Category: Bible stuff

Jerry Bunte gave a really great sermon at Twenty4/7 last night, and the text he used was from John 5, verses 1 through 15. I woke up thinking about it this morning. I feel really lucky to be part of a church that always preaches the whole Word, and really gets people thinking, and praying. This morning, I turned directly to John when I woke up, and began my reading with that passage. My NIV translation refers to the passage as “The Healing at the Pool.” One of the earlier miracles of Jesus, and in my opinion, it was right after this when the Pharisees and chief priests of the temple really began to see Jesus as an active threat to their way of life.

“Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a feast of the Jews. Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?”

“Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”

Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked.

The day on which this took place was a Sabbath, and so the Jews said to the man who had been healed, “It is the Sabbath; the law forbids you to carry your mat.”

But he replied, “The man who made me well said to me, ‘Pick up your mat and walk.’ ”

So they asked him, “Who is this fellow who told you to pick it up and walk?”

The man who was healed had no idea who it was, for Jesus had slipped away into the crowd that was there.
Later Jesus found him at the temple and said to him, “See, you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.”

The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well.

The story goes that every once in a while, an angel would stir the waters of this pool, near the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem. If you were fortunate enough to be the first person in the water after it was stirred, you would be healed. John does not specifically mention other instances of healing, but considering how many people would hang out around the pool waiting for the water to stir—having no idea when that might be—suggests it had to have happened at least a few times.

On the other hand, the word also could have spread through a sort of middle-eastern grapevine, and not actually ever have happened. Maybe it was some sort of mineral spring, and the stirring of the water was brought about through some sort of underground venting of air, or water of a different temperature that would cause the water to be disturbed. In any case, John only relates the point of view of the invalid.

I just love how Jesus asks him “Do you want to get well?”

The invalid doesn’t know who Jesus is at this point, and as far as John relates, Jesus does not identify himself–he probably just stepped carefully over and around the other sick and injured people and made his way this particular man. Think about what that must have been like for a minute. Here is a pool, surrounded by men, women and children in varying stages of illness, and probably dying in many cases. There would have been a lot of people, on a lot of mats. There would have probably been moaning, and crying. Praying, too—probably lots of that.

And all these sick, diseased, and dying people waiting for something to maybe happen. Waiting for just a chance to be healed.

I would imagine no one—no healthy person—would want to be anywhere near this place. It had to have been something like a leper colony (and I would hazard a guess there would have been a few lepers waiting to jump in the pool as well). Yet here comes Jesus, walking right into this place of sickness, right to this particular man. And asking him if he wants to get well.

I think that we can be so much like the invalid. We lie on our mats and wait for the water to be stirred. We wait for the possibility of a miracle, which we know we have a pretty good chance of never experiencing.
We wait for the miracle to come to us, instead of actively seeking it.

Of course I can only speak for myself, but in thinking about it, of course I’ve done that. I’ve certainly felt like an invalid for a large portion of my life—at least, a spiritual invalid of sorts. I’ve sat back and watched as things happened in other people’s lives and wondered why they hadn’t happened in mine. Wondered why every time things got stirred up, I was always the last one into the water.

I guess the question is: Did I want to be well?

The answer is that sometimes I didn’t. I was comfortable in my sickness, because I knew it, and knew what to expect of it. I knew all too well what life was like as an invalid, and was truthfully not that interested in the alternative. What would happen if the water was stirred and I got into the pool? How would my life change? What would healing feel like? What would be required of me after I was healed? And how would I stir the water? Somehow I always knew it was wrong to simply sit there and wait for it to happen. Yet that is what I did.

People say that God helps those who help themselves. I’m not really even sure how true that is, but I think it’s true that Jesus wants us to be active participants in our own healings. He will not arbitrarily step in and just go “Bam!,” like Emeril, scattering Holy essence over us as we simmer. And while he will kick things up a notch, he won’t do it unless we ask him to.

I think of the healing I began to experience once I answered that question from Jesus and was able to get off my mat and walk. It’s extraordinary, and not something I ever expected. I thought I’d be paralyzed for the rest of my life—paralyzed by fear, and complacency, and unforgiveness.

Paralyzed by addiction.

But when I took His hand and let Him help me off my mat, I was able to begin the process of healing (and make no mistake, it is a process, though I believe healing can and does happen instantly). I didn’t just skip off my mat like the paralytic in John 5.

I took a step.

Then another step. And another. I began to depend more on Jesus than on my mat. I was able to forgive the people in my life that I had nothing but bitterness for prior to Jesus. I didn’t fear death anymore, and I didn’t fear life, either. Complacency was no longer my crutch. And though I am not always as well as I’d like to be, when I am not, I usually only have myself to blame.

I think one of the greatest gifts we receive from Jesus is the opportunity to choose Him over ourselves, to “lean not on our own understanding,” as Proverbs says. And he desperately wants us to lean on His. So odd that it’s difficult to realize this, even as a person of faith. So every time I wonder if that’s true, I try and think about Calvary.

Who would do that for anyone? I wouldn’t. And whose water would I stir? The truth of that is I’m too concerned with watching the damn pool for myself. I suppose the question of the day is how do I get around that?

But even more than that; what will I do with the healing I received? Will I simply be grateful, and hold onto the truth of it for myself? Or will I act as the paralytic did in the last verse?

The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well.

To me, that’s the key to the whole passage. After he was healed, he told people it was Jesus who had made him well.

My old pastor in San Diego said something once along the lines of “Everyone has a story, a story about their experience with Jesus. And even if it does not seem like as dramatic an experience as some, there’s another person out there who is waiting to hear it.”

Someone is waiting to hear my story—and your story. They need to hear it. They need to hear who made you well, so they can seek the same healing for themselves. It doesn’t matter whether or not you’ve been paralyzed for 38 years, or addicted, or abused, or if you’ve stolen, or lied, or cheated. These are all things that have kept us from stepping off our mats, and I suppose in a sense have paralyzed us.

Here’s my question to you, and it’s the same as Jesus to the paralytic:

Do you want to be well?

Jesus rewards perseverance. You find that everywhere in the bible.

So, comfortable as we might be on our mats, waiting for waters to stir, we can’t spend the rest of our lives there–I don’t want to. I’ve already been doing that for most of my life.

So do I want to get well?

I do.

How about you?

Here’s a Youtube video of a really great song that pretty well spells it out:

Healer

They strapped the cross to his arms with two pieces of roughly woven rope, and cut off the extra with their knives. The shorter piece of wood rested across his thin shoulders, and was pegged into a deep groove in the longer piece, which would have rested along his back if it had been a couple of feet shorter. As it was, the wood left a gouge in the dirt behind him as he walked. It was heavy, Dismas thought. Perhaps half a man’s weight, maybe a little less.

The Romans used good wood, he thought darkly. A man he didn’t know received the same treatment just in front of him, and his former “partner,” Gesmas, directly behind.

The thought that it was Friday occurred to him. There would be many travelers on the roads to and from Jerusalem; much opportunity to procure coin, and then wine.

He glanced at the jeering crowd gathered around the three of them and after a moment realized their taunts and cries were not directed at either him or Gesmas; they were focused on the third man. There were so many of them, and as they began their final walk, the crowd followed along.

Dismas tried not to think about the hill that waited at the end of their walk. He tried not to think that soon enough he would be hanging from the rough wood now bouncing against his shoulders, and crows would be pecking at his eyes.

He walked, and his feet kicked up little clouds of dust. The straight portion of the cross dragged heavily behind him.

The soldiers mostly left he and Gesmas alone as they walked, but seemed very intent on making the walk of the third man especially brutal. They began striking him with short leather whips right outside the gate and continued every ten or fifteen steps. The man’s dingy robe was bloody from it.

Gesmas swore at the soldiers, swore at the third man, swore at the crowd. Sweat dripped from his brow and made dark spots in the dirt at his feet as he walked. Only one soldier even spared him a glance—more of a glare, really. He pointed his sword at Gesmas and said “Silence…”

Dismas thought about joining in the swearing. The thought of a quick death from a Roman sword did have its allure. He’d seen people hanging from crosses, of course. They died hard, unless the Romans broke their legs to speed things up. You couldn’t breathe as well if you couldn’t push yourself up on the nails. He’d heard it was like drowning.

He hoped they’d break his legs.

Gesmas just hung his head and kept walking, and Dismas did the same. You never cut off any part of your life—not even a second—if you had the choice.

The Romans continued to taunt the third man, and the sound of their whips striking his bloody back strangely took Dismas’s mind from his coming fate. The crowd walked with them, jeering—though he would sometimes hear a few cries of “Let him go” interspersed with the cries for the man’s death. And there was a large group of women amongst the crowd, who wept openly and reached out their hands toward the third man.

He wondered what the man had done to bring such violence on himself. It was like many of the people hated him. Dismas had heard of a man teaching throughout the region and beyond, a man called Jesus, but that man seemed revered—loved, even. Could this be the same person? He’d never heard one of the man’s talks, and had not set foot in the temple in quite some time. But there was something about this man. He didn’t carry himself like other people. Dismas had yet to hear him speak so much as a word, but here he was. His robe was torn in the back from the whips, and something was twisted around his head and blood was running down his face.

The third man turned and looked toward the weeping women, and Dismas heard him speak at last.

“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep for yourselves and for your children—“ His next words were drowned out by a chorus of cries from the part of the crowd that seemed glad to see him there, but Dismas suddenly wanted to hear more of what this man had to say.

He didn’t have the chance. Dismas saw the man slowly fall forward onto his face, and his cross slid forward onto the ground.

Do not weep for me, Dismas thought. It had to be Jesus, this man wounded, and hurt, and covered with blood, and mud, and the spit of his guards.

He and Gesmas stopped and watched. The third man just lay there, and Dismas could see him spit blood onto the ground. Two of the soldiers sliced off the ropes binding the man to the cross and flopped it over onto the ground next to the man. They grabbed a man that looked like a merchant out of the crowd, and lifted the third man’s cross from the ground and onto the merchant’s shoulders.

Two of the soldiers grabbed the man on the ground by the back of his robe and lifted him from the dirt. Dismas could hear the garment begin to tear, but the man still stood, wavering for a minute. The two soldiers mocked him, and joked among themselves and with the crowd about the third man’s seeming inability to stand without weaving. They pushed him back and forth between them, spitting vile profanities at him, stopping every now and then to slap him across the face or hit him with their fists.

Still he stood there, saying nothing, just absorbing their blows.

After a few more moments of their fun, the two soldiers with the third man and the rest of the squad got the procession moving again, onward toward the Skull.

Dismas followed at the rear, and watched the third man lead the column, with the merchant next, then the two soldiers with the whips, Gesmas, more soldiers, and then himself. They never touched Gesmas or him, but they continually harassed the third man, continued to beat and whip him, and when he would fall, they would kick him as well. Dismas wondered for the first time what the man’s name was. Who was this man that took every blow with little more than a groan? Who was he that he could do that? He never begged them to stop, never pleaded for his life. He just walked calmly forward. Dismas had seen a line of lambs walking to the slaughter once, and this reminded him oddly of that.

At last, just as the sun was reaching its zenith, they reached the top of the hill. Dismas stood panting, his legs on fire from the climb, with the bottom of his cross resting on the ground. Gesmas stood there glaring at the soldiers and the crowd, looking like a trapped animal.

The soldiers jerked the cross from the shoulders of the merchant, and let it fall backward onto the ground. They pushed him away and he disappeared over the edge of the hill and back toward the city. The third man started to fall forward, but his two guards caught him under his arms, and then ripped his garment down the center, leaving him in his underclothing. They let him go and he fell forward onto his face.

The two guards assigned to Dismas turned his cross onto the ground, and then ripped his robe apart as well. Dismas stood in his undergarment, and then one of the soldiers barked at him “Lie down on the cross. Now!”

Dismas did as they asked, and felt the rough wood dig into his back. Absurdly, he thought of splinters. As they stretched out his arms along the crossbar, he could hear the guards of the third man call out to him mockingly, and Dismas heard a final blow land somewhere on the third man’s body.

“Now, your majesty. Can you not free yourself? Command us to let you go, then…”

That was it, Dismas thought. The third man was certainly no thief, no murderer. He didn’t behave like anyone Dismas had ever met before. He just faced his death with absolute calm. There was just something about him that was different. Dismas had seen Herod one time, from a distance, and he almost walked through people, not just like he didn’t see them, but like they were not worthy of being seen. He just…strode.

The third man was not like that, not arrogant in the least, but was somehow regal all the same. Not like a lamb so much, Dismas thought. And then they laid the third man down on his own cross, and he spoke again. His voice was full of pain, but rang out like a bell in the still air on top of the Skull.

“Abba,” the third man said, “father…forgive them, forgive them…they don’t know what they’re doing…they don’t know…”

His voice trailed off, and Dismas realized the man was praying, praying for the men about to hammer nails through his wrists and feet.

Praying.

Dismas felt the point of the first nail enter his wrist at an angle right in the center of the bundle of nerves at the heel of his palm. He could feel every strike of the mallet through his entire body. He hardly had time to stop screaming from the first nail before the second was hammered home. He didn’t feel the nail that went through both of his ankles and the cross.

And then it was done.

The soldiers raised Dismas up on the far right, and slid the base of his cross into a hole in the ground. They raised the third man up in the center, and Gesmas on the left. Gesmas was screaming profanities at the soldiers, at the crowd, and from what Dismas could tell, God as well.

The third man hung on his cross, and Dismas could see his chest rising and falling, rising and falling. A crowd began to gather in front of him, a weeping woman at the center, with a handsome young man standing next to her. An older man, one of the temple priests, pushed himself forward through the crowd, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One.”

The third man’s two guards came forward next. One of them pushed a piece of sponge onto the head of his spear and then sunk the spear into a nearby bucket. He held the dripping weapon up to the third man as he hung there but the man just shook his head. The second soldier lifted a sign on his spear and hung it over a nail protruding from the top of the third man’s cross. He cleared his throat and read aloud “Here is the king of the jews.”

He chuckled and slapped his partner on his armored shoulder. “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself,” said the soldier in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Gesmas inclined his head over to the right and screamed at the third man, “Aren’t you the messiah? Save yourself, then. Save us!”

Dismas looked at the man on the middle cross. His head hung low, and blood ran down his cheeks into his beard. His chest and ribs were bruised and striped from the whips. One leg was positioned on either side of the cross with a long nail driven through his left ankle, through the wood, and out the other ankle, where one of his guards had bent the end over so the third man’s foot couldn’t slip off. He struggled for breath.

And then truth rushed through Dismas’s mind like a cold river—this man, the third man, was king, and the promised messiah. He knew it with absolutely certainty, and at that moment, awareness of his sin came crashing into him and through him. He saw the first purse he grabbed. He saw all the men he’d killed—saw their faces flash before him, and he knew that he could not go into the darkness of death with the weight of that sin coiled around his heart.

And he knew the third man—he knew Jesus—could take it away. He knew he could carry the weight for him, into His father’s kingdom. He leaned his head forward as far as he could, and turned toward Gesmas.

“Don’t you fear God?” he shouted. “You’re under the same sentence. So am I. And we’re getting the reward our deeds demand.”

Dismas looked toward Jesus. “This man has done nothing!!”

Gesmas fell silent.

Dismas saw Jesus turn his head toward him and turned his head as far as he could to the left so he could look into his eyes. They were filled with kindness, and tears for the people that Dismas knew he longed to save. He lowered his head.

“Jesus…”

He could feel Jesus looking at him, and he raised his head again. Everything else disappeared—Gesmas, the crowd, his cross. There was only Jesus, his brown eyes filling, and looking at Dismas clearly in spite of his own pain.

“Jesus,” he pleaded, “remember me…remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

“Amen, I tell you,” said Jesus. “Today you will be with me in paradise…”

A feeling of peace ran through him, and he looked up at the sky. The pain was distant, and it occurred to him that the end was very near. Thin clouds blew over the Skull, back toward the city. He looked down at the crowd and two soldiers were coming toward him with mallets.

He didn’t feel it when they broke his legs.

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7

If you’ve been to a few weddings, you’ve likely heard this passage, from Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth. If you’ve been to many weddings, you’re probably good and tired of hearing it. I know I am (I’ll wait to step outside for a few minutes just in case—I’ve yet to be struck by lightning, but it can’t be as much fun as it sounds). Jenny and I went with a verse from the psalms for our wedding (this is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it).

Anyway, I was thinking of this verse this morning when I woke up, and I looked it up in its entirety when I got to work (once again, I’m on standby—nothing to do). A little piece of a sermon I heard once came back to me just now, and I can’t even remember where or when I heard it, but the speaker was talking about taking the word “love” out of this passage, and replacing it with “Jesus.” Now, I’m not normally one to take out or replace any part of scripture, but in this case, it made sense. Take a look:

4Jesus is patient, Jesus is kind. He does not envy, He does not boast, He is not proud. 5He is not rude, He is not self-seeking, He is not easily angered, He keeps no record of wrongs. 6Jesus does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

It works, I think. And the reason why is because God is Love. Jesus is Lord, and God, and Son. Therefore Jesus is also Love.

He’s Love.

Love incarnate. God incarnate.

I wish I had some perfect, eloquent answer to explain what that means, but I only know what it means to me—what love, His love, means to me.

Love is getting a few friends together based on a feeling that something is amiss, and going to play basketball with a fourth, very early in the morning. Love is letting that fourth friend grieve in his own way, and just being there.

That’s a God thing.

Love is another friend witnessing to that same person with her life, and together with her family, praying for that him to come to Jesus. Love is praying that prayer over and over again, for many years without success, yet still persevering. Praying without ceasing for eight years—before he finally got it, and came to the Lord.

Another God thing.

Love is still another friend calling that same man during when he was at his absolute lowest—and keeping him from falling back into the darkness. She probably doesn’t even know what she did, but he remembers, and always will remember.

Another God thing.

And finally, love is a woman willing to persevere past that man’s shortcomings, and fears, and problems large and small, and finding within him the person God intended to be found, and loving the man in spite of all of it—seeing his true heart beneath all the other garbage, all the baggage.

A God thing, to be sure.

So I guess what I’m getting at is that it was Love that saved my life—that saved me, in so many different ways.

It was Love that gave me hope, and a reason to live.

And God is love.

So pray for the lost people you care about, and the ones you don’t know, as well. Pray for them. It works. Persevere, because sometimes perseverance is necessary. And while it’s true that it ultimately still comes down to the choices of the person being prayed for, it’s also true that prayer makes a huge difference.

Witness with your life, as well.

It’s only recently I’ve began to realize that my life tells people more than my words ever will. How I live it speaks volumes about what God means to me, and what he does, will do, and has done in my life. Do I live wantonly, or do I think about what God would think before I do something? Do I consider how I represent God in my workplace? In my leisure time? Do I love indiscriminately? Do I give cheerfully? Do I do whatever I can for the least of these? Do I forgive? And most importantly, do I pray?

4Jesus is patient, Jesus is kind. He does not envy, He does not boast, He is not proud. 5He is not rude, He is not self-seeking, He is not easily angered, He keeps no record of wrongs. 6Jesus does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

I originally posted this back in 2009, but I needed to read it again tonight…funny how that works. So I thought I would post again…

I was reading Luke last night, and what I had intended the focus on was the account of the crucifixion–instead, I stopped at this passage, right toward the end of the depiction of the Last Supper. It caught my eye, and I was once again reminded that God knows me infinitely better than I know myself. In short, this is what I needed to read. Check it out–so much wisdom:

“24Also a dispute arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest. 25Jesus said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. 26But you are not to be like that (emphasis added). Instead, the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves. 27For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table?”

What is Jesus saying here? Why doesn’t he just…I don’t know…say what he means?

What I was thinking is that He seems to be saying that while it’s lesser to be a servant, in the end it’s…greater to be less? Meanwhile, the disciples are more concerned with simply being greater, and arguing over who gets to sit at the right hand. It makes me wonder a little why he tests them, and forces them to figure things out on their own. I suppose I just answered that. The disciples don’t call Him teacher for nothing.

So, then. Is it better to be greater than a servant? Or lesser than a master? I thought we were supposed to strive for a servant’s heart? Which, to be honest, I am not the best at–even though I would rather serve than lead. Yes, I am a walking contradiction!

Here Jesus continues:

“But I am among you as one who serves (emphasis added). 28You are those who have stood by me in my trials…”

So far, anyway. Though that is soon to change. Still, the following passage speaks to the rewards God has in store for the disciples–and for us–for good and faithful service:

“9And I confer on you a kingdom, just as my Father conferred one on me, 30so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and sit on thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”

He confers a a kingdom on me? Why? I think about eating and drinking at a table with Jesus and I am amazed. I think again of my unworthiness, of my many transgressions, and sins. Yet Jesus sees none of those things. He only sees me, lurching toward him like Frankenstein’s monster, with my arms outstretched. And He welcomes me…

“31 Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. 32But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”

The way I read this is that when Simon–Peter–has turned back from his sin, turned back from his willfullness and misdirected pride, when he has truly repented and cast the darkness of his heart into light, then he will not only be able to, but be expected to, strengthen his brothers.

And he confers on us a kingdom. It’s our responsibility to further the Kingdom. We, left to our own devices, can’t change lives or hearts.  But we can tell them about the king. We can share his glory, and his love. I’m not so sure about Judging the 12 tribes of Israel, but I trust God to make that passage clearer to me when the time comes.

to be continued….

Originally posted last July…but I can’t get enough of these verses. And I love the Message translation…

“When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’

 22-24“But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.

Luke 15:20-24, From The Message

Funny how you just find stuff sometimes.