Like a Pharisee

It's easy, starting out, to approach the Sabbath like a Pharisee, as though the Sabbath has all of these hard and fast rules about how it is to be practiced. It's easy to read where the Bible says, "On the seventh day, you shall do no work," and get caught up in the idea that essentially everything we do is work.

Isn't it?

Vacuuming the house, washing the dishes, checking the email, mowing the lawn, tending the baby, minding the pets, cooking, driving, hosting others in your home - all these things are things we intentionally do, exerting effort to accomplish them. All these things are work. Therefore, we should not do any of them on the Sabbath.

I think that's the place where we all start out, defining our Sabbath by all the things that we don't do on this day. All the things we're taking a break from. All the things we can't be held responsible for. For one day a week, it's not our problem. 

The problem with this view (and there are many, but how about just one for now) is that when we take this approach to Sabbath, it becomes a burden, not just for us, but for everyone else who knows us.

For us, it feels like we're putting ourselves into a smaller and smaller box. We're limited. We're not experiencing rest because there are too many rules to keep. We can't relax because if we do, we might forget all the things we aren't supposed to be doing on the Sabbath and accidentally do some of them anyway. We're constantly on guard, constantly thinking, constantly evaluating whether we can or we can't, and it isn't long before our Sabbath, our one day of rest, our time carved out, becomes the most stressful day of our week. Instead of looking forward to it, we dread that seventh day each week. We dread our time set apart. We dread this sacred space, and it's just not sacred any more. It's not a beacon; it's a burden. It's not desirous; it's a drag. 

We come to despise the Sabbath.

Not only do we despise the Sabbath, but everyone around us despises our Sabbath, too. They hate that one day a week, we can't help them. We won't help them. We aren't available. We aren't willing. We're so intent on keeping the rules that nothing is good enough reason to even risk breaking one of them. Let's say you don't cook on Sunday because it's the Sabbath. But let's say you are caring for a family member who is hungry. If you don't cook, they don't eat. Let's say you don't clean on the Sabbath, but your dog throws up all over the floor. Sorry. Too bad. It's the Sabbath. We all just have to walk around the vomit until morning breaks. 

Let's say you don't use your computer on the Sabbath, but your family member is having some technical difficulties with theirs. Maybe they are working on something very important, maybe something with a deadline, and now, they're stuck. Since it's the Sabbath, you won't help them; this would break your computer rule. Let's say you don't "work" on the Sabbath, but you're suddenly asked to babysit a niece, a nephew, a grandchild on short notice because something requires the parents to be away. Will you say yes to babysitting, even though that itself is work and will require more work? Will you say yes and permit the youngster in your home, but not interact with him/her? Will you discipline your own child on the Sabbath if he/she is doing something wrong? Isn't this work? Has the Sabbath become a free day for your children, a day when they have no accountability because to discipline them would be "work"? 

There are all kinds of troubles with approaching the Sabbath like a Pharisee. It puts an undue burden on you, so much so that you don't even look forward to this time set aside. It also puts an undue burden on everyone around you. Sabbath or not, there are people in this world that need you. When you hold legalistically to a certain idea about what the Sabbath is, about what its "rules" are, you fail them. You fail the people in your life who love you and whom you love. You create a horrible burden for them not only by failing to be present for them but by holding them accountable to your own practice of Sabbath. You're making them practice your rest. That doesn't work for anybody.

But I think this is how all of us start out. I think this is where our minds naturally go. This is how Sabbath is done, is it not? This is what it means, right? No work means no work. Rest means rest. Sabbath is such a counter-cultural idea that if we don't have some hard and fast rules about it, it would be nearly impossible to keep. But a ruled Sabbath is just no Sabbath at all - not for you, not for anyone else, and not for the glory of God. 

And when we realize this, we turn the page and discover a new voice speaking into the Sabbath - the voice of Jesus. More on that tomorrow. 

Sabbath

For several years, I have faithfully observed a Sabbath on Sunday. When I started this practice, it was really just in an attempt to breathe and simply enjoy my life. I was running seven days a week, always trying to push my life toward the next thing, the next thing, the next thing. One more step, one more decision, one more opportunity, one more, one more, one more, and it was killing me. So I decided that on Sundays, I would take a step back. I would stop pushing. I would rest. 

I would breathe.

I thought that what I needed was a temporary break, that Sabbath would be, for me, only a season. That it was unsustainable as a life practice, at least to some degree. I figured that after a few months or maybe a year of this, I would have the refreshment that I needed and be willing to go hard-bore again. I figured it wouldn't be too long before I would go back to my seven-day-a-week schedule, stuffing Sabbath back in my pocket for a time when I would need it again.

That was six years ago.

The truth is that as time presses on, I continue to press myself deeper into this Sabbath rest. What started out as one day a week where I did not use the Internet became a day when I did not turn my computer on at all. Then it became a day where I did not do any work, even homework, because that was a draw back into my busy, hectic life. Then I decided that some work would be okay. Then I decided that on Sundays, I don't even use my cell phone. I don't text, check my Bible app, sync my fitness tracker, nothing. Then I stopped even wearing my fitness tracker. Who needs to count steps on a Sunday? I take it off on Saturday night before falling asleep and don't put it back on until Monday morning.

Then earlier this year, I read something in my Bible and now, I don't even shop on Sundays. No fast food. No "I forgot _____ at the store yesterday, so I'll just stop on my way home from church." None of that.

That doesn't mean I sit around on my fanny on Sundays and don't do anything; that would be a misunderstanding, as well. I have picked up some chaplain shifts on Sundays, even though at first, I was not keen on this idea. If my mother is having computer trouble, I will work on her laptop for her. I visit friends and neighbors, talk with people, play with the dogs, give the dogs a bath. Sometimes, I vacuum the house or dust my desk. Yesterday, I spent the day sewing. I watch NASCAR in the spring and summer, football in the fall and winter. I cook a big meal, usually enough to last a few days into the week, and sometimes, I bake. 

It's been hard for others, looking in, to "figure out" my Sabbath. Because they think Sabbath means rest, and it does, but they think that rest means doing nothing. It does not. There is plenty of opportunity, even on the Sabbath, for doing. But Sabbath requires an intentionality not only about what I do, but how I do it and for what reasons. 

I have often heard other say, "Sabbath? I wish I could do that..." as though what I am doing is either some tremendous feat of personal discipline or some extravagant luxury that modern life simply will not accommodate. Neither is particularly true. Some Sabbath practices are harder than others; some are inconvenient at times. Sometimes, my Sabbath practice conflicts with God's command to love others, and here, I have to make some hard choices. But it's doable. And it's worth it.

So I thought I would take a few days this week and talk about my Sabbath practice, some of the guides that I draw from Scripture about how to rest and how to make this period of rest meaningful, and some of the challenges this presents. If you are interested in incorporating the practice of Sabbath in your life, stay tuned. It is my hope that some of my Sabbath may help you to figure out how you want to do yours. 

Exalted by Men

The great tragedy of the story of Matthias, the thirteenth disciple, is that it is the story of a man exalted by men. 

We saw yesterday how Matthias appears to be very worthy of this honor. He has invested just as much in the ministry of Jesus as the twelve whom Jesus called. That was one of the fundamental criteria that the disciples had in choosing a replacement for Judas - it has to be one of us. It has to be someone who has been there with us from the very beginning. 

And we can assume that Matthias met some pretty stringent character requirements, as well. After all, if you are replacing a betrayer, you want to make absolutely sure you do not "mess up" this time and pick another man who is going to turn out to be some kind of moral failure and thus, one more embarrassment on the name of Jesus. 

And of course, he was fortunate enough that the dice fell in his favor. 

But despite his worthiness, his character, and his luck, Matthias is still the recipient of the honor of men, not of God. Because it is not Jesus who chose him to be one of the twelve; it was only the eleven, who felt somehow incomplete after the loss of Judas.

That's not to say that Jesus doesn't have an opinion on Matthias. He does. He knows the man by name. He understands how much Matthias gave up to be His disciple, just as the other twelve had. He probably remembers that at all the major events of His ministry, Matthias was there. They likely knew each other intimately. Jesus knows Matthias. And I believe Jesus has a plan for this disciple, as well. 

That plan, however, does not include replacing Judas. Judas was and always will be one of the twelve. Matthias will always be number 13.

So can you imagine what it must be like to give your whole life to this Jesus thing, to invest yourself wholly in the ministry just like the twelve special disciples that Jesus called, to finally have the chance to step up into an even greater role in the story when one of those disciples experiences a tremendous moral failure, to have everything finally fall in your favor...and then you one day die, get to Heaven, and see Judas face-to-face? 

Not only do you see Judas, but you find that he is sitting in what you thought would be your seat.

Not only is he sitting in your seat, but Judas has become your judge. This man, this moral failure, this guy whose disaster paved the way for you to finally get your chance, sits in judgment of you. Because even after all of this, he is still one of God's chosen twelve. And you, though exalted by men, are number thirteen.

It's got to be heartbreaking.

And yet, I fear this will be the testimony of many of us. For it is all too often that we find ourselves exalted by men at the cost of knowing our true position in Christ.

Matthias had a very real role in the ministry of Jesus. He was a very real part of it. He was not the central part of it, was not one of the figures of special election within Jesus' ministry, but that does not diminish the role that Matthias played as a faithful disciple of Christ. Though he is not mentioned by name in the Gospels, we can be fairly sure that Matthias was doing much of the same kind of quiet work that so many of us are called to. He just...wanted more. We all want more. 

But that's not up to us. Our job is to play alongside the Jesus character in whatever role He has cast us in. We are but a cast of characters, some with speaking parts and others without. Some of us may find that we spend our whole lives dressed as a tree, standing on the stage as part of the scenery of the developing story of God. Others may discover that we have but one line. Still others, many. Whoever we are, we must play our role faithfully. We must be content to be who God has called us to be and to play the part He has called us to play. 

There may come a day when our hard work is recognized, when others see all that we have put into it, when the dice roll in our favor and this world gives us a chance to step up. But we must be careful. For it is far too easy to live a life exalted by men and still find ourselves in obscurity. (Matthias is never mentioned again.) 

Far too easy to live a life exalted by men only to come into the presence of God and find someone else sitting in the seat we were never meant to occupy. 

For even exalted, we may never be more than number thirteen.

Matthias

In what can be called the continuing saga of Judas early in the book of Acts, the character that seems to get lost is Matthias, the new disciple chosen to take the place of the betrayer. We know very little about Matthias - he is not mentioned by name in any of the Gospel accounts, and Acts tells us very little about him except that he was one of two men to fit the criteria that the eleven proposed for the replacement. He is chosen by lot to replace Judas, and then he disappears into the obscurity of history.

Yet for as little as we know about Matthias, we know also quite much about him. For we identify with Matthias on many levels.

Matthias invested himself in the ministry of Jesus. One of the criteria that the eleven had when searching for a replacement is that it had to be someone who was with them from the beginning, someone who had shared their same ministry with Jesus that they had. Matthias, then, was there for it all. He was just as invested, just as present, just as involved as any of the other disciples. He gave himself to the work of Jesus for three years of ministry, through travels across the cities and towns of Galilee to feasts on the hillsides to dinner with the tax collector to moments of grace and debates over ritual law and all the rest of it. Matthias had invested just as much in the ministry of Jesus as any of the rest of them; they said so himself. 

But we never knew his name.

We never saw Matthias in any of the stories. We never heard about him until the disciples brought him up. Many of us can resonate with this. Many of us have those things in our lives that we've given ourselves to. Our careers, maybe. Or our families. Or our communities. We have worked hard, sacrificed much, done just as much (and sometimes more) than someone else, but we receive no recognition. We receive no renown. We serve faithfully in obscurity, waiting for our opportunity. Waiting for our moment. This was Matthias' story.

And the funny thing is that even though he is immensely qualified to become the twelfth disciple, even though he fits all of the criteria and has demonstrated that he is worthy of such an honor, it still comes down to chance. To casting lots. He is imminently qualified, but it is a roll of the dice that determines whether he gets it or not. Don't you feel like that sometimes? Don't you feel like sometimes, you give life everything you've got, but it still comes down to whether the dice roll your way or not? 

Snake eyes.

After all this, after three years of ministry and one good roll of the dice, after all the waiting and the working and finally, the recognition, Matthias had to, in some ways, find it all very hollow. It was empty. for less than one chapter of the entire Bible, we know his name. And then he disappears and we never hear another thing about him. Not one. His moment of fame came...and went...and whatever else Matthias may or may not have done as a disciple of Jesus suffers the same fate as whatever he has previously done as a disciple of Jesus - it's a vapor. It's nothing. 

Do you ever feel this? You get your big chance, get your big moment and it's never as big as you dreamt it would have been. It's never as great. It's never as lasting. For a minute, this world knows your name, and then it forgets again. For a brief moment, you were almost something, and now you're nothing. Just like that. 

It's the story of the world we live in. It's the myth that we've bought about how life works, about who we are, about who we're supposed to be. We live in this perpetual cycle of doing the faithful thing, waiting patiently for our day, getting our chance, and discovering it empty, only to buy the lie again that if we do the faithful thing and wait patiently, we'll get our chance. It's always empty. It's always hollow. This world has nothing to offer us. But still, it's our story. 

And it's Matthias' story. 

So this thirteenth disciple, this replacement for the betrayer, is not so unlike us. Though we seem to know little more than his name, we know tremendously more than this. His story is our story. It's the story we're all caught up in.

And there is one more painful truth about this whole scenario. That truth, tomorrow....

Judged

As we consider the story of Judas, the remaining eleven disciples, and what Jesus had to say - or did not have to say - about the fate of this betrayer, it might be easy to think that a post entitled "Judged" will have a lot to do with what happened to Judas after he died. What happened when he came face-to-face with Jesus again. What Jesus might have said to him.

But this is only part of the story, and it's the easy part.

I think Jesus had much the same thing to say to Judas that He has to say to all of us - I love you. I know. I know. I know.... Because the contrite betrayer, who was so torn up over what he had done that he took his own life, probably had the same things to say to Jesus that we do - I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. Lord.... And I imagine in this exchange, there's probably some of what we saw in Joseph's story, as well. Joseph, you remember, was reunited with his scheming brothers in Egypt when they came to him for food during the famine. They begged his mercy, apologized, begged more of his mercy. And he made one of the most powerful statements in all of Scripture - what you intended for evil, God intended for good. It's okay. Can't you just see this type of thing taking place between Judas and Jesus, these two "brothers" in faith who shared three good years of ministry together?

That's the easy part. That's who Jesus is. We don't have to imagine what that might have been like, for we know the heart of the Lord. This is it.

The harder part is what happens next. 

Because Jesus said his disciples would be judges, that the reason there were twelve disciples is because there were twelve tribes, and these disciples would join Him in heaven and sit in the seats of judgment over the tribes. When the eleven remaining disciples on earth chose a twelfth to replace the betrayer, they likely had much of this idea in mind. They were twelve for a reason; they needed to still be twelve. 

It probably never occurred to them that they already were.

As much as Judas "gave up" his position among the twelve in many of our human minds, he did not do so in God's mind. The Redeemer does not write persons off so easily. Jesus did not come and die so that we could damn ourselves for eternity. He came that we might have life, that we might be restored, that we might be whole again. Betrayers included. Sinners included. You included. Me included. Which means...

Judas is still one of the twelve. He is still one of the judges.

Can you conceive of this? Can you imagine? It's hard enough for us to imagine Jesus eating His last meal around a table with the man who is about to go out and betray Him. It's hard for us to conceive of this idea that Jesus broke bread and shared it with Judas. How are we supposed to imagine that when we get to Heaven and enter into the presence of the hosts and look up at the twelve seats, there is going to be a betrayer in one of them? Right there! Judas himself! Not merely a betrayer, but the betrayer.

Can you imagine being judged by the betrayer?

It doesn't seem fair, right? Jesus, this man has no right to speak of me. He sold You out for thirty tiny pieces of silver! But I think this is the story of the adulterous woman all over again. We come, ready to condemn the betrayer, but it is he who is in a position to condemn us. And he does so by our own words. For the minute that we declare him a betrayer, we are brought to face our own sin, as well. And it turns out, we are all betrayers. 

I am Judas.

And all of a sudden, we stand face-to-face with grace. For if there is a place for him, there is a place for all of us.