son of the Father, and participant in all things divine from before time began.
Like those to whom Hebrews was written, the first coming of Jesus has brought us very near to the fullness of the kingdom of God. Eternity and the renewed creation seem close, but we are not there yet. We still spend time in the dark alongside those who wrestle with demons and shadows and beasties. Yet because of our confidence in the incarnation, we see the light, and clap our hands in celebration of the child who comes to dance around our fires.
He swallows our tears and fears, even as they keep recurring. And in his dance between earth and heaven, we are protected by the walls of grace that close the mouths of lions and cause Leviathan to frolic in the deeps.
