[Abraham] said to [the rich man], ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’” Luke 16:31 (NIV)
This past Sunday Wendy and I volunteered to help usher people into Easter worship and find seats.
There’s always a large crowd.
I’ve regularly attended weekly worship for most of my life. Along the way, I notice patterns. A few weeks before Easter attendance will slowly swell. The crowd arrives on Easter. Wendy and I help them find a seat.
Then the crowds go away.
Numbers recede back to normal.
Until a few weeks before Christmas.
It makes me wonder how often we are drawn to moments…but resist what they’re actually calling us into.
Today’s chapter is two scenes stitched together, both whispering (and sometimes shouting) about money, loyalty, and what we truly trust.
First, there’s a manager caught mismanaging his boss’s money and is about to be fired. Instead of panicking, he gets… creative. He cuts deals with his master’s debtors so they’ll welcome him later.
And here’s the twist—his master commends him for being shrewd.
So is Jesus praising the dishonesty? Not exactly. He’s saying: “Look how creatively people pursue temporary security… why are my people so passive about eternal things?”
Then He tightens the screws:
Faithful in little → faithful in much
You cannot serve both God and money
Money isn’t the villain. It’s the test. It’s not about having it. It’s about what it does to your grip—does your hand open… or tighten?
In the next scene, Jesus pulls back the curtain on eternity.
A rich man lives in luxury. A poor man, Lazarus, lies at his gate—hungry, broken, ignored.
In a world where the rich get remembered and the poor forgotten Jesus flips the script. God knows the poor man’s name. Not the rich man.
Both die.
Now the tables turn:
Lazarus finds himself in eternal comfort. Rich man finds himself in eternal torment.
Interestingly, the rich man isn’t condemned for cruelty, but for indifference.
He didn’t beat Lazarus. He merely stepped over him… every day. Not out of hatred… just habit.
And the haunting line:
“Between us and you a great chasm has been set in place….”
No crossing. No do-overs.
And in the quiet this morning, the text leans in close, lowers its voice, and asks me something a little dangerous:
What am I really living for?
Not what I say. Not what I post. What my calendar, my bank account, and my quiet decisions reveal.
Jesus isn’t subtle:
This life is a test run, not the main event
Money is a tool, not a lover
Faithfulness in the small, unseen moments… that’s the real résumé
And maybe the most piercing truth of all:
The gap between heaven and hell isn’t created at death. It’s revealed there.
I am becoming someone right now.
With every choice Every act of generosity Every moment of indifference Every quiet “yes” or “no” to God
I am shaping the person who will step into eternity.
And for me, the most haunting line of all this morning was the final one.
‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”
Translation? I already have more than enough truth to change my life. The question is whether I’ll listen.
An annual visit to God on Easter probably won’t make much difference.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need. Luke 11:8 (NIV)
Like most people, almost everything I was taught about God, church, and worship was all about propriety.
Sit still. Be quiet. Fold your hands. Bow your head. Dress nice. Take off your hat.
The problem with this is that God’s description of worship is not that.
“Clap your hands, all you nations; shout to God with cries of joy.” (Psalm 47:1) “Shout for joy to God, all the earth…” (Psalm 66:1–2) “…let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation.” (Psalm 95:1–2) “Let them praise his name with dancing…” (Psalm 149:3) “Praise him with timbrel and dancing…” (Psalm 150:4)
This past Sunday, I yelled in church. More than once. I shouted out praise.
People were uncomfortable. I did it anyway. It wasn’t about them.
The further I progress in my journey, the more I have come to embrace just how significantly His ways are not our ways. Which means if I’m going to do things God’s way, I’m going to have to break out of my comfort zone.
And then there’s prayer.
In today’s chapter, right after teaching His disciples the “Lord’s Prayer,” Jesus tells one of His strangest parables. It’s one of those you rarely hear taught because, it’s uncomfortable.
A man shows up at his neighbor’s door at midnight after everyone is asleep. He needs to borrow some bread for unexpected guests. The woken neighbor tries to beg off, but the man will not stop pounding and begging until the neighbor finally relents and gives the man bread to shut him up.
Jesus says the man had “shameless audacity.” But this is another case of the original Greek word not having a good English equivalent.
The Greek word is anaideia. It is literally translated “without shame,” but here’s the twist… in Greek culture, anaideia is almost always negative.
It’s not polite boldness. It’s not admirable persistence.
It leans more toward:
The person who keeps knocking when everyone else would slink away. Brazen nerve. Thick-skinned insistence. A refusal to be embarrassed.
Jesus is essentially saying: “This guy gets what he needs not because he’s polite, but because he refuses to feel shame about asking.”
That feels like yelling out loud in church.
In a culture built on honor and shame, this is almost scandalous. The man at the door is violating social norms:
It’s midnight The household is asleep The request is inconvenient
And yet… he just keeps knocking.
Not a gentle tap.
Not a “sorry to bother you.”
This is persistent, socially inappropriate, borderline annoying knocking.
And Jesus says:
That’s the posture that moves the door.
And in the quiet this morning, that makes me extremely uncomfortable. Shame has always been my native language. It seeps out of me as pessimism. I was taught to be timid in asking for things.
“Be content with what you have.” “Take what you’re given and be happy.” “Don’t ask for too much, it’s rude.” “You don’t deserve it anyway, so just don’t ask.” “Don’t expect too much, you’re probably not going to get it anyway.”
Jesus paints a picture of prayer that feels almost… scandalous:
Not polished. Not proper. Not carefully worded.
But:
Bold Relentless Unembarrassed
The kind of prayer that says: “I know it’s late.” “I know this is inconvenient.” “I know I’ve already asked.” “But I’m still here. Still Knocking. Not going away.”
Heaven’s door doesn’t open for the well-mannered. It opens for the ones who won’t stop knocking.
For me, there’s something quietly intoxicating about this.
A permission slip… to be a little undignified with God.
To knock like you mean it.
It’s like shouting in church.
Undignified. Uncomfortable.
And exactly the point.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
But you are to seek the place the Lord your God will choose from among all your tribes to put his Name there for his dwelling. To that place you must go… Deuteronomy 12:5 (NIV)
A few weeks ago I was working on a personal project assembling photographs of Wendy and me through the years. A little something for our 20th wedding anniversary on New Year’s Eve. As I was going through the photos I laughed when I got to the Covid years. I let my hair grow during the pandemic. It was the longest it had ever been in my life. Oh, the ways that the pandemic lock downs changed our lives. So many rhythms of life were interrupted.
One of those rhythm interruptions was certainly weekly gatherings for worship. Everything moved online for a while, and I will confess that there was something novel and enjoyable about cuddling in on the couch with Wendy in our pajamas to watch worship online. I know I was not alone. I observed that some people never returned to physical gathering.
This came to mind this morning as I meditated on today’s chapter. For eleven chapters Moses has been teaching Israel how to remember. Today, he teaches them how to desire. The mantra of “remember” has been his constant refrain. In today’s chapter, Moses shifts his gaze to the future.
Someday, when the Hebrews have taken possession of the land and settled down, God will name the place where they are to bring all of the prescribed sacrifices and offerings. The chapter communicates three important concepts for their spiritual health.
First, they are to rid the land of other gods and their forms of worship. Why? These other religions were appetite indulgence masquerading as religion—desire without discipline, pleasure without protection. God even calls out their practice of child sacrifice.
“This is not who I am. This is not who you are.”
Second, God prescribes centralized worship. The traveling tent temple known as the Tabernacle has been with them for forty years as they wandered. The Tabernacle was always at the center of their camp. Someday, Moses says, God will name a place in the land for a permanent location for His name.
Third, God makes a distinction between daily appetites and sacred offering. You may eat meat freely wherever you live—but sacrifice belongs only in God’s chosen place. Appetite is allowed. Worship is consecrated. Desire is honored—but not deified and indulged in unhealthy ways.
God’s prescription isn’t prudish. It’s ordered. It is God’s invitation to learn how to desire rightly, how to worship with our whole bodies without letting our appetites run the show. God doesn’t outlaw pleasure – in fact He created it and celebrates it. He shuns exploitation, however. Holiness protects from the unhealthy consequences of appetites run amok. It shields bodies from being used in the name of spirituality.
The prescriptive rhythm that I see in today’s chapter is God’s desire for gathering. You can have your daily life at home, but I want you to gather together with me and your people at a central location. We are one. We need one another. The entire Great Story leads to one final and eternal gathering of God and His people in one City. Jesus said He was going to prepare that place and would return to gathering everyone there.
After Jesus ascension to begin those preparations, God sent His Holy Spirit to indwell those who believe and receive. God’s presence shifts from tent to temple to the bodies of believers. My body is God’s Temple, His Spirit dwelling within me.
It’s tempting to think, therefore, that worship can be centralized wherever I happen to be. After all, I discovered during Covid that sitting on the couch in my pajamas is quite comfortable and enjoyable. Bedside Baptist. Pillowcase Presbyterian. Lounge Chair Lutheran. Recliner Reformed. I kinda like the ring of all of them.
Please don’t read what I’m not writing. I’m grateful for technology that allows people who are shut-in to feel like they are a part of things from afar in real time. That is, however, different than me choosing to do so because it’s easy, comfortable, and requires little or nothing from me. I observed during the pandemic that this can easily become a return to appetite indulgence wrapped in a blanket of spirituality.
Jesus gathered His followers around the table. Even when He sent them out on missions He sent them in twos, never alone. Then, He always had them return. They gathered. They shared a meal. They broke bread together. They passed a cup. They sang together. They prayed together. Being alone has never been God’s paradigm. Gathering and doing Life and Spirit together has always been the prescription and the plan from tent to temple to table.
On Sunday Wendy and I will join our own local gathering of Jesus’ followers as we do pretty much every week. Yes, we will sing, we will pray, and we will follow an ordered form of worship. But that’s just the surface motions. They are good, instructive, and beneficial. It’s what really happens in the gathering over the weeks and months and years that is where the good stuff happens. These are our people. We know names and stories. They know ours. We do life together. We walk through life’s struggles. We support one another, encourage one another, and serve one another. We break the bread. We pass the cup.
Each week becomes a communion of Life and Spirit—something that only happens when bodies gather, voices rise, and stories intertwine.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
The two choirs that gave thanks then took their places in the house of God. Nehemiah 12:40a (NIV)
It’s fascinating how things can so drastically change in the different seasons of life. Last night Wendy and I sat in the Vander Well Pub and enjoyed a drink together and debriefed about our day before dinner. As we talked about all of the things on the calendar in the coming weeks, I recognized within me an intense desire to have none of it, and to just be at home. That was a crazy thought. For most of my life, that desire barely existed inside.
I had a great home growing up that was safe and full of love, but I was an adventurous extrovert as a kid. Between all of the activities I was involved in throughout my school years, it was not unusual for me to leave the house at 5:00 a.m. and not get home until 10:00 at night. I kept weekends equally packed pursuing fun and always being on the go. College years were no different. I typically worked three jobs on top of classes and being constantly involved in campus activities and stage productions.
I have worked from a home office since 1994, back when no one worked from home. Our team didn’t talk about it with clients because they might think it was sketchy and diminish our reputation as a “real” business. For many years, I found myself venturing out to coffee shops and other public spaces every day to work. I needed the buzz of being around people and activity. I wanted the possibility of human connection even in casual, impromptu conversations with strangers. To be honest, home wasn’t always a joyful place for me to be in those years.
Life changes like the seasons. Yesterday I shared about the house that Wendy and I built ten years ago. Not only did Wendy design a beautiful and comfortable space to live, but I find in our home a Spirit of peace, love, and joy at all times – even the occasional contentious ones.
Today’s chapter is a bit like a homecoming at God’s House in Jerusalem. Nehemiah and the crew rebuilt the walls for the specific purpose of rebuilding and renewing the Temple worship prescribed by God in the Law of Moses. Solomon’s Temple had been destroyed and there had been no Temple, no offerings, and no sacrifices for some 150 years. With the walls rebuilt, the entire Hebrew community comes to Jerusalem. Two mass choirs with instruments march around the walls singing and playing in celebration. Everyone then ends their loud musical processional at God’s House. People bring the prescribed tithes and offerings, and the sacrificial system begins operation once again.
“Joy” is a recurring word in today’s chapter. In fact, the Hebrew root for “joy” (śmḥ) appears five times in verse 43 alone. The Hebrews had been through a season of exile. They were forced to make a home elsewhere, but the real home for their people and their community was always Jerusalem, God’s House, and the rhythms of life and worship that God prescribed and that had been at the center of their identity as a people for centuries. In today’s chapter, they are finally home. Joy flows.
Here I sit in the quiet of my home office. I was here all day yesterday from 5:00 a.m. until I met Wendy downstairs in the Pub at 6:00 p.m. I’ll be here all day working on projects and proposals again today. I’m okay with that. In fact, I downright joyful about it.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
“‘The priests are to perform my service in such a way that they do not become guilty and die for treating it with contempt. I am the Lord, who makes them holy.’” Leviticus 22:9 (NIV)
As I have shared before on this chapter-a-day journey, I was raised in the Methodist church that was steeped in the “high church” liturgical tradition. Robes, candles, pipe organ, two choirs, processionals, recessionals, lectern, altar, pomp, and circumstance. Every Sunday morning was a pageant.
Along with the pageantry, I remember being taught as a child about certain things being sacred. The minister was a special individual. He was special and you treated him as such. The altar in the church was special and children weren’t to be playing around it. The pulpit, which stood higher than anything else at the front of the sanctuary was reserved for the minister giving his message. On the opposite side was the lectern which was just like the pulpit only lower. This is where the lowly common people could read from or lead in worship. Above the altar was a giant cross from which hung a candle-holder. I was taught that this was the “eternal flame” that shone at all times over the altar.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the “eternal flame” was just a 40-watt light-bulb that sometimes when out until the janitor replaced it.
I couldn’t help but think about all of the pageantry of my childhood worship experiences as I read today’s chapter. God is addressing the High Priest, Aaron, and his sons, and He makes it clear that the offerings and sacrifices are to be taken seriously. He warns them about the propensity for perpetual human rituals to lose their luster and become so routine that they are no longer held sacred. When that happens, God warns them, it’s easy to begin treating the whole process with contempt.
“It’s just another sacrifice, like all the other sacrifices I’ve offered every day like the day before. Whatever.”
“It’s technically supposed to be an offering without defect, but hey, I’ve seen worse. I’m sure this isn’t the first lamb with a blemish to sneak through. Won’t be the last. Plus, the guy slipped me a couple of shekels to look the other way. Whatever.”
When this attitude prevails, it empties the entire ritual of its intended meaning. The whole thing becomes profane.
After responding to God’s call on my life, I wandered from the religious, liturgical traditions of my childhood. My journey led me through very different worship traditions that weren’t at all like what I experienced growing up. I’ve experienced and participated in all kinds of worship traditions along my journey. I have some observations.
First, much of the high-church traditions that developed out of the Holy Roman Empire have nothing to do with scripture or following the teachings of Jesus. Jesus and his early followers met together in people’s houses. They shared a meal together around the table and sang songs like you do around the campfire. Other than some relatively loose leadership structure mentioned by Paul, there is nothing in scripture that hints at anything like what “church” became once Christianity became the state religion of the Roman Empire.
The Holy Roman Empire was both a church and a government, which the empire had learned over the centuries required social order. Having proclaimed itself the one-true Christian church, religion added a whole new arsenal for maintaining law and order. First, they took the existing structure of church and created an official authoritarian class (popes, cardinals, bishops, priests) who alone held the power to control God’s word, grace, and the eternal status of a persons soul. Then, with all of the financial resources of the empire, they built breathtaking churches and cathedrals that were unlike any places most people had ever imagined. Inside these opulent edifices they created the mystery, metaphor, and pageantry of ritual worship that daily reminded every day commoners that there was the sacred or “clean” (the authoritarian class) and the common or “unclean” (everybody else).
“Clean” and “unclean.” Sound familiar? The Holy Roman Empire took the basic playbook that God had established in Leviticus and updated it for the purposes of political, social, and cultural control. Leviticus, however, was given to and for humanity in the toddler stage of development, teaching fledgling humanity about basic things like what is sacred and holy, how to live in community with God and others, and being different than those who indulge their sinful nature and chase after every base human appetite without restraint.
By the time Jesus arrived, humanity was ready for something new from a spiritual perspective. Humanity had grown and matured. An age of accountability had been reached. Jesus taught His disciples that the plan after his death and resurrection was for His Spirit to pour out and indwell each and every believer. Every believer’s body would now become the temple, the cathedral, and the Most Holy Place. No longer would people come to God in some physical cathedral fixed at a central location in every town, God would go out to everyone in the world through millions of flesh-and-blood temples, enlightened with the eternal flame of God’s Spirit, interacting daily with those stuck in darkness.
The institutional church of the Holy Roman Empire recreated a worship and societal system that perpetuated the spiritual day-care we’re learning about in Leviticus. As a child growing up in the liturgical high church, I learned the same lessons God is teaching the Hebrews. I learned that God is in the church on 49th street. The sanctuary and altar are “sacred” and to be considered “holy.” The minister is a special, holy person who alone can serve Communion, who can alone stand above us all in the sacred pulpit, and who alone can share with us God’s word. I am just a common, lowly sinner who should stay away from the holy altar and be awed by the mystery of the eternal flame (pay no attention to the janitor behind the curtain getting ready to change the light-bulb to LED and save the church a few pennies).
It’s no wonder in my mind that the “the dark ages” were soon to follow, both in history, and in my own personal spiritual journey.
Still, in the quiet this morning, I find myself reminded that Jesus said He came to fulfill what God started in Leviticus, not abolish it. He was not throwing spiritual babies out with the bath water the way humans have repeatedly done throughout the history of Christianity. The mystery, metaphor, and pageantry of the liturgical high church did, and does, have important spiritual lessons for me to learn and experience. Along my spiritual journey, however, I’ve had to learn to be spiritually discerning regarding the differences between what God says and prescribes in-and-through the Great Story, and what human religious traditions have chosen to do with it.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
Judge for yourselves: Is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head uncovered? 1 Corinthians 11:13 (NIV)
I spent one semester at a fundamentalist Bible college. The legalistic culture and its effects were a surreal experience in so many ways. I have so many stories from those few months. The saving grace was that I had a friend who shared the experience and we didn’t live on campus, so we got to escape the crazy after class each day and return to the normality of our own homes.
One of the things I learned in my fundamentalist sojourn was that legalistic systems pick their hills to die on when it comes to rule following. At the school we were attending, one of those hills was the length of hair that men were required to maintain. It had to be short. This was defined as a man’s hair couldn’t touch the collar of your dress shirt. A coat and tie were required attire in class for men. Women had to wear skirts or dresses with a hem that was below the knee. These rules had to be perpetually justified and reinforced, so it was always interesting when a lecture would randomly stray into a defense of one of the schools rules.
We were in a class called Biblical Hermeneutics (e.g. How to interpret the Biblical text) one day when the professor launched into a defense of the short hair rule. One of the defenses for the rule comes from today’s chapter: “Does not the very nature of things teach you that if a man has long hair, it is a disgrace to him, but that if a woman has long hair it is to her glory?”
Today’s chapter is filled with instructions that Paul gave to the church regarding head coverings and hair. The passage fuels life practices in different believer groups to this day. When you see a group of Amish or Mennonite women with their hair pulled up under a bonnet, the practice comes directly from following Paul’s instructions in today’s chapter.
Of course, one of the other lessons I learned from my months in a fundamentalist and legalistic system is that they also pick and choose which rules to be legalistic about and which to ignore. Our school was rabid about men having short hair, but they completely ignored Paul’s instructions in today’s chapter about women wearing head coverings. Likewise, I find it fascinating that Paul ends this same letter to the Corinthians by telling them directly to “greet one another with a holy kiss.” In fact, Paul gives this same instruction in four different letters! Not once did my professor kiss me!!
As I was meditating on this passage this morning and all of the layers of cultural and religious context, I could help but notice that Paul clearly tells the Corinthian believers, “Judge for yourselves.”
Thanks, Paul. I think I will.
There was recently an article in the Wall Street Journal about the resurgence of young women in the Catholic church choosing to wear traditional veils when they attend mass. It was interesting to hear their reasoning and I think it’s awesome that they are finding spiritual lessons in the practice as they judge for themselves. At the same time, I once knew a follower of Jesus who had hair that was so long it went all the way down to his butt. He had a friend who went to prison and he promised his friend he would pray for him every day and would not cut his hair until his friend was released. Now that’s a cool expression of love for a friend and I’m glad he judged for himself to do it.
In both of these instances, sincere followers of Jesus have made different choices for different reasons. Each of them are making their choice from a place of spiritual growth and increasing maturity. Neither of them is doing it because a legalistic religious system is demanding it from them and threatening them with negative consequences if they disobey.
In the quiet this morning, I’m actually thankful for my experiences at that Bible College. It taught me so many valuable lessons about what being a follower of Jesus is and isn’t. It exposed me to fundamentalist legalism and allowed me to see it and personally examine it from the inside. And it continues to remind me of St. Augustine’s wisdom:
In the essentials, unity. In the non-essentials, liberty. In all things, charity.
I sometimes fantasize about being able to go back into those classes with all the knowledge and life experience I now have. When my professor was waxing eloquent about how Paul directly says that long hair is a disgrace on a man. I’d ask him to flip to the end and read 1 Corinthians 16:20 where it says just as directly to greet one another with a holy kiss.
“Pucker-up, Professor!”
Or perhaps we should all, with spiritual maturity, learn to judge for ourselves about these things.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
After six days Jesus took Peter, James and John with him and led them up a high mountain, where they were all alone. There he was transfigured before them. Mark 9:2 (NIV)
This fall, Wendy and I were invited to join friends at their place in Park City, Utah. We happened to be there for four days when the fall colors exploded in the mountains. The weather was gorgeous, and one day we drove to Sundance and rode the series of chairlifts to the top. The views were definitely not what you’ll ever see in Iowa. It was definitely a mountaintop experience in multiple ways. (I took the featured photo on today’s post as we were riding the chair-lift)
I mentioned in yesterday’s post/podcast that I’ve been listening to a series of podcasts about the meaning of mountains throughout the Great Story. And, it’s true that there are so many stories and events in the Story that happen on mountains. Mountains on which action takes place include, but are not limited to, Mount Sinai, Mount Carmel, Mount Tabor, Mount Horeb, Mount Zion, and the Mount of Olives. Mark has mentioned that Jesus commonly retreated up a mountain to be alone and pray. That was Mount Arbel off the coast of the Sea of Galilee.
Now I’ve been to Israel and I’ve been to the top of Mount Carmel, Mount Zion, and the Mount of Olives. Make no mistake, they are no Sundance Mountain. They are more in line with the bluffs in Iowa that line the Missouri and Mississippi River valleys. People who live anywhere near the rockies would laugh at the thought of them even being called mountains.
But the “mountains” in the Great Story are not meant to be accurate examples of scientific, geological definition. Building on yesterday’s post/podcast, the “mountains” are metaphors. They are high places that stretch toward the heavens relative to the area surrounding it. They are thin places where the veil between the physical and spiritual are more transparent. Mountaintops are isolated and exclusive places, in part because they require effort and sacrifice to access them. Like the narrow road that Leads to life that Jesus talked about, few are willing to do what’s required to reach the top.
In today’s chapter, there is one of the funkiest stories in the entire Jesus Story. Jesus takes his inner circle of three disciples (Peter, James, and John) and goes up a “mountain.” While there, Jesus is “transfigured.” In other words, his physical human form is transformed into the spiritual, heavenly, glorified, Light of the World that was His reality before He came to earth to be born a baby in Bethlehem. Then Moses (Law-giver) and Elijah (Prophet) appear and have a chat with Jesus. There’s a cloud that envelopes them all.
In order to understand this mountaintop moment, it’s necessary to know about Moses’ mountaintop moment on Mount Sinai where God began something new with the recently freed Hebrew slaves. On Sinai there was light in the forms of lightning and what looked like fire, and a cloud that covered the mountain. God gave Moses His guidebook for Life for the Hebrews, a blueprint for how to conduct themselves as individuals and as a community in order to be an example to all the other nations. Just as the Law came through Moses, Elijah was the great prophet who had his own mountain top experiences on Mount Carmel and Mount Horeb. He represents God’s prophets and prefigures John the Baptist.
Everything in the transfiguration event connects to the larger Story. This is a fulfillment moment that has been thousands of years in the making. It’s Mount Sinai 2.0. God Himself has come to, once again, announce that He’s doing something new. Jesus says it Himself in today’s chapter. God’s Son is going to suffer and die a human death, just as the prophets like Elijah had prophesied. Then, He will conquer death and the grave and be resurrected, pour out His Spirit and usher in a Kingdom age of grace.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV)
In the quiet this morning, I’m thinking back to mountain top memories like ascending Sundance mountain Utah with our friends and climbing Arthur’s Seat with our daughter Taylor in Edinburgh, Scotland. But I’m also reminded all of the ways that mountains are metaphorically layered with meaning. When the ancient Hebrews traveled to the Temple in Jerusalem to worship, they considered themselves ascending Mount Zion where they would worship God. As they made their way up the “mountain” to worship, they would sing “songs of ascent” as they journeyed. Some of them are in the Psalms, like Psalm 121:
I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
Wendy and I live on the Iowa prairie. I confess, there’s nothing resembling a mountain physically nearby. Yet every week as we gather with others in our community to worship we metaphorically and spiritually ascend a mountain to a thin place where “two or three are gathered” and Jesus Himself is in our midst by His Holy Spirit just as He promised. It is there that I am being transfigured and transformed into the person He is calling me to be. It is there that new things come. It is there that I catch a glimpse of the Light and Glory to come on another mountain where God is preparing an eternal City and a place for me there.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
These chapter-a-day blog posts are also available via podcast on all major podcast platforms including Apple, Google, and Spotify! Simply go to your podcast platform and search for “Wayfarer Tom Vander Well.” If it’s not on your platform, please let me know!
Now David was clothed in a robe of fine linen, as were all the Levites who were carrying the ark, and as were the musicians, and Kenaniah, who was in charge of the singing of the choirs. David also wore a linen ephod. 1 Chronicles 15:27 (NIV)
I have a bit of a fascination with words and their origins. There is a weekly column in the Wall Street Journal in which the author, an etymologist, chooses one word that was used a lot in the news that week and explores its origins and uses. I know. It’s geeky, but it’s my kind of geeky.
When working in business, one hears a lot of references to silos, which I find fascinating living in Iowa. An agricultural staple used for storing grain on the farm became a universally used metaphor describing strict divisions within a business or corporation. In my career, I’ve had to struggle with our client’s silos regularly. The Sales and Marketing silo usually pays for customer research, but the results have all sorts of important data for the Customer Service team who is in the Operations silo. At best, they don’t communicate well. At worst, they consider each other internal rivals. Silos prevent the data from having a maximum impact on the client and their customers’ experiences.
In the ancient world of the Hebrews, there were also silos that God had established in the Laws of Moses. Only members of the tribe of Levi were priests and caretakers of God’s ark and the temple. Hundreds of years later, the Hebrews established a monarchy. But King David, despite being anointed by God and established as a man after God’s own heart, was from the tribe of Judah. That’s a different silo.
The Chronicler, unlike the earlier account of David’s reign in Samuel, is writing hundreds of years later and with knowledge of all that has happened since, including the writings of all the prophets. He knows from the prophets that the Messiah will come from David’s line and that the Messiah will be both King and High Priest.
In today’s chapter, I noted that the Chronicler was careful to explain that it was King David who ordered that no one but the Levites should carry the Ark of the Covenant and that they should all consecrate themselves before doing so as prescribed in the Law of Moses, a mistake they had made two chapters earlier. So it’s the King who is commanding the priestly tribe of Levi to do their job.
Later in the chapter, the Chronicler provides a little detail about the big event of the Ark of the Covenant’s big arrival celebration in Jerusalem. King David was wearing the same priestly garments as the Levites.
The Chronicler is establishing with David there was a tearing down of the silos between King and Priest. David had authority and told the Levites to do their job. David wore priestly garments as the Ark was brought into Jerusalem. The Chronicler sees David as the precursor of the King-Priest that will eventually be fully realized in the Messiah.
Note: The Priest-King issue as it relates to Jesus was eventually explained by the author of Hebrews, and it’s pretty cool. The answer lies in a mysterious figure who appears briefly in Genesis. I introduce him briefly in this post.
So what does this have to do with my life today? As a disciple of Jesus, I find that He’s all about tearing down the silos. He tore down cultural silos and religious silos. He burned the silo of a priestly class system to the ground and made every follower a member of the royal priesthood. I just talked about that in a message I gave to our local gathering of Jesus’ followers a few weeks ago.
So in the quiet this morning, I find myself asking “Where have I built silos in life that need to be torn down?” Where do I see distinctions between me and others that Jesus would say don’t exist? If I’m a member of the royal priesthood as God tells me I am, then how am I supposed to live that out in my life, my words, and my actions today? Or, have I built a silo around my heart and mind so that I can ignore this spiritual truth and tell myself “It’s not my job!”?
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
I’m on vacation for three weeks. While I’m gone, please enjoy the top 15 posts from 2023 based on total number of page views and podcast plays. Cheers!
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to him, “King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” Daniel 3:16-18 (NIV)
I’ve recently been devouring a series of fictional spy thrillers by one of my favorite authors writing under a pen name. In one of the books, the author uses a real event from post-World War II history as a backdrop to one of the stories. As a lover of history, I was amazed that I don’t ever remember learning about it. Scholars have said it is the most horrific example of human cruelty in the 20th century, ranking its intensity as worse than the Holocaust though its scope was relatively small.
In Communist Romania, Pitesti Prison was the center of an experimental “re-education system” that was focused on mainly young men who politically opposed the Communist regime. Many of them did so because of their Jewish or Christian faith. No one knows how many victims were subjected to the horror. Estimates range from 780 to 5,000. It lasted from 1949-1951. The experiment’s goal was to re-educate prisoners into discarding past religious convictions and ideology, and, eventually, to alter their personalities to the point of absolute obedience. It systemically tortured subjects both psychologically and physically. Subjects were forced to identify those among their torturers who were less brutal or more indulgent in their torture. Public humiliation was used to get subjects to denounce all personal beliefs, loyalties, and values, which included sacrilegious and blasphemous rituals meant to mock the actual religious rituals the victims had originally held dear. The descriptions of the torture and humiliation are so horrific that I refuse to even describe them.
The past few days, the Pitesti Prison experiment has come to mind as I read about the “re-education” that the ancient Babylonians put Daniel and his friends through. Obviously, their experience as described in the past two chapters has been fairly benign, intended to identify the best-of-the-best for key roles in the King’s administration. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t have its dangers.
History is filled with stories of rulers with absolute power who entertained themselves by making subjects do unimaginable things and killing individuals in horrific ways for sport. The ancient Assyrians and Babylonians were known for their brutality. It’s one of the reasons they successfully conquered so much territory in building their empires.
Today’s chapter is one of the most famous stories within the Great Story. The king sets up a giant image out on a plain and demands everyone to bow down and worship it. The re-educated captives from Judah, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, refuse to do so in obedience to the Law of Moses: “You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them.”
The king, furious over their refusal, threw the three of them into a giant furnace (likely used in the forging and erecting of the giant statue). The king looks into the furnace to watch them burn only to see them hanging out with a fourth individual the king describes as “a son of the gods.” God miraculously protects the boys and Nebuchadnezzar promotes them.
In the quiet this morning, I find myself continuing to contemplate the idea of loving one’s enemy or enemies, and maintaining one’s faith even in the midst of an antagonistic culture. I’m eternally grateful not to have been subjected to an experience like Pitesti Prison or its ancient Babylonian equivalent. Nevertheless, I must consider – even in a relatively free and tolerant culture – how much I’m willing to compromise with popular culture and when I must draw the line because of the convictions of my faith. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were given a very clear line by King Nebuchadnezzar along with very stark consequences for non-capitulation. Along my spiritual journey, I’ve found it difficult when the lines of compromise are vague and the consequences seemingly non-existent.
Chapter to read for tomorrow’s Best of 2023: Job 11
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to him, “King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” Daniel 3:16-18 (NIV)
I’ve recently been devouring a series of fictional spy thrillers by one of my favorite authors writing under a pen name. In one of the books, the author uses a real event from post-World War II history as a backdrop to one of the stories. As a lover of history, I was amazed that I don’t ever remember learning about it. Scholars have said it is the most horrific example of human cruelty in the 20th century, ranking its intensity as worse than the Holocaust though its scope was relatively small.
In Communist Romania, Pitesti Prison was the center of an experimental “re-education system” that was focused on mainly young men who politically opposed the Communist regime. Many of them did so because of their Jewish or Christian faith. No one knows how many victims were subjected to the horror. Estimates range from 780 to 5,000. It lasted from 1949-1951. The experiment’s goal was to re-educate prisoners into discarding past religious convictions and ideology, and, eventually, to alter their personalities to the point of absolute obedience. It systemically tortured subjects both psychologically and physically. Subjects were forced to identify those among their torturers who were less brutal or more indulgent in their torture. Public humiliation was used to get subjects to denounce all personal beliefs, loyalties, and values, which included sacrilegious and blasphemous rituals meant to mock the actual religious rituals the victims had originally held dear. The descriptions of the torture and humiliation are so horrific that I refuse to even describe them.
The past few days, the Pitesti Prison experiment has come to mind as I read about the “re-education” that the ancient Babylonians put Daniel and his friends through. Obviously, their experience as described in the past two chapters has been fairly benign, intended to identify the best-of-the-best for key roles in the King’s administration. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t have its dangers.
History is filled with stories of rulers with absolute power who entertained themselves by making subjects do unimaginable things and killing individuals in horrific ways for sport. The ancient Assyrians and Babylonians were known for their brutality. It’s one of the reasons they successfully conquered so much territory in building their empires.
Today’s chapter is one of the most famous stories within the Great Story. The king sets up a giant image out on a plain and demands everyone to bow down and worship it. The re-educated captives from Judah, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, refuse to do so in obedience to the Law of Moses: “You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them.”
The king, furious over their refusal, threw the three of them into a giant furnace (likely used in the forging and erecting of the giant statue). The king looks into the furnace to watch them burn only to see them hanging out with a fourth individual the king describes as “a son of the gods.” God miraculously protects the boys and Nebuchadnezzar promotes them.
In the quiet this morning, I find myself continuing to contemplate the idea of loving one’s enemy or enemies, and maintaining one’s faith even in the midst of an antagonistic culture. I’m eternally grateful not to have been subjected to an experience like Pitesti Prison or its ancient Babylonian equivalent. Nevertheless, I must consider – even in a relatively free and tolerant culture – how much I’m willing to compromise with popular culture and when I must draw the line because of the convictions of my faith. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were given a very clear line by King Nebuchadnezzar along with very stark consequences for non-capitulation. Along my spiritual journey, I’ve found it difficult when the lines of compromise are vague and the consequences seemingly non-existent.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
