Requiem for a King

 

Saul, Israel’s notorious first king, is usually remembered for his role as the “bad guy” in King David’s epic story. He of course tried countless times to snuff out the shepherd boy who God had appointed to replace him. But people often forget that before he became the villain, he too was chosen by God (1 Samuel 10:24). His is a tragic story of a sometimes great leader with enormous potential who was ultimately overcome by his own insecurities, doubts, and fears.

Saul was tall, dark, and handsome (1 Samuel 9:2). He was every inch the picture of a king. He was also a fierce warrior with numerous military exploits to his name. God used him mightily to deliver the people of Israel from foreign oppressors. And to his credit, Saul had the courage to show up for his final battle, even knowing in advance that it would certainly end in his defeat and death.

From early on, Saul was unsure of himself (1 Samuel 9:21, 10:22). He had a less-than-accurate, understated perspective of who he was, who God had made him to be. When Samuel told him he would be king, for example, Saul insisted that the prophet had the wrong guy, that he was a nobody, and that “[his] family [was] the least important of all the families” in his small tribe (even though the text specifically says his father, Kish, was “wealthy” and “influential” – 1 Samuel 9:1, 21 NLT).

God fully equipped King Saul with his Spirit, gave him a “new heart,” and changed him into a “different person” (1 Samuel 10:6, 9). He had everything he needed to succeed, but time and time again he kept reverting back to the insecure guy who once hid among the luggage, frequently preoccupied with what people might think of him. He “felt compelled” to break God’s command when things seemed to be unraveling (1 Samuel 13:12). He was “afraid of the people” and sometimes allowed himself to be carried along with the prevailing streams of public opinion rather than holding fast to God’s instruction (1 Samuel 15:24). “Although you may think little of yourself,” said Samuel in his final rebuke, “are you not the leader of the tribes of Israel?” (1 Samuel 15:17).

Eventually, God revoked his life-giving Spirit, and Saul was overcome with depression and fear (1 Samuel 16:14). He spiraled down into a place of total darkness and basically lost his mind. At perhaps his lowest, he ordered the murder of 85 innocent priests and their families in a desperate effort to retain control of a kingdom that God had already given to another. He finally died on the battlefield, hopeless and alone, his enemies closing in around him, and left with the crushing knowledge that his three sons had been cut down.

“Samuel was so deeply moved,” following God's rejection of Saul, “that he cried out to the LORD all night” (1Samuel 15:10-11). After delivering God’s message of judgment to the wayward king, “Samuel never went to meet with Saul again, but he mourned constantly for him” (1 Samuel 15:35). Samuel’s gut-wrenching response to Saul’s fall is very sobering, I think. Without it, we might be tempted to breeze right past Saul’s story on our way to King David. He can easily become a one-dimensional villain in our minds, a footnote in the narrative, simply a faceless antagonist standing between David and the throne. But if we deny Saul his humanity—his initial potential and the nature of his brokenness—we run the risk of missing his costly warning.

Saul’s low opinion of himself wasn’t a sign of humility. It wasn’t a virtue. It was rooted in his unbelief and maintained by his failure to fully grasp that God had chosen him, empowered him, and assigned him a task. Saul didn’t wear the crown because he was great. He wore the crown because God is great, and he ultimately lost it because he couldn’t connect the dots. It wasn't that he thought too little of himself. On the contrary, he thought too much of himself (or too often of himself). Saul’s fixation on his own inadequacies (that he wasn’t good enough, that he’d eventually be found out, that he’d lose it all to someone better) and his resulting jealousy and paranoia was evidence that his hope wasn't in God. His hope was in himself. His fears, which sprang from his self-reliance, became self-fulfilling prophecies. In the end, Saul fell on his own sword.

“A gazelle lies slain on your heights, Israel. How the mighty have fallen! Daughters of Israel, weep for Saul... How the mighty have fallen”

—From the “Lament of the Bow,” a funeral song composed by King David, recorded in 2 Samuel 1 

 

Man Up

In the ongoing societal debate over authentic masculinity, we're typically asked to choose between two polarized archetypes: There's the hyper-sensitive, sobbing, modern mess of a man in the one corner and the tough as nails, apathetic cowboy, who knows how to “man up” and get things done in the other. The first man, who is introspective to a fault and tragically indecisive (He'd rather passively “Netflix and chill,” for example, than clearly declare his intentions), has his origins in the notion that masculinity and patriarchy are at the root of the world's woes (i.e. He's not impotent by accident). The second man has been around since the dawn of time. He's mostly the product of broken masculinity and a misguided fantasy of ideal manhood (something like James Bond or Dirty Harry). He's made more noise as of late, though, in lashing back against the societal forces that are aggressively seeking to silence or eradicate him. He's brash, bold, a man of action, eager to throw his weight around, and unencumbered by empathy or compassion (as these “feminine weaknesses” are seen as liabilities). He speaks his mind and takes what he wants. He's center stage in the recent rise of pseudo-masculine politics, a movement that is more enthralled with breaking eggs than actually making an omelet, as a direct rebuke to what is seen as a neutered or feminized approach to important societal issues (i.e. an approach that is viewed as overly concerned with political correctness, emotionality, endless deliberation, and passivity). Men who embody this brand of “masculine strength” are viewed by many (both men and women) as what society now “desperately needs.” But neither of these stereotypical men accurately describe the only truly perfect man to ever walk the earth. And as such they are a distortion and a distraction from God's actual intentions for authentic masculinity.

In my last post, I referred to C.S. Lewis' observation that it's the things which initially have the highest potential for good that, when corrupted, can cause the greatest harm. The feminist critics are unfortunately correct in noting the havoc broken masculinity has wreaked on the earth. The vast majority of sexual assaults and other heinous violent crimes, for example, are overwhelmingly carried out by men. Not to mention the numerous instances of oppression, exploitation, and endless bloody wars that have been fought through the ages in an effort to satisfy some misguided masculine ambition, appetite, or false sense of honor. Too often men find their identity in their status, net worth, profession, ability to “avenge” themselves or others, sexual prowess, and emotional detachment. Things have certainly gone wrong, but let's not be so quick to throw the proverbial baby out with the bathwater. It's only because God's divine plan for men is so lofty—our potential so remarkable—that our perverted, post-Eden masculinity is now causing such devastation. Our understanding of true manhood is broken, to be sure, but it's not beyond the reach of Jesus' redemptive kingdom ministry.

1. A New Way to View Status/Position: 

 

James and John infamously had their mom (that's right, their mom) ask Jesus for two ridiculously prestigious positions in his kingdom. This example of self-serving ambition from guys who were already within Jesus' inner circle just goes to show how we can easily seek this stereotypical source of masculine identity even within a “spiritual” context. There's nothing wrong with titles, status, and positions of honor, per se, but these things shouldn't become our identity. Jesus explains, “whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:26-28).

Becoming the least, the last, and the lowliest isn't just a kingdom-hack for actually—wink, wink—fast tracking to the front of the line (and if we're looking for ways to fast track to the front of the line, then we're still not thinking like the Son of Man). This is simply the way his backwards and upside down kingdom works. Jesus wasn't putting on an act. He wasn't pretending to be humble and more concerned with the needs of others in an effort to demonstrate servant leadership, etc. He was being himself. He was revealing the Father to us.

Fortunately, John seemed to get it later in life. I love how he humbly penned his gospel: He's not “John the Apostle,” “Bishop of Ephesus,” “Son of Thunder,” and the only male disciple to be at the foot of the cross. He didn't waste a lot of time making sure we all know what a big deal he is. He instead brought us his extraordinary eyewitness biography of the God-man (almost anonymously) as simply a disciple “whom Jesus loved.” And this seemed to be more than enough for him.

2. A New Way to Utilize Money/Resources:

Society often weighs a man’s worth by his bank account. Many of our current President’s advocates and admirers, for example, point solely to his net worth as definitive proof that he's qualified to lead. Accumulation of wealth, then, becomes a deep seated source of masculine identity.

Matthew, before becoming one of Jesus’ Twelve, was initially diverted from his divine vocation by his thirst for money. If “Levi” was his given name, as Mark and Luke’s gospels seem to indicate, then he was probably born into the priestly tribe that was charged with tending to the Temple (meaning he was set apart by God for full-time vocational ministry). In becoming a tax collector, he effectively rejected his birthright, turned his back on God, and sold out his family and community. Jesus walked right up to this greedy collaborator (while he was at work, no less) and offered him something more valuable than what he was currently chasing (There’s tremendous poetic beauty in how Jesus, the true Temple, reclaimed Levi for what he was originally intended).

Matthew’s outlook on his earthly assets was instantly transformed. After meeting Jesus, he hosted a massive party in his home so all his greedy friends could meet Jesus, too, and hear about his better kingdom (and I imagine he didn’t skimp on the caterer or the party favors). He’d found the “pearl of great value” (mentioned exclusively in his gospel), the unmatched treasure buried in a field, and he was ready to sell everything he had to pursue it (no matter how financially reckless or insane he appeared to onlookers).

3. A New Perspective of Profession: 
 

I thought about working this point into the section on status/position (There's certainly a lot of crossover). But I think finding our masculine identity in our profession (i.e. “I'm a firefighter, lawyer, teacher, mechanic,” etc.) is a bit different than finding our identity in our status or position (i.e. “I'm the Senior Branch Manager, Shift Supervisor, Lead Elder, or Head Pastor”), and, as such, it seems to warrant separate consideration.

“What do you do?” is usually the first thing men ask each other upon meeting. Our job often defines us (for better or worse), and potentially gives us a deep sense of masculine worth. It's no accident that men put such emphasis on their work. We were meant to be workers, to labor alongside our Father (Genesis 2:5, John 5:17). God has implemented healthy rhythms of both work and rest. Paul even condemns a lazy man who refuses to provide for his family as “worse than an unbeliever” (1 Timothy 5:8). But we're not meant to find our identity solely in our work, and we're not meant exclusively for the sort of work we tend to give ourselves over to.

I love how Jesus transitioned Peter from viewing himself as a fisherman to a “fisher of men.” He exchanged simple profession for kingdom vocation. We have examples of Peter fishing during and after Jesus' public ministry. Paul and Aquila made tents to pay the bills, Simon was a tanner, and Cornelius was a career officer. But after meeting Jesus, these men no longer sought identity in these professions. Their professions became the means by which they could pursue their true vocations as disciple makers and Gospel declarers and demonstrators.

If we have likewise succumbed to the all-encompassing good news of God's better kingdom then we should now also view ourselves in light of our true identity and vocation in Christ: We're now “ministers of reconciliation” who drive buses, “priests” who teach high school math, “ambassadors” who appraise property, and “evangelists” who make blended frappuccinos with extra whipped cream.

4. A New Way to Pursue Justice:

The 1st Century Roman occupiers of Jesus’ day were at times brutal, emasculating, and unjust. Roman soldiers were legally allowed to grab a random Jew off the street and force them to carry their gear for up to a mile (hence Jesus’ controversial command for his followers to joyfully go an “extra mile”). They were also known to flippantly crucify innocent people of occupied territories as a show of raw force or to make a political point.

Simon (not Peter or the tanner—turns out there were a lot of guys named “Simon”... and “James”... and “Judas”), who was apparently a Zealot, may have initially belonged to a group of Hebrew nationalists who couldn't sit idly by in the face of such injustice. Simon likely hated his Roman oppressors with every fiber of his being. He was probably willing to die—to kill—to actively resist them. A man’s strong sense of justice and subsequent need to “do something about it” is undoubtedly from God (we’re made in his image, after all, and originally meant to be caretakers of creation). However, it’s easy to see (easy to see in others anyway) that our sense of justice is often skewed (and most frequently awakened by personal injury to our pride, more so than from a genuine zeal for God’s perspective of things).

Jesus gives Simon new purpose as a reconciler, a new way to pursue justice, and a willingness to leave vengeance to God. We don’t know much about Simon’s life, but tradition has most of the Apostles being martyred in far off lands as they faithfully carried out the Great Commission. This means that Simon, who had at this point bought into another kingdom, would’ve missed the epic Jewish-Roman wars of the early second half of the 1st Century (in which a violent Zionist uprising visited upon the Romans their own brand of brutality and temporarily restored political sovereignty over Judea to the Jewish people). Before meeting Jesus, this once in a lifetime opportunity to finally strike back at the invincible Roman Empire would’ve probably been the unreachable height of Simon’s youthful aspirations. After meeting Jesus, however, Simon simply had better things to do.

5. A New Way to View Women:

Jesus' masculinity wasn't threatened by women. He didn't exploit or exclude them (two common, polarized male responses to femininity that ironically result from the same fears and insecurities). He received them as “sisters,” fellow image-bearers, and partners in his kingdom ministry. He didn't condescend to them with sermons laced with lighthearted, yet demeaning, gender stereotypes that subtly let them know they should leave the spiritual heavy lifting to the men (a stark contrast to many of our modern well-intentioned but at times patronizing “women's ministries” that often consist of little more than tea parties, crafting, and bake sales). There were many women who traveled with Jesus and were even among his inner circle (Luke 8:1-3). Mary, sister of Martha and Lazarus, was said to have “sat at Jesus' feet” (Luke 10:39). This was a Hebrew idiom describing a disciple and rabbi relationship. He equipped and commissioned these women to be world-changers. Jesus' scandalous practice of including and elevating women in his ministry was unprecedented in Jewish culture (It would've even been foreign to Roman and Greek culture in the 1st Century).

Jesus' straightforward confidence in his interaction with women was offensive to some and startling to most. After his one-on-one conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well, for example, his male disciples seemed to be quietly on edge at Jesus' social impropriety (John chapter 4). “What could he possibly want with this woman,” was their burning unspoken question? They must have projected their own broken masculinity onto Jesus, as the Pharisees did, wrongly assuming his perspective of women was the same as theirs (in which case, his motives couldn't possibly be perceived as pure). It certainly didn't help Jesus' shaky standing with his conservative critics when ex-prostitutes interrupted swanky V.I.P. dinner parties to weep over and kiss his feet. But he didn't seem to lose any sleep over his critics' conjectures. His conscience was clear (John 8:46), and his identity was secure (John 8:14).

No doubt God has unique roles for men and women (both within families and within his church, which is to operate as a family), but this biblical truth has too often been used to excuse subtle injustices (women being under utilized, excluded, or marginalized within the family of God—given less honor and compensation while being asked to fulfill similar roles as their male counterparts, etc.) and even outright misogyny. Authentic masculinity, the kind Jesus displayed, doesn't objectify women by viewing them as merely a pleasure to be exploited, a conquest to achieve, or a danger to be ostracized or contained. True masculinity sees women as equal image-bearers (Genesis 1:27), the other half of a whole, and co-heirs to the kingdom.

6. A New Way to Exercise Power/Authority:

Power and authority also play heavily into status and position. I wanted to deal with these separately, however, in order to discuss status/position purely as a source of masculine identity and then handle the way men typically exercise physical and authoritative force—the mechanics of power—as its own topic.

God is not, as the serpent would have our first parents believe, a megalomaniac. His comfort with the delegation of his authority is remarkably humble. He doesn't need assistance of any kind. Yet he creates angelic beings that do his bidding and physical creatures made in his image who he generously entrusts with overseeing his world. He's not lazy or incapable. He engineered the whole universe from scratch and brought it into existence with a Word. His multi-tiered system of power (which includes rebellious angels, broken human leaders, and corrupt governments) coupled with his reluctance to micro-manage, then, can only be seen as a quiet and abiding confidence in his own sovereignty. It's those who are insecure about what little power they have, in fact, who are most likely to obsess over it and to hoard it from others.

Jesus, at one point, expressed his zeal for God's “house” by flipping over tables and driving out the money changers with his homemade whip. And, of course, there's an Egyptian army entombed at the bottom of the Red Sea that made the fatal mistake of crossing Israel's patient-yet-powerful Avenger. Physical force and violence are clearly in God's toolkit (just ask Ananias and Sapphira). But if we read his redemptive story from Genesis to Revelation and walk away seeing the “Slain Lamb” as some sort of macho, kick-ass, Rambo character then we've completely missed the heart of God and the grandeur of the narrative. God's greatness, his strength, is seen most clearly in his inexplicable restraint. He can and does at times destroy his enemies, but he also goes to great lengths as he demonstrates unfathomable grace and humility in painstakingly transforming them into friends. It's his mercy and power of persuasion that sets him apart from us. Violence we understand. An expression of infinite power in fragile flesh, however, is baffling and disarming. And a servant King who is paradoxically “lifted up” as he lays his life down for his rebel subjects is world changing.

7. A New Way to Approach Emotional Vulnerability:

Boys from a young age are often taught that emotional attachments are “unmanly.” They're teased when they kiss their mothers goodbye, for example, and soon learn to stop if they want to be taken seriously by their peers. Men are chided by each other when they publicly express affection to their girlfriends and wives, as well. Many parents won't even let their young boys model what are seen as “feminine” nurturing behaviors at play (like tending to baby dolls). They may be encouraged to “man up” if they express too much empathy or sadness. The societal message is clear: Emotional vulnerability is a “weakness” that strong men cannot afford. We must learn to be distant, detached, and apathetic if we're to align with popular notions of masculinity (with an emotionally disengaged character like James Bond, who proudly never gives his heart to any of the numerous women he beds, being considered the ideal man among men).

God is the most powerful Being in existence, and he humbly wears his heart on his sleeve. His willingness to become emotionally vulnerable (and physically vulnerable—even mortal—in the incarnation) is at the heart of the Gospel. He's strong enough to engage, to open himself up to the hurt that comes from caring for others, to risk the pain of clearly declaring his affection for fickle creatures who often reject him. And his Son is no different.

Jesus allows himself to feel things deeply (regularly moved by “compassion,” intensely “angered” over hypocrisy and injustice, and mourns over human suffering), but he's not overrun or crippled by his emotions. He weeps, anguishes, and pleads with his Father in Gethsemane for hours, allowing all of the terror and despair to wash over him, and then courageously stands up to meet his tormentors with a fixed resolve (looking forward to the joy that waits for him in the outcome).

That historic night was full of the typical sort of men (Annas, Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin, Herod, Pilate, Judas, and Peter), who leap into action, who set aside compassion to do “what needs to be done,” to bring about the “greater good,” by exerting force and leveraging power (there were also, of course, the cowardly kind who were paralyzed by fear). For all their best intentions, all their “manly” effort, they once again came up empty (just as all the men who came before them have, who’ve striven in the same way since the dawn of time). But Jesus accomplished more in his deliberate act of passive resistance (refusing to defend himself, refusing to fight back, willingly being brutalized, bravely embracing vulnerability)—by becoming a lightning rod for humanity’s evil, absorbing all of it into himself, and allowing it to crush him—than any man who came before or after him. He wasn't the sort of manly messiah they wanted (or even the manly messiah we still want, judging from the popularity of those who preach a macho Jesus who conforms to typical one dimensional notions of masculinity), not like the militant “messiahs” who came before and after (like John of Gischala or Simon bar Giora, who led armed uprisings during the Jewish-Roman wars that ended in the obliteration of Jerusalem, a tragic outcome that Jesus had previously foreseen and wept over).

Time to Man Up

It’s not that Jesus was “effeminate,” cowardly, or passive—that he wasn’t/isn’t a fighter (He's the manliest man to ever walk the earth); It’s that he redefines the fight and how we’re to effectively engage (not being overcome by evil but, instead, overcoming evil with good). Jesus redefined what it is to be human and, more specifically, what it is to be a man. We must reject the two archetypal hollow men (the “impotent” and the “apathetic”) that society is eager to spoon feed to us. Jesus is the third option. As the prototype, he demonstrated a better way to view our masculine identity and purpose, and, by way of his life, death, and resurrection, he's graciously made this revolutionary “new man” accessible to us.

Only one question remains: Are we man enough to follow him?

Good News for the Gender Confused and Sexually Perverse

 

It’s no secret that Jesus was often criticized for the scandalous company he kept. “It is not the healthy who need a doctor,” he would say “...but the sick” (Mark 2:17). At the heart of his naysayers’ agitation was the still-popular notion that the world can be neatly divided into two types of people: “generally decent folks” and “reprobates.” Jesus was, of course, being chided for apparently not knowing the difference. But he doesn't at this point rail against his critics' self-righteous presumption (though he certainly does elsewhere). He instead clearly identifies who he came to save. So it's up to us, then, to answer the simple spiritual triage question: Do we see ourselves among the “not too bad” crowd, as the Pharisees did? Perhaps, in our estimation, we're needing a band-aid on our skinned knee, a lollipop, and not much else. Jesus doesn't have time for this sort. He didn't come for skinned knees. Or do we rightly identify with the filthy band of reprobates, deplorables, perverts, hemorrhaging, and hopelessly broken people that Jesus did come to rescue and restore? It’s no use simply paying lip service to the answer we know we should give—the answer we learned in Sunday School. He sees right through our false humility and empty piety. The truth is, we're all tremendously broken. Humanity's universal rebellion, along with the death and decay that follows, comes early on in the redemptive story that God is telling. The cancerous and debilitating effects of the fall permeate every aspect of our being. It's especially helpful to keep this in mind when we're discussing the highly emotionally charged topics of gender and sexuality. Though our brokenness will inevitably manifest in a myriad of different ways, we're all undoubtedly sexually perverse and gender confused individuals who are desperately in need of a Savior

Human beings, both male and female, were created in God's image. The first couple was charged with overseeing creation as his representatives and producing enough multi-generational offspring to eventually fill the whole earth (Not a bad gig). God gifts this man and woman with sex as a sign of their life-long partnership (as two individuals literally and figuratively become “one flesh”), the necessary means by which they could carry out their divine mandate (along with a generous sampling of God's creative power), and an unparalleled source of shared pleasure. They are described as two halves of a whole, with neither being able to fulfill their unique roles apart from the cooperative assistance of the other. We find that the Gospel is also woven into this union: The husband and wife are meant to beautifully illustrate the unbreakable bond between Christ and his Church. This first couple is completely and selflessly vulnerable with each other and unashamed. Of course, as already mentioned, things famously take a turn for the worse when these prototypical image-bearers foolishly reject the Tree of Life in favor of a lie that promises them what they already had from the start. Instead of becoming more like their Creator, they spiral down into chaos. All of creation, including every aspect of the human body and psyche, is in some way corrupted by this tragic event. As a result, most of our initial preferences and proclivities are now in direct rebellion to God's original design (So Lady Gaga is correct in saying we're “born this way,” but we certainly weren't created “this way”).

Forgive the brief detour, but I think we'll need to address a common theological misconception regarding the body and the physical world that further muddies these already culturally clouded waters. Unfortunately, many Christians have unknowingly embraced a very Gnostic understanding of things (i.e. the physical world is irredeemable and meant to be supplanted by a superior spiritual world) that incorrectly sees the physical body as merely incidental to the immortal soul, or simply a vehicle for “who I really am” underneath. This idea that our bodies are something like an afterthought, a disposable accessory for our non-corporeal soul, is completely at odds with the historic, Christian Faith. “God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also,” is what Scripture says (1 Corinthians 6:14). Likewise, Job adds, “after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes—I, and not another” (from Job 19:26-27). A future resurrection (which is, by definition, a physical event) and the eventual restoration of creation is at the heart of the original story (a controversial proposition, to be sure, even in the 1st Century). God loves the physical world and the physical creatures he made to inhabit it. You might remember how he once deemed it all “very good.” The story of the Bible, then, is about how far he'll go to rescue his rebel world, to put it all back to the way he originally intended (so the story can finally proceed in the right direction). Our physical bodies are certainly corrupted by the fall and, as such, are in need of redemption and restoration, but they're also—by God's design—an integral part of who we are as humans. He's intentionally crafted our bodies (along with our specific biological distinctions) with particular care and divine purpose.

I believe it was C.S. Lewis who once made the point that it's the things with the greatest initial potential for good which, when corrupted, do the greatest harm. He explains how a cow, for example, has very little capacity to do much good or bad; but a human, on the other hand, can do both to greater extent; and an angelic being, gifted with extreme power and insight, certainly even more so. Likewise, the immense God-given potential of sex; as a source of life, pleasure, oneness and intimacy, and a beautiful metaphor of the fellowship we can have with our Maker; can inversely, when corrupted by human rebellion, become a boundless source of exploitation, oppression, violence, isolation (ironically), obsession, and numerous other profoundly destructive and dehumanizing attitudes and behaviors.

It's not enough to assume that God's plan for sexuality is automatically satisfied in a life-long monogamous sexual relationship between a man and a woman (although anything less than this would, of course, be falling short of his definition of divinely-sanctioned physical intimacy). And most of our understanding of gender comes from arbitrary cultural constructs (In other words, we can't assume that because our boys love baseball and BB guns and our girls exclusively play with Barbie dolls that we've got it right). He clearly has more in mind. Therefore, humility and biblical accuracy require us to have a more precise understanding of God's intent (and, inversely, a broader definition of sexual perversion and gender confusion) than we currently seem to have. Don't get me wrong, It's appropriate to passionately advocate for the Creator's original good design. But, in doing so, I think we inevitably tend to aggressively harp on the forms of perversion that are most foreign to our own experience (and therefore more offensive to our individual and collective biases) while at the same time overlooking the many harmful deviations with which we more closely identify (contributing to a hypocritical inconsistency in our “moral outrage” and the development of a pharisaical “us” and “them” perspective). Same-sex sexuality, for example, is a clear deviation from God's plan, but, then, so is the more garden variety human tendency toward voyeurism (and a multi-billion dollar porn industry has resulted from the decisively greater prevalence of the latter perversion). Only we usually don't boycott, picket, or even recognize voyeurism as a perversion of God's plan for human sexuality (particularly in the more subtle examples of voyeuristic themed marketing and entertainment that regularly invite us to objectify people, especially women, in exchange for our attention as they pitch us some “new-and-improved” toothpaste, sitcom, or charbroiled burger). At the darker end of the same swamp, millions of people—mostly girls and women—are enslaved (psychologically and physically), trafficked, and raped in an ongoing effort to meet the insatiable demand of ravenous voyeurs, who have convinced themselves that this perverse arrangement they have with the human commodity on the other side of their screen is both harmless and equitable.

We could certainly spend a lot of time debating the various degrees of perversion (i.e. how far off from God's original design is each behavior, orientation, and so forth, in relationship to the others), but this doesn't seem very productive. I imagine our “unbiased” analysis would largely be compromised by our own particular taste for sin anyway. While I think we'd be right to conclude that a pedophile or a sadistic rapist's sexual brokenness is manifesting in a more dangerous way than, say, a necrophiliac (to use some extreme examples); How can we say that a typical lesbian, for instance, is definitively more perverse than a heterosexual “playboy,” like Hugh Hefner (or the millions of men who envy him)? The one who views sex as a conquest and people as trophies is blasphemously (and probably unwittingly) invoking the divinely crafted, physical language of life-long covenant—again and again and again—flippantly with each subsequent partner (1 Corinthians 6:15-16). Just because a particular form of sexual perversion is more prevalent than another does not mean that it is somehow more “natural” (in terms of God's original intent for humans). Does a transgendered or transvestite image-bearer have more or less confusion about God's plan for gender than a traditionally masculine man with misogynistic tendencies (especially in light of our unconventional Founder who scandalously discipled women and elevated them to previously unheard of places of honor and influence within his upside down kingdom)? Have we done a better job of raising our all-American boy, who conforms to traditional male expectations (including a learned apathy that was produced by systemic societal shaming of God-given, yet somehow “unmanly,” attributes like gentleness, compassion, and emotional vulnerability), than the neighbor did raising his son who now wants to wear dresses and be called by a conventionally female name? And is a monogamous, married, heterosexual couple whose twisted perspective of sex is rooted in pride, power, punishment, or currency more closely aligned with the Creator's intent than, say, a polyamorous trio? Rather than arguing about who is the most deviant, it seems we should concede that we're all to some extent filthy and instead focus our energy on the more pressing question of how to get clean.

In regard to the so called “culture wars,” in which conservative Christians seem to be constantly and passionately engaged, we’re regularly picking the wrong battles (holiday coffee cups, restroom access, and baked goods) and employing the wrong tactics once the ridiculous battle lines have been drawn. And the Christian celebrity speakers, musicians, and denominations that are “reinterpreting” their biblical understanding of brokenness, despite their best intentions, are equally unhelpful (not to mention brazen beyond words, considering the stern warning Jesus gave to a 1st Century church that allowed sexual sin to continue in their midst unchallenged—Revelation 2:20-23). In short, I believe the unattended brokenness within the Family of God is causing far more damage than the brokenness without. The sexual immorality, high rates of divorce, and addiction to pornography running rampant within the American Church, even among our shepherds and teachers, is nothing short of tragic. As Peter says, “it is time for judgement to begin with God's household” (1 Peter 4:17a). And Jesus warns that “if the salt loses its saltiness... it is no longer good for anything” (Matthew 5:13). We're called to be a “city on a hill,” a beacon of light amidst the brokenness of Babylon, not a hypocritical pack of political pundits, lobbyists, and picketers. “What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church?” asks Paul. “Are you not to judge those inside?” Rest assured, “God will judge those outside” (1 Corinthians 5:12-13a).

Our sexuality and gender, though significant aspects of our being, were never meant to completely define us. It's misguided and idolatrous for us to seek our identity in these things. Sometimes even the church elevates sex and marriage to unhealthy degrees (when, ironically, Jesus lived his whole life here on earth as a single, celibate man—saving himself for the next life, for his true Bride). Paul, who had a high regard for God's plan for sex and marriage, also touted the benefits of serving Jesus as a single person (1 Corinthians 7:8, 32-35). The disciple of Jesus who feels an intense same-sex attraction, as an example, yet denies himself or herself in obedience to God's creative order, has genuine camaraderie with the heterosexual brother or sister who never marries and likewise regularly denies themselves in their pursuit of Christ (1 Corinthians 10:13). Regardless of the nature of our particular brokenness, though, we'll be required to regularly deny ourselves in both large and small ways. Marriage is not, as many think, “the remedy” to our numerous sexual perversions. For many, it will only compound the damage caused by their untended, preexisting wounds and misconceptions. But fortunately we're not, as the naturalist would have us believe, merely “intelligent animals” who are forever bound to our primal instincts. We're made in the image of God, and, in Christ, we no longer have to be slaves to our urges. The freedom that Jesus offers in this arena is truly good news.

As we become more aware of our own sexual brokenness and misconceptions about gender, we'll likely also grow in compassion for our fellow image-bearers, especially toward those whose brokenness may manifest differently than our own. Ultimately, the only thing that separates “perverse reprobates” from “redeemed and in-the-process-of-being-restored followers of Christ” is a willingness to repent and to trust solely in Jesus' counterintuitive method for making us whole again (which is really saying the same thing two different ways). To “repent” is to change our mind, to swallow our pride and agree with God that he's right and we're wrong. It's to abandon our rebellion and to instead, through the power of his Spirit, adopt his kingdom rule over every aspect of our lives. Jesus appropriately describes this process as “dying,” as even daily embracing the instrument of our torturous demise, so that he can paradoxically give us new life, his “abundant life”—real LIFE. And repentance is not a one time event. It's a regular rhythm of the true disciple's everyday existence. If we're going to experience the new life that Jesus offers, then we'll need to turn everything that we have, everything that we are (our hopes and dreams, our identity, ideologies, sexuality, and notions of gender—all of it!) over to him. There's no going forward until we do. Porn addicts, prostitutes, playboys, and pious Christians, alike, must all travel the same humble Road if we're to be healed of our sexual perversion and misconceptions. But if we're willing, he's more than able to deliver.

“Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who have sex with men nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.”

“And that is what some of you were.”

“But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God” (1 Corinthians 6:9b-11).

Taste and See...

Jesus identified the command to love our Maker with all that we are as the “greatest” of all God's commandments. In truth, I find it to be the most tragic of all His commandments. Only because there was a time when this commandment—and by extension, all other commandments—would be as unnecessary as an edict requiring humans to acknowledge that fire is hot and water is wet or that life is to be chosen over death. The first humans were crafted with the capacity to be captivated by His beauty. It seems they loved Him like they loved their next breath—like they loved life itself. We have since lost our taste for Him, the Tree of Life. Stumbling in the darkness, we have tasted of another tree, and in our broken state all we crave is ash and death. Frequently returning to the alternate tree, we gorge ourselves on “that which is not food” and are left in perpetual famine and want (Isaiah 55:2). Central to the Father's redemptive work in the world through Jesus then is the Spirit's restoration of our scorched palate. He renews our desire to feast on Him.

When God spoke the world into existence, He created a beautiful garden in which the first humans were meant to thrive. As image-bearers, we were made to be an extension of Him to the universe, a mirror radiating His goodness and glory and administering and celebrating His justice and virtue throughout His good world. At the center of the garden He placed two trees unlike the others. And so humanity was presented with a monumental choice from the beginning: “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live” (Duet 30:19). God makes His desire for His creation abundantly clear, and yet, by His own sovereign will, He does not completely bypass human volition. The fruit of the first tree offered eternal life while the fruit of the other would forever infuse the eater with the forbidden knowledge of good and evil. As you probably already know, they foolishly forfeited their claim to the Tree of Life and instead grasped for the authority to define good and evil for themselves, a task for which they were—and we still are—hopelessly ill-equipped.

At this point, we must have a word about metaphor. You may recall how Jesus created quite a stir among His First Century followers when He claimed to be the “bread of life” come down from Heaven to be consumed by whosoever willed. The thought of cannibalizing their beloved leader was understandably grotesque. Most of His disciples walked away in disgust. Christ's meaning is debated still. Jesus' comparison of His body and blood to bread and wine was undoubtedly meant to be jarring. As we follow His metaphor, though, we will note that bread is a necessary and external source of life to the eater. It literally becomes a part of us as we digest it, empowering us and changing us from the inside. The bread is also unavoidably destroyed in the process. Jesus effectively described something otherworldly that we couldn't otherwise understand by using something that we do understand. His death, burial, and resurrection are objectively real, historical events with boundless implications. The symbolic explanation in no way obscures or robs the events of their meaning. It is Jesus' stories, in fact, that actually convey the true meaning of what He accomplished, which would otherwise be missed. Many fundamentalists see virtue in dogmatically adhering to a hyper-literal interpretation of all sacred scriptures. They may see an appeal to metaphor as the voice of the serpent who cunningly asked, “did God truly say...?” When in truth, it is the hyper-literalist who tragically misses Jesus' actual message in this instance.

I'm not suggesting that the book of Genesis should be exclusively understood as metaphor. While there are scriptural authors who the Spirit moved to consistently write in very poetic and hyperbolas styles, Genesis, like the gospels, is primarily written as a straight-forward, historical narrative (objectively chronicling real people, places, and events). Furthermore, recognizing Adam as a real human being who actually lived is arguably pivotal to understanding the necessity for the “new Adam.” Interestingly, though, Jesus frequently relies on metaphor when He is explaining the nature and function of the kingdom of God (He uses a lot of similes in particular: “the kingdom of God is like” such and such). In His revelation to the seven churches, He describes the full reunification of Heaven and Earth in a very symbolic way. He likens His people to a city and a beautiful bride. He presents Himself as a bridegroom, a lion, and a lamb and so on. Could it be that this early period of human history described in the first few chapters of Genesis, in which Heaven and Earth peacefully co-existed, is so foreign to us post-Eden folks that we can only now be told of it through metaphor? When I muse that Jesus was/is the Tree of Life, the fulness of God made incarnate and accessible to humans, spoken of in the Creation story, I'm not suggesting that He existed as an inanimate tree with magic fruit any more than I would suggest that Satan, a supernatural being, in the story is meant to be understood as a literal reptile. Satan is often likened to an ancient sea serpent, a dragon, a deceiver, and an angel of light elsewhere in the pages of holy scripture, and so we have little trouble identifying him in the story. I would argue that there are other passages that reveal Jesus as the Tree of Life, to whom our first parents lost access and instantly “died” as a result. In Jesus' depiction of paradise restored, complete with ample references to Eden, He claims, “Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city” (Revelation 22:14). In this passage, access to the “tree of life” and entrance into “the city” are inseparably linked. And if this weren't enough, Jesus claims the tree's leaves are for the “healing of the nations” (Revelation 22:2). Jesus is truly Light, Life, the Door, the Rock, the Lion, the Lamb, the Word, the Alpha and the Omega, the Vine, the Truth, the Bread of Life, but He is not literally these things.

Whether the Tree of Life is a supernatural fruit tree which grants the eater physical immortality, or it is a metaphor for something, or someone, far greater which we could not otherwise understand, the central message of the fall must not be overlooked: The first humans tragically rejected God—their true source of sustenance—in favor of an existence apart from Him. “My people have committed two sins,” says the Lord, “They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water” (Jeremiah 2:13). We have all believed the lie that we can define and manage good and evil for ourselves and in so doing have chosen death over abundant Life. Still, He humbly beckons us back, “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare” (Isaiah 55:1-2). In His mercy, God has graciously brought the once-rejected Tree of Life to us. Through the work of His Spirit He has renewed our taste for its fruit. He invites us to feast, to delight in Him. If there is anything truly good, anything of pure joy, anything worthwhile in this broken world, it is merely a faint echo of Him. For He is the source of all goodness, creativity, justice, and beauty—LIFE itself.

“Taste and see that the LORD is good” (Psalm 34:8a). 

 

Reflections on Human Brokenness

There is a rare psychological disorder called Pica in which the afflicted have a compulsion to eat inedible things. I once saw an interview of an individual suffering from this harmful abnormality who would regularly eat the contents of ashtrays. They knew their behavior was disturbing and detrimental, but they just couldn't help themselves. Humanity was created with an innate taste for Christ, the Tree of Life. God knew that once we tasted darkness we would lose our taste for everything else. So like any good father He forbade it. Believing a lie, humanity partook, and we have been craving acid, excrement, and ash ever since. The resulting toxins have poisoned our souls—always thirsty—always hungry—never satisfied. Jesus' ministry of restoration is about reviving, even resurrecting, our desire and capacity to drink deep of Him, the source of Living Water, and to feast on the Bread come down from Heaven. For this is eternal life (John 17:3).

“My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water” (Jeremiah 2:13). God seems to see the rejection of Life and the pursuit of death as two separate follies.  More than just foolishly refusing to partake of necessary nutrition, we actively seek to ingest poison. “Come, all you who are thirsty,” says the Lord, “come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare” (Isaiah 55:1-2).  We're generously invited to “taste and see that the LORD is good” (Psalm 34:8a). C.S. Lewis rightly says, “It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” 

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus elaborates on the nature of sin. He speaks of sin as if it is something living inside of us as a desire, a craving, before it manifests as an action. He expounds on the command regarding sexual faithfulness, for example, by explaining how the poison of adultery has already entered our soul before bodies ever touch. The deed has been done in the “privacy” of our mind when we chose to feast on a lie that promised nourishment. We often address the outside of the cup or dish, but it is the inside that is like a tomb full of rotting bones. All this time humanity thought sin was a list of bad things that we ought to avoid when it is, in fact, our appetites that have gone off the tracks. Jesus is crystal clear when He says that good trees bear good fruit and bad trees bear bad fruit. Likewise, James asks, “can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water.” This once and for all puts to bed the notion that we are “good people” who sometimes do bad things. We must stop trying to merely manage our sin and allow Jesus, the Great Physician, to address and heal our spiritual Pica.

I've heard people speak of Heaven as a place where they will be able to gorge themselves on all the rich foods they want without gaining any weight or becoming sick to their stomach. This sort of juvenile idea is missing the point of paradise restored and the present nature of fallen humanity. Instead of gorging ourselves without consequences, we'll know how to be satisfied with just enough. It's not the pesky consequences that are the trouble. It's the evil craving that wants more than its share.

Broken humans are given over to proportional excess. That is to say, it's not enough for me to merely have more than my share, I must also have more than you. My share is only acceptable or intolerable as it relates to your share. I believe Jesus reveals one of the most despicable yet common traits of fallen humanity with His story about the landowner and the day-laborers. If you remember the story, the landowner goes out early to hire laborers to work in his vineyard. He finds a crew, agrees on a fair price for a day's work, and sends them out to harvest his crops. He continues to recruit workers throughout the day, and hires the last batch with only an hour left until quitting time. When the day is done, the landowner reaches for his wallet. Beginning with the Johnny-come-lately group, he hands them each a day's wage. The guys that put in a full hard day's work are almost jumping out of their skin with excitement after seeing the landowner pay so much to the laborers who only worked one hour. They are certain that a huge bonus is coming their way. When the landowner gets to them, however, he promptly hands them what they had originally agreed upon, which just so happens to be what everyone got. The murmuring begins almost immediately. The landowner asks what the problem is, and the workers explain their frustration. The landowner reminds them that he's given them a fair wage—which they had originally happily agreed to—and it's only now, after witnessing his generosity, that they have become disgruntled. Jesus shines a spotlight on the putrid death that lurks in the hearts of humanity. “is your eye evil because I am good?” Wretched creatures that we are, it is common for us to feel envy, malice, and hatred toward those who have good fortune. We regularly feel robbed or slighted by others' good looks, better paying job, abundance of friends, etc. What an indicator of the evil at our core when generosity, others' good fortune—goodness—(which does nothing to affect our personal status) incites envious hatred in us. Suddenly our lot in life is not as agreeable as we had originally thought it.  Even in our darkest hour, why can't we simply gain joy from the good fortune of others? Perhaps we are broken beyond what we would care to admit.

Even in our rebirth, after God has poured His Spirit into us, accompanied by new desires and new cravings, we find that the old cravings linger. A war between the new life within us and the corrupted flesh that seeks to snuff it out rages daily. The Spirit of God and a rancid zombie-like corpse cannot peacefully coexist, and so we must daily put our flesh to death in order for the new cravings to take. Even the Apostle Paul finds that though he has been given a desire for filet mignon, he regularly finds his hand in the ashtray. In a moment of frustration and agony he exclaims, “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?” There's no way to sugarcoat it. The damage is extensive, worse than we may have feared or could have even imagined. But fortunately, the Rescuer is also far greater than we could have hoped or dreamed.