Category: God’s Word

Have you ever come to your senses to find that it’s too late? Too late to study for the class … an “F”. Too late to pay the rent … eviction! Too late to talk to your husband or wife … divorce court!

Too late!

Jesus’ parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus combines the artistic landscape of parable with the hard teaching that our choices in this life have eternal and irreversible consequences. And, that we can (and must) respond to Jesus today. But, someday, it will be … too late!

Jesus speaks this parable in Luke 16, a section in the gospel that, on the surface at least, contains a number of passages on money and material possessions. We’re told in verse 14 that “The Pharisees,” Jesus’ hearers, (along with His disciples), “who were lovers of money, heard all these things, and they ridiculed him” (ESV). This was the problem of the religious leaders, at least on the surface. As Luke 16.14-17, a kind of bridge passage, then talks about dependence on the Word of God, we can see that material possessions point us to our ultimate dependences. Are we depending on God, or money?

The parable begins in this life (:19-21). A certain Rich Man had everything. Purple clothing, expensive. Linen garments, down to his underwear. The Rich Man feasted himself, inside his palace and without regard for those outside.

Outside the gate of the Rich Man’s palace had been laid a poor man, named Lazarus (a combination of the Hebrew words for “god” and “trust”). Lazarus trusts God. Lazarus is a cripple, covered in sores. He wants only the sop tossed from the Rich Man’s table. But, the dogs get to the scraps before Lazarus. Then, the dogs lick Lazarus’ wounds.

Lazarus is lower than a dog. In the popular religion of the day, he would have been regarded as cursed. The Rich Man, blessed by God.

The parable moves to the next life (:22-23). Here, there is immediate reversal! The poor man dies and goes to Abraham’s side, the place of the righteous dead, depicted in Judaism (as well as by Jesus, Matthew 8) as a banquet. The Rich Man dies and is buried. His earthly life ends well. But, then, he finds himself immediately in Hades, the place of the unrighteous dead. Here, he’s tormented, and (in the creative, parabolic world) he sees Abraham and Lazarus.

The Rich Man negotiates (:24-31). The Rich Man calls to Abraham, “Father Abraham! … I see you have my servant Lazarus there. Send him to help me!” (:24). Interesting is that the Rich Man considers himself on good terms with the great patriarch of the Jewish race. More interesting still is that he clearly recognizes Lazarus. He is guilty and knows it.

Abraham responds: “You took your ease in the last world, and your contempt for Lazarus in his poverty showed your lack of righteousness. Now, there is a great chasm fixed between us … It’s too late!”

The Rich Man negotiates again. “Send Lazarus then to my five brothers, so that they won’t come here” (:27). Catch the accusation here. I didn’t know! It isn’t fair! Somebody should have told me about hell, and stuff like that!”

Abraham responds again. “Your brothers have the Bible, along with its teaching about how treatment of the poor indicates heart righteousness.”

The Rich Man responds once more: “No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent (:30, ESV). In other words, God’s Word isn’t good enough. They need a miracle! I needed a miracle!”

“If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets,” Abraham responds with finality, “Neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead” (:31, ESV).

Among the lessons we draw from the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is the central teaching that God reveals Himself in His Word, so that nobody can say they didn’t have a fair chance. How many of those who haven’t trusted Christ say they would believe everything in the Bible, if they could only see a miracle? Ah, but the miracles didn’t matter for Old Testament Israel, did they? And, following Jesus’ teaching here, even His own resurrection won’t prove the truth of God’s Word to those who don’t want God.

By contrast, those who “get” Jesus recognize their accountability to God from His Word and depend on Jesus … before it’s too late. 

So, take a bit of time to read through this (in many ways) most curious of Jesus’ parables. Then, do something curious yourself. Maybe, you should take a stroll through a cemetery. Give thanks for those buried there. Thank God for your own short life. Remember that, short of Jesus’ second coming, nobody escapes this life alive. And, take joy in the Gospel, knowing that those who trust Christ will be with Him at the moment of their death (Luke 23.24; Phil 1.23). This is Good News in this sobering parable!

After your reflection in the cemetery, include the Gospel in regular conversation with others. God’s Word is powerful, and our mental and spiritual worldview maps should include every part of life. If you eat, include others in your thanks. If it rains, tell your friends how God is caring for you. Don’t be like the Rich Man who only cared for what he could see in this life. Our existence includes this life and the next. And, the way we go about handling material possessions and treating the poor indicates a great deal about what or whom we’re trusting.

Finally, circle up with some others. Read the parable again and talk through these questions:

What about this parable do you find alarming or disturbing? Do you like it? Why or why not? 

What does this parable reveal about what we’re tempted to trust in? What about the excuses of the Rich Man? Are we at all like him? 

How much do you value the Gospel that is included in God’s Word? Do you think of God’s revelation of Himself in His Word as your final authority? Or, are you looking or waiting for something else before you trust God?

What are some other practical things you’ve done that help remind you of the brevity of life? 

How have you been able to include the Gospel in your regular, normal and “non-weird” conversation with those who don’t yet trust God? 

 

Have you ever felt powerless?

Maybe, you put a charge on a credit card that you later couldn’t repay. Or, you told a friend something you wished you hadn’t. Or, you were with a hurting person, and you just didn’t know what to do.

Terrible feeling, isn’t it? Made you weary, didn’t it?

The Parable of the Persistent Widow in Luke 18 is a story for those who are weary in their powerlessness. Jesus tells this parable as part of a larger conversation with the Pharisees that begins in 17.20. Then, He pulls back (apparently) to explain His teaching to His disciples.

The wider conversation involves the coming of the Kingdom of God and when it will come. Naturally, the Pharisees (and, probably, everybody else) thought that Messiah would ride in, kick out the Romans and be ruler of the whole earth. They weren’t far from wrong. But, they didn’t factor in the cross!

Jesus responds by teaching that the Kingdom is present with the King, who is “in their midst” (7.21). And, Jesus teaches that the fulness of the Kingdom will only come after Messiah has suffered (7.24-25), after which time evil will be destroyed (7.27-30).

The Pharisees’ problem (and ours, sometimes) is that they didn’t recognize Jesus’ two comings. Till Messiah returns God’s people will suffer and wait expectantly for His coming … “the days are coming when you will desire to see one of the days of the Son of Man, and you will not see it” (7.22).

In the parable itself, we have an unrighteous judge who neither fears God nor “respects” man (ESV). The word can mean “be ashamed”. In the shame-based eastern culture of the parable, the judge makes no effort to help others save face. He almost certainly takes bribes, and he doesn’t care.

The Widow is the other character. In the man-dominated world of the Middle Eastern court system, the fact that she must represent herself indicates that she has no man in her life. She is certainly too poor to pay a bribe. Perhaps, there’s a dispute over her late husband’s estate. A state of injustice exists.

She does have one advantage: she can abuse the judge! Because nobody takes her seriously, she can stand on the perimeter of the court and hurl insults at the judge. A man would be kicked out. Nobody cares about the widow.

The judge finally gives in, because he fears the widow will “beat me down”. The term is one taken from boxing. It means, literally, “to beat black and blue”. “Oi weh!” we imagine the judge exclaiming. “Enough already! Bring her here. What does she want?”

In Jesus’ commentary from verses 6-8, two lessons and a question come from this parable. In the character of the judge we learn that unlike the unrighteous judge, God will bring justice to His people. The logic is taken from a Rabbinic rhetorical teaching method, the Hebrew name for which we would translate as “from the light to heavy”. It’s a “if this … then how much more?” kind of argument. So, if even an unrighteous judge—who doesn’t care about God or people—will reward perseverance with justice, how much more will the one, true God give justice to His people He has chosen?

The second lesson comes from the Widow. Through her character we learn that the LORD will be patient with believer’s persistence in prayer while they endure injustice until Jesus comes again in power to vindicate them.

“Will not God give justice to his elect?” Yes, He will. “Will he delay long over them?” No, He won’t, but ” … he will give justice to them speedily” (verse 8a).

But, will God’s people persist in prayer till Jesus comes back? “Will he find faith on earth” (verse 8b). That’s the question.

Like the Pharisees, we sometimes mistake this time between Jesus’ two comings for the fulness of the kingdom. We experience powerlessness, and we say “Why does God not change my situation now?!”

In so complaining, we forget that Jesus hasn’t come back yet. And, why? Second Peter 3.8-9 helps.

But, do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance (ESV).

God is yet gathering “the elect” to Himself. But, until Jesus comes again, we persist in prayer. What keeps us from growing weary is knowing that God is not like the unrighteous judge. In fact, since the time of the telling of this parable, Jesus has taken up residence with the Father, again. Romans 8 describes how He intercedes for us:

Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than than, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. 

That’s really Good News! Not only are we, unlike the Widow, not unrepresented in court. But, Jesus Himself represents us before God! Knowing this keeps us from losing heart.

Those who “get” Jesus persist in prayer knowing God hears (now) and will deliver them finally and completely, very soon. 

 

Find somebody to discuss this parable with. Talk through these questions:

What is the hardest part for you to take in about this parable? 

 

Where do you struggle in your times of prayer with God? 

 

What about the work of Jesus is most important for you in not growing weary? 

 

What methods for prayer have you found helpful? Prayer journals? A certain kind of list-making or note-taking? What would you recommend to others to help them organize their times of prayer with the Lord and help them be persistent? 

 

 

 

What’s your most embarrassing moment?

Mine might have been the Friday night, now some fifteen years ago, when I was to speak to a gathering of young people near L’viv, western Ukraine. My translator had earlier invited me to the event by telling me I was to “come as you are,” in regards to dress. A very fine American idiom.

But, when Slavic actually wheeled up in his Russian Lada, he was “dressed to the nines,” in suit and tie. Another fine idiom—one that doesn’t go at all with “come as you are”. I sported a windbreaker, Dockers, and (if I remember right) tennis shoes.

“Too late to change,” Slavic said. And, an hour later, we arrived—not at the venue for a youth gathering, but at the Friday evening service of the largest, the oldest, the most formal baptist church in that region of western Ukraine. And, I was the speaker.

Slavic took me to the basement where the senior leadership sat, circled in solemn prayer. They were not dressed “come as you are”; they wore their finest.

The prayer ended, and the oldest and senior man inspected me. After learning that I was “alone” in life (that is, single) and pronouncing me “too old to be alone,” he finished encouraging me and came to the point.

“We have a problem,” he announced, straightening himself in his chair. “In order to preach, you must wear a jacket …!”

There it was. It occurred to me to ask him if he “had a mouse in his pocket”. This wouldn’t have communicated, but WE clearly did not have a problem. Instead, I hung my head in shame.

At that moment, one of the young leaders had an idea. This man went to the closet and pulled out a suit jacket. It was white with blue stripes and didn’t match anything in the building. They called it the “general use jacket.” They kept it on hand, they said, for American visitors. I tried it on. It fit, and the evening was saved …

In that particular place, the “general use jacket” became the means by which I was allowed to address that particular group. In the Parable of the Wedding Feast (Matthew 22.1-14) another means becomes necessary to enter God’s presence.

The story in the parable takes place in an imaginative landscape involving a king, two sets of invited guests, and one unfit guest. These fictive characters point to the real events surrounding Jesus’ ministry, involving the rejection of His own people, the Jewish nation, as well as true followers, both Jews and non-Jews.

National invitation with rejection (:1-7). In the first scene, the king throws a banquet for his son. All the typical guests are invited, but to no avail. They mistreat his servants, and the king responds in judgment.

The wedding banquet imagery clearly points to Christ. Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb … (Rev 19). Likewise, the rejection of the servants points to Israel’s treatment of the prophets. O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those sent to her … (Matt 23). Finally, the judgement received foreshadows that received by the nation at the hands of Titus the Roman in 70 A.D.

International invitation with acceptance (:8-10). The second scene opens with the king’s servants now inviting new guests. They find these on the “main highway,” a word indicating the road out of town where those not belonging to the city congregate. … the time is coming to gather all nations and tongues. And they shall see my glory, Isaiah 66 says. Those gathered now are “good and bad.” That is, they aren’t selected for their own moral virtues. They come because they’re asked.

And so, the wedding hall is filled. And, we can’t not think of Revelation 7: After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes … 

Rejection of an unfit guest (:11-14). The parable might end here. But, Jesus throws in a twist for those who might think that God has lowered His standard of holiness.

The king in the parable surveys his banquet hall and finds a man wearing no wedding clothes. The king calls him “Friend,” but questions him all the same: “How did you get in here without a wedding garment?”

The man is speechless and without excuse. He is immediately expelled. The garments are the key to the parable. While some commentators claim that the host of such a banquet might have furnished his guests with a garment himself, this can’t be supported from the parable. At the very least, the man ought to have changed into a new garment. The rejected guest was invited, but has by-passed the means to enter. He has taken advantage of the generosity of his host.

Jesus’ point now becomes clear: though God invites everybody to come to Him, only those who come through the proper means will enter His presence.

But, what is the proper means? How do we come fit for the king? Jesus leaves the question in the air, yet to be answered by His first listeners. We, however, have an advantage, as we look back at the cross through the New Testament.

Those who “get” Jesus come to God through the fitness (the righteousness) of Jesus. 

Like the unfit guest, we have no righteousness of our own. Isaiah 64 makes the point: … all our righteous acts are like filthy rags. While invited to come to God, we’re unclothed while we’re yet in our sin.

Ah, but here’s the Good News! Jesus lived a fit life in our place. And, we receive His righteousness by trusting Him. As Romans 3 says, This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe …

The message of the story is that we may come to God as we are. But, we must come through Jesus.

This is a good word in a day when we often hear the Gospel expressed in the language of the giveaway. “It’s free! Just believe,” we like to say.

“It’s grace, and our salvation cost Jesus His life,” we’d be better off saying. And, with that heart of gratitude, we may truly “come as we are” to Christ and so be “fit for the king”.

 

Circle up with a group and consider the following questions:

Have you ever read this parable before? How has your understanding of this teaching of Jesus’ changed with this reading? 

 

Does it bother you that the unfit guest is cast from the banquet? What might this third scene be telling us about the seriousness of being rightly clothed in Christ? 

 

How does this parable change the way you talk about the work of Jesus? 

 

What is a good way to encourage people to trust Jesus without making the work of Jesus sound or feel “cheap”? 

 

 

Do you have any enemies? I hope not … Do you have anybody you’d rather not serve? Different question, isn’t it?

The Good Samaritan is in contention for the best-known passage in all Scripture. Everybody, including completely secular people, thinks they’ve understood this teaching of Jesus. But Jesus never told a parable that wasn’t a cliff-hanger. Every parable requires a life-response. Do we “get it”? Do we “get” Jesus?

Jesus told this parable in context. Luke 10.25-37 recounts Jesus’ dialogue with a lawyer—a theologian of the day. The dialogue unfolds in two rounds—two questions and two answers per round. Each round starts with a peek at the lawyer’s heart: he wants to “put [Jesus] to the test” (:25); he desires to “justify himself” (29). At issue, big picture, is the life of God. “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” the lawyer asks.

“Nothing,” Jesus could have answered. “It’s the inheritance of Israel received by faith and unearned, like every inheritance.” Perhaps, this would have pleased the lawyer. But, Jesus is always pressing into the heart of the matter, and into hearts. He takes the lawyer’s bait, knowing that the lawyer probably considered him soft on the law.

“What is written in the Law?” Jesus asks. The lawyer responds with a perfect fusion of Deuteronomy 6 and Leviticus 19: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” Likely, he’d heard Jesus give this very answer (Matthew 22).

“You’ve got it!” Jesus says, in so many words. “Do this and you will live.” Notice, Jesus has changed the topic from inheriting eternal life to the living of life itself. There’s also a life-response now required of the lawyer. The man wants to “do” something, and he now has his assignment. But, before he does, he wants to renegotiate.

“Who is my neighbor?” the lawyer asks. Very likely, he expected Jesus to separate his relatives and the friends of Israel from the foreigners and the nation’s enemies. What he gets is a story.

The parable is well-known. There’s the Jewish man (assumedly) who is stripped, beaten and robbed by bandits. Kenneth Bailey (Poet & Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes, 1983) notes that the first of seven scenes establishes a pattern of coming … doing … going.  After the bandits, the priest and the Levite will, likewise “come,” but then (not)”do”. And then, they will “go”.

The Samaritan is different. He will come and then do all that the others have not. Unlike the Levite, likely returning from performing religious rituals in the Temple in Jerusalem, he will treat the wounded man, pouring on wine (reminiscent of the recent religious work of the Levite). Unlike the priest, who almost certainly rode a horse, the Samaritan will give the wounded man a ride on his “own” horse. Unlike both, he risked having his baggage and other animals robbed. More, he would have endured ridicule at the inn where he took the wounded man. (Imagine a Taliban fighter turning up at a U.S. Army checkpoint with a wounded child.)

At the center of the seven scene parable, there is verse 33: “But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion.”

Jesus reenters the dialogue with the lawyer. “Which of these three, do you think, proved a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?”

The lawyer knows, but he can’t quite say it. “Samari … The one who showed mercy,” he says, instead.

“You go, and do likewise,” Jesus concludes. We’ll never know, if the lawyer “got it,” or not.

But, do we “get” Jesus? 

 

We’ve been learning in our teaching times at Woodland that the lessons of the parables can be discerned through the main figures of each story.

In The Good Samaritan the combined figures of the priest and the Levite teach us that religion sometimes hinders love for God and service for neighbor. There’s a tendency for church people to think that because we’ve celebrated and learned and given our gifts that we “have done” (think of the lawyer’s original question) what is necessary for life. But, God has a mission. Really big picture here, God’s mission involves the buying back of all creation through the work of Jesus, this received by faith. It’s not that God has a mission for His people, it’s more like God has a people for His mission. Churches like Woodland, then, exist within Gods mission for the benefit of their non-members. A real heart for God sometimes looks pretty ordinary, like binding up somebody’s wounds, because we love God.

From the Samaritan, we learn that we must serve everybody without distinction. This is the point usually made, but (like the lawyer), we like to parse the answer. Secular people want to stop at good works. The result is a Gospel-less Y.M.C.A. religion—fine exercise club at an affordable price, but hardly the life of God. Church people, sometimes, want to stop at speaking the Gospel. Now, to be sure, Gospel witness is no less than verbal proclamation. But, the “half-dead” man of the parable could not hear. Surely, love for God and neighbor looks like ministry in word and deed.

But, now, finally (and usually overlooked), we learn from the wounded man in the road that even my enemy is my neighbor. This, in context, is the point of the passage. The sticking point for the lawyer in the wider dialogue didn’t involve what God’s Word actually said; it involved the identity of those the lawyer wanted to love. Some people, yes, but everybody, no.

The wounded man in the parable woke to learn that he’d been saved by none other than his sworn enemy. And, he learned his lesson, not by doing, but by receiving.

How like us. This final point takes us to the Gospel: … but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us … For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life (Romans 5.8 … 10, ESV).

Like the man in the road, those of us who know Christ have been saved by one who did not wait to be reconciled to us before bringing us to the life of God. Jesus came … and did … and stayed. Now, we go and “do likewise”.

Those who “get” Jesus are those who express their love for God by loving even their enemies. 

 

Circle up with somebody with whom you can share this parable. Discuss the following questions:

How have you grown through this, most recent, reading of The Good Samaritan? 

 

Do you have any enemies? Whom are you being led to serve, as a result of this parable? 

 

What does this parable mean for a church like Woodland? How does this teaching move us outside of our church family and into our community? 

 

What’s the life-response that Jesus is asking of you? 

 

 

Who’s with Jesus? That’s the question we’re asking this summer at Woodland. Some people in the gospel accounts “got” Him, recognized Him, identified with Him. Others missed Him.

True then, true today.

We looked, last week, at two and a-half parables—The Lost Sheep, The Lost Coin and The Lost Son (Act I, 15.11-24). Three separate parables, one point: “Rejoice with me!” the major figures of the three parables say together.

In the most complex of the three parables, the lost son, experiencing his father’s grace, admits his unworthiness, accepts his father’s love and enters into his father’s joy. And, through the figure of the Younger Son, we learn that God’s terms for reconciliation includes grace that preempts our efforts to establish ourselves in His favor.

Wonderful as it is, there’s still more.

Unlike the first part of the parable, Act II (:25-32) takes places in speeches. Listen to the points made, watch how the text is arranged. Jesus hasn’t even made his main point yet to His immediate audience of “sinners” and Pharisees (see Luke 15.1-2). The “smack-down” yet awaits.

Even as the Younger Son has returned from the fields, the Older Son approaches the house, likewise from the fields (:25). Notice, he comes last, like a good foreman shutting down the operation for the day, like a diligent executive, shutting off the lights. As he does, he hears symphonia (the mixed-voiced sounds of laughter and feasting). The fattened calf is slaughtered, “quickly,” we’re told earlier, in time that the workers in the fields might celebrate that evening. “Why was I not invited?” we know he asks.

The Older Son arrives at the house and asks for news (:26-27). We note, along with commentator Kenneth Bailey in Poet & Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes (Eerdmans, 1983) that this is not an American farmhouse, entered through the side and the kitchen. This is a Middle Eastern house with a wall dividing the lane from a private courtyard that stands in front of the house. The invited guests would have been inside. The Older Son stands outside, along with the children and the hangers-on and “keeps on” (imperfect tense) asking for news.

When he learns all that has transpired, the Older Son responds (:28a). He becomes angry and won’t enter the feast. He doesn’t want to distribute his father’s remaining wealth that he supposes to be his. But more, and here we credit Bailey once again, there was a custom throughout the Middle East that the oldest son of a hosting nobleman would stand in the doorway barefoot. It is as though the nobleman was saying to his guests, “Even my oldest son is your servant.”

And again, what was Jesus criticized for, in the opening verses of the section (:1-2). Hosting sinners, right?

The Father leaves his dinner guests, humbling himself, to enter the courtyard, to plead with his son (:28b). The Older Son responds to the Father. “Look (you!) … ” This is hardly the way to address the paterfamilias. “For these many years I’ve served you …” This isn’t son talk at all, but slave talk.

“You never gave me a young goat, so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!” the Older Son continues (:30, ESV).

Note the emotional distance from the family: “This son of YOURS.” And, note the Older Son’s concept of joy that includes a good time with friends and that doesn’t include the Younger Brother or the Father. He’ll have meat without family fellowship; he’ll work to take the benefits of sonship, while living on his own terms. He’ll establish himself apart from the Father. And what was the sin of the Younger Brother?

Tim Keller, in his The Prodigal God (Dutton, 2008), in which he interacts with Bailey’s work and to which I’m much indebted for this reading of the parable, remarks at this point,

The elder brother is not losing the father’s love in spite of his goodness,  but because of it. It is not his sins that create the barrier between him and his father, it’s the pride he has in his moral record; it’s not his wrongdoing but his righteousness that is keeping him from sharing in the feast of the father (35).

The Father responds to the Older Son (:31-32). “Son,” he says, in a unique use of the word (much like I speak to my two sons when their fishing lines are tangled, but they choose to cast them anyway), “You have always been with me, and all that is mine is yours.”

Here, the Father reminds the Older Son that he, the son, is the heir. But, the Older Son is not content. He would, like his younger brother, have the right to distribute his father’s wealth. Is he not likewise saying, “I wish you were dead!”?

“We had to celebrate and rejoice,” the Father responds (NAS reading). Or, literally from the original, “It was necessary to celebrate and rejoice.” Necessary for whom? we might ask.

” … for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found” (:32).

And so, the Older Son, experiencing his father’s grace, claims that which he perceives to have earned, judges his younger brother, rejects his father’s love, and—by refusing to enter the feast—demonstrates that all these years he has been lost in his father’s house.

Thus ends the parable … Or, does it?

 

We noted last week that a parable is much like a joke. Both have a response. To the joke, we laugh (hopefully). To the parable, there is a life response. What response would Jesus ask of His audience? And, of us?

Among Kenneth Bailey’s contributions is his structuring of the second half of this parable. He notes (191) that the scenes move from the Older Son drawing near the feast, to the reason for the feast (spoken by the servant), to the Father’s pleading, to the Older Son’s first complaint. Then, the second half unfolds in mirror image fashion—the second complaint, the continued pleading of the Father, the summary of the reason for the feast, and then …??? What would we expect? Why, we’d expect the Older Son to enter into the feast!

That would be the perfect fairy tale ending the form demands. It might go something like: the Older Son, upon experiencing his father’s grace, entered the house, reconciled with his brother, joined in the music and feasting, and so his father once again had two sons. 

But, our imagined epilogue doesn’t end that way. I’ll credit a missionary to Egypt named Mike Kuhn with another possible ending to the parable: And the Older Son, spurning his father’s grace, raised his staff and struck his father over the head. And, while the Young Son and the guests looked on, beat his father repeatedly until his father was dead. 

That’s how the parable ended in the life of Jesus. And, it was in killing Jesus that the Pharisees and other “older brothers” showed what they really thought of God’s grace.

But, there’s something else missing. How about the theme of seeking? In the The Lost Sheep and The Lost Coin the hero was the shepherd and the woman who assumed the burden of restoration, until the lost one was restored. Who was to do the seeking in The Lost Son? Could it not have been the Older Son?

Philippians 2.5-8 tells us that Jesus ” … did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

Jesus is the older brother that the younger brother in the parable never had. And, as such, He is our older brother. In leaving the Father’s house, He humbled Himself, united us back to the family through the cross and then dispersed the Father’s wealth.

If a parable requires a life response, what is it that the Father is asking us to do? How about imitate Christ in His humility? How about going in search of our lost brothers to invite them to the feast, through Jesus and the Gospel? How about being “prodigal” in grace?

In The Prodigal God Keller reminds us that “prodigal” means “reckless, extravagant, having spent everything”. Have we not misunderstood the word? And, in being glad that the Younger Son finally got it together and thinking that the Older Son needed to shape up, have we often misunderstood the parable?

The real hero of the parable is the Father who graciously, generously, prodigiously disperses His riches to all who would come to the feast.

And so, having come to know the heart of the Father, we must seek others with whom to share the Father’s joy. 

 

After spending some time with Luke 15.11-32, find some others with whom to discuss these questions:

How does this reading of the parable challenge the way you’ve always understood it? 

Where is God asking you to be “prodigal” in your understanding and display of grace? 

Who was it that came looking for you in a distant country before you knew Christ? 

Whom do you need to seek? 

 

 

Who’s with Jesus?

This summer at Woodland we’re considering the parables of Jesus. With each spiritual lesson couched in a story from common life, there were (and are) those who “get” (understand, recognize, respond to) Jesus. And, there were those who miss Him.

Parables are like jokes. There’s the set-up, the punch line, and the smack-down. The irony of the art form (and Jesus was the best of artists) consists in getting the hearer leaning one way, and then —BOOM!—taking him down.

In Luke 15, Jesus responds to a group of Pharisees who reacted to Jesus when he “ate with,” (or, hosted) sinners. Three parables result, two and one-half of which carry the same point.

In The Lost Sheep (:1-7) A seeking shepherd restores his flock. There’s tight structure here. The little prose poem begins and ends with a flock of 100. Likewise, there’s parallel ideas of a lost sheep and a repentant sinner. At the center of the construction there’s the joy of the shepherd: Rejoice with me!

Similarly, in The Lost Coin (:8-10) a woman searches for a lost coin. Once again, the rhyming of ideas (so typical of Eastern and Hebrew thought) produces an idea at the center: Rejoice with me!

Both short parables push Jesus’ pharisaical hearers. They’re asked to compare themselves first to an (assumedly) ceremonially unclean shepherd and then a (culturally, in the day) socially-subordinate woman. There’s a cluster of themes: lostness … repentance … restoration … completion … the burden of restoration shown in the seeking. Both parables are virtually identical—except that the coin is lost, not in the wilderness, but in “the house,” a potentially significant detail.

In both parables, we must ask, Who’s the hero? Certainly not those lost, or having no need of being found, but the one doing the seeking. Hang on to that idea …

At last we arrive at the parable of the two(?) lost sons, commonly known as The Prodigal Son (:11-24). The very well-known story unfolds in five scenes:

The death wish (:11-13). Here, the younger of the two sons asks for his cut of his inheritance. New Testament commentator, Kenneth Bailey, long-time resident of the Middle East and author of Poet & Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes (1983, Eerdmans), reports that in hundreds of interviews with Middle Eastern noblemen the overwhelming response to the question, “What would you do if your son were to make such a request?” was “I’d beat him!” The son wishes for nothing short of his father’s death. Notice, the older son, standing to benefit by up to two-thirds of the estate, merely sticks out his hand.

The downward spiral (:14-16). The son goes to a distant land and divests his father’s wealth. Tempted as we are to see the son’s sins as only moral, the main idea here is that he was simply a spend-thrift, seeking to win friends and influence people with his father’s estate. Rather than seeing him going off with a rock band and a Volkswagen bus, we ought to see him seeking to establish himself among sinners apart from his father. But, “when he had spent everything,” famine strikes. The son attaches himself to a well-to-do resident of the land, who (politely) attempts to get rid of him by giving him the undesirable task of feeding pigs—repulsive for a Jewish boy.

The transition: coming to self (:17-19). “When he came to himself …” (ESV), the son makes up a speech. He’ll move back to his village and work as an independent contractor. Maybe, he can live in town. He won’t have to face his older brother, and he can start paying his father back. The absence of the proper word for servant (doulos) is conspicuous. He’ll be a misthos (hired man). And, as such, he’ll be his “own man”. Important to the story is that repentance does not necessarily take place here. He’s not necessarily sorry, he’s hungry.

The grace of the Father (:17-19). We see the son approach the village and ought to imagine children throwing sticks and stones and mud. This one has squandered the estate among Gentiles. In a Palestinian ritual known as kashasha (so, Bailey), the son has been cut off from his people. But then, “while he was till far off,” his father bares his legs like a schoolboy, and runs!

The joy of the Father (:22-24). At their meeting, the son attempts his prepared speech, but is interrupted. Attempts to kiss the hands of his father are pre-empted by his father’s embrace, and the kiss of Shalom. ” … bring the fattened calf and kill it,” his father orders,”And let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to celebrate” (:24).

And here, so we contend—at their joyful meeting—repentance takes place! The son can’t be anything but a son. And, the father hosts the son and the whole village (Think of Jesus’ immediate context and his accusers.)

The parable, at this point, leaves us hanging. (There’s still a smack-down in store.) Amidst the thematic cluster of lostness, repentance, restoration, home and celebration, we have yet to answer the question, Who ought the hero to have been? Who should have done the seeking? 

Even so, there’s much to be harvested at this point. From the younger son, we learn: we may always come to God, but we must come to Him on His terms, not ours. And, if we would come, we will only be sons, not hired men. 

From the Father, we learn the lesson that stands at the center the trilogy of parables in Luke 15 (so far): God’s terms for reconciliation include grace that pre-empts our efforts to establish ourselves in His favor. 

Both lessons cut against our pre-conceived notion of our character and God’s. “We’re able to engineer our relationship with God” …  “We’re our own men” …  “We’ll come back when we’re ready,” we might think with the son. But, as we learn from the Father, God’s grace, know to us in Jesus and His cross-work, pre-empts our plans. God rejoices in the work of His first Son that brings about reconciliation with His other sons.

“But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ” (Eph 2.13, ESV) … Rejoice with me!

 

Circle up with a small group and ask and answer these questions from Luke 15: 

How do the three parables of Luke 15, when read together,  help you understand the main point of each? 

 

How is this reading of The Prodigal Son different from others you’ve heard? What do you see now that you’ve missed in the past? 

 

How are you yet like the younger son? 

 

What about the response of the Father in the parable surprises you the most? 

 

What’s missing now? Where do you think Jesus is going with the second half of the third parable? 

 

Some years ago I was warming the bench in a church basketball league. (This should indicate something of my skill.) After watching one of our better players shoot and miss, shoot and miss, shoot and miss, my teammate next to me finally said, “You know he’s a shooter, because he’s shameless.”

Serving one another in the church is like that. It’s what we do, despite failure, difficulty and confusion. It’s a mark of healthy, local church partnership. We just keep going after it.

But, apart from Christ, it’s not natural, and it’s not what we do!

In John 13 Jesus shares a Passover-like meal with his disciples, the night before His death. This is the meal (also recorded in Mark 14 and Luke 22) where Jesus institutes the Lord’s Table. Jesus is the Passover lamb, and so will not share the usual feast with His disciples. Instead, He’s bringing the old order to a close. In John 13, Jesus shows His disciples His love, the way to remain in fellowship with Him during His absence, and how we’re all to serve one another until He returns.

Jesus … laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet … (:3-5).

We must be washed by Jesus (:1-11). This is the requirement for knowing Him and serving one another in His absence.

Especially here, there’s always a snake in the grass. Jesus’ shameless service takes place in the face of an enemy. Since the garden when Satan entered into the snake to deceive our first parents, Jesus’ enemy has always opposed the work of redemption. Now, Satan has poisoned the mind of Judas (:3) and will eventually enter him, as he did the serpent (:27). Jesus will send Judas from the room, this before teaching His true followers (chapters 14-17). But first, Jesus washes Judas along with the others.

Jesus’ washing is also necessary. In the culture of the day there ought to have been a servant to wash the guests’ feet. Perhaps the disciples had missed this detail while they were organizing the meal and shouldering their way up to the head of the table (Luke 22.24-30). It had to be awkward. Who is the least who will do the job? Finally, the host becomes the servant, as He’d always made Himself. But Jesus also radicalizes this washing. If I do not wash you, you have no share with me (:9). Jesus is talking about regeneration, the new birth by faith (chapter 3). It’s true of Peter and the others, but not of Judas (:11). This one-time washing will be necessary to know Jesus after His departure. Likewise, those who have been cleaned by Jesus will need to make confession of their sins to maintain fellowship with Jesus (:10; 1 John 1:7-8).

Finally, Jesus’ washing is simply shameless. John makes a point of noting that Jesus … laid aside his outer garments (:4). Jesus’ cloak might have been impressive, woven of one cloth, as we know from the cross scene. Luke 8 also informs us that Jesus had wealthy patrons. Then, He was a rabbi and might have worn the tassels befitting His office. All this went to the ground, replaced by a towel. Christ served shamelessly.

In response, we His disciples must wash each other (:12-17). If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.

As in Jesus’ washing of us, our service to one another will be shameless, necessary, and in the face of an enemy. Often, the enemy presents himself in the same kind of confusion we see in the Upper Room. We don’t know what to say … it’s awkward … we hope against hope that somebody else will take up the towel … it’s messy … we’re clearly not gifted for that sort of thing. Once more, there’s a snake in the grass.

And yet, serving one another shamelessly is to be our mode of operation till Jesus returns. So, we send the text when we’d rather stay unentangled. We pick up the prepared chicken from Sam’s and turn up on our friend’s doorstep to say, “I’m so sorry for your pain. I love you, and here’s something to keep you going a bit.”

We take up the towel, because it’s what we do, despite failure, difficulty and confusion. We keep going at it. We serve … shamelessly.

 

Circle up with someone you’re accountable to and think through the following questions:

What are the enemies to shameless Christian service with which you’re most familiar? 

 

What would be a contemporary equivalent to foot washing? 

 

Why might it be significant that Jesus washed Judas’ feet? 

 

What are the benefits to be “being washed by Jesus” and to “washing one another’s feet”?

 

 

Is there anybody who’s “feet” you need to wash? 

 

Who comes to mind when you think of a great leader? Could it be a uniter, like Abraham Lincoln? A model of compassion, like Mother Teresa? Or, a motivator and teacher, like our own (here in Wisconsin!) Vince Lombardi?

The Apostle Peter’s letter 1 Peter is about experiencing God’s grace in the midst of suffering. Prominent themes include rejoicing, But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed (4.13); judgment, For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God (4.17); and, humility, Therefore let those who suffer according to God’s will entrust their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good (4.19). The letter, likely written in 63/64 AD and to churches founded by associates of the Apostle Paul in northern Asia Minor (Turkey today), was penned by Peter amidst Nero’s persecution. Nero’s purge of the early Christians had, very probably, taken Paul’s life. Who will lead the churches now? Peter wrote to address the consternation and fear of these churches.

In this critical juncture, Peter talks about leading and following. He exhorts elders first, then followers, as “a fellow elder,” as a “witness of the sufferings of Christ” and as a “partaker in the glory that is going to be revealed” (5.1). How strange. He might have mentioned that he had observed Jesus in His glory at the transfiguration. Or, he could have brought up the bit about his being given the “keys to the kingdom” (Matt 16.19) that indicated leadership in the early church. Instead, Peter speaks language of co-leadership with the rising generation of Christ-followers, and the language of witnessing Jesus in His humiliation, and the language of future glory.

And what about Peter’s witness to Christ’s sufferings? Was Peter a good witness? Hardly … He denied Christ three times and ran away, remember? Oh, but then Peter was restored. “Tend my sheep” (John 21, three times). It’s this picture of the humbled, restored, refined-by-suffering, and zealous for future grace servant that becomes Peter’s picture of the ideal church leader.

Peter’s instruction to appointed leaders being refined by trouble is to pastor God’s people (:1-4). These elders are to be those who lead the church through this time of humiliation between Christ’s two comings. They’re to serve “freely,” not as those who have gotten their arms twisted, so that they serve grudgingly. They’re to serve “eagerly,” not as those looking out for their own interests. And, they’re to model Christ, not domineering over those in their charge. Those who serve well receive the “unfading crown of glory” (5.4) at the appearing of the chief Shepherd, Jesus Himself.

Such an appeal cuts against much “wisdom” of our day. Often, we default to what we know best. As churches grow, we tend to replicate the corporate character many of us know from the work week: pastor as CEO, elders as a board of directors, associates as middle-managing project managers, membership as shareholders, unbelieving community members as customers. Such a business model is not in keeping with Peter’s exhortation. Instead, elders are pastors who shepherd the church through humility now, but toward the future glory of the Great Shepherd. Our profit and bottom-line are different. We’re to speak and think the currency of humility.

What about followers? Peter’s instruction to those following appointed leaders being refined by trouble is to follow with humility (:5a). Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. 

Why would those “younger” need a special word? Children can learn, through discipline, that they’re to respect and obey their mothers. And, cheeky disrespect from children should be met, probably, by a strong response from their fathers. This is because their fathers see a different side of things. Their fathers know, among other things, just how hard the child’s mother is working. The fathers appreciate—better than the child will ever imagine, until he is a parent himself—all the unique tensions of parenting through which his wife, the child’s mother, must navigate.

So it is in the church. Peter found occasion to address younger people, because they often don’t appreciate the tensions of leading people in the unique community that will be each church. Problems must be “pastored” through. While a board room (or the Oval Office today) might be a place to say, “You’re fired!”, this won’t be how the local church is run. Decisions will be made, but often “success” will be found only by coming out united on the other side. Progress like this will be made slowly, and with humility.

Peter ends his exhortations with a general word. Cloth yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (5.5). Peter’s instruction to everyone is to humble themselves before God till Christ lifts them up. Followers are not told when they will be lifted up. In this life? Maybe. In the life to come? Certainly. Important is that such a “lifting up” will come about through imitation of humbled, refined-by-suffering leaders who themselves have learned to imitate Christ.

So, who is your picture of a great leader now?

 

Find someone you can talk to about leading and following from 1 Peter 5.1-7. Discuss the following questions.

What character qualities does Peter state are most important in a church leader? 

Why should church leaders receive special honor? (1 Tim 5.17-19 and Heb 13.7 also address this question.)

What are some ways that you can protect the reputation of those in leadership in your church? 

How is the local church unlike a a business or any other kind of organization? 

 

 

 

 

 

The whole idea of membership is in trouble. For one thing, we aren’t “joiners” like we used to be in the days of our grandparents. Compare our grandparents with the Millennial generation—who soon will be just about everybody—and the younger group comes off looking just about post-institutional.

Then, we have the added burden of competing with lots of negative images. Ask around to find out what people really think about local church membership and you’ll likely get descriptions of an inner ring of especially holy people … an exclusive club with privileges … a business with a bottom line, competing for limited resources … or, a group of people who gather to take care of the business operations of the church. Hardly anything to aspire to.

What is local church membership, anyway? 

The biblical doctrine of church membership is an especially interesting one, in that we don’t have a passage or verse that says, “This is what membership is, and here’s how to do it in the 21st century.” It is, rather, like the doctrine of the Trinity—not found in chapter and verse, but found through the Scriptures in numerous pictures of God interacting as a unity and in His “Three-ness”. Take away this doctrine, and the whole system comes apart.

So it is with the Bible’s teaching on church membership. It comes to us in pictures of groups of God’s people in particular places committing to meet together under the Lordship of Christ. In Acts 2, we see local church life—teaching, fellowshipping, breaking bread and praying. In Philippians 3, there’s the picture of heavenly citizenship: “… our citizenship is in heaven, and we await a Savior from there.” First Timothy 5 gives us a picture of family: Treat “… older women as mothers, younger women as sisters, in all purity”. First Peter 5 describes the roll of appointed pastor-elders who lead particular groups of people. Matthew 18 describes the work of the local church in disciplining—excluding from membership a professing brother who doesn’t properly represent Jesus: “… whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven”.

My recent favorite, among these pictures, is Hebrews 10.19-25. We often hear this passage preached to embolden us to come to God shamelessly and with confidence, as individuals. Less often, we hear it preached to describe what local church life should look like.

Hebrews 10.19-25 describes two things that are true: We have confidence to go to God (:19-20), and we have someone to take us to God (:21). All of this is set against the Day of Atonement we read about in Leviticus 16. The priest of the Old Testament would make himself ready for God’s presence through washings and sacrifices. He’d carry the blood of sacrifices through the curtain separating God from everyone else. And, he’d enter God’s presence with fear and trembling, lest his sacrifice be found wanting.

Ah, but here’s the good news! We go to God through the very body and blood of Jesus. And, He’s perfect! And, while the priest would tremble to enter God’s house, we’re ushered into God’s house by the Son Himself, who transforms us (to mix the image) into the very house of God: “… Christ is faithful over God’s house as a son. And we are his house if indeed we hold fast our confidence and our boasting in our hope” (3.6, ESV).

In light of this confidence, we have some things we need to do with other believers in our local fellowships. Notice how, in verses 22-25, the commands grow more specific, more relational, more corporate, and more local. These are local church responses describing what membership looks like.

We’re to draw near to God (:22). We do this in full assurance of faith, consciences cleaned, bodies set aside for God’s purposes. The image here is, likely, that of baptism. It reminds us that our churches should be places where we come without shame. Whatever pathway God has taken to bring us to Himself, we’re clean. “Past is prologue,” as Shakespeare wrote. The church is not a place for shaming. Draw near to God …

We hang on to the Gospel (:23). The local church is the place where we preach the Gospel to each other. It’s not the place where we perfect ourselves, but the place where we hang on to Jesus. And, not only is the Gospel powerful, but it includes all of life. Marriage in trouble? Struggle raising kids? Tempted to sin? Run toward the church where the Gospel is preached. Hang on to the Gospel …

We’re to motivate each other (:24). “Stir one another up” (ESV). We get our word “paroxysm” from the word behind this expression. Think: hydrogen peroxide, bubbling away. We’re to have a godly agenda for each other. Motivate each other …

We’re to meet regularly (:25), ” … not neglecting to meet together as some are in the habit of doing.” While the original readership was having trouble breaking from the synagogue, our modern equivalent is the family who can’t decide on Saturday night whether they’ll come to God with others the next morning. Healthy church partners make the gathering of God’s people a commitment. Meet regularly …

And, we’re to encourage each other till Christ comes (:25). The word “encourage” will be variously translated as urge, exhort, implore, summon, or comfort. Push each other toward the prize, till Christ returns. The local church is the home field of the Christian life. It’s where we remind each other of our victory through Christ and come to God … together.

Healthy church members commit to come to God with others in the local church.  

 

Find someone to talk to and work through the following questions of local church membership.

What is your picture of church membership? Negative? … Positive? … Necessary? Necessary, but for what? 

If the thought of joining a local church is negative for you, what objections do you have? 

Have you ever thought of Hebrews 10.19-25 as describing the life that we have in Christ together? How does this passage help you think about church membership? 

Have you ever heard a sermon on the need to join a church in membership? How has considering this passage in Hebrews changed your thoughts about what joining a church might look like for you? 

 

 

 

This week at Woodland we return to our study of healthy church partners (members, that is). Since the last two weeks were all about making much of Jesus as we celebrated our participation in His death, burial and resurrection, this Sunday’s mark of the healthy church member is an appropriate follow-up to Easter.

We’ve been experiencing storms in the Northwoods. With each gusty mix of wind and rain I’ve lost another half-dozen spruce trees. In our old life, that would have been tragic. Now, we have hundred, maybe thousands, to spare. So, no real damage. An unearthed tree is a thing of wonder. There’s the trunk and branches we’ve always seen. But then, there’s the sub-terrainian tangle of roots and earthen matter formerly concealed. That  much of the tree has always been below the surface is a great discovery after a storm.

This week we’re thinking about baptism and the church partner: the healthy church partner makes the invisible work of God visible through baptism. In our understanding at Woodland, baptism functions, along with the Lord’s Table, as an ordinance. Together, they make visible the invisible work of God in the one who has trusted Jesus by faith. The spirit of the thing is that, soon after trusting Christ, the new believer makes a living picture of the Gospel through baptism, then reaffirms her participation with Christ at the Table throughout her life. It’s like a wedding that signifies the beginning of a marriage, but then an anniversary that reaffirms the ongoing permanence of the marriage as long as the marriage covenant lasts. Both ordinances serve to reveal the work of God that—like unseen roots connecting a great tree to the earth—connect the believer to God, through participation with Christ.

No passages makes this more clear than Romans 6.1-11. While the passage comes on the heals of Paul’s manifesto of justification by faith (3.21-5.21) and serves to demonstrate how the mastery of Christ leaves the believer forever changed in his self-estimation, it’s Paul’s picture of water baptism (verses 3-4) that illustrates all God has done in Christ.

Through faith (pictured by baptism) we participate in Christ’s death (verse 3). Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? There’s grammatical subtleties in these verses. Prepositions in the accusative case indicate movement: “into Christ” … “into his death”. Such movement indicates that, through faith, we’ve moved into the reign, the realm, the sphere where Christ is our representative. Then, there’s the “suv” prefixes attached to many of the verbs, which even a casual glance at the passage in the Greek New Testament makes obvious. The preposition means, simply, “with,” but, attached to each of the verbs, broadcasts our (with)burial, (with)uniting, (with) crucifixion and (with) living with Christ. All this brought about by faith.

While the thought of our participation in Christ’s death, burial and resurrection thousands of years before our birth might cause us to tilt our heads a bit in puzzlement, we’re not completely unfamiliar with the idea representation. We send representatives to our nations capitol to serve us in government. And, while we might find ourselves in the minority in voting and at odds with the final decisions of our lawmakers, it’s beyond dispute that we’re vicariously present in the halls of congress.

So it was at the cross. Credo-baptism (that is, “believers’ baptism”) serves especially to make a visible picture of our representation by Christ. We’re lowered into the water as Christ was lowered into the stormy waters of God’s wrath. (Think: Genesis 6-7, or Peter’s picture of Noah above the waters of wrath, 1 Peter 3.21). Ah, but here is the good news! Instead, of tasting God’s wrath, we don’t remain in God’s judgment …

Through faith we participate in Christ’ resurrection (:4). We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. Here again, in rising from the waters, baptism pictures our forgiveness for sins, in Christ (Col 2.11-13). And, as we rise, the cleansing, renewing work of the Spirit likewise is made visible (Titus 3.5).

The remainder of our passage serves to show that through faith we participate in Christ’s life (:5-11). We don’t have to sin anymore (:6). Just as a person who has died is finished doing things in the body that now lies in the casket, so we are done doing things in that old person who has died with Christ. Baptism, then, pictures the destruction of sin in the life of the believer. Likewise, we don’t have to go down to death anymore. The death Jesus died, he died once for all (1 Pet 3.18). Now, our inner-persons rest eternally with Christ.

All of this results in a new self-estimate (:11). Following Christ, not sin, is our new way of life, pictured in baptism.

A few implications follow form the powerful, multi-faceted picture of baptism. First, Baptism is really about Christ’s work, not us. And, while we might take joy in a new believer’s “decision” for Christ, that faith response is in response to something Jesus has done. It’s easy to see why the church, since ancient times, has celebrated its baptisms on Easter Sunday, together with its observance of the Lord’s work.

Second, the symbolism of water baptism reminds us that we don’t live the Christian life apart from Jesus. Jesus himself was baptized in preparation for his identification with us. It was at this identification with sinners that the three Persons of the Godhead met to rejoice. The Spirit descended as a dove and the Father applauded the Son: This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased (Matt 3.17; Mk 1.11).

The healthy church partner, then, makes the invisible work of God visible by taking baptism seriously. 

Find a friend and answer a few questions about this mark of the healthy church partner:

How has our brief look at Romans 6.1-11 (verses 3-4 especially) changed your thinking about the significant of baptism? 

What questions do you have, perhaps coming form your own religious upbringing or family background, about baptism? 

Why is it important to remember that baptism is a picture of God’s work and not the means of salvation itself? 

What thoughts do you have about the way we should speak to our children about baptism?