Failing Lent

The sink is full of dishes.  Again.  And overflowing onto the counters, and stove, and all the way ‘round the kitchen until they butt up against the impressive tower of papers, books, notes, and all variety of odds and ends that collect there.  To think, just two weeks ago, a sweet friend constructed and gifted me with an organization system to tame that part of my chaos.  Her gift, sadly, is sitting in a pile in the study nook/living room, surrounded by tottering piles of textbooks, more papers, and testamental dictionaires.  There are piles everywhere.  The rec room is buried under clean clothes waiting to be folded; the laundry room is swallowed by dirty ones waiting to be washed.  The bathrooms have piles of get-ready-so-we-can-get-out-the-door messes, and splotches of un-wiped toothpaste; the kids’ rooms are interwoven tapestries of toys and clothes.  Boots, hats, coats, and bags clutter up the stairs; more toys laundry and luggage are beginning to devour my room. 

And that’s only the state of the house.  One can’t escape the endless reading lists for class, the papers and responses, the I-should-be-at-least-start-on-my-big-papers-so-I’m-not-freaking-out-later that claws at the throat in the quietest moments.  Kids’ activities to be managed, scheduled, shuffled, and remembered.  I can’t forget that I’m also a wife, which requires more than a flying out the door peck on the check, because I’m too late to aim for your lips; and a friend – even if all I ever seem to do is say that I’m praying over you; and a daughter and sister and niece and grand-daughter – yep, praying for y’all, too!  And what about that bible study we told everyone we would host this semester?  We had it all planned out; well mostly.  And yes, Lord, I hear you tugging at my heart about joining – actively participating in, giving parts of myself to – a community of your followers; but can You find one that meets when I can?  And instead of adding to my reading, can’t I just go and listen?  Oh, yeah, Lord, about that promise to work-out every day…does sleep count? 

It’s not even two weeks into Lent and the oppressive I’m-failing-at-everything has curled up on the sofa and refuses to budge; more grafted-in family member than uninvited guest anymore.  And who wants to fail God?  It’s not so much that I think I’ll lose His love in my broken promises or undone chores or missed opportunities; but I do think that in these, I fail to make Him proud.  Like I’m not earning my keep, or taking advantage of all the gifts He’s so lavishly laid before me; that I’m squandering my time and treasures, or that I’m hoarding these things and somehow disappointing Him. 

But I hear the Father’s voice, repeating Himself across my kitchen table and in the texts for class, because sometimes I have to hear things more than once before I really listen. 

God can’t love you any less than He does right now;

He can’t love you any more, either.

The Father loves you no matter what you do or don’t.

The student in me pauses, rolls the theory over and over in my head – it’s awfully small a thing to be such a big truth.  I hold it up against the scriptures, just to be sure – does the whole counsel of God agree to this, or is it a pithy thing that placates followers like me who can’t get it together? 

{Matthew 3:13-17}

But there it is, at the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry – before the resurrection, before the cross, before the miracles, before He even read from the scroll of Isaiah or said “ego emi.”  Before any of it, the “Father declare[d] that he [was] already ‘well pleased’ with His ‘beloved Son’ without reference to his works.”*  The Father loved the Son unconditionally; not for being incarnate; not for enduring the cross; not because Jesus followed God’s will without fail; not for Christ’s work with the poor and oppressed and forgotten.  The Father loved the Son.  That’s it.

And so it is with me.  And you.  There is nothing I, or you, could ever do to earn this love.  There is nothing I, or you, could do to maintain this love.  This is a love that is completely outside of you and me.  We have no power over it.  It is there on the days we fail; it is there on the days we nail it.  It was there before we knew it; it’s there when we can’t feel it.  It is a love that, before we even knew we needed it, goes to the cross on our behalf.  And bleeds for us, dies for us. 

And lives for us.      

There is nothing for us to do, but accept it.  To wrap it around our lives.  To live in it and out of it. 

So it is with Lent.  There is nothing for us to do, but live in wonder and awe at a love so big that it covers us, every day – good and bad, failing or nailing it.  Every single day we are loved with a vast and unwavering love that is not conditional upon us; but is a love that is a who-God-is love.  And that love is the reason for Lent.       

 

*Sanders, The Deep Things of God

An Exorbitant Worship

source

Four different people, witnessing any event, will recount what happened in four unique ways.  So when we find accounts of decidedly similar situations in scripture, there is always a discussion among scholars as to whether the events are the same or separate.  One such instance marks our final look (for this series anyway) at an individual woman’s interaction with her Messiah.  I encourage you to read each account, noting similarities and differences.  Find what stands out in each; what seems to be the thrust of the narrative. 

The Anointing at Bethany:

Matthew 26:6-13, Mark 14:3-9, Luke7:36-50, John 12:1-8

Matthew, Mark, and John agree that this incident took place in Bethany; Mark and Matthew concur it was at the house of a disciple, Simon the leper; while John merely states that Martha served and Lazarus ate the food.  Luke does not mention a location and renders the host Simon, a Pharisee.  At the outset, there seem to be too many differences for these to be the same event; yet some scholars claim that the events are too closely parallel and extravagant to have happened more than once.[1]  However, in Matthew and Mark, the unnamed woman anoints Christ’s head; in Luke and John, the woman anoints Jesus’ feet.  In each account other than John’s, the woman is portrayed as an interloper; John states that the woman ministering to Jesus is Martha and Lazarus’ sister, Mary.  Judas, again in the Johannine account, is upset with the waste, whereas in Matthew and Mark it is the disciples who regret the excess; in each text the poor being the reason such extravagance is rebuked. In Matthew, Mark, and John, Jesus rebukes the woman’s accusers for singling her out, when there remain poor within their very communities.[2]  He asserts that what she has done for him is “beautiful,” and that implies that they will have time after his burial to tend to the poor.

For the purposes of our study, we will group the Matthean, Markan, and Johnannine account together, because they deal with the extravagance of this woman’s offering in relation to “helping the poor;” while Luke’s text deals with the woman’s character and suitedness to minister to Christ in such a way. 

Considering that Jesus has spent a good deal of time instructing his followers to care for the poor, to tend the widows and orphans, and himself tending to the least among the Jews, Susan Miller, referencing Mark’s telling, makes the claim that the woman is a prophetic figure.  Miller says that this woman’s act of anointing Jesus indicates his kingship, and her breaking of the jar to pour out the ointment foreshadows the last supper, when at the Passover Christ breaks the bread and pours wine as a symbol for his soon to be broken body and poured out blood, on behalf of the sins of the world.[3] She also suggests that the waste, about which the disciples are upset, represents the coming loss of Jesus’ life.  Baggett agrees with this appraisal, seeing the Markan text as an antecedent that prepares Jesus for his burial.[4]  As a funeral offering, a lavish expenditure of 300 denari is not completely uncommon, and Jesus states that this prepares him for burial.[5]    Dr. Craig Blomberg cautions that while this offering is acceptable to Jesus, who does not require a simply ascetic life from his followers, it is to be the exception in a life devoted to meeting the needs of the have-nots.[6]  Thus in these three accounts, we find a woman who is likely distraught over the thought of losing her Messiah.  She symbolically prepares his body for burial.  Acting in the lavish and tender and intimate way a person who has just lost the love of her life might. 

Certainly, in first century Palestine, it was the women who tended to the bodies after death; the women would wash the earthly shells of their loved ones with tears and perfumes, caring for these spent husks one last time before releasing their loved one into the dust.  Thus we find a woman doing what is culturally expected of her for someone she loves so dearly, merely at a time that is deemed inappropriate by her contemporaries.  Yet this woman, instead of saving her resources for a time when, at least to her mind, Jesus would not benefit from them; pours out her possessions while he is still with her.  Because she loves him.   
And Jesus says this is okay. 

Yes, we are to regularly and habitually use our finances and resources on behalf of the poor.  Yes, we are to give of our time, talents, and treasure daily and sacrificially to benefit the poor and outcast.  Yes, this is to be the practice that marks us as Christ followers: the care of those in need.  But in this woman, we see that it is also good to spend ourselves on behalf of those we love. 

No, this isn’t to say, “Well, I love me, so I’m gonna buy that boat/diamond/Tuscan Villa for myself!”  But imagine the love that would be conveyed if you spent that money (assuming that you have it and aren’t borrowing it) on the person closest to your heart.  Your spouse, your parent, your children, your best friend.  To show them, here and now while they are still drawing breath, that you love and treasure them.  Once.  Sacrificially.  For the sake of love.  Imagine the depths of their spirit to which this would speak.  Imagine their joy in knowing they are so delighted in.  So loved. 

Because, poor or otherwise, Christ loved each of us so much that he spent himself once, sacrificially, for us.

An exorbitant sacrifice.  For Love.

And just for fun, here’s a link to the world’s most expensive desserts.  On the off chance that you’re considering a decadent love offering for your special someone…my favorite?  purely for the artistry: The Fortress Stilt Fisherman Indulgence, $14,500.

Enjoying this study?  Here's a link to other articles in this series: The Women Who Knew Jesus

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[1] Same event: William Hendriksen, New Testament Commentary: Exposition of the Gospel According to Mark, (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1975).  Different events: Sharon Ringe, Westminster Bible Companion: Luke, ed. Patrick D. Miller and David L. Bartlett, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995). 

[2] Craig L. Blomberg, Neither Poverty Nor Riches: A Biblical Theology of Material Possessions, (Leicester: APOLLOS, 1999), 142.

[3] Susan Miller, “The Woman who Anoints Jesus (Mk 14:3-9): A Prophetic Sign of the New Creation,” The Journal of the Britain & Ireland School of Feminist Theology 14 (2006) 221.

[4] John F. Baggett.   Seeing Through the Eyes of Jesus: His Revolutionary View of Reality and His Transcendent Significance for Faith.  Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2008. Page 113.

[5] Matthew 26:12, Mark 14:8, and John 12:7.

[6] Blomberg, Neither Poverty Nor Riches, 142.

But not today

There are so many thoughts flinging themselves about my mind right now; their incessant buzzing and clanging making me long for a pause, for a stop to time.  All I want to do it sit down and pull each one out, sort through them like brittle albums, and breathe fullness into them, giving them a life on paper. 

But not today.

Today’s tasks, which are also yesterday’s tasks that rolled over having been left undone, have mounted against me as a warring army, throttling my gates and testing for weakness in my fortifications.  And yes, right now, there are many.

Who doesn’t have days like that?  Who doesn’t have weeks like that; or even seasons, when your to-do’s so far outpace the time we have that they swallow up the entirity of your focus, energy, and even breath.

That’s what grace is for.  Among other things.

In a few short weeks, I’ll be on the other side of finals, and likely drunk with the substantial amount of time I will have at my disposal.  It happens every year.

But until then, I must buckle down, put my head in my books and not look up.  I must let certain things fall by the wayside, like cleaning and cooking and makeup and play-dates and friendly coffees.  Not because I want to, nor because I am lazy; but because

                There are only so many hours in the day.

And so, I’m claiming grace for the next three weeks.  Grace for a messy house.  Grace for too much take-out.  Grace for hastily thrown together children; and an abject lack of activities with them.  Grace for basically falling-off-the-face-of-the-planet (which is the vortex also known as the library). 

                And that is okay.

I will try to put up a few thoughts, what I’m learning through my Greek studies or in my Old Testament class, or even just a blog that someone else has sent me to get me through these next twenty days.  But know that in my head and my heart, I’m storing up all these things to come back and share…after a short while.      

Grace will see me through to the other side.  I look forward to seeing you there, too.