Jesus the wave-maker strikes again

Jesus is excellent at shock-value statements. Excellent.

It seems to be through some strange plan of God's that I find myself sitting in a cafe hiding from the rain, sipping a sweetly caffinated beverage and reading up on Jewish law on an otherwise unremarkable Monday afternoon.

My mini-study began as research on a post about how sex and worship are on a level with one another, and it ended with a fairly fascinating realization regarding a verse and a bible story I'd known for years.

It's a story reflected in three of the Gospels -- Mark, Luke and Matthew -- and we know from experience that if God wants to emphasize something in his word, it gets repeated.

Flashback: Jesus is asked by one of his disciples (you can read the whole story here) about who will be the greatest in the kingdom of the Heaven. It's a selfish request from selfish men, who size one another up and ask for special favors on more than one occasion.

But Jesus isn't about to cater to their worldly wants. We're talking about one who has the power to calm the wind and the waves, and he's about to make a few waves on his own.

Jesus responds in a way that likely surprised them, calling a child over to sit on his knee and explaining to his followers that the greatest in the Heaven will be the ones who humble themselves like children. Jesus then goes on to make an interesting statement.

"If anyone causes one of these little ones--those who believe in me--to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea," Jesus tells his audience.

For the Jews, who would have understood the basic rules and prohibitions of their culture extremely well, that statement would have been mind-blowing.

A large part of Judaic law centered around preserving life -- even at the cost of violating minor laws. There's an extensive list of what things do and don't count as "minor" enough, a list which excludes desecrating the name of the Lord -- whether through idolatry, public transgressions of Judaic law meant to desecrate the Torah or otherwise. It also includes certain forms of sexual immorality, and murder.

It's a little more complicated than I fully understand or have the time/space to include, but the Jews were supposed to value life -- even their own life -- above everything but those three commandments. If the Jews were under threat of death, they were supposed to allow themselves to be killed rather than break one of the three above-all rules. Jesus is now telling them that, rather then cause a child to sin, it would be better for them to literally tie a giant rock around your neck and jumping into the sea.

It goes beyond personal responsibility, and has to do with how your actions affect those around you.

Jesus is laying the groundwork for the theatre of the mind in which we battle to manage our thoughts and imaginations. Lust is equated to adultry -- part of the "sexual imorality" section -- and hatred is akin to murder. In a moment, he'll talk about how it is better to cut off your hand than have it cause you to sin -- the same with one of your eyes.

It's a well-known quotation of Jesus that the most important commandment is to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. The Jewish leaders took the same commandment to justify giving up your own life -- all your strength -- in order to fulfill the commandment. Loving your neighbor was rule 1A in the mind of Jesus, and with that background in mind, his words would have hit home with those listening.

Your actions, and the way they affect the people around you, matter. Jesus adds essentially adds a fourth exception, saying that causing others to stumble was on a level with murder and should be avoided on pain of death.

Thankfully, God forgives. The penalty for all sins, big and small, is death. We have grace as we stumble and cause others to stumble with us, but Jesus gives a strong warning: in the same way that it's better to cut off a hand than steal or cut out an eye than lust, death is better than being a stumbling block.

We the black sheep | The reasons why I've begun to resent the church

Black sheep stick out because of their wool, but they're the same as everyone else on the inside.

I've noticed an interesting thought in my head recently, and one which continues to pop up more and more frequently. Though I've wanted to write about it for some time now, I've always hesitated because of how it might come off.

The reason? I've begun to resent the church for the way it treats black sheep.

Looking back at my childhood and relatively isolated upbringing, there are so many positives from how I was raised that have helped to mold me into the believer I am today. I understand the value of small-church community, and I've been helped along by the people from the body I've spent most of my life participating in.

But having made my fair share of mistakes and drifted more often than I'd like to admit, I can't help but look back at my old viewpoint on sin and wish I had learned to approach righteousness differently.

Example: When I was relatively young, I got mad at my older sister and I felt so badly about being angry I apologized through tears. I might have been seven or eight, and things like being angry, telling fibs or staying up late to read after my parents had put me to bed was the worst offenses I'd ever committed. I was destroyed at the prospect of having done something so wrong.

An earlier draft of this post skipped this next thought and moved on to slamming people for not reaching out to those who didn't have clean wool like they did. But after a fair amount of thought, I've realized that a large reason I reacted the way I did when I made mistakes or sinned as a youngster was out of a fear that I would be caught. Embarrassment plays a major role, and I would rather waste away than be vulnerable and admit my wrongdoings.

The next paragraph of the old post talked about how I sometimes missed the old standard, and how I'd gained perspective as I'd grown up. What I've come to understand, though, is that my fear of being discovered has led to my spiritual isolation from fellow believers. Instead, I learned to accept and befriend people as broken and twisted as myself, and along the way I think I've somehow become desensitized to the horror of sin.

I understand that there is a trade off; a compromise, I suppose. I'm not so horrified by the front they face to the world that I can't love people IN the world, but I've flown close enough to the sun to get burned, and I have scars that only Jesus himself can make new. He takes me in his arms daily for that purpose. I am well cared for.

Now to the meat of my resentment: Why was I — am I — afraid to be transparent with my own church? Is it because I grew up thinking I needed to look the right way and do the right things in order to be accepted? Is it pride? Probably. I've written about that particular issue before. But I think there's a larger component based on what I see around me. And as a disclaimer, this isn't directed at the church I attend. It's directed at THE Church as a whole.

I've seen the silent look of pity; the disapproving look Jesus describes in Luke 18. He tells of a pharisee who went to pray at the temple alongside a tax collector. The pharisee prays and thanks the Lord that he is not like the tax collector, that he prays and fasts as he should, and he's not caught up in sin — he's not "dirty."

If I carried all my sins up in front of MY church, would they look at ME that way? Why does a man who is openly gay, someone battling drugs or a woman who is pregnant out of wedlock get treated as repugnant in this church of Christ? Does the parable of the good Samaritan mean nothing? And what of Jesus' life example: he chose to spend his time with tax collectors, was heralded by shepherds and showed love and acceptance to whores.

So much for the current standard, right? While you bitch and moan about having a problem with swearing -- oops, did I say that? -- I'll sit and silently decide not to bring up the hit I'd taken in the parking lot earlier, or the person I'd slept with the previous night.

I've made mistakes. I've had some really dark stretches in my life, and I've never brought that to the church asking for help. Why would I? I know what to expect: the look and "Oh... wow. Well, I'll be praying for you, man."

Here's another excerpt from the first edition that I'll include because I feel like it captures the resentment, anger and fear I feel from people who have chosen to stay away from the church rather than face judgement from fellow believers: "I can hear the words coming out of someones mouth, and they make my blood boil. This world isn't all puppies and rainbows, my friend, and if you can't handle anything juicer than being late to book club, I've obviously chosen the wrong place to be transparent."

It makes non believers afraid to walk in the door. They know what awaits them. That young pregnant girl already sees it daily at the coffee shop. It makes wayward believers afraid to return and ask for support. They've seen it too, on the faces of their former friends or relatives before they fell away.

And lastly -- and this is the worst poison -- it keeps believers who struggle with unsavory sins from being real, honest and open with their fellow believers. I count myself in this group, and I've begun to resent the "oh poor me, I lied once this week" crowd.

If that's the worst you've done, praise Jesus. You're further along the path to sanctification than I am, but I'm willing to bet there's something a little darker under the surface. If not, you have something invaluable.

We the black sheep -- weather we're open about our struggles or not -- don't need your pity. We don't need your self-righteous "come to Jesus" speech, and we definitely don't need your judgement. We don't even need your religion.

We need your love. And love knows no boundaries. It is patient and kind and accepting. It doesn't judge, and it doesn't compare. It leaves the fixing to the Lord and trusts in His timeline to do so.

There's nothing wrong with long hair. There's nothing wrong with tattoos. Jesus' example of the pharisee and the tax collector actually ends with the tax collector beating his chest, humbling himself and walking away justified before God. There's nothing that should keep you from showering love and support on anyone who walks through those doors -- harlot or pastor. The sacrifice of the Cross applies to them equally.