What God wants
Commentary
Object:
In 2000, Mel Gibson played a character named Nick Marshall in the movie What Women Want. Nick was an uncommonly insensitive man -- self-absorbed and boorish. After a freak accident with electricity, however, he was, for a brief time, able to hear what women around him were thinking. The experience was enlightening to him, for apart from his mystical enabling, he had no clue as to what women really wanted. Up to this point, all of his relationships with women had been handicapped as a result.
We need not be so handicapped in our relationship with God. We are not clueless about what God wants, nor do we need some fluke experience in order to discover it. God is not coy or elusive. On the contrary, he has been very forthcoming about what he wants, and we discover it clearly expressed in his word. This week, we will especially get a glimpse of what God wants in the prophecy of Joel and the parable of Jesus.
Joel 2:23-32
Our nation is in the midst of high-profile political campaigns these days, and that means lots of promises from candidates about what they would do in office. Ideally, such promises offer a true glimpse into the candidate's heart -- what he or she really desires and intends. In reality, of course, some candidates' promises only offer a glimpse into their polling data and focus group results.
With God, however, we can rest assured that his promises are pure. He does not need our vote, and so he does not try to court our favor. He is sovereign, and he can do as he pleases. What he promises, therefore, is what he pleases. That is to say, what God says he intends to do is a genuine picture of what pleases him, a true glimpse into his heart. Within that context, we marvel at the promises of God found in this text from the prophet Joel.
The immediate context of this passage is rather gloomy. Early verses in Joel's brief book indicate that some considerable ruin has already taken place in the land, and those grim descriptions are followed by equally grim predictions about more devastation to come.
Devastation does not have the last word, however. It never does with God. There is always the promise and hope of his bright and lovely purpose on the other side of the necessary chastening or judgment. The rainbow followed the flood. Here, in our selected passage, the "be glad and rejoice" news succeeds the "sound the alarm" (Joel 2:1) message that preceded it.
The good promises of God reflected here have astonishing breadth. They speak to the past, as well as the future. They are both physical and spiritual in content, and they range from the foci of Zion and Jerusalem all the way to outer space.
That the promises of God should speak to the future is not surprising. The future is almost always the jurisdiction of a promise. The more striking thing about this set of promises is that they also speak to the past. God references the past twice to indicate that what had happened to his people before will never happen again -- "my people shall never again be put to shame" (vv. 26-27). Beyond that, though, there is the promise to compensate for what did take place in the past -- "I will repay you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten" (v. 25). Reminiscent of the end of Job's story (see Job 42:12-17) or God's decree in Joshua's day that he had "rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt" (Joshua 5:9), the Lord promises Joel's audience that he will make up for the troubles of the past. That is a remarkable generosity, since the troubles of their past were evidently brought on by their own sinfulness (see Joel 2:12-14). Such is the nature of God's grace.
Meanwhile, in keeping with the thoroughness that is characteristic of God's blessings, the promises found here touch on both the material and spiritual parts of life. The passage escalates, beginning with the physical needs. There will be rain and grain in abundance, wine and oil, and plenty to eat. Beyond that, is the promise mentioned earlier about the people never again being put to shame. As the promises crescendo toward their climax, there are the marvelous pictures of God's relationship with his people. They "shall know that I am in the midst of Israel" (v. 27), and then the Lord "will pour out my spirit" (v. 28). The following verses are familiar ones, cited by Peter on the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2:14-21), ending with the great universal offer of salvation: "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved" (v. 32).
Finally, the promises in this passage have remarkable scope. The focus, at the beginning (v. 23) and at the end (v. 32) is Zion, but God's good plans are not exclusive to Zion. Zion may be central to God's purpose, but he is not a parochial God. Rather, God will dramatically employ all the heavens and the earth, the sun and the moon, as he brings his ultimate will to pass. And, on earth, his gracious will is not limited to Zion, but rather his spirit will be poured out on "all flesh" (v. 28) and he will save "everyone who calls on the name of the Lord" (v. 32).
When it's all said and done, we are left with two parallel images, each introduced with the word "pour" in the NRSV. In the first part, the rain God pours from above yields a bountiful harvest -- grain, wine, and oil, all in abundance. In the second part, God will pour out his Spirit and that will likewise yield a certain harvest. In this case, however, the produce is not from fields, vines, and trees, but rather from sons and daughters, from young and old, and from male and female alike.
2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18
New Testament scholars disagree about the authorship of 2 Timothy. If the apostle Paul wrote it, then it is almost certainly among his latest letters. Since our selected passage is written as a first-person account of Paul's experiences and emotions, we diminish its power and its poignancy unless we receive it as from Paul himself.
We gather from early in the letter (1:16-17) that Paul is writing from prison in Rome. While he has been in prison a number of times before (see, for example, 2 Corinthians 11:23), he writes Timothy now with the strong sense that the end is near. Whether or not Paul, in fact, died shortly after the writing of this letter does not matter for our purposes. What we witness here is his state of mind as he assumes that "the time of (his) departure has come."
What shall be our state of mind as we approach the end? Will it be dominated by regrets over bad things done and good things left undone? Will it be an attitude of fear because of what lies ahead? Or sadness because of what is being left behind? Not so for Paul. He approached the end with a clear sense of completion and of victory. Beyond that, he anticipated a sure reward.
Paul's reference to his "first defense" (v. 16) is a poignant one. Because of his almost suffocating boldness and confidence at other times, we may be prone to regard Paul as an independent, self-sufficient kind of guy. But God has yet to create a human being who does not need the companionship and support of other human beings. Here, literally in the hour of trial, Paul surely felt the need for human friends and companions. Instead, however, he recalls this twofold indignity: "no one came to my support" and "all deserted me" (v. 16).
At this stage of his life and ministry, we might reasonably assume that Paul's companions on a given journey or in a given place were folks whom he himself had led to Christ -- spiritual children of his, like Timothy. Yet the one who had risked his life to bring the gospel to them suddenly found that they were not equally willing to endanger their lives on his behalf. In the midst of that kind of personal disappointment and sense of betrayal, it would be an easy thing to pray for justice, for God's chastening. But, reminiscent of Jesus' prayer on the cross (see Luke 23:34), Paul's deep desire was that "it not be counted against them" (v. 16).
Paul's example at this juncture deserves our careful attention. We human beings are easily troubled by any seeming disloyalty from those around us. Disappointment, after all, is always the child of expectation, and since we expect so much from those closest to us, any failure on their part can be a profound disappointment and source of grief for us. In response, we may feel anything from self-pitying, to unforgiving, to vengeful. Paul, by contrast, earnestly hoped that "it not be counted against them." Instead, he relied on the steadfastness of the Lord.
In the absence of faithful and comforting human companionship, Paul found that his most reliable friend was the Lord himself, who "stood by me and gave me strength" (v. 17). When the people and things of earth prove soft and undependable, we retract our reliance. Unable to lean our full weight safely upon anyone or anything else, we find that the Lord alone is sturdy and steady. Perhaps Joseph Scriven had Paul in mind when he wrote, "Do thy friends despise, forsake thee? Take it to the Lord in prayer! In his arms he'll take and shield thee; thou wilt find a solace there."
Finally, Paul concludes with a triumphant expression of confidence in God's deliverance. He is certain that the Lord will both rescue and save him. "Rescue" and "save" might be used interchangeably in many contexts, but here Paul has two distinct meanings in mind. The rescuing is from (Greek apo) and the saving is to (Greek eis). The glory of this particular Lifeguard, you see, is not only the dangerous water he delivers us from, but also the beautiful shore he delivers us to.
Luke 18:9-14
The fact that Luke calls this teaching a parable indicates how very broad the definition of "parable" is. The people in our pews may be accustomed to thinking of parables as being more allegorical -- that is, stories whose characters are symbolic representatives of some other persons or groups. So, for example, the classic stewardship parable (Matthew 25:14-30) features a master and three servants, and we are comfortably accustomed to understanding that the master represents the Lord and the servants represent us.
In this particular parable, however, there is not that extra layer of symbolism. No kings or sheep, no soils or servants. Instead, the characters seem to be quite straightforward: a righteous person to represent righteous people and a sinner to represent sinners. Indeed, Jesus seems to have chosen the quintessential righteous person and the quintessential sinner. The Pharisees were renowned for their careful obedience to the law and their reputation for righteousness (see Matthew 5:20). And tax collectors, conversely, were so associated with sinners that "tax collectors and sinners" are specifically referred to together eight times in the gospels (see, for example, Luke 15:1).
Perhaps Jesus is deliberately straightforward in the casting of this parable as a kind of misdirection. As in the Parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus makes the distinction between the "good guys" and the "bad guys" unmistakable so that he can make his real point, and his real point is that God sees things differently than we do.
That point is made elsewhere in scripture (see, for example, 1 Samuel 16:7; Isaiah 55:8-9), yet still it bears repeating. Our natural tendency is to project our perception onto the whole universe and call it reality. I have joked with my wife, whose personal thermostat is more sensitive than most that when she says, "It's so hot" or "It's so cold," the actual fact may just be that she is so hot or she is so cold.
In the case of this parable, of course, the stakes are much higher. In this matter we cannot afford to misperceive reality, for the concern of this parable is no less a matter than our status before God. Jesus knew that our nature is to project our perception of who is righteous and who is unrighteous and to assume that our perception is reality.
Jesus' audience no doubt assumed that the Pharisee was the righteous one and the tax collector unrighteous, and, at some level, their assumption was correct. The tax collector himself admits his own unrighteousness. Inasmuch as the Pharisee was living up to the Pharisaic standards, he was likely fulfilling the letter of the law.
Yet, it is the tax collector and not the Pharisee who walks away justified. How does the team that has scored so many more points still end up losing the game? How does the boxer who has landed so many more blows not get the decision?
I have in my congregation a gentleman who stands 7'2". I also have a woman who is several inches shy of 5'. Using them as examples for the children's Sunday school class that I teach, I have asked the kids, "If those two church members stood side-by-side next to the Sears Tower, which one would be closer to the top?" "The man," they all call out. "Can she reach the top without an elevator?" I ask. "No." "Can he reach the top without an elevator?" "No." "So," I conclude, "even though he is closer to the top, he still needs an elevator just like she does."
The righteousness of the Pharisee was certainly closer to the holiness of God than the tax collector's. His mistake, however, was in thinking that his own personal righteousness was adequate to reach the top. He was "standing by himself" (v. 11). The tax collector, however, knew better. The tax collector knew that he had to rely on the mercy of God.
The attitude exemplified by the Pharisee is pride, which is traditionally regarded as the chief attribute of the devil. Perhaps that is who Charles Wesley had in mind when he wrote of the proud folk represented by the Pharisee: "All themselves who justify/ He dooms his endless wrath to feel,/ Bold invaders of the sky/ He brings them down to hell."
The attitude exemplified by the tax collector, meanwhile, is consistent with a theme found throughout the Old Testament (see, for example, Psalm 51:17; Proverbs 3:34; Isaiah 57:15). If pride is the chief attribute of the devil, surely humility would be among the hallmarks of the Christ. The tax collector, therefore, is a natural fit with the One who was born in a lowly manger, took on the form of a servant (Philippians 2:7-8), and washed his disciples' feet. Application
Here is the clarifying question I often ask: What's your perfect picture? I ask it of individuals in counseling situations, I ask it of church staff members, committee chairs, and even of myself. I find that the question helps to clear away past performance, discouragement, and future obstacles, focusing in on the real heart of the matter: What is it that you would really like to see happen here?
I think that the prophet Joel, in our selected Old Testament lection, gives us a sense for what God's perfect picture is. As we explored above, the promises of God offer us our best view of the perfect will of God. When we read about the generous prosperity that God promised his people, the spiritual anointing on all flesh, and the universal offer of salvation, we have a strong sense for what God really wants.
The universal offer of salvation, incidentally, is a theme briefly reinforced in the 2 Timothy passage. As Paul recounts his hour of trial, he writes, "The Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it" (2 Timothy 4:17). There is a broader purpose to Paul's standing trial: the broadcasting of the salvation message. Again, the matter is not limited to Zion; for here the purpose is that "all the Gentiles might hear it."
Meanwhile, we get another glimpse of God's perfect picture in Jesus' parable of the two men in the temple. If the Joel passage is the macro picture, then this is the micro. If Joel's picture is universal, then Jesus' parable is personal. What God wants in an individual is the kind of humility embodied by the tax collector. It is not that the Creator desires obsequious creatures; rather, the Potter requires malleable clay.
Alternative Application
Joel 2:23-32. Imagine a courtroom scene at the conclusion of a trial. The defendant is asked to stand as the judge pronounces his sentence. It is a harsh sentence, and the defendant visibly trembles and wilts as he hears it. Officers are summoned, and the prisoner is taken away to his cell.
When does that guilty prisoner expect to see the judge again, or even to hear from him? Probably somewhere between "not soon" and "never."
Imagine, however, that shortly after the sentencing, the judge comes down to the jail where the prisoner is being held. He is full of merriment as he calls out to the inmate, "Cheer up! After your sentence is complete, boy have I got good plans in store for you! Your ex-con future is not only bright, but I am going to compensate you for the time you spend in prison!"
It's a preposterous picture, but it is essentially the gracious picture of God painted by the prophet Joel. The prophet's message is, initially, a judgment message. Chapter 1 seems to detail a destruction that has already occurred. In imagery similar to chapter 1, the first half of chapter 2 gives warning about more destruction forthcoming. The warning is followed by a call to repent. But in the wake of that warning comes the strange and sudden invitation to "be glad and rejoice." The same God who passes judgment also promises blessing. The judge who pronounced so harsh a sentence now pledges to restore, repay, and redeem.
If this were a human judge, one might think him fickle or weak. In the case of our God, however, we discover a judge for whom punishment is not the final goal, but rather penitence and perfection.
Preaching the Psalms
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 65
Most of us sit down every two weeks or so to pay our bills. These days it may happen online, or you may still pull out the stack of envelopes that has arrived and open them as you look to see the "amount due." We owe for so many things, don't we? We owe the cable bill and the phone bills, which encompass land lines and cell phones. The utility bills, the car payment, and of course there's rent or mortgage to pay. No one needs to mention the tithe to the church. Right? We don't think about it much. These are simply the bills we pay as a matter of course. It is part of life; part of what it means to be a responsible adult.
Of course, regardless of how responsible we may or may not be, we know all too well what can happen if we don't pay the "amount due." The power can be turned off, the cable can be discontinued, and we can even be thrown out of our home. There are consequences for not paying our bills, and in these tough economic times, too many people have had to face those consequences.
Then, of course, we arrive at Psalm 65. The language here is striking in that it sounds a lot like an invoice. The psalmist opens up by saying, "Praise is due to you, O God of Zion." This indeed sounds like it's the bill for praise. Praise is due to the God of Zion, and if there's any doubt the remainder of the psalm elucidates on this point. It seems that God has done a lot for us. Moreover, we've entered into a contract with God, haven't we? Leviticus 26:12 seals the deal for us as God says, "I will be your God and you shall be my people." This is affirmed throughout scripture; in Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and beyond. The point in it all is this. We have a bill to pay. Praise is due to our maker.
Perhaps the conversation should turn to exactly how this praise will be paid? Worship, of course, comes to mind. We praise God in worship and give ourselves over to the building of God's kingdom. In worship we can pray, dance, and sing, all of it giving the praise that is due to God. Are there any other methods of praise? Is our witness and work a way of giving praise? When we feed the hungry in Jesus' name are we offering a gift of praise? When we help the immigrant strangers in our land or stand up for the oppressed are we giving the praise that is due?
Saint Clement of Alexandria (c 150-c 125 AD) once noted that the most fervent of prayers we can offer up to God are our very lives. Could it be that our entire lives can and ought to be acts of praise? Is it possible that we are called to attune our entire beings toward praising God in work and play in witness and mission? It seems, candidly, that this is a safe bet.
So as we sit down to pay our bills, let's all extend our lives as payment for the praise that is due to our God. Amen? Amen.
We need not be so handicapped in our relationship with God. We are not clueless about what God wants, nor do we need some fluke experience in order to discover it. God is not coy or elusive. On the contrary, he has been very forthcoming about what he wants, and we discover it clearly expressed in his word. This week, we will especially get a glimpse of what God wants in the prophecy of Joel and the parable of Jesus.
Joel 2:23-32
Our nation is in the midst of high-profile political campaigns these days, and that means lots of promises from candidates about what they would do in office. Ideally, such promises offer a true glimpse into the candidate's heart -- what he or she really desires and intends. In reality, of course, some candidates' promises only offer a glimpse into their polling data and focus group results.
With God, however, we can rest assured that his promises are pure. He does not need our vote, and so he does not try to court our favor. He is sovereign, and he can do as he pleases. What he promises, therefore, is what he pleases. That is to say, what God says he intends to do is a genuine picture of what pleases him, a true glimpse into his heart. Within that context, we marvel at the promises of God found in this text from the prophet Joel.
The immediate context of this passage is rather gloomy. Early verses in Joel's brief book indicate that some considerable ruin has already taken place in the land, and those grim descriptions are followed by equally grim predictions about more devastation to come.
Devastation does not have the last word, however. It never does with God. There is always the promise and hope of his bright and lovely purpose on the other side of the necessary chastening or judgment. The rainbow followed the flood. Here, in our selected passage, the "be glad and rejoice" news succeeds the "sound the alarm" (Joel 2:1) message that preceded it.
The good promises of God reflected here have astonishing breadth. They speak to the past, as well as the future. They are both physical and spiritual in content, and they range from the foci of Zion and Jerusalem all the way to outer space.
That the promises of God should speak to the future is not surprising. The future is almost always the jurisdiction of a promise. The more striking thing about this set of promises is that they also speak to the past. God references the past twice to indicate that what had happened to his people before will never happen again -- "my people shall never again be put to shame" (vv. 26-27). Beyond that, though, there is the promise to compensate for what did take place in the past -- "I will repay you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten" (v. 25). Reminiscent of the end of Job's story (see Job 42:12-17) or God's decree in Joshua's day that he had "rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt" (Joshua 5:9), the Lord promises Joel's audience that he will make up for the troubles of the past. That is a remarkable generosity, since the troubles of their past were evidently brought on by their own sinfulness (see Joel 2:12-14). Such is the nature of God's grace.
Meanwhile, in keeping with the thoroughness that is characteristic of God's blessings, the promises found here touch on both the material and spiritual parts of life. The passage escalates, beginning with the physical needs. There will be rain and grain in abundance, wine and oil, and plenty to eat. Beyond that, is the promise mentioned earlier about the people never again being put to shame. As the promises crescendo toward their climax, there are the marvelous pictures of God's relationship with his people. They "shall know that I am in the midst of Israel" (v. 27), and then the Lord "will pour out my spirit" (v. 28). The following verses are familiar ones, cited by Peter on the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2:14-21), ending with the great universal offer of salvation: "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved" (v. 32).
Finally, the promises in this passage have remarkable scope. The focus, at the beginning (v. 23) and at the end (v. 32) is Zion, but God's good plans are not exclusive to Zion. Zion may be central to God's purpose, but he is not a parochial God. Rather, God will dramatically employ all the heavens and the earth, the sun and the moon, as he brings his ultimate will to pass. And, on earth, his gracious will is not limited to Zion, but rather his spirit will be poured out on "all flesh" (v. 28) and he will save "everyone who calls on the name of the Lord" (v. 32).
When it's all said and done, we are left with two parallel images, each introduced with the word "pour" in the NRSV. In the first part, the rain God pours from above yields a bountiful harvest -- grain, wine, and oil, all in abundance. In the second part, God will pour out his Spirit and that will likewise yield a certain harvest. In this case, however, the produce is not from fields, vines, and trees, but rather from sons and daughters, from young and old, and from male and female alike.
2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18
New Testament scholars disagree about the authorship of 2 Timothy. If the apostle Paul wrote it, then it is almost certainly among his latest letters. Since our selected passage is written as a first-person account of Paul's experiences and emotions, we diminish its power and its poignancy unless we receive it as from Paul himself.
We gather from early in the letter (1:16-17) that Paul is writing from prison in Rome. While he has been in prison a number of times before (see, for example, 2 Corinthians 11:23), he writes Timothy now with the strong sense that the end is near. Whether or not Paul, in fact, died shortly after the writing of this letter does not matter for our purposes. What we witness here is his state of mind as he assumes that "the time of (his) departure has come."
What shall be our state of mind as we approach the end? Will it be dominated by regrets over bad things done and good things left undone? Will it be an attitude of fear because of what lies ahead? Or sadness because of what is being left behind? Not so for Paul. He approached the end with a clear sense of completion and of victory. Beyond that, he anticipated a sure reward.
Paul's reference to his "first defense" (v. 16) is a poignant one. Because of his almost suffocating boldness and confidence at other times, we may be prone to regard Paul as an independent, self-sufficient kind of guy. But God has yet to create a human being who does not need the companionship and support of other human beings. Here, literally in the hour of trial, Paul surely felt the need for human friends and companions. Instead, however, he recalls this twofold indignity: "no one came to my support" and "all deserted me" (v. 16).
At this stage of his life and ministry, we might reasonably assume that Paul's companions on a given journey or in a given place were folks whom he himself had led to Christ -- spiritual children of his, like Timothy. Yet the one who had risked his life to bring the gospel to them suddenly found that they were not equally willing to endanger their lives on his behalf. In the midst of that kind of personal disappointment and sense of betrayal, it would be an easy thing to pray for justice, for God's chastening. But, reminiscent of Jesus' prayer on the cross (see Luke 23:34), Paul's deep desire was that "it not be counted against them" (v. 16).
Paul's example at this juncture deserves our careful attention. We human beings are easily troubled by any seeming disloyalty from those around us. Disappointment, after all, is always the child of expectation, and since we expect so much from those closest to us, any failure on their part can be a profound disappointment and source of grief for us. In response, we may feel anything from self-pitying, to unforgiving, to vengeful. Paul, by contrast, earnestly hoped that "it not be counted against them." Instead, he relied on the steadfastness of the Lord.
In the absence of faithful and comforting human companionship, Paul found that his most reliable friend was the Lord himself, who "stood by me and gave me strength" (v. 17). When the people and things of earth prove soft and undependable, we retract our reliance. Unable to lean our full weight safely upon anyone or anything else, we find that the Lord alone is sturdy and steady. Perhaps Joseph Scriven had Paul in mind when he wrote, "Do thy friends despise, forsake thee? Take it to the Lord in prayer! In his arms he'll take and shield thee; thou wilt find a solace there."
Finally, Paul concludes with a triumphant expression of confidence in God's deliverance. He is certain that the Lord will both rescue and save him. "Rescue" and "save" might be used interchangeably in many contexts, but here Paul has two distinct meanings in mind. The rescuing is from (Greek apo) and the saving is to (Greek eis). The glory of this particular Lifeguard, you see, is not only the dangerous water he delivers us from, but also the beautiful shore he delivers us to.
Luke 18:9-14
The fact that Luke calls this teaching a parable indicates how very broad the definition of "parable" is. The people in our pews may be accustomed to thinking of parables as being more allegorical -- that is, stories whose characters are symbolic representatives of some other persons or groups. So, for example, the classic stewardship parable (Matthew 25:14-30) features a master and three servants, and we are comfortably accustomed to understanding that the master represents the Lord and the servants represent us.
In this particular parable, however, there is not that extra layer of symbolism. No kings or sheep, no soils or servants. Instead, the characters seem to be quite straightforward: a righteous person to represent righteous people and a sinner to represent sinners. Indeed, Jesus seems to have chosen the quintessential righteous person and the quintessential sinner. The Pharisees were renowned for their careful obedience to the law and their reputation for righteousness (see Matthew 5:20). And tax collectors, conversely, were so associated with sinners that "tax collectors and sinners" are specifically referred to together eight times in the gospels (see, for example, Luke 15:1).
Perhaps Jesus is deliberately straightforward in the casting of this parable as a kind of misdirection. As in the Parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus makes the distinction between the "good guys" and the "bad guys" unmistakable so that he can make his real point, and his real point is that God sees things differently than we do.
That point is made elsewhere in scripture (see, for example, 1 Samuel 16:7; Isaiah 55:8-9), yet still it bears repeating. Our natural tendency is to project our perception onto the whole universe and call it reality. I have joked with my wife, whose personal thermostat is more sensitive than most that when she says, "It's so hot" or "It's so cold," the actual fact may just be that she is so hot or she is so cold.
In the case of this parable, of course, the stakes are much higher. In this matter we cannot afford to misperceive reality, for the concern of this parable is no less a matter than our status before God. Jesus knew that our nature is to project our perception of who is righteous and who is unrighteous and to assume that our perception is reality.
Jesus' audience no doubt assumed that the Pharisee was the righteous one and the tax collector unrighteous, and, at some level, their assumption was correct. The tax collector himself admits his own unrighteousness. Inasmuch as the Pharisee was living up to the Pharisaic standards, he was likely fulfilling the letter of the law.
Yet, it is the tax collector and not the Pharisee who walks away justified. How does the team that has scored so many more points still end up losing the game? How does the boxer who has landed so many more blows not get the decision?
I have in my congregation a gentleman who stands 7'2". I also have a woman who is several inches shy of 5'. Using them as examples for the children's Sunday school class that I teach, I have asked the kids, "If those two church members stood side-by-side next to the Sears Tower, which one would be closer to the top?" "The man," they all call out. "Can she reach the top without an elevator?" I ask. "No." "Can he reach the top without an elevator?" "No." "So," I conclude, "even though he is closer to the top, he still needs an elevator just like she does."
The righteousness of the Pharisee was certainly closer to the holiness of God than the tax collector's. His mistake, however, was in thinking that his own personal righteousness was adequate to reach the top. He was "standing by himself" (v. 11). The tax collector, however, knew better. The tax collector knew that he had to rely on the mercy of God.
The attitude exemplified by the Pharisee is pride, which is traditionally regarded as the chief attribute of the devil. Perhaps that is who Charles Wesley had in mind when he wrote of the proud folk represented by the Pharisee: "All themselves who justify/ He dooms his endless wrath to feel,/ Bold invaders of the sky/ He brings them down to hell."
The attitude exemplified by the tax collector, meanwhile, is consistent with a theme found throughout the Old Testament (see, for example, Psalm 51:17; Proverbs 3:34; Isaiah 57:15). If pride is the chief attribute of the devil, surely humility would be among the hallmarks of the Christ. The tax collector, therefore, is a natural fit with the One who was born in a lowly manger, took on the form of a servant (Philippians 2:7-8), and washed his disciples' feet. Application
Here is the clarifying question I often ask: What's your perfect picture? I ask it of individuals in counseling situations, I ask it of church staff members, committee chairs, and even of myself. I find that the question helps to clear away past performance, discouragement, and future obstacles, focusing in on the real heart of the matter: What is it that you would really like to see happen here?
I think that the prophet Joel, in our selected Old Testament lection, gives us a sense for what God's perfect picture is. As we explored above, the promises of God offer us our best view of the perfect will of God. When we read about the generous prosperity that God promised his people, the spiritual anointing on all flesh, and the universal offer of salvation, we have a strong sense for what God really wants.
The universal offer of salvation, incidentally, is a theme briefly reinforced in the 2 Timothy passage. As Paul recounts his hour of trial, he writes, "The Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it" (2 Timothy 4:17). There is a broader purpose to Paul's standing trial: the broadcasting of the salvation message. Again, the matter is not limited to Zion; for here the purpose is that "all the Gentiles might hear it."
Meanwhile, we get another glimpse of God's perfect picture in Jesus' parable of the two men in the temple. If the Joel passage is the macro picture, then this is the micro. If Joel's picture is universal, then Jesus' parable is personal. What God wants in an individual is the kind of humility embodied by the tax collector. It is not that the Creator desires obsequious creatures; rather, the Potter requires malleable clay.
Alternative Application
Joel 2:23-32. Imagine a courtroom scene at the conclusion of a trial. The defendant is asked to stand as the judge pronounces his sentence. It is a harsh sentence, and the defendant visibly trembles and wilts as he hears it. Officers are summoned, and the prisoner is taken away to his cell.
When does that guilty prisoner expect to see the judge again, or even to hear from him? Probably somewhere between "not soon" and "never."
Imagine, however, that shortly after the sentencing, the judge comes down to the jail where the prisoner is being held. He is full of merriment as he calls out to the inmate, "Cheer up! After your sentence is complete, boy have I got good plans in store for you! Your ex-con future is not only bright, but I am going to compensate you for the time you spend in prison!"
It's a preposterous picture, but it is essentially the gracious picture of God painted by the prophet Joel. The prophet's message is, initially, a judgment message. Chapter 1 seems to detail a destruction that has already occurred. In imagery similar to chapter 1, the first half of chapter 2 gives warning about more destruction forthcoming. The warning is followed by a call to repent. But in the wake of that warning comes the strange and sudden invitation to "be glad and rejoice." The same God who passes judgment also promises blessing. The judge who pronounced so harsh a sentence now pledges to restore, repay, and redeem.
If this were a human judge, one might think him fickle or weak. In the case of our God, however, we discover a judge for whom punishment is not the final goal, but rather penitence and perfection.
Preaching the Psalms
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 65
Most of us sit down every two weeks or so to pay our bills. These days it may happen online, or you may still pull out the stack of envelopes that has arrived and open them as you look to see the "amount due." We owe for so many things, don't we? We owe the cable bill and the phone bills, which encompass land lines and cell phones. The utility bills, the car payment, and of course there's rent or mortgage to pay. No one needs to mention the tithe to the church. Right? We don't think about it much. These are simply the bills we pay as a matter of course. It is part of life; part of what it means to be a responsible adult.
Of course, regardless of how responsible we may or may not be, we know all too well what can happen if we don't pay the "amount due." The power can be turned off, the cable can be discontinued, and we can even be thrown out of our home. There are consequences for not paying our bills, and in these tough economic times, too many people have had to face those consequences.
Then, of course, we arrive at Psalm 65. The language here is striking in that it sounds a lot like an invoice. The psalmist opens up by saying, "Praise is due to you, O God of Zion." This indeed sounds like it's the bill for praise. Praise is due to the God of Zion, and if there's any doubt the remainder of the psalm elucidates on this point. It seems that God has done a lot for us. Moreover, we've entered into a contract with God, haven't we? Leviticus 26:12 seals the deal for us as God says, "I will be your God and you shall be my people." This is affirmed throughout scripture; in Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and beyond. The point in it all is this. We have a bill to pay. Praise is due to our maker.
Perhaps the conversation should turn to exactly how this praise will be paid? Worship, of course, comes to mind. We praise God in worship and give ourselves over to the building of God's kingdom. In worship we can pray, dance, and sing, all of it giving the praise that is due to God. Are there any other methods of praise? Is our witness and work a way of giving praise? When we feed the hungry in Jesus' name are we offering a gift of praise? When we help the immigrant strangers in our land or stand up for the oppressed are we giving the praise that is due?
Saint Clement of Alexandria (c 150-c 125 AD) once noted that the most fervent of prayers we can offer up to God are our very lives. Could it be that our entire lives can and ought to be acts of praise? Is it possible that we are called to attune our entire beings toward praising God in work and play in witness and mission? It seems, candidly, that this is a safe bet.
So as we sit down to pay our bills, let's all extend our lives as payment for the praise that is due to our God. Amen? Amen.
