Weighed on the Scales and Justified: Christmas, Original Sin, and The Cosmic Dumpster Fire

 The doctrine of original sin is not popular today, despite the profound evidence of its truth.  But for anybody who has any self awareness at all, recognizing how rotten we can be is not at all a stretch.  And I’m not talking about looking backwards to Hitler or Stalin, or looking outward to drug dealers and murderers, but looking inward and examining our own fantastic capacity to be wretched.  Ask me how I know…

So here we are in Advent, and what the heck am I doing talking about the darkness of my own soul in the midst of this season of twinkling lights and cheer?  Shouldn’t the words tapped out on my keyboard be filled with hope, joy, and peace on earth?  I’m getting to that.  But the bad news is always better delivered first.  

The history of the human race, though certainly punctuated with acts of mercy, courage and grace, is more often than not an ugly, twisted trip down familiar roads with the repetition of evil being as sure as the rising and setting of the sun.  In my survey through the Old Testament books of history and of the prophets, I’ve gotten whiplash going from good king to bad king…but bad kings are in the lead by a country mile.  And even the good ones have simply terrible moments, so insidious is the bent toward self - the prideful root of all wickedness.

God at one point, very early on in the history of mankind, looks upon the world and the scriptures record this devastating revelation: 

“And it repented Jehovah that he had made man on the earth, and grieved him at his heart.”

~ Genesis 6:6

People had become so horrifying in their selfish ambition and the evil inclinations of their hearts that the Creator was actually saddened and regretful that he started the whole thing.  Only His infinite love and the knowledge of His plan to make something good out of this cosmic dumpster fire staid His hand from closing down the whole operation.  That’s where Christmas comes in…

In those years before the birth of Jesus, prophecies and hints, psalms and stories of a coming deliverer peppered the inspired writings of the saints of God.  Everywhere you look in the pages of the Torah, and the other OT books, the coming Messiah is forecast.  A tired world, groaning under the weight of the tyranny of wicked kings, and indeed, even worse, under the slave driver of personal sin, was straining to somehow find a rescuer.  And God, who will not be rushed and who knows the sovereign timing for all things, at the perfect time sent his begotten son to gestate in the body of a virgin Jewish girl from a backwoods (or desert) town under the thumb of another miserable ruler.

In this unlikely place the whole eternal history of human begins stood on the point of of a knife.  Could it really be true, that God really does love us lost, grimy children - enough to come personally to our rescue.  To stand in our place.  To remain just himself, not bent as we are, but willing to bend to be our justifier?  Not to wag his finger but to spread His beautiful arms across the wood and with every pounding of nails not regret anymore but for the joy set before Him endure the cross?  To know every evil thought, motive and deed of every one of us, but to be determined to do what was always the point of Christmas: to come save us, out of unthinkable love, simply because we cannot save ourselves.

I found my self completely undone one day last week, reading from the Old Testament book of Daniel.  A very bad king, Belshazzar, was drunk and having a party with his cronies and concubines.  He used the gold goblets that were sacred objects of the temple for his alcoholic shindig.  Worship of other gods was part of the extravaganza.  It was all fun and games until a hand appeared and wrote on the wall for everyone to see.  “Mene mene tekel parsin”, the words read.  Only the great prophet Daniel could interpret the meaning: “You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting”.

When I read those words, I shuddered.  ‘I too, Lord, being weighed on the scales, am found wanting.  The private sins, the envy, the selfish motives of my heart, and things too embarrassing to mention here - these leave me as far from a Holy God as east is from west.”

But as quickly as the thought came, so came the words of grace, relief and Christmas mercy beyond my reckoning:

“Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who have sex with men nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.

~ 1 Corinthians 6:9-11

And God showed me a brick being placed on the other side of the scales, and that brick was the justifying grace of the blood of Christ.  And Jesus in His inimitable way spoke to my heart: “You have been weighed on the scales and found justified.”

And so there it is.  The wraparound to Christmas. The hope, joy, cheer, twinkly lights, popcorn garland and every other good and beautiful celebratory delight.  There it is: peace on earth, good will toward men.  There are the people living in darkness who have seen a great light.  There is the conquering gift greater, far greater, than the curse of original sin - that meaty, difficult doctrine that would kill the heart in us if not for Christmas.

Not by works of our original crooked hearts, but by the gift of grace of a perfect Savior, are we weighed on the scales and found justified. Loved. Treasured.  Valued.  We couldn’t do it, so God descended and did it Himself.

Jesus in a manger.  Jesus in the garden. Jesus on the cross.  Jesus in the tomb. 

Jesus risen, forever high king of all.  Jesus, the Great Justifier.

There is absolutely no Christmas gift that compares.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann

Defiant Gratitude and William Bradford's "Epitapheum Meum"

William Bradford, perhaps the most well knows of all the English separatists to make the crazy trip across the Atlantic on the Mayflower in 1620, lives on at our Thanksgiving table every year.  Part of our tradition is to recite his poem, "Epitaphium Meum".  At one point the verse simply says:

"In fears and wants, through weal and woe, 

As pilgrim passed I to and fro..."

(Weal is an old English word for prosperity, happiness and well being.)

Pilgrimage is a theme that has captured my heart for a lifetime.  This idea of leaving behind an old life, venturing out on the uncharted, seeking a fit homeland for the breadth of one's deepest desires - and despising the pains and troubles to get there- this is the stuff of every great story.

Most people know about the hardships the first puritans endured to find a home wide enough to hold their greatest treasure: an unfettered relationship with Jesus Christ  These folks were tough.  They were weird by our modern cultural norms, but deeper and stronger that just about any American alive today.  They had something I keep thinking about, a rare and beautiful quality that makes these sojourners stand out in the dark landscape of history:

Defiant Gratitude. 

You've likely known a few of these types of folks in your lifetime.  They have not had easy lives.  The wilderness they have travelled - through addiction, loss, betrayal, heartache and a thousand other snares- has not suffered them to be resentful or bitter, but winsome and grateful.  Here in 2020, (a kind of crappy year by most modern standards), I long to leave my complaining behind and get a little closer to the attitude of my long-dead puritan brothers and sisters.  They, who in their first winter lost half their company to pestilence.  They, who were separated by an ocean (with no modern communication) from beloved family and friends in England and the Netherlands.  They, who despite all of those troubles and many more practiced defiant gratitude.

What are some simple ways defiant gratitude can play out?  

When self pity comes because this holiday season does not meet our expectations, we can blast the music and dance anyway while making the stuffing (my plan for tonite!)  

Write down 3 blessings in your life and rejoice over them.  

Tell someone you're thankful for them and why.

For my fellow pilgrims, followers of the One and Only, for us I pray a deep humility that will cause us to make gratitude a way of life.  We are always looking for God's will for us. Here it is in black and white:

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

For any of my dear friends who are not followers of Christ who may read these words, I pray heartily: be reconciled to God.  He is the Captain of  your Mayflower, ready to take you on a great pilgrimage to Himself - a land so broad and beautiful that it is impossible to put into puny words.  You only need step aboard the ship.  Nothing would fill my heart with more gratitude than to share this wild trek with you on the narrow road to the blessed heavenly homeland. Sinners like me, saved by grace, walk gratefully through the mountains and the valleys of this temporary territory.

Happiest of Thanksgivings! May it be will with your souls!  I've included the William Bradford's poem in its entirety below.  

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

LS

Epitaphium Meum

by William Bradford

From my years young in dayes of Youth,
God did make known to me his Truth,
And call'd me from my Native place
For to enjoy the Means of Grace.
In Wilderness he did me guide,
And in strange Lands for me provide.
In Fears and Wants, through Weal and Woe,
As Pilgrim past I to and fro:
Oft left of them whom I did trust;
How vain it is to rest on Dust!
A man of Sorrows I have been,
And many Changes I have seen.
Wars, Wants, Peace, Plenty have I known;
And some advanc'd, others thrown down.
The humble, poor, cheerful and glad;
Rich, discontent, sower and sad:
When Fears with Sorrows have been mixt,
Consolations came betwixt.
Faint not, poor Soul, in God still trust,
Fear not the things thou suffer must;
For, whom he loves he doth chastise,
And then all Tears wipes from their eyes.
Farewell, dear Children, whom I love,
Your better Father is above:
When I am gone, he can supply;
To him I leave you when I dye.
Fear him in Truth, walk in his Wayes,
And he will bless you all your dayes.
My dayes are spent, Old Age is come,
My Strength it fails, my Glass near run:
Now I will wait when work is done,
Untill my happy Change shall come,
When from my labours I shall rest
With Christ above for to be blest.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow...Finding the Truth in the Hot Minute

 “For what is your life?  It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.”

~ James 4:14

In the vernacular, “you are here for a hot minute.”

If you’re 20, you don’t believe this, not really.  If you’re 60, you can sing Joni Mitchell’s The Circle Game song with earnestness.  “It won’t be long now, till you drag your feet just to slow the circles down...”

Partly because of the brief nature of human existence, it is impossible to get a larger view of life without outside help. People everywhere are grasping for some small bit of happiness in their minuscule time span.  Meaning and purpose are elusive when you look for them within your drop of mist, a drop that’s ironically on fire with rage, fear, violence and selfishness.  (The old fashioned, offensive word for all of this is Sin).  And when you look within yourself, the droplet within the drop, things are no better.

It is unpopular in this particular droplet of time to look to something ancient or large or most un-vapor like as a possible source of wisdom and practical help for the freaking mess we are in.  But many, many before us, those pre-modern, unsophisticated folks who managed to get far enough to keep the world populated, thought it wise to look outside of their mist bubble.  And though “we didn’t start the fire, it was always burning since the world’s been turning” to quote Billy Joel, the majority of people in those unsophisticated times believed in something larger than themselves.  They attributed the ordered world to something or someone that was NOT them. And maybe because hauling water and chopping wood and manually editing a book with a pen made room for undistracted thought, it was easier for people to transcend their droplet and get a view of the wide wonder of it all.

Whatever the reason, the further we moderns seem to get away from validating anything thought or written before the 20th century, the worse our interior lives become.  There have always been sad people, suicidal people, anxious people, angry people.  But just look up the suicide rate graphs by year on the internet, and I’ll rest my case.

Anyone who knows me also knows that I am a follower of Jesus Christ, although a stumbling, bumbling one with a great deal of forgiven sin in my rear view mirror, including from this morning.  So you already know where I’m going with this.  We need something solid.  Something non-misty, something like a rock and refuge and lighthouse at the same time to navigate and understand our place in this long running story of here today, gone tomorrow. Or, better said, someONE.  It is absolutely critical that we put down our phones and go chop some wood or haul some water, or whatever it takes to stop being distracted long enough to grab hold of what’s true and lasting. We’re not meant to be spectators in the mist, tossed about in a meaningless fog until we die.  

When God in a jaw dropping display of humility sent Jesus to this sorry planet, just about every human being on earth believed in something bigger than themselves.  And knew something was wrong with the world. And with themselves.  They mostly feared some kind of god, because they saw the bigness and scariness and sublime beauty of the world they lived in.  Jesus shocked (and appalled) the people of 1st century Palestine by saying that he was indeed God, the exact representation of the Father, and that he cares about all the misty little creatures he thought up and created, and in fact loves them.  And He said there’s a solid place to stand, and He’s the solid place.  And then he proved His love by dying and taking all the sin of the misty world on Himself.  He actually became a mist.  But then the mist got back up out of the tomb.  And the world has never been the same hopeless place because hope became Someone solid if we would only believe it.

This truth has been relegated to fairy tales by many clever modern people. In the 21st century, education is the answer, funding is the answer, the answer is to be found in the midst of the mist. And we are free to believe the words of whosoever we choose in a vaporous world.  Freedom is the great gift of course, because without it love is impossible. And the whole point of this affair from God’s point of view is to love a people, and have that people love Him in return.  But that’s another post...

When Jesus rose from the dead, Thomas the disciple wasn’t there at His first appearance. But later, Jesus appeared again to His followers. And Thomas, who doubted the reality of the resurrection, was met with something solid, something outside himself, someONE made of flesh and blood that did not ultimately succumb to here today, gone tomorrow.  Christian tradition has it that Thomas was eventually martyred for his faith.  But not before he and a small group of others started a fire of love that is still changing mists like me thousands of years later. 

Find out what’s true in your hot minute.  It matters more than anything else.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

LS

A Call to the Banquet - Full Capacity Seating

We finally celebrated our daughter’s 25th birthday dinner last night.  Being born in April didn’t set her up well for a good time in 2020.  But steaks, salmon and special drinks were on the menu, along with wonderful conversation and sibling jabs.  It was strange though, and a little bit sad, not to have the place packed - not hearing the sounds of many voices delighting in the good food, delighting in one another, making the warm atmosphere of the room bright and bursting with the beautiful color of human celebration.  Restaurants are stuck at half capacity rules right now.

This morning I read the familiar parable Jesus told at a dinner party with some well to do religious folks, who as usual were watching him closely to catch him in a religious error.  He relayed the story of a man giving a large banquet.  He invited people who he knew - likely friends and relations in his wide circle.  One by one the folks gave excuses for not coming.  In today’s culture, the equivalent reasons might boil down to “I’ve got too much other stuff to do right now.   Let’s be practical, maybe when things slow down in my work/relationships/daily distractions.”  The man was miffed.  Imagine, you are putting on an extravaganza at no small expense, for people you know and love, and the invitation is met with a big fat NO.  “You’re not that important to me.  I’m not stopping my routine to celebrate with you.”

This man in the parable was exploding with generosity.  He was so anxious to share his abundance, that he had his servant go out to the streets and alleys of the city and invite every manner of person.  The “respectable, intelligent, elite” people turned him down.  So he opened the doors to the poor, blind, maimed, and crippled.  He invited the prostitutes, tax collectors, dingbats, swindlers, deadbeats and goofballs of every sort. He wanted to fill that elaborate ballroom with people.  He wanted to see people eat, drink, be merry, and generally flourish in every way.  And he wanted that banquet hall full of the rejoicing of people loved and forgiven who knew they didn’t deserve it.  He crammed them in, serving no doubt the best wine and the finest food, playing the best music and clothing them as they came in with clothes that would make the famous movie costumer Edith Head blush.

Jesus told parables to get at the truth.  He’s no respecter of persons.  The spiritual banquet of life with  Christ is offered to all.  Sadly, many turn Him down.  But His banquet hall is still filling up, despite what this “world with devil’s filled” (as Martin Luther penned), says or thinks. The penitent man greets the invitation with great gladness of heart.  And why wouldn’t he?  The invitation to have the rot of sin removed from our souls, to be promised the difficult but satisfying climb of sanctification in this life, and to share a relationship with the dearest, kindest and best the world has ever known... A man would have to be mad to refuse.

As for the Master, He is determined to fill his room, his LARGE room, with many. “Go out into the highways and hedges and make them come in, that my house may be filled.” (Luke 14:23).

Covid19, a world in unspeakable pain, the ugliest lies and divisions - none of these can stop the love of God.  He will have His beautiful banquet, and the restaurant will be at full capacity.  Bursting at the seams with life and joy.  No masks, no closed salad bars, no lack of any good thing.

The question is - the biggest question you’ll ever have to answer - is how will I respond to the invitation.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

LS

The Cosmic Tragedy of Social Distancing

“Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got til’ it’s gone..” ~ Joni Mitchell

Its only been a few weeks for most of us.  Weeks without a chat over coffee with a friend, participation in a Sunday worship service with voices both angelic and creaky, Friday night tacos with our besties.  Being the resourceful creatures human beings are, we’ve come up with work-arounds for our isolation.  Face Time, Zoom, Webex - these have all helped, and I’m grateful for them.  I’ve spent the last 4 days using Bomgar to train hospital employees remotely, and I thank God for that.

But there is no substitute for presence.

Nothing takes the place of looking into the eyes of another soul and seeing the one-of-a-kind strokes of the Artist who made them.  There is no substitute for the live and in person voice of the quirky guy at the gym or the warm embrace of the folks at a support group, or the thousands of other simple daily vignettes of social intercourse.

I’ve learned very quickly how much I’ve taken presence for granted.  I myself am quarantined because of contact with a person testing positive for Covid19.  I’m no hard luck case for sure.  I live with family members, I can work from home.  I’m blessed.  But I miss the physical presence of others.  And it hasn’t even been a couple of weeks.

This strange time we’re living in has me thinking and praying in ways I haven’t before.  I look at Abraham in the bible, whittling away at God in a conversation about his nephew Lot, as he presses to see just how deep the mercy of God will actually go. Abraham is right in God’s face, boldly stepping closer with each question:  “Will you spare the city for the sake of 40 righteous people…30…20…10”.   Abraham didn’t stand stoically before a cold, distant deity, observing all the proprieties of servant and king.  Abraham boldly pleaded for his kinsmen, and the scriptures actually call him “a friend of God”.  The wicked city fell, but not before Lot and his family were ushered out of there in the most hurried move in history.  

Abraham did not practice social distancing with his God.  Neither did David, Isaiah, Daniel, and a whole host of lesser known saints sited in the pages of the wild and powerful word of life.  

The greatest tragedy of all, far more deadly than any foul microbe, is a life lived in isolation from the One who created us for Himself.  Here is God’s great sorrow.  He has made us for true presence with Him, and we have run from Him.  Or ignored Him. Or hated Him.  

In a herculean move of self abasement, this High King of all so desired our presence that He actually shed His kingly garments in exchange for the soiled robes of men. He himself took on our weakness.  And He did what only He could do: He destroyed the pestilence that keeps us apart.  He himself became the remedy and antidote for the killer with a 100% death rate.  Sin.  

The Gospel is the beautiful breakthrough that saves the world from the disease which none of us can escape.  The heart of God is broken.  He seeks for people who will talk to him, listen to Him, come to Him for life and deliverance.  There is no substitute for life with our Father.  

The Covid19 pandemic has become for me a metaphor and a grace.  It has forced me to look at my own spiritual complacency, made me far more grateful, and caused me to become a little bit more like Abraham.  Every day I desperately need the intimacy with my Father that I was born for.  And what’s more, I can approach Him without shame despite my sin and weakness.  Because I’ve taken the cure - faith in the death and resurrection of the Son of God, who “loved us, and gave Himself for us.”

I am praying that brilliant and resourceful people will find a way through this twilight zone we are living in.  I look forward to baseball, dinner in a restaurant and getting my hair cut again.  But my greatest prayer is that this social distancing will cause the world to seek the One whose heart longs for fellowship with us - and not from a distance.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann