Real Peace. Real People.

Luke 7:36–50 When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. 37 A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. 38 As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. 39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.” 40 Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.” “Tell me, teacher,” he said. 41 “Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?” 43 Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.” “You have judged correctly,” Jesus said. 44 Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45 You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. 46 You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. 47 Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.” 48 Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” 49 The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” 50 Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

There’s just something about other people’s feet that makes us all a bit squeamish. Hands we’ll shake. But feet? Well – dealing with other people’s feet is really something altogether different. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that feels this way. In fact, the most memorable nickname of 2015 in Aiken County developed because of a guy who had totally inappropriate interactions with other people’s feet. Even news outlets in the area like WRDW and the Aiken Standard adopted the nickname filling their headlines with lines like this one: Convicted Toe Sucker Shares His Story. Talk about getting the heeby jeebies from a news headline. There’s just something about other people’s feet that makes everybody a bit squeamish.

And if you think this scene here in Luke’s Gospel is meant to feel entirely different, then Luke has you in for something. There are four full and opening verses here of just plain awkward. Or, really, it’s something more than awkward. I mean it’s one thing to picture this guy with a weird foot fetish in a Walmart. It’s another to show up at what we’d probably think of as a nice sit-down meal and have some lady show up and start mauling Jesus’ feet. And this wasn’t just some normal lady either. She was categorically sinful. And I do believe that that is the right term for her. We’re not sure if it was prostitution or swindling or what, but she was categorically sinful. In fact, it seems better to think of her not as someone who was guilty of one certain and regular sin, but really someone who was more like the anti-renaissance woman. In other words, she was bad and sinful at just about everything she did. That’s how Luke deals with her. He summarizes her entire life as, “a woman… who lived a sinful life.” (v. 37).

And in a way that shows up here in what she does. Because culturally this was very bad and incredibly inappropriate. She shows up to a dinner she certainly wasn’t invited to with an alabaster jar of perfume – a nice and relatively expensive jar. It was the kind of jar where you’d have to break the neck of it to get out the contents. And then she approaches Jesus from the rear and turns into the worst kind of hot mess you’d ever see in your life. It was bad. She was weeping like nobody’s business and raining her embarrassing tears right down onto his feet. It was seemingly over done, get-a-grip-on-yourself kind of behavior – and this was at what was supposed to be a nice meal! And then as if that weren’t bad enough, she made it even more awkward because, “She wiped them (Jesus’ feet) with her hair.” (v. 38) Which, you know, is awkward to picture even for people in our culture who aren’t quite as obsessed with what women do with their hair, but back then? No joke men back then would divorce their wives for that kind of flagrant behavior. In that time, a woman letting her hair down in front of a man suggested something a bit more than flirtation. I’m not saying that that’s what this woman was at all trying to communicate. She clearly wasn’t. What I am trying to point out is how emotionally toasted she was. She wasn’t thinking clearly at all. All she could see was the mess she had made of Jesus’ feet with her tears and she realized the only available towel was her hair.

So it’s no wonder that Simon, the dinner host, was reacting in his head to this over-done and totally inappropriate scene saying to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is – that she is a sinner.” (v. 39) There was just no doubt that this categorically sinful woman was emotionally unravelling right before his eyes. There was just no doubt that it was awkward, and weird, and culturally inappropriate. There was just no doubt that if this woman had been in a more rational state that she would have said to herself, “You know? There’s probably a better time and place to express myself to Jesus.” But that’s just it. For her, this wasn’t about reason or following cultural mores or consulting with Ms. Manners to discover the best way to say thank you to Jesus. This woman rushed to Jesus and poured out everything she had to him in desperate thanksgiving. And, yes, she did pour out everything to Jesus. She poured out her tears, her best perfume, even her hair (which if she had stopped to think for a second she would’ve found to be far too suggestive). Truthfully, she would’ve poured out her very soul onto Jesus’ feet if she could’ve.

And you know what Jesus did about this? I’ll tell you what he didn’t do. He didn’t go after her. He didn’t say, “Ahem. Why don’t you real quick get a grip and come back? We can talk later.” He didn’t quietly whisper, “Thank you so much, but you’re really making a scene. It’s time for dinner.” You know what he did? He went after Simon, the dinner host. So much for being mannerly and polite to your dinner host, right? You can even tell how taken aback Simon is by this. Jesus tells this completely obvious story about two people who were both forgiven huge debts – one ten times as much as the other. And then he asks Simon to render a judgment on which one would have loved the forgiving lender more. And Simon starts out totally unpersuaded, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.” (v. 43) And then Jesus does the unthinkable. You know what he does? He takes all of the sinful woman’s behavior and turns it against Simon. “You didn’t give me any water for my feet. She used her tears to wash them and wipe them with her hair. You didn’t kiss me. This woman hasn’t stopped kissing my feet. You didn’t anoint my head (much easier and sanitary thing to do). She poured perform on my feet.”

Do you see what Jesus did? Jesus took the categorically sinful woman’s awkward and culturally inappropriate behavior and used it to say, “Simon, you’re even worse than her.” That’s what Jesus did. He used this overwhelmed, hot mess of a woman’s behavior, to say to Simon, “Do you see how much true spirituality and thankfulness and love you’re missing?” And then he even diagnosed for him exactly why those things were so profoundly missing in him, “Therefore, I tell you her many sins have been forgiven – as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.” (v. 47) In other words, there is an inverse relationship between love of Jesus and love of self: The more you like yourself, the less you like Jesus AND the less you like yourself, the more you like Jesus. And why? The more categorically sinful you think you are the more you believe Jesus has done for you. And in the case of the categorically sinful woman she came to understand that Jesus had entered all the various categories of her life and made them all clean. And the hot mess that showed up to that nice dinner was the result. She loved him a lot because he had already forgiven her a lot.

You know what I think is the most stunning part of this story? It’s who Jesus thought his real work was. It’s who Jesus thought needed his attention the most. It wasn’t the woman who was deemed by herself and everybody else as categorically sinful. It was the guy who had no idea how sinful he was. In fact, Jesus makes no bones about the fact that the greatest irony of this whole situation was that this well-known sinner of a woman here outshines Simon. Here was this woman who in perhaps many categories of her life had displayed horrible behavior, but now in this moment when it counted the most – God was there at dinner – she finally got it right. And all the while Simon sits there like an emotional bump on a log failing to comprehend anything that’s really happening in the moment. There’s nothing worse than that. No spiritually worse condition than staring at Jesus like a cow might at a new gate. Nothing worse. Nothing poorer. Nothing more lost than a person who has no idea he’s lost. And so Jesus puts in his effort where his efforts are needed. “Simon, do you see how bad off you are? Do you get it? You’re a bigger sinner than this town’s biggest sinner. She’s better than you.”

She’s better than us too. I’m not sure any of us got up this morning with her kind of desperate thankfulness. I’m not sure we each grabbed the most readily available expensive gifts to empty them out before him. I’m not sure we each drove here spiritually overwhelmed like the hot messes we all are pouring out our tears, and even our souls at his feet if only we could. And Jesus knew that. You know which line in this story was for us today? The line that wasn’t spoken to that sinful woman or was meant only for Simon? This one: "Whoever has been forgiven little loves little.” (v. 47) That’s what Jesus wants all of us thinking about. Jesus didn’t name Simon there. He said, “whoever.” He made a universal statement that’s for us all. Because we’re all afflicted with an inner Simon: we don’t clearly see how much forgiveness we need. We don’t. That’s exactly what’s happening when we get kinda smug and prideful and judgmental and we privately think, “Look at that mom. I’m better. Look at that spiritual wreck of a guy. I would never.” And make no mistake that’s what’s happening when we show up for church not exactly convinced that heaven and earth are going to have to be moved for me to be saved today. Maybe just a couple personal transitions would do the job. And that’s exactly what’s happening when we fail to realize that the worst part of our categorically sinful condition is our blindness to it.

You know what I want you to know though? Such is the grace of Jesus – such is his unfathomable grace – that here he deals with Simon. In fact, you know that whole idea that people pitch about Jesus – the one where they say that if Jesus was here today he would always be hanging out with prostitutes and sitting at bars that whole idea? – that idea can be overdone and pushed too far. Because, again, did you notice who Jesus cares about here? The sinful woman, yes. But he actually shows up for a nice dinner at Simon’s house – not hers. And Jesus aims most of his saving teaching at Simon – not her. Because that’s who Jesus always aims at: the biggest sinners. And sometimes the people who most need saving are the ones who don’t think they do. So here he works on Simon. And he teaches him. And he loves him. Just as he loves you. Notice what Jesus didn’t say to us. He didn’t say, “Whoever loves little is not forgiven at all.” And why not? Because Jesus’ forgiveness of us is not dependent one iota on our perfect and overwhelming response to it. Jesus’ forgiveness of us is purely dependent on his life, on his cross, and on his resurrection. And so even people like us who grapple with our inner Simon’s are forgiven and are loved and are taught.

In fact, I’ve said this before at Peace, but actually that’s the whole Christian journey. It’s a journey of little by little evicting our inner Simon’s. The deeper we get into a relationship with Jesus, the better we grasp how categorically sinful we are. We begin to see it’s not just our occasional potty mouth or our wrong sexual impulses that we feel, it’s worse. We find out our parenting wasn’t what we hoped it would be, our generosity not always so pure. And then there’s our spiritual pride, our seemingly daily little attempts at independence from him, and all those moments when we care way too much about what people think of us and way too little of what he thinks of us. It’s coming to see that in ourselves and as we do falling at his feet pouring out everything to him and knowing that before we ever did we were already forgiven in him. That’s what I love about the gospel. It’s always forgiving in new ways to each of us. Each new category of personal sin that opens up to us is another opportunity to see Jesus more clearly. “Oh, we say, I never knew Jesus had to forgive that about me too.”

And that’s how it works. Day by day and week by week and year by year our hearts are opened to him and we stare at his cross a little less mystified at what he carried there and ever more mystified that he carried it. And so our love for him grows and grows and grows and grows. It’s new every day. And in that process our inner Simon gets more and more evicted and a new tenant moves in – one called desperate thankfulness. That condition where you don’t mind touching another person’s feet as long as they’re Jesus’ feet. That condition where you find yourself sometimes crying those deep and strangely wonderful alligator tears of repentance and faith. That condition where your heart spontaneously pours out prayers and your voice sings songs of praise. That condition and that place where you pour out your best and your most expensive gifts to Jesus – even your soul if you could. And why? You’re just so desperately thankful to this Jesus. This Jesus who says to you and other people just like you, “Your sins are forgiven; go in peace.” Amen. 

Luke 7:11–17 Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. 12 As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. 13 When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.” 14 Then he went up and touched the bier they were carrying him on, and the bearers stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” 15 The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother. 16 They were all filled with awe and praised God. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.” 17 This news about Jesus spread throughout Judea and the surrounding country.

Somewhere someone in the world is staring at a corpse. And it’s not because they’re at a visitation or in attendance at a funeral either. It’s not even because they’re in a war. Somewhere someone is staring at a corpse because Buddha told them to. He taught something that some now call corpse meditation. And Buddha’s modern disciples actually do it. As they stare, they say to themselves over and over and over again, “This body, too, such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable fate.” I wouldn’t have known that except that probably like many of you I have an app that curates the most popular current new articles and opinion pieces in the U.S. And interestingly one week ago one of those articles that got curated for me was one that started out with this intentionally sensationalistic line, “Want a better 2016? Try thinking about your impending demise.” In other words, be more engaged in your own life this year. Do it by staring at a corpse and telling yourself, “This is your future.”

It’s drastic advice. For a drastic problem. Apparently Buddha had the same problem out east that we have here out west. In certain ways we check out of real living before we’re supposed to. Back in 2004, a team of scholars that included a Nobel Prize winner surveyed a group of people on their satisfaction levels from different activities. The highest levels of satisfaction always happened - not surprisingly to us - during times of prayer and worship. Here’s where the problem comes in. The average respondent spent five times as long watching TV as engaging in those activities. Statistics say that we’ve actually gotten much worse since then. In America today we spend 20 times longer on TV than on religious and spiritual activities. In other words, we’re getting worse at engaging in our own lives and better at escaping them through movies, scrolling through websites, and playing iPhone games. Buddha’s solution to our sins of wasting our lives here? “Get it through your thick skull that you don’t have time to piddle away your lives! Sit in front of a corpse and say, ‘This body, too, such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable fate.’ Drastic advice. For a drastic problem.

But he’s not as drastic as Luke. Look at how many people Luke has staring at a corpse. All of us. You can’t mistake that part. He did write this for all of us to read. Not only that, but he also goes out of his way to tell us how many people were actually there. Apparently, it wasn’t just the mourners although there were a whole bunch of them. He says, “A large crowd was with her.” (v. 12) Understandably so. I’ll never forget what it was like to do a funeral for a young man in a small town. People lined up around the block for the visitation. It was an all day event. And this one was probably bigger. He was the only son of his mother and she was a widow. Think of it. If there was ever a funeral to go to, it was this one. You can be the most uncaring, curmudgeon on the face of the earth and this one would still pull at your heart strings. And if it didn’t, then at the very least the social pressure and the fear of being ostracized would get you out to pay your respects. “Did you hear that Grumpy Nathan stayed home even from this one?” Not likely to happen. I’ll bet everybody went to this one. Not only that, but Jesus had his own entourage that he was hauling into Nain. And, no, I’m not talking only about the disciples. Luke says they were along too, but I’m not just talking about them. Luke says tagging along with Jesus were not only the disciples, but also a “large crowd,” (v. 11) too.

And this wasn’t just some nameless, faceless corpse that Luke has us thinking about. He’s far more drastic. Luke very tenderly tells us that this dead man had a very specific and very tragic obituary. He was, “the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” (v. 12) I think it goes without saying that this was about the most jarring staring at a corpse that one could possibly do. And I know you know that I’m not talking about this bereaved woman’s economic prospects or the lack thereof when I say that. It’s true that there wasn’t SSI, food stamps or job opportunities for her. And, yes, that was a looming problem for her, but I highly doubt that we’ve got a woman on our hands who’s worried a whole lot about how her entire social safety net had frayed under her. We’ve got a woman on our hands who is probably just trying to walk straight or walk at all following that funeral procession. We’ve got a woman on our hands here who would’ve given the world to have the strong arms and the warm heart of her husband to protect her and for a moment make her feel safe again. But you know what she had instead? She only had a hole in her heart from where he had once been. Can’t you just see this? Here’s a woman who despite the fact that her whole community surrounded her probably felt totally alone. Here’s a woman who though she was definitely walking in that funeral procession probably couldn’t feel her own body movement as it happened. She felt like someone had shot her whole body up with Novocain. She was just plain numb.

That’s the problem with the practice of corpse meditation. It actually doesn’t get you back to life. It sucks the life right out of you even as you’re living. Even as I think of this now, it doesn’t exactly send me send me running to my wife and daughter to hold on to them for dear life. It feels a whole lot more like the ultimate Hoover vacuum that sucks me dry of zest for life and leaves me saying, “What’s the point? I’ll just hurt more when I lose them or they lose me.” Corpse meditation is like that. It leaves you empty, shut down, and collapsing in on yourself. This woman is the highest and most premiere example of that but not the only example of that. Think of the shell of yourself that you can be at work. You walk around afraid and withdrawn wondering when the next knife is gonna get stuck in your back. Or think of how you can slowly die inside as you watch injustice play out in a country that is supposed to be home to the free and the brave; how it fills you with a deep anger when another baby parts’ video surfaces or racisms rears is ugly head once again. Or think of how life can feel just oh so completely empty; how it can lack thrill, adventure, and transcendence; how it makes you feel a bit stuck and definitely a bit lonely. We need to understand ourselves. When we check out of this life – and we can do that in a lot of different ways. We can watch too much TV, scroll through the wrong websites or through too much social media, work too much, sleep in too late, or drink too much –  all we’re really doing is acting out our thinly veiled despair. We’re trying to escape and when we can’t do that we at least try to numb ourselves to it as much as possible.

And nobody’s more numb than this mother. I mean honestly there’s something about a grieving mother that transcends culture, time and place for us all. There’s something about it that places us right into this history; that lets us feel the weight of this moment as all our eyes lock on this bier that carried this mother’s son’s corpse; that helps us get how this mother must’ve looked out through her blurry, tear-filled eyes and saw Jesus. And then heard his voice break into her nightmare saying, “Don’t cry.” (v. 13) And even though her eyesight was distorted by her tears she could see well enough to know one thing. He meant it. He really meant it. She could see how there was an anguish etched into his face that inexplicably seemed to even eclipse her own - almost like he felt this more deeply than she did herself. She could tell that Jesus felt a compassion that Luke describes here as so profound and so intense that he never felt it again in Luke’s entire gospel. The compassion felt to Jesus like his entire emotional center was getting poured out onto the ground. And yet she saw that as Jesus shouldered the full weight of her loss, he didn’t stoop under its weight. And he didn’t droop with despair. In fact, She could see that as his feeling deepened Jesus seemed to rise up with so much strength and power that Luke here gives Jesus the very rare and very special title, “the Lord,” (v. 13). And so the Lord said to her, “Don’t cry.” And as he did his powerful gentleness inspired trust and even began to fight off her own despair so that even in the face of her seemingly irreparable loss she felt free to obey his command.

And so did everybody there. Everybody. The pall bearers came to a screeching halt as the Lord came up and touched the death that had entered all their lives. And then they heard him say, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” (v. 14) And then look at how Luke records the history of the result. He should get the Pulitzer Prize for reporting. It’s a gorgeous capturing of the moment. He said, “The dead man sat up and began to talk.” (v. 15) Not the young man sat up. Not the widow’s son began to talk. Luke uses the most stunning language of all. The dead man sat up. And immediately the dead man’s a chatty cathy. He’s going yackity, yackity, yack. By the way, I’m pretty sure that that’s not Luke making a funny or snide comment about the young man’s personality. Honestly, when I called him a chatty cathy I wasn’t actually making the point that he’s a talkative, enthusiastic personality. He may have been. He may not have been. That’s besides Luke’s point here. Luke’s point is that this really wasn’t a resurrection by degrees. This wasn’t a resurrection that left the young man still warming up his motor on a cold winter day or worse yet left him trying to overcome brain damage or something. Luke the doctor is simply pointing out that from a medical doctor perspective Jesus had this dead man up and running both perfectly and instantaneously.

And then comes the best part of all - the most hopeful part. Really. I love this scene with all my heart and soul. Somebody needs to paint this as the scene of all our futures. This scene is the guaranteed hope we have in Jesus’ work as our Messiah. It is everything Jesus intends for our future lives. You have to see this with me. Jesus doesn’t just intend to awaken us someday with a resurrection. He intends that for sure, but not just that. He doesn’t intend to awaken us to ourselves. He doesn’t aim for us to live forever alone. “Jesus gave him back to his mother.” (v. 15) Can you imagine that scene? Mothers here. Can you only imagine? And, in fact, I think this scene was the whole point. Not the resurrection, but really its results is what Jesus was after. Bodily life together. The joy of that. The lasting nature of that. The harmony and healing of that. Do you see that? That’s why Jesus approached the grieving woman before he approached the bier. It’s also why after the resurrection Jesus still wasn’t done. He was only done after he put that young man back into the arms of his mother. Isn’t that true? And doesn’t that matter so much more than you can probably admit in this moment?

Because I’ll tell you something. You know what I think is one of the more comforting aspects of how Luke writes this? That the characters aren’t named. In other resurrection accounts, they are. Not here though. And not because these aren’t real people or this wasn’t a real event. They most certainly are and this most certainly was. It’s just that personal knowledge of who they were is so secondary to what this history is supposed to mean for us. It means we’ve got our Messiah. It’s not just a first century young man named Joe and a grieving mother named Sally who’ve got their guy. We’ve got our guy. We have the person now came to enter every human story, see the corpses, and give them life. Not just metaphorically either. Actually. Jesus is the Lord that promises people not just a new lease on life, but a new life altogether – a resurrected one that goes on and on and on and on. He’s the one. And Luke gives us the ultimate reason to stop checking out of this life. The promise of future resurrection helps us engage in life now. That’s Luke’s big point. You know what the very next thing that happens in Luke is? John the Baptist is locked up tight. He’s languishing in prison. To say he’s disengaged from life is probably an understatement. He hurting. He’s sad. He’s wondering. And you know how Jesus gets him through it? Jesus sends him a message. Tell John this: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, and “the dead are raised.” (v. 22)

That’s Luke’s most drastic point. It’s not staring at corpses that’ll stop you from checking out of this life. It’s the reflecting on the lack thereof. It’s not thinking hard enough about how little of life there is that’ll get your motor running. It’s the thinking on how this life goes on and then living really starts. Thinking about that will start you living now. Think of life and how it’s never going to end. Think of how one day your Lord will stride up to you, look into the depths of your soul and say, “Stop crying,” and how you actually will. Because you know you can. Because he’s come. He’s come as one messianically destined to deal with all death in your life: the stabs in the back, the lack of thrill, the just-under-the-surface-despair, and even the casket lid that will come down over your head. With a sure command and a perfect word from him you will live again. You’ll sit up and you’ll immediately start yacking. You’ll live. Do you see it? Who needs to escape that reality? Who needs to bury themselves in a screen or in a bottle or in too much TV with a life and a future that good? Not you. This reality is the best one out there. That’s new hope. And it’s hope to live life now. Powerfully. Energetically. Engaged with the highest and the best of life: friends, family, prayer, and worship.

Don’t be a secret Buddhist living today only because you might not have tomorrow. Be a powerful Christian. Live today because life is not just for now. It’s for forever and ever and ever. Best way to become more sure of that? Don’t bother staring at corpses like Buddha’s disciples do. Be a disciple of Jesus. Reflect on your resurrection. Think of that young man on that ancient day in Nain and say to yourself, “This body, too, such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable and Jesus-given fate.” Amen.

Luke 7:11–17 Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. 12 As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. 13 When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.” 14 Then he went up and touched the bier they were carrying him on, and the bearers stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” 15 The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother. 16 They were all filled with awe and praised God. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.” 17 This news about Jesus spread throughout Judea and the surrounding country.

Somewhere someone in the world is staring at a corpse. And it’s not because they’re at a visitation or in attendance at a funeral either. It’s not even because they’re in a war. Somewhere someone is staring at a corpse because Buddha told them to. He taught something that some now call corpse meditation. And Buddha’s modern disciples actually do it. As they stare, they say to themselves over and over and over again, “This body, too, such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable fate.” I wouldn’t have known that except that probably like many of you I have an app that curates the most popular current new articles and opinion pieces in the U.S. And interestingly one week ago one of those articles that got curated for me was one that started out with this intentionally sensationalistic line, “Want a better 2016? Try thinking about your impending demise.” In other words, be more engaged in your own life this year. Do it by staring at a corpse and telling yourself, “This is your future.”

It’s drastic advice. For a drastic problem. Apparently Buddha had the same problem out east that we have here out west. In certain ways we check out of real living before we’re supposed to. Back in 2004, a team of scholars that included a Nobel Prize winner surveyed a group of people on their satisfaction levels from different activities. The highest levels of satisfaction always happened - not surprisingly to us - during times of prayer and worship. Here’s where the problem comes in. The average respondent spent five times as long watching TV as engaging in those activities. Statistics say that we’ve actually gotten much worse since then. In America today we spend 20 times longer on TV than on religious and spiritual activities. In other words, we’re getting worse at engaging in our own lives and better at escaping them through movies, scrolling through websites, and playing iPhone games. Buddha’s solution to our sins of wasting our lives here? “Get it through your thick skull that you don’t have time to piddle away your lives! Sit in front of a corpse and say, ‘This body, too, such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable fate.’ Drastic advice. For a drastic problem.

But he’s not as drastic as Luke. Look at how many people Luke has staring at a corpse. All of us. You can’t mistake that part. He did write this for all of us to read. Not only that, but he also goes out of his way to tell us how many people were actually there. Apparently, it wasn’t just the mourners although there were a whole bunch of them. He says, “A large crowd was with her.” (v. 12) Understandably so. I’ll never forget what it was like to do a funeral for a young man in a small town. People lined up around the block for the visitation. It was an all day event. And this one was probably bigger. He was the only son of his mother and she was a widow. Think of it. If there was ever a funeral to go to, it was this one. You can be the most uncaring, curmudgeon on the face of the earth and this one would still pull at your heart strings. And if it didn’t, then at the very least the social pressure and the fear of being ostracized would get you out to pay your respects. “Did you hear that Grumpy Nathan stayed home even from this one?” Not likely to happen. I’ll bet everybody went to this one. Not only that, but Jesus had his own entourage that he was hauling into Nain. And, no, I’m not talking only about the disciples. Luke says they were along too, but I’m not just talking about them. Luke says tagging along with Jesus were not only the disciples, but also a “large crowd,” (v. 11) too.

And this wasn’t just some nameless, faceless corpse that Luke has us thinking about. He’s far more drastic. Luke very tenderly tells us that this dead man had a very specific and very tragic obituary. He was, “the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” (v. 12) I think it goes without saying that this was about the most jarring staring at a corpse that one could possibly do. And I know you know that I’m not talking about this bereaved woman’s economic prospects or the lack thereof when I say that. It’s true that there wasn’t SSI, food stamps or job opportunities for her. And, yes, that was a looming problem for her, but I highly doubt that we’ve got a woman on our hands who’s worried a whole lot about how her entire social safety net had frayed under her. We’ve got a woman on our hands who is probably just trying to walk straight or walk at all following that funeral procession. We’ve got a woman on our hands here who would’ve given the world to have the strong arms and the warm heart of her husband to protect her and for a moment make her feel safe again. But you know what she had instead? She only had a hole in her heart from where he had once been. Can’t you just see this? Here’s a woman who despite the fact that her whole community surrounded her probably felt totally alone. Here’s a woman who though she was definitely walking in that funeral procession probably couldn’t feel her own body movement as it happened. She felt like someone had shot her whole body up with Novocain. She was just plain numb.

That’s the problem with the practice of corpse meditation. It actually doesn’t get you back to life. It sucks the life right out of you even as you’re living. Even as I think of this now, it doesn’t exactly send me send me running to my wife and daughter to hold on to them for dear life. It feels a whole lot more like the ultimate Hoover vacuum that sucks me dry of zest for life and leaves me saying, “What’s the point? I’ll just hurt more when I lose them or they lose me.” Corpse meditation is like that. It leaves you empty, shut down, and collapsing in on yourself. This woman is the highest and most premiere example of that but not the only example of that. Think of the shell of yourself that you can be at work. You walk around afraid and withdrawn wondering when the next knife is gonna get stuck in your back. Or think of how you can slowly die inside as you watch injustice play out in a country that is supposed to be home to the free and the brave; how it fills you with a deep anger when another baby parts’ video surfaces or racisms rears is ugly head once again. Or think of how life can feel just oh so completely empty; how it can lack thrill, adventure, and transcendence; how it makes you feel a bit stuck and definitely a bit lonely. We need to understand ourselves. When we check out of this life – and we can do that in a lot of different ways. We can watch too much TV, scroll through the wrong websites or through too much social media, work too much, sleep in too late, or drink too much –  all we’re really doing is acting out our thinly veiled despair. We’re trying to escape and when we can’t do that we at least try to numb ourselves to it as much as possible.

And nobody’s more numb than this mother. I mean honestly there’s something about a grieving mother that transcends culture, time and place for us all. There’s something about it that places us right into this history; that lets us feel the weight of this moment as all our eyes lock on this bier that carried this mother’s son’s corpse; that helps us get how this mother must’ve looked out through her blurry, tear-filled eyes and saw Jesus. And then heard his voice break into her nightmare saying, “Don’t cry.” (v. 13) And even though her eyesight was distorted by her tears she could see well enough to know one thing. He meant it. He really meant it. She could see how there was an anguish etched into his face that inexplicably seemed to even eclipse her own - almost like he felt this more deeply than she did herself. She could tell that Jesus felt a compassion that Luke describes here as so profound and so intense that he never felt it again in Luke’s entire gospel. The compassion felt to Jesus like his entire emotional center was getting poured out onto the ground. And yet she saw that as Jesus shouldered the full weight of her loss, he didn’t stoop under its weight. And he didn’t droop with despair. In fact, She could see that as his feeling deepened Jesus seemed to rise up with so much strength and power that Luke here gives Jesus the very rare and very special title, “the Lord,” (v. 13). And so the Lord said to her, “Don’t cry.” And as he did his powerful gentleness inspired trust and even began to fight off her own despair so that even in the face of her seemingly irreparable loss she felt free to obey his command.

And so did everybody there. Everybody. The pall bearers came to a screeching halt as the Lord came up and touched the death that had entered all their lives. And then they heard him say, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” (v. 14) And then look at how Luke records the history of the result. He should get the Pulitzer Prize for reporting. It’s a gorgeous capturing of the moment. He said, “The dead man sat up and began to talk.” (v. 15) Not the young man sat up. Not the widow’s son began to talk. Luke uses the most stunning language of all. The dead man sat up. And immediately the dead man’s a chatty cathy. He’s going yackity, yackity, yack. By the way, I’m pretty sure that that’s not Luke making a funny or snide comment about the young man’s personality. Honestly, when I called him a chatty cathy I wasn’t actually making the point that he’s a talkative, enthusiastic personality. He may have been. He may not have been. That’s besides Luke’s point here. Luke’s point is that this really wasn’t a resurrection by degrees. This wasn’t a resurrection that left the young man still warming up his motor on a cold winter day or worse yet left him trying to overcome brain damage or something. Luke the doctor is simply pointing out that from a medical doctor perspective Jesus had this dead man up and running both perfectly and instantaneously.

And then comes the best part of all - the most hopeful part. Really. I love this scene with all my heart and soul. Somebody needs to paint this as the scene of all our futures. This scene is the guaranteed hope we have in Jesus’ work as our Messiah. It is everything Jesus intends for our future lives. You have to see this with me. Jesus doesn’t just intend to awaken us someday with a resurrection. He intends that for sure, but not just that. He doesn’t intend to awaken us to ourselves. He doesn’t aim for us to live forever alone. “Jesus gave him back to his mother.” (v. 15) Can you imagine that scene? Mothers here. Can you only imagine? And, in fact, I think this scene was the whole point. Not the resurrection, but really its results is what Jesus was after. Bodily life together. The joy of that. The lasting nature of that. The harmony and healing of that. Do you see that? That’s why Jesus approached the grieving woman before he approached the bier. It’s also why after the resurrection Jesus still wasn’t done. He was only done after he put that young man back into the arms of his mother. Isn’t that true? And doesn’t that matter so much more than you can probably admit in this moment?

Because I’ll tell you something. You know what I think is one of the more comforting aspects of how Luke writes this? That the characters aren’t named. In other resurrection accounts, they are. Not here though. And not because these aren’t real people or this wasn’t a real event. They most certainly are and this most certainly was. It’s just that personal knowledge of who they were is so secondary to what this history is supposed to mean for us. It means we’ve got our Messiah. It’s not just a first century young man named Joe and a grieving mother named Sally who’ve got their guy. We’ve got our guy. We have the person now came to enter every human story, see the corpses, and give them life. Not just metaphorically either. Actually. Jesus is the Lord that promises people not just a new lease on life, but a new life altogether – a resurrected one that goes on and on and on and on. He’s the one. And Luke gives us the ultimate reason to stop checking out of this life. The promise of future resurrection helps us engage in life now. That’s Luke’s big point. You know what the very next thing that happens in Luke is? John the Baptist is locked up tight. He’s languishing in prison. To say he’s disengaged from life is probably an understatement. He hurting. He’s sad. He’s wondering. And you know how Jesus gets him through it? Jesus sends him a message. Tell John this: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, and “the dead are raised.” (v. 22)

That’s Luke’s most drastic point. It’s not staring at corpses that’ll stop you from checking out of this life. It’s the reflecting on the lack thereof. It’s not thinking hard enough about how little of life there is that’ll get your motor running. It’s the thinking on how this life goes on and then living really starts. Thinking about that will start you living now. Think of life and how it’s never going to end. Think of how one day your Lord will stride up to you, look into the depths of your soul and say, “Stop crying,” and how you actually will. Because you know you can. Because he’s come. He’s come as one messianically destined to deal with all death in your life: the stabs in the back, the lack of thrill, the just-under-the-surface-despair, and even the casket lid that will come down over your head. With a sure command and a perfect word from him you will live again. You’ll sit up and you’ll immediately start yacking. You’ll live. Do you see it? Who needs to escape that reality? Who needs to bury themselves in a screen or in a bottle or in too much TV with a life and a future that good? Not you. This reality is the best one out there. That’s new hope. And it’s hope to live life now. Powerfully. Energetically. Engaged with the highest and the best of life: friends, family, prayer, and worship.

Don’t be a secret Buddhist living today only because you might not have tomorrow. Be a powerful Christian. Live today because life is not just for now. It’s for forever and ever and ever. Best way to become more sure of that? Don’t bother staring at corpses like Buddha’s disciples do. Be a disciple of Jesus. Reflect on your resurrection. Think of that young man on that ancient day in Nain and say to yourself, “This body, too, such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable and Jesus-given fate.” Amen.

Luke 4:31–37 Then he went down to Capernaum, a town in Galilee, and on the Sabbath he taught the people. 32 They were amazed at his teaching, because his words had authority. 33 In the synagogue there was a man possessed by a demon, an impure spirit. He cried out at the top of his voice, 34 “Go away! What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God!” 35 “Be quiet!” Jesus said sternly. “Come out of him!” Then the demon threw the man down before them all and came out without injuring him. 36 All the people were amazed and said to each other, “What words these are! With authority and power he gives orders to impure spirits and they come out!” 37 And the news about him spread throughout the surrounding area.

Experts will tell you that demon possession doesn’t happen in majority Christian cultures. It would be too counterproductive. In non-Christian, pagan settings though it’s a wonderful demonic strategy. When demon possession happens there it sends people to their idols and their shamans and their witchdoctors. The sick get even sicker. But in places like ours, demon possession is counterproductive for the demons. Think about it. If you saw a guy who was acting like someone out of AMC’s The Walking Dead, I’ll bet I can guess where you’d go. You’d go to church. So would a lot of other people. And that’s totally counterproductive to the work of the demons. Instead in a Christian culture the demons’ best strategy is to hide in plain sight. In other words, in America today demons fight us using guerrilla warfare. So say the experts.

I’m not sure though that expert opinion would’ve really comforted the lady I met earlier this week at the ICU. I had shown up to try to visit a friend whose mother was there and managed to somehow get into a conversation with the ICU’s receptionist. We talked for a while about a number of theological issues that were on her mind before I noticed a look cross her face that I knew all too well from personal experience. I had gotten up to go because I thought our conversation was over when I saw that look. I understood it perfectly before she even asked her questions. She asked, “Do you ever feel the attacks of the devil? Is it worse some days?” I smiled in the gentlest and knowing way I could and said something like, “Yes and yes.” And I thought about the sting of the conscience, the sick gravity of temptation, and the days that made me want to pull the covers up over my body and never to crawl out of bed. She broke in on those thoughts and said, “I think this was a divine appointment.” I walked away thinking about her and the encounter. We don’t live in spiritual Switzerland. We live in occupied territory and behind enemy lines, but we don’t ever see the enemy. And in some ways that makes it even tougher.

Because it can feel a bit like we’re headed for a case of spiritual PTSD. Like a demonic landmines or sniper bullet could nab us when we’re least expecting it. Sometimes I think we like to deal with that by romanticizing the past. Like we kind of miss the good ol’ days of the 1st century when Satan walked around like some kind of evil sheriff saying, “Stick’em up,” to everybody. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to spot him and to know his work? Wouldn’t it be better to see the guy who’s got the gun trained on our heads – at least then we’d know it was, right? Don’t you just want to scream sometimes, “Stop the sniping and come out where I can see you.”? But then you read the Scriptures and you see what the first century was actually like. You read about how people’s minds and wills were so supernaturally supressed that the demonic personality took over bodies not even allowing the human soul to waggle a finger. You read about how they’d toss their human host bodies into fires and cut them to maim and disfigure them beyond recognition, but not functionality; how the possessed people would crawl into catacombs to cuddle with skeletons; how they’d foam horribly at the mouth; how they’d walk around naked and smeared with feces. You read all that and you realize you’re right back at square one. Neither Satan’s modern guerrilla warfare nor his first century open attacks are preferable. They’re both just awful.

Luke would agree. He’s so helpful here. Because it just isn’t clear in this case which strategy Satan was employing. We’re not sure if this guy’s fellow church members knew he was possessed or not. He wasn’t jumping into fires. He wasn’t cuddling with skeletons. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth or cutting himself that we know of. What we know about him is that he was sitting at church for church. That’s what Luke tells us. He says, “On the Sabbath he (Jesus) taught people.” (v. 31) I don’t want to spend too much time on this today, but it’s probably worth pointing out that apparently demons don’t have any problem going to a church where the gospel isn’t preached and the Scriptures are all muddied up. What became problematic and troublesome and upsetting for this particular demon was the powerful gospel preaching of this preacher. I do think – or rather Luke does – that it’s worth underlining that idea. It wasn’t actually the charisma or magnetism of the preacher that upset the demon. I’m not saying – neither does Luke! – that Jesus’ deity or sonship or charisma or preaching ability are at all in question. They’re not. They’re just not the Spirit’s main point here. No doubt Jesus was an amazing communicator, an engrossing and entrancing kind of speaker, the best of the best preachers, but when Luke describes Jesus the preacher he’s focused only on his words. He says, “They were amazed at his teaching, because his words had authority.” (v. 32)

Jesus didn’t meander this way and that through various points like their normal preachers. Jesus didn’t stand up there and say, “This rabbi says the text means this and this rabbi says the text means that. You can choose. We’re not really sure.” Jesus didn’t even stand up there out of duty or mere obligation saying, “I guess I better preach. It’s the Sabbath.” Jesus knew where he was going with his sermon. Jesus spoke knowing what the text actually meant. Jesus spoke charismatically and joyfully as the gospel filled his being. I’ll bet it moved his arms. I’ll bet it filled his eyes with light. I’ll bet his message seemed to ooze out of his very pores. And just consider the fact that this was one of Jesus’ rookie sermons. Even as a rookie preacher he was making the Scriptures come to life before their very eyes in such a powerful way that after the sermon everybody in the church felt like they had been mind slapped. That’s the word that’s translated here as, “amazed,” (v. 32). It’s actually kind of a violent word. It talks about a powerful knock to the senses. Like when your head gets slammed in a football game and you see stars or when you get a concussion playing ice hockey. This is the spiritual version of that. Their minds were stupefied. They were spiritually knocked silly. They were amazed. Do you see Luke’s point? Luke wants us to understand the power of Jesus’ words. They always amaze.

Case and point? That poor, poor demon who was sitting at church for church on the wrong Sabbath. He thought he was going to get his normal gospel-less sermon, and then Jesus started preaching and he reacts with perfect fear and complete surprise. Luke says he cried out at, “the top of his voice.” (v. 33) You know what the poor demon cried? At first, he cried nothing. Nothing meaningful that is. He’s so upset. He’s so surprised. He’s so undone and threatened and feeling so vulnerable that when he cries out at the top of his voice he says nothing meaningful at all. He just lets loose a meaningless vocalization. I think it was maybe like some kind of annoying car alarm or the sound a stuck pig makes. At any rate, it was a sound of horror, surprise and probably deep, deep anger. And apparently the sound was pretty memorable because Luke does his best to get it down for us. He says that the loud and terrifying vocalization sounded like, “ἔα.” (v. 34) And then the demon starts trying to piece it all together. He asks, “What do you want with us?” And “Have you come to destroy us?” (v. 34) And then he identifies Jesus, “I know who you are – the Holy One of God!” (v. 34) And then two seconds later the whole encounter was over. Jesus speaks. He issues two terse commands. “Be quiet! Come out of him!” (v. 35) And the demon is exorcised. There was no incantation. No ritualistic holding up of a cross over the possessed person as they scream in agony. There was only Jesus issuing a command with words and the demon immediately doing his bidding.

And only then does Luke make his big theological point. Truthfully it’s probably not the one you might be expecting. At least, not if my NIV Bible is any indication. It’s unfortunately not incredibly helpful in connecting the dots for us. My Bible has the title JESUS DRIVES OUT AN IMPURE SPIRIT on this section, which – you know –  is nice. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy as much as the next guy seeing the divinity and power of Jesus in action. It’s always awesome and faith building to do that, but that’s actually not Luke’s big and overarching theological point here. You know what is? Jesus’ words not only have authority, they also always act when they’re spoken.  In fact, that’s why the whole episode is bookended the way it is. Well before the demon ever made itself known in that church the people had already been blown away by, “his words,” and their, “authority.” (v. 36) What they hadn’t quite learned yet is how much authority those words really had. But they knew now. In fact, if you read the account closely that was their big aha moment after the exorcism. It wasn’t, “This preacher has power over demons. Did you see that guy drop unharmed and exorcised right in the middle of the church?” It was, “What words these are!” (v. 36) They even add more praise and accolades to his words than they had after they sermon. Now they say about his words that they not only have, “authority,” but also, “power,” (v. 36) to do what they say.

As I walked out of the ICU, I thought about how badly we all need that kind of power. I thought about how demonic power can take a human spirit and squelch it into such a small place inside a person’s own body that it can’t even waggle its own finger. I thought about myself. I thought about how on the days I miss of Scripture how the anxiety seems to magically appears with way too much force. I thought about people I love. I thought about how the darkness of depression always seems to become overwhelming only after church gets skipped for a couple of weeks. I thought about how faith goes up in thin air when the Word is absent even for just a couple months in our lives. I thought about the crazy way the devils use personal problems like a sick tractor beam to keep people out of church when church is what they need the most. I thought about it all. I thought about the guerrilla warfare and the backdoor strategies and all the satanic misdirection and how it all seems to have such an unearthly power over all of us. I thought about how this isn’t Switzerland though sometimes we live like it is; and how our failure to recognize and act on the fact that this is occupied territory is part of the demonic influence itself.

And then I thought about Luke’s high and driving point. I thought about how badly he wants us to see the words of Jesus as not only authoritative, but also as full of available and active power. I thought about how we’re supposed to see how Jesus’ words come from on high and do their work on earth. I thought about how it’s not the charisma of the preacher that reliably does that. It’s just the words. That if it’s only Jesus’ words they’ll not only upset the devils, they’ll get them gone. That if those words could totally dislodge a demon, they could deal with all the other demonic strategies as well. And then I thought about how badly I wanted to leverage that power in this church. And I thought about how that’s part of Luke’s whole point. Jesus doesn’t pick locales haphazardly. Jesus doesn’t show up randomly in places to do his Messianic work. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t haphazard that he showed up in a synagogue and it wasn’t coincidental that careful, detailed, and Spirit-led Luke tells us that. The gospel has value over coffee mugs, over dinner tables, friend to friend, and soul to soul, but here Jesus is zeroing in on our church. Jesus is teaching us to love and value our church as the place where the gospel exorcises our demons. This is where Satan loses his influence over your soul. This is where you along with everybody will be stupefied, mind-slapped, and knocked sideways with the grace and exorcising power of the gospel. That’s what we’re here for. To make demons shriek and souls sing with the new power of Jesus’ words.

I thought about all that. And then I thought ahead to this moment where I might be able to say to someone who’s despairing that God is up to anything good in their lives and how that thought sticks in their heads like a kind demonic super glue. I thought about how I would tell them right now, “Jesus commands that devilish idea to come out.” And how those very words would accomplish it. I thought ahead to the people who are here who might have demons tugging at them making their days feel a whole lot more like nights. And I thought about how I would tell them, “Position yourself right here in Jesus’ church. Listen to his voice. Those demons will have to leave. When Jesus’ words get spoken, they don’t have a choice.” And then I thought of all the people who might be here who’ve got some sin – any sin –  devilishly strangling their conscience; how I’d get to say to them, “I forgive you in Jesus’ name.” And how when I’d say that that Jesus’ forgiveness through those very words would be perfectly applied. And then I thought how afterward we’d all be just like that guy who had been exorcised who must’ve looked at his exorcist so filled with thanks that he was only able to mumble the words that later came off Luke’s pen. “What are these words!?! What authority! What power! They even give orders to impure spirits and they come out.” Amen.

Luke 4:31–37 Then he went down to Capernaum, a town in Galilee, and on the Sabbath he taught the people. 32 They were amazed at his teaching, because his words had authority. 33 In the synagogue there was a man possessed by a demon, an impure spirit. He cried out at the top of his voice, 34 “Go away! What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God!” 35 “Be quiet!” Jesus said sternly. “Come out of him!” Then the demon threw the man down before them all and came out without injuring him. 36 All the people were amazed and said to each other, “What words these are! With authority and power he gives orders to impure spirits and they come out!” 37 And the news about him spread throughout the surrounding area.

Experts will tell you that demon possession doesn’t happen in majority Christian cultures. It would be too counterproductive. In non-Christian, pagan settings though it’s a wonderful demonic strategy. When demon possession happens there it sends people to their idols and their shamans and their witchdoctors. The sick get even sicker. But in places like ours, demon possession is counterproductive for the demons. Think about it. If you saw a guy who was acting like someone out of AMC’s The Walking Dead, I’ll bet I can guess where you’d go. You’d go to church. So would a lot of other people. And that’s totally counterproductive to the work of the demons. Instead in a Christian culture the demons’ best strategy is to hide in plain sight. In other words, in America today demons fight us using guerrilla warfare. So say the experts.

I’m not sure though that expert opinion would’ve really comforted the lady I met earlier this week at the ICU. I had shown up to try to visit a friend whose mother was there and managed to somehow get into a conversation with the ICU’s receptionist. We talked for a while about a number of theological issues that were on her mind before I noticed a look cross her face that I knew all too well from personal experience. I had gotten up to go because I thought our conversation was over when I saw that look. I understood it perfectly before she even asked her questions. She asked, “Do you ever feel the attacks of the devil? Is it worse some days?” I smiled in the gentlest and knowing way I could and said something like, “Yes and yes.” And I thought about the sting of the conscience, the sick gravity of temptation, and the days that made me want to pull the covers up over my body and never to crawl out of bed. She broke in on those thoughts and said, “I think this was a divine appointment.” I walked away thinking about her and the encounter. We don’t live in spiritual Switzerland. We live in occupied territory and behind enemy lines, but we don’t ever see the enemy. And in some ways that makes it even tougher.

Because it can feel a bit like we’re headed for a case of spiritual PTSD. Like a demonic landmines or sniper bullet could nab us when we’re least expecting it. Sometimes I think we like to deal with that by romanticizing the past. Like we kind of miss the good ol’ days of the 1st century when Satan walked around like some kind of evil sheriff saying, “Stick’em up,” to everybody. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to spot him and to know his work? Wouldn’t it be better to see the guy who’s got the gun trained on our heads – at least then we’d know it was, right? Don’t you just want to scream sometimes, “Stop the sniping and come out where I can see you.”? But then you read the Scriptures and you see what the first century was actually like. You read about how people’s minds and wills were so supernaturally supressed that the demonic personality took over bodies not even allowing the human soul to waggle a finger. You read about how they’d toss their human host bodies into fires and cut them to maim and disfigure them beyond recognition, but not functionality; how the possessed people would crawl into catacombs to cuddle with skeletons; how they’d foam horribly at the mouth; how they’d walk around naked and smeared with feces. You read all that and you realize you’re right back at square one. Neither Satan’s modern guerrilla warfare nor his first century open attacks are preferable. They’re both just awful.

Luke would agree. He’s so helpful here. Because it just isn’t clear in this case which strategy Satan was employing. We’re not sure if this guy’s fellow church members knew he was possessed or not. He wasn’t jumping into fires. He wasn’t cuddling with skeletons. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth or cutting himself that we know of. What we know about him is that he was sitting at church for church. That’s what Luke tells us. He says, “On the Sabbath he (Jesus) taught people.” (v. 31) I don’t want to spend too much time on this today, but it’s probably worth pointing out that apparently demons don’t have any problem going to a church where the gospel isn’t preached and the Scriptures are all muddied up. What became problematic and troublesome and upsetting for this particular demon was the powerful gospel preaching of this preacher. I do think – or rather Luke does – that it’s worth underlining that idea. It wasn’t actually the charisma or magnetism of the preacher that upset the demon. I’m not saying – neither does Luke! – that Jesus’ deity or sonship or charisma or preaching ability are at all in question. They’re not. They’re just not the Spirit’s main point here. No doubt Jesus was an amazing communicator, an engrossing and entrancing kind of speaker, the best of the best preachers, but when Luke describes Jesus the preacher he’s focused only on his words. He says, “They were amazed at his teaching, because his words had authority.” (v. 32)

Jesus didn’t meander this way and that through various points like their normal preachers. Jesus didn’t stand up there and say, “This rabbi says the text means this and this rabbi says the text means that. You can choose. We’re not really sure.” Jesus didn’t even stand up there out of duty or mere obligation saying, “I guess I better preach. It’s the Sabbath.” Jesus knew where he was going with his sermon. Jesus spoke knowing what the text actually meant. Jesus spoke charismatically and joyfully as the gospel filled his being. I’ll bet it moved his arms. I’ll bet it filled his eyes with light. I’ll bet his message seemed to ooze out of his very pores. And just consider the fact that this was one of Jesus’ rookie sermons. Even as a rookie preacher he was making the Scriptures come to life before their very eyes in such a powerful way that after the sermon everybody in the church felt like they had been mind slapped. That’s the word that’s translated here as, “amazed,” (v. 32). It’s actually kind of a violent word. It talks about a powerful knock to the senses. Like when your head gets slammed in a football game and you see stars or when you get a concussion playing ice hockey. This is the spiritual version of that. Their minds were stupefied. They were spiritually knocked silly. They were amazed. Do you see Luke’s point? Luke wants us to understand the power of Jesus’ words. They always amaze.

Case and point? That poor, poor demon who was sitting at church for church on the wrong Sabbath. He thought he was going to get his normal gospel-less sermon, and then Jesus started preaching and he reacts with perfect fear and complete surprise. Luke says he cried out at, “the top of his voice.” (v. 33) You know what the poor demon cried? At first, he cried nothing. Nothing meaningful that is. He’s so upset. He’s so surprised. He’s so undone and threatened and feeling so vulnerable that when he cries out at the top of his voice he says nothing meaningful at all. He just lets loose a meaningless vocalization. I think it was maybe like some kind of annoying car alarm or the sound a stuck pig makes. At any rate, it was a sound of horror, surprise and probably deep, deep anger. And apparently the sound was pretty memorable because Luke does his best to get it down for us. He says that the loud and terrifying vocalization sounded like, “ἔα.” (v. 34) And then the demon starts trying to piece it all together. He asks, “What do you want with us?” And “Have you come to destroy us?” (v. 34) And then he identifies Jesus, “I know who you are – the Holy One of God!” (v. 34) And then two seconds later the whole encounter was over. Jesus speaks. He issues two terse commands. “Be quiet! Come out of him!” (v. 35) And the demon is exorcised. There was no incantation. No ritualistic holding up of a cross over the possessed person as they scream in agony. There was only Jesus issuing a command with words and the demon immediately doing his bidding.

And only then does Luke make his big theological point. Truthfully it’s probably not the one you might be expecting. At least, not if my NIV Bible is any indication. It’s unfortunately not incredibly helpful in connecting the dots for us. My Bible has the title JESUS DRIVES OUT AN IMPURE SPIRIT on this section, which – you know –  is nice. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy as much as the next guy seeing the divinity and power of Jesus in action. It’s always awesome and faith building to do that, but that’s actually not Luke’s big and overarching theological point here. You know what is? Jesus’ words not only have authority, they also always act when they’re spoken.  In fact, that’s why the whole episode is bookended the way it is. Well before the demon ever made itself known in that church the people had already been blown away by, “his words,” and their, “authority.” (v. 36) What they hadn’t quite learned yet is how much authority those words really had. But they knew now. In fact, if you read the account closely that was their big aha moment after the exorcism. It wasn’t, “This preacher has power over demons. Did you see that guy drop unharmed and exorcised right in the middle of the church?” It was, “What words these are!” (v. 36) They even add more praise and accolades to his words than they had after they sermon. Now they say about his words that they not only have, “authority,” but also, “power,” (v. 36) to do what they say.

As I walked out of the ICU, I thought about how badly we all need that kind of power. I thought about how demonic power can take a human spirit and squelch it into such a small place inside a person’s own body that it can’t even waggle its own finger. I thought about myself. I thought about how on the days I miss of Scripture how the anxiety seems to magically appears with way too much force. I thought about people I love. I thought about how the darkness of depression always seems to become overwhelming only after church gets skipped for a couple of weeks. I thought about how faith goes up in thin air when the Word is absent even for just a couple months in our lives. I thought about the crazy way the devils use personal problems like a sick tractor beam to keep people out of church when church is what they need the most. I thought about it all. I thought about the guerrilla warfare and the backdoor strategies and all the satanic misdirection and how it all seems to have such an unearthly power over all of us. I thought about how this isn’t Switzerland though sometimes we live like it is; and how our failure to recognize and act on the fact that this is occupied territory is part of the demonic influence itself.

And then I thought about Luke’s high and driving point. I thought about how badly he wants us to see the words of Jesus as not only authoritative, but also as full of available and active power. I thought about how we’re supposed to see how Jesus’ words come from on high and do their work on earth. I thought about how it’s not the charisma of the preacher that reliably does that. It’s just the words. That if it’s only Jesus’ words they’ll not only upset the devils, they’ll get them gone. That if those words could totally dislodge a demon, they could deal with all the other demonic strategies as well. And then I thought about how badly I wanted to leverage that power in this church. And I thought about how that’s part of Luke’s whole point. Jesus doesn’t pick locales haphazardly. Jesus doesn’t show up randomly in places to do his Messianic work. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t haphazard that he showed up in a synagogue and it wasn’t coincidental that careful, detailed, and Spirit-led Luke tells us that. The gospel has value over coffee mugs, over dinner tables, friend to friend, and soul to soul, but here Jesus is zeroing in on our church. Jesus is teaching us to love and value our church as the place where the gospel exorcises our demons. This is where Satan loses his influence over your soul. This is where you along with everybody will be stupefied, mind-slapped, and knocked sideways with the grace and exorcising power of the gospel. That’s what we’re here for. To make demons shriek and souls sing with the new power of Jesus’ words.

I thought about all that. And then I thought ahead to this moment where I might be able to say to someone who’s despairing that God is up to anything good in their lives and how that thought sticks in their heads like a kind demonic super glue. I thought about how I would tell them right now, “Jesus commands that devilish idea to come out.” And how those very words would accomplish it. I thought ahead to the people who are here who might have demons tugging at them making their days feel a whole lot more like nights. And I thought about how I would tell them, “Position yourself right here in Jesus’ church. Listen to his voice. Those demons will have to leave. When Jesus’ words get spoken, they don’t have a choice.” And then I thought of all the people who might be here who’ve got some sin – any sin –  devilishly strangling their conscience; how I’d get to say to them, “I forgive you in Jesus’ name.” And how when I’d say that that Jesus’ forgiveness through those very words would be perfectly applied. And then I thought how afterward we’d all be just like that guy who had been exorcised who must’ve looked at his exorcist so filled with thanks that he was only able to mumble the words that later came off Luke’s pen. “What are these words!?! What authority! What power! They even give orders to impure spirits and they come out.” Amen.

1 Kings 10:1–13 When the queen of Sheba heard about the fame of Solomon and his relationship to the LORD, she came to test Solomon with hard questions. 2 Arriving at Jerusalem with a very great caravan—with camels carrying spices, large quantities of gold, and precious stones—she came to Solomon and talked with him about all that she had on her mind. 3 Solomon answered all her questions; nothing was too hard for the king to explain to her. 4 When the queen of Sheba saw all the wisdom of Solomon and the palace he had built, 5 the food on his table, the seating of his officials, the attending servants in their robes, his cupbearers, and the burnt offerings he made at the temple of the LORD, she was overwhelmed. 6 She said to the king, “The report I heard in my own country about your achievements and your wisdom is true. 7 But I did not believe these things until I came and saw with my own eyes. Indeed, not even half was told me; in wisdom and wealth you have far exceeded the report I heard. 8 How happy your people must be! How happy your officials, who continually stand before you and hear your wisdom! 9 Praise be to the LORD your God, who has delighted in you and placed you on the throne of Israel. Because of the LORD’s eternal love for Israel, he has made you king to maintain justice and righteousness.” 10 And she gave the king 120 talents of gold, large quantities of spices, and precious stones. Never again were so many spices brought in as those the queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon. 11 (Hiram’s ships brought gold from Ophir; and from there they brought great cargoes of almugwood and precious stones. 12 The king used the almugwood to make supports for the temple of the LORD and for the royal palace, and to make harps and lyres for the musicians. So much almugwood has never been imported or seen since that day.) 13 King Solomon gave the queen of Sheba all she desired and asked for, besides what he had given her out of his royal bounty. Then she left and returned with her retinue to her own country.

I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before in my studies. The Queen of Sheba is sort of like the moon. Everybody is in a race to stick their flag in her to claim her. Everybody. It’s not just us here in 1 Kings. The Muslims claim her too. Did you know that? They’re so eager to claim her that millennia later they tried to coop her in their sacred text, the Koran. The Ethiopians want her too. Historians say that actually their whole national consciousness is based on the claim that she was their queen. And as if that weren’t enough the people across the Red Sea over in Yemen claim her too. Everybody wants her legacy, her power, and wisdom as their own. Even people in our culture want to claim her. I read a blog just this week called the Fatal Feminist claiming her as well. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before in my studies. The Queen of Sheba is like the moon. Everybody wants to stick their own flag in her to claim her.

It’s not hard to understand why. She an absolute unicorn in history. She’s stunning, wise, and powerful. First of all, she’s a queen regnate, which means she doesn’t owe her throne to anybody. She’s queen under her own power, which for a woman of those times is totally unheard of. And, obviously, that increases her legend greatly. Here is a woman who sweeps into history under her own power and seems to own the world like no queen did before and arguably no queen has since. And just so you don’t think this is my own private opinion of her please know that the History Channel in a documentary about her said she, “is the most famous queen in the world.” In other words, sit down Queen Nefertiti and take a back seat Queen Elizabeth because the Queen of Sheba is in the house. More than that though, did you notice how much culture, power and wealth this woman oozes? It’s sort of other worldly to think about. In fact, the Spirit even credits her here with the greatest collection of expensive spices ever to be gathered into one place. Did you catch that? “Never again were so many spices brought in.” (v. 10) And as if that weren’t enough she’s also credited with the greatest import of an exotic and important wood called almugwood in world history as well. The Scriptures say, “So much almugwood has never been imported or seen since that day.” (v. 12) See what I mean? She’s a unicorn in world history. Stunning. Powerful. One of a kind.

But then again don’t take my word for it. Take the word of a guy who shows up on the scene ten millennia later and talks about her again. Take the word of a guy like that and begin to think about how amazing his comments about her truly are. When he talks about her he takes this entire account and condenses the whole thing down into a single title that he gives her. You know what Jesus himself calls her? Jesus gives her the title, “the Queen of the South.” (Luke 11:31) Like people 1000 years later would know exactly who he’s talking about with just by mentioning the title. Like for another 1000 years nobody had shown up in history quite as compelling or quite as mind-blowing as her. And did you catch how important Jesus says that she was? I mean, honestly, she was so important that Jesus nicknames her with one of the four cardinal points of the map. He simply calls her the Queen of the South. Not the Queen of Sheba. Not Queen of the Sabeans. Jesus simply calls her the Queen of the South. Like she owned half the world. Like she had half its wealth. Like she possessed half its power and half its people were under the influence of her rule. That’s what he’s saying when he nicknames her the Queen of the South.

And I suppose we could talk about how this historical unicorn had obviously conquered culture and had unimaginable wealth, etc., etc., etc. I suppose we could even do the historical analysis to try to understand what kind of perfect storm happened to cause this unicorn to arise. We could talk about the trades routes, the climate, the engineering problems she solved, etc., etc., etc., but we’d be missing the point if we did. There is a reason why everybody and especially Jesus wants to claim the Queen of Sheba. It’s for what she as a unicorn in history represents. Here is a most stunning person in world history who has everything. She has power and influence and it’s not just because of her gender. She has trade and, therefore, goods coming out of her ears. She has the world’s philosophies and ideas right on her doorstep as they come in from China, Africa, and Arabia right on and through her kingdom. Quite literally the world, its ideas, and its life were hers to do with as she pleased. And yet even though she clearly has the world she still seeks. And specifically she seeks Solomon because of, “his relationship to the Lord.” (v. 1) She came to Solomon and to his God given wisdom with her, “hard questions,” (v. 1) because quite simply there was a lot, “she had on her mind.” (v. 3)

Do you see it now? Do you see her now for what this very real historical figure is meant to teach us? She is a woman who owns philosophy, worldview, power, culture, music and the arts. She is a woman who owns the whole world, but she walks five hundred miles times two in arid, desert, sand-storm country (One without a company called Delta!) in search of something –  she didn’t know what –  but in search of something that she had heard that maybe the Lord, Solomon’s God, could give her. In other words, she had all of the world’s best ideas, but she felt there was something missing so profoundly that she was willing to traipse somewhat humiliatingly to another kingdom to another person on a wing and a prayer that maybe just maybe the rumors were true. And yes, she had believed it was a wing and a prayer. She said herself, “I did not believe these things.” (v. 7) She was so desperate for light that on the off chance that Solomon could offer real answers to life’s greatest questions she headed his way.

And it’s not just her. Seriously, it’s not. Everybody feels this to a degree. Everybody. We all sense deep down there’s something very dark about ourselves and our world. Take a look at the world’s top ideas and stories this year. It’s not a fluke that one of the biggest words of 2015 was “self-identifying.” Our world is honestly so dark that we’re not even sure how to self-identify; we’re not even sure who we are at our core. Am I black? Am I straight? Am I gay? Am I a woman or am I a man? Who am I? Bruce Jenner is probably the perfect example of this. What he and everybody on both sides of that issue can agree on is that this is a person who is struggling with an immense amount of torturous personal darkness. Truthfully, you can’t even watch Tangled without understanding this about the world. You have this heroine stuck in her tower knowing so little about herself and her world. And you know what she sings so hopefully when she first has contact with something outside her tower? “Now I have seen the light.” We all want light. We all want truth. We all want something that’s going to help us make sense of ourselves, what we feel, and where we’re going. We all want epiphany.

And that’s where this account of the Queen of Sheba comes in. Do you see what it is? It’s a condemnation of attempting to find that light in the wrong place. And by the way, that’s not my interpretation of the story. That’s Jesus’ interpretation of it. “She condemns them.” (Luke 11:31) He’s, of course, right. She does. She is the queen of world culture. She is the queen of philosophy and religion and ideas. She is the world’s unicorn in that way. And as Jesus so perfectly points out, her trip to Solomon is a rejection of all of it. It’s a condemnation of anything people call wisdom here. That’s why she took her trip. She was saying, “You can’t and you won’t find light here. Believe me I tried. Light isn’t naturally in us. If you want light; if you want to have a true epiphany about your identity and your sexuality; if you want to have a clear worldview, you’re never going to find it down here.” And, honestly, that’s what I want for you. I want you to give up on trendy books like Eat, Pray, Love. I want you to quit listening so closely to what the talking heads are saying about the hottest philosophical, gender, political, and sexual topics of the day. I actually want you despair of them. I want you to see them for who they are people grappling in darkness (compassionately for sure!), but I also want you to see them the way the Queen of Sheba so clearly did – as a bunch of people struggling for light and not having it. The Queen of Sheba visited Solomon three thousand years ago. Let me say that again. The Queen of Sheba visited Solomon three thousand years ago and in 2015 one of the hottest words was self-identify. Do you see what that says? The world’s hot new ideas, new innovative philosophies, and supposedly wonderful new truths have not advanced us spiritually or emotionally at all. It’s time to see them all for what they are: darkness remixed.

And that’s why we have this amazing unicorn called the Queen of Sheba in the Scriptures. And that’s why Jesus hauls her out once again 10 millennia later. She’s an absolute tour de force. That’s the phrase I kept seeing in my mind as I was thinking about this Scripture. She’s a tour de force to draw us to Solomon, to his wisdom, and to his light. It’s a tour de force to say to us, “Neither you, nor anybody with their own wisdom can make the lights come on. Only someone with special access to God and his wisdom can do that. Only then you’ll see. Only then you’ll know as you should know. Only then you’ll be able to make sense of your world, yourself, your feelings, your life. You need Solomon.” Well - sort of. Truth is. You need way more than Solomon. This is his life’s peak. That much is clear in the Scriptures. He gains the throne. He builds a magnificent palace and a stunning Temple for the Lord. And then the Queen of Sheba shows up for his wisdom, but then he backslides when he doesn’t apply God’s wisdom to himself. Idolatry, womanizing – darkness grabs a hold of him. Even Solomon. Even the world’s wisest man had darkness invade. We need someone greater than Solomon. Someone wiser. Someone so close to God that no darkness can ever cloud his thinking or his actions. And by now I’ve given away the whole thing. We need Jesus.

And you have him. He said himself about himself, “Now something greater than Solomon is here.” (Luke 11:31) He’s here. He’s enlightening. He’s doing what nobody else can do on earth. He’s giving real epiphanies. He’s the one who has special access to the wisdom of God to turn the lights on for us all. That’s the real tour de force here. The Queen of Sheba wants you to know as someone who’s experienced the entire world of ideas that the Greater Solomon isn’t some poor man’s philosopher. He’s the only true one. She wants you to see that he doesn’t hand you a weird and inferior way of understanding yourself and the world. He’s the only one who can help you see yourself and your world clearly. She wants you to understand that the Greater Solomon isn’t some wanna-be therapist. He’s the only one who will offer you the only true therapy for your life known as the gospel. She wants you to agree that he’s not some moral prude or just another male chauvinist. He’s the only one with a moral code and with ideas about human relationships that make people to quote the Queen of Sheba herself, “happy.” (v. 8) But more than that. Far more than that. He’s the only one who can speak a wisdom in the gospel that forgives your sins and gives you eternal life. He’s Jesus, the Greater Solomon, who came to usher us into an enlightenment so complete that it will push out all the darkness so that when we arrive to his presence we will stand there just like the Queen of Sheba, “with no breath,” (v. 5) and with our eyes bugging out of heads mumble, “I did not believe these things until I came and saw my own eyes.” (v. 7) I heard the gospel, but I had no idea the light it described was this good.  

In the meantime, let me make a suggestion. Don’t be just another person that sticks a flag in the Queen of Sheba to make a claim on her. I have a better idea. Be her. Be the guy who sees that cultural trends are just that: cultural trends. They won’t take you anywhere except to the next cultural trend – the next wave of ideas that promise so much, but deliver only more darkness. Be the guy who gets that. Be the lady who would walk 500 miles times two to get to listen to the wisdom and answers of someone so close to God that he actually is God. Be the person who wants the Greater Solomon to enlightens them Sunday after Sunday after Sunday not because you have an obligation to him, but because all the life and culture and ideas worth having are found only in him and the wisdom he gives us in the gospel. Yes, he has enlightenment on gender issues. Yes, he teaches us about how to deal with our sexuality. But he’s more. He’s our forgiveness. He’s our life. He’s the way all of us Christians self-identify – as his. He’s the one who makes All Things New giving new light (real epiphanies!) to our hearts and minds. Amen.

1 Kings 10:1–13 When the queen of Sheba heard about the fame of Solomon and his relationship to the LORD, she came to test Solomon with hard questions. 2 Arriving at Jerusalem with a very great caravan—with camels carrying spices, large quantities of gold, and precious stones—she came to Solomon and talked with him about all that she had on her mind. 3 Solomon answered all her questions; nothing was too hard for the king to explain to her. 4 When the queen of Sheba saw all the wisdom of Solomon and the palace he had built, 5 the food on his table, the seating of his officials, the attending servants in their robes, his cupbearers, and the burnt offerings he made at the temple of the LORD, she was overwhelmed. 6 She said to the king, “The report I heard in my own country about your achievements and your wisdom is true. 7 But I did not believe these things until I came and saw with my own eyes. Indeed, not even half was told me; in wisdom and wealth you have far exceeded the report I heard. 8 How happy your people must be! How happy your officials, who continually stand before you and hear your wisdom! 9 Praise be to the LORD your God, who has delighted in you and placed you on the throne of Israel. Because of the LORD’s eternal love for Israel, he has made you king to maintain justice and righteousness.” 10 And she gave the king 120 talents of gold, large quantities of spices, and precious stones. Never again were so many spices brought in as those the queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon. 11 (Hiram’s ships brought gold from Ophir; and from there they brought great cargoes of almugwood and precious stones. 12 The king used the almugwood to make supports for the temple of the LORD and for the royal palace, and to make harps and lyres for the musicians. So much almugwood has never been imported or seen since that day.) 13 King Solomon gave the queen of Sheba all she desired and asked for, besides what he had given her out of his royal bounty. Then she left and returned with her retinue to her own country.

I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before in my studies. The Queen of Sheba is sort of like the moon. Everybody is in a race to stick their flag in her to claim her. Everybody. It’s not just us here in 1 Kings. The Muslims claim her too. Did you know that? They’re so eager to claim her that millennia later they tried to coop her in their sacred text, the Koran. The Ethiopians want her too. Historians say that actually their whole national consciousness is based on the claim that she was their queen. And as if that weren’t enough the people across the Red Sea over in Yemen claim her too. Everybody wants her legacy, her power, and wisdom as their own. Even people in our culture want to claim her. I read a blog just this week called the Fatal Feminist claiming her as well. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before in my studies. The Queen of Sheba is like the moon. Everybody wants to stick their own flag in her to claim her.

It’s not hard to understand why. She an absolute unicorn in history. She’s stunning, wise, and powerful. First of all, she’s a queen regnate, which means she doesn’t owe her throne to anybody. She’s queen under her own power, which for a woman of those times is totally unheard of. And, obviously, that increases her legend greatly. Here is a woman who sweeps into history under her own power and seems to own the world like no queen did before and arguably no queen has since. And just so you don’t think this is my own private opinion of her please know that the History Channel in a documentary about her said she, “is the most famous queen in the world.” In other words, sit down Queen Nefertiti and take a back seat Queen Elizabeth because the Queen of Sheba is in the house. More than that though, did you notice how much culture, power and wealth this woman oozes? It’s sort of other worldly to think about. In fact, the Spirit even credits her here with the greatest collection of expensive spices ever to be gathered into one place. Did you catch that? “Never again were so many spices brought in.” (v. 10) And as if that weren’t enough she’s also credited with the greatest import of an exotic and important wood called almugwood in world history as well. The Scriptures say, “So much almugwood has never been imported or seen since that day.” (v. 12) See what I mean? She’s a unicorn in world history. Stunning. Powerful. One of a kind.

But then again don’t take my word for it. Take the word of a guy who shows up on the scene ten millennia later and talks about her again. Take the word of a guy like that and begin to think about how amazing his comments about her truly are. When he talks about her he takes this entire account and condenses the whole thing down into a single title that he gives her. You know what Jesus himself calls her? Jesus gives her the title, “the Queen of the South.” (Luke 11:31) Like people 1000 years later would know exactly who he’s talking about with just by mentioning the title. Like for another 1000 years nobody had shown up in history quite as compelling or quite as mind-blowing as her. And did you catch how important Jesus says that she was? I mean, honestly, she was so important that Jesus nicknames her with one of the four cardinal points of the map. He simply calls her the Queen of the South. Not the Queen of Sheba. Not Queen of the Sabeans. Jesus simply calls her the Queen of the South. Like she owned half the world. Like she had half its wealth. Like she possessed half its power and half its people were under the influence of her rule. That’s what he’s saying when he nicknames her the Queen of the South.

And I suppose we could talk about how this historical unicorn had obviously conquered culture and had unimaginable wealth, etc., etc., etc. I suppose we could even do the historical analysis to try to understand what kind of perfect storm happened to cause this unicorn to arise. We could talk about the trades routes, the climate, the engineering problems she solved, etc., etc., etc., but we’d be missing the point if we did. There is a reason why everybody and especially Jesus wants to claim the Queen of Sheba. It’s for what she as a unicorn in history represents. Here is a most stunning person in world history who has everything. She has power and influence and it’s not just because of her gender. She has trade and, therefore, goods coming out of her ears. She has the world’s philosophies and ideas right on her doorstep as they come in from China, Africa, and Arabia right on and through her kingdom. Quite literally the world, its ideas, and its life were hers to do with as she pleased. And yet even though she clearly has the world she still seeks. And specifically she seeks Solomon because of, “his relationship to the Lord.” (v. 1) She came to Solomon and to his God given wisdom with her, “hard questions,” (v. 1) because quite simply there was a lot, “she had on her mind.” (v. 3)

Do you see it now? Do you see her now for what this very real historical figure is meant to teach us? She is a woman who owns philosophy, worldview, power, culture, music and the arts. She is a woman who owns the whole world, but she walks five hundred miles times two in arid, desert, sand-storm country (One without a company called Delta!) in search of something –  she didn’t know what –  but in search of something that she had heard that maybe the Lord, Solomon’s God, could give her. In other words, she had all of the world’s best ideas, but she felt there was something missing so profoundly that she was willing to traipse somewhat humiliatingly to another kingdom to another person on a wing and a prayer that maybe just maybe the rumors were true. And yes, she had believed it was a wing and a prayer. She said herself, “I did not believe these things.” (v. 7) She was so desperate for light that on the off chance that Solomon could offer real answers to life’s greatest questions she headed his way.

And it’s not just her. Seriously, it’s not. Everybody feels this to a degree. Everybody. We all sense deep down there’s something very dark about ourselves and our world. Take a look at the world’s top ideas and stories this year. It’s not a fluke that one of the biggest words of 2015 was “self-identifying.” Our world is honestly so dark that we’re not even sure how to self-identify; we’re not even sure who we are at our core. Am I black? Am I straight? Am I gay? Am I a woman or am I a man? Who am I? Bruce Jenner is probably the perfect example of this. What he and everybody on both sides of that issue can agree on is that this is a person who is struggling with an immense amount of torturous personal darkness. Truthfully, you can’t even watch Tangled without understanding this about the world. You have this heroine stuck in her tower knowing so little about herself and her world. And you know what she sings so hopefully when she first has contact with something outside her tower? “Now I have seen the light.” We all want light. We all want truth. We all want something that’s going to help us make sense of ourselves, what we feel, and where we’re going. We all want epiphany.

And that’s where this account of the Queen of Sheba comes in. Do you see what it is? It’s a condemnation of attempting to find that light in the wrong place. And by the way, that’s not my interpretation of the story. That’s Jesus’ interpretation of it. “She condemns them.” (Luke 11:31) He’s, of course, right. She does. She is the queen of world culture. She is the queen of philosophy and religion and ideas. She is the world’s unicorn in that way. And as Jesus so perfectly points out, her trip to Solomon is a rejection of all of it. It’s a condemnation of anything people call wisdom here. That’s why she took her trip. She was saying, “You can’t and you won’t find light here. Believe me I tried. Light isn’t naturally in us. If you want light; if you want to have a true epiphany about your identity and your sexuality; if you want to have a clear worldview, you’re never going to find it down here.” And, honestly, that’s what I want for you. I want you to give up on trendy books like Eat, Pray, Love. I want you to quit listening so closely to what the talking heads are saying about the hottest philosophical, gender, political, and sexual topics of the day. I actually want you despair of them. I want you to see them for who they are people grappling in darkness (compassionately for sure!), but I also want you to see them the way the Queen of Sheba so clearly did – as a bunch of people struggling for light and not having it. The Queen of Sheba visited Solomon three thousand years ago. Let me say that again. The Queen of Sheba visited Solomon three thousand years ago and in 2015 one of the hottest words was self-identify. Do you see what that says? The world’s hot new ideas, new innovative philosophies, and supposedly wonderful new truths have not advanced us spiritually or emotionally at all. It’s time to see them all for what they are: darkness remixed.

And that’s why we have this amazing unicorn called the Queen of Sheba in the Scriptures. And that’s why Jesus hauls her out once again 10 millennia later. She’s an absolute tour de force. That’s the phrase I kept seeing in my mind as I was thinking about this Scripture. She’s a tour de force to draw us to Solomon, to his wisdom, and to his light. It’s a tour de force to say to us, “Neither you, nor anybody with their own wisdom can make the lights come on. Only someone with special access to God and his wisdom can do that. Only then you’ll see. Only then you’ll know as you should know. Only then you’ll be able to make sense of your world, yourself, your feelings, your life. You need Solomon.” Well - sort of. Truth is. You need way more than Solomon. This is his life’s peak. That much is clear in the Scriptures. He gains the throne. He builds a magnificent palace and a stunning Temple for the Lord. And then the Queen of Sheba shows up for his wisdom, but then he backslides when he doesn’t apply God’s wisdom to himself. Idolatry, womanizing – darkness grabs a hold of him. Even Solomon. Even the world’s wisest man had darkness invade. We need someone greater than Solomon. Someone wiser. Someone so close to God that no darkness can ever cloud his thinking or his actions. And by now I’ve given away the whole thing. We need Jesus.

And you have him. He said himself about himself, “Now something greater than Solomon is here.” (Luke 11:31) He’s here. He’s enlightening. He’s doing what nobody else can do on earth. He’s giving real epiphanies. He’s the one who has special access to the wisdom of God to turn the lights on for us all. That’s the real tour de force here. The Queen of Sheba wants you to know as someone who’s experienced the entire world of ideas that the Greater Solomon isn’t some poor man’s philosopher. He’s the only true one. She wants you to see that he doesn’t hand you a weird and inferior way of understanding yourself and the world. He’s the only one who can help you see yourself and your world clearly. She wants you to understand that the Greater Solomon isn’t some wanna-be therapist. He’s the only one who will offer you the only true therapy for your life known as the gospel. She wants you to agree that he’s not some moral prude or just another male chauvinist. He’s the only one with a moral code and with ideas about human relationships that make people to quote the Queen of Sheba herself, “happy.” (v. 8) But more than that. Far more than that. He’s the only one who can speak a wisdom in the gospel that forgives your sins and gives you eternal life. He’s Jesus, the Greater Solomon, who came to usher us into an enlightenment so complete that it will push out all the darkness so that when we arrive to his presence we will stand there just like the Queen of Sheba, “with no breath,” (v. 5) and with our eyes bugging out of heads mumble, “I did not believe these things until I came and saw my own eyes.” (v. 7) I heard the gospel, but I had no idea the light it described was this good.  

In the meantime, let me make a suggestion. Don’t be just another person that sticks a flag in the Queen of Sheba to make a claim on her. I have a better idea. Be her. Be the guy who sees that cultural trends are just that: cultural trends. They won’t take you anywhere except to the next cultural trend – the next wave of ideas that promise so much, but deliver only more darkness. Be the guy who gets that. Be the lady who would walk 500 miles times two to get to listen to the wisdom and answers of someone so close to God that he actually is God. Be the person who wants the Greater Solomon to enlightens them Sunday after Sunday after Sunday not because you have an obligation to him, but because all the life and culture and ideas worth having are found only in him and the wisdom he gives us in the gospel. Yes, he has enlightenment on gender issues. Yes, he teaches us about how to deal with our sexuality. But he’s more. He’s our forgiveness. He’s our life. He’s the way all of us Christians self-identify – as his. He’s the one who makes All Things New giving new light (real epiphanies!) to our hearts and minds. Amen.

Luke 2:41–52 Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover. 42 When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to the custom. 43 After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but they were unaware of it. 44 Thinking he was in their company, they traveled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. 45 When they did not find him, they went back to Jerusalem to look for him. 46 After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. 47 Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers. 48 When his parents saw him, they were astonished. His mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.” 49 “Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” 50 But they did not understand what he was saying to them. 51 Then he went down to Nazareth with them and was obedient to them. But his mother treasured all these things in her heart. 52 And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man.

God is up to a million things in our lives and we might understand three of them. At least, that’s the way it seemed to Mary at this moment.

It’s interesting that she admits this so openly. And, yes, it almost certainly is her admitting this. It probably wasn’t Joseph who goes around telling this story. He disappears from Luke’s gospel after this. He may not have been around too much longer. And it almost certainly wasn’t those teachers that Jesus was sitting with either. I mean can you imagine a mother outing herself in front of that culture’s leading figures? Can you imagine it? Can you imagine her saying to those authority figures, “Excuse me for a moment while I talk to my preteen son who by the way I haven’t seen, texted, or talked to, or known his whereabouts for three days?” Can you imagine? I’m pretty sure those authority figures wouldn’t have known the full extent of this story. I doubt it was the family or the relatives that traveled with either. I suppose that Mary could’ve let them in on it later, but Luke doesn’t suggest anywhere that it was them. I mean Luke’s quoting Mary to Jesus and Jesus to Mary verbatim here. But you know what really seals the deal that this was Mary telling her story? It’s Luke telling us, “But his mother treasured all these things in her heart.” (v. 51) How would he have known that unless Mary told him herself. And by that way, this is already the second time Luke told us that about Mary in his Gospel. How else would Luke be able to develop Mary this thoroughly, know her reactions to Jesus’ birth announcement, and now know about this twelve-year-old and preteen Jesus who Mary parents? This all seems to be coming directly from the horse’s mouth: a personal interview with Mary.

Which, of course, brings us to an altogether different and shocking question: Mary, why this story? Seriously, Mary, why this story? I mean just think about the massive, massive historical leap we’re making here. If you do, it’s the kind of reflection that produces a sort of spiritual vertigo and nausea because of the incredibly swift movement. I mean here we are being introduced to preteen Jesus when just two days ago he had been wrapped in clothes and lying in a manger. Do you see what a jump that is? All of a sudden we’re put into a time warp and we’re introduced to a twelve-year-old. That’s one massive jump. And in between there’s no cute verbal photo album where Mary’s recalling Jesus trying out human language for the first time saying, “goo, goo, ga, ga.” There’s no image of Joseph holding out his arms to a teetering toddler saying, “Come on, Jesus. You can do it. Take your first step.” There isn’t even a sort of funny and equally amazing story about how Joseph said, “Jesus, this is how you hammer a nail.” And Jesus misses the nail, hits his thumb, and that perfect child has absolutely no inclination to say a naughty word when does. You only have this vertigo, nausea inducing time warp from Jesus the tiny infant to Jesus the preteen.

It gets even more shocking from there. I mean Mary could have told any story from Jesus’ preteen years. Any at all. Just think of how shocking it is that she includes this one. I mean. Come on. What more maternally damaging story is there than the one where you tell the whole world, “Yup. I committed one of the most egregious parenting sins you can commit. I completely and utterly lost my kid.” I mean seriously. This isn’t losing your kid for a brief heart stopping moment behind a wall of clothing at Macy’s only to rediscover her 60 seconds later. This is losing your kid for three whole heartrending days. And, yeah, we understand there are some big cultural differences here. They traveled caravan style and the village was helping raising the kid. And, moreover, they clearly weren’t the overwhelming sort of helicopter parents we are these days, but still. But still. You lost your kid for three whole days. Can you imagine what an aggressive DHEC would do with that one? And let’s be honest. This wasn’t any old kid we’re talking about. If there was any kid, you should probably keep your eye on. If there was any mother who really should’ve been a helicopter parent, it was Mary. I mean this is the Savior, the Most High, and the Redeemer. Jesus was not just her son. Jesus was her whole future and the future of us all. And Mary risked it all with her lackadaisical parenting. She didn’t lose some normal kid. She lost God.

And then she made it worse. Did you catch that? She compounded her parental failure. I get that she was upset. I know that she was emotional. I know that she was stressed to within an inch of her life. I grant all that to her and I feel along with her, but even she doesn’t cut herself any slack on this. She gives us a direct quote of what she said to Jesus. She said, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.” (v. 48) Do you see what she just did? She blamed him for her less than observant parenting. Even with a normal kid, it’s not particularly wise or endearing to blame the kid for getting lost. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t make it any better when you blame God for it either. Especially when you had now had twelve years to figure out how divine he was. I mean can you imagine? Everybody at mom’s club is talking about how their kids won’t eat their broccoli and Mary just sits there and in her mind’s eye sees Jesus obediently always eating his off his tray. No threats of not dessert getting were ever needed. None. Can you imagine? She’s had twelve years of perfect obedience from Jesus where she had come to understand that her amazing parenting had nothing to do with his perfect obedience and yet the first time something weird happens she has the gall to show up and blame God for her failures. Suffice to say this isn’t the most flattering picture of Mary you’ll find in the Scriptures.

Especially when you consider her emotional state, which Luke very clearly outlines for us. When Mary said, “I have been anxiously searching for you,” (v. 48) she really meant anxiously searching for you. The Greek word she used to describe her emotional state is incredibly intense. Especially for Luke. Luke uses this word only three other times: to describe the torment of loss and anguish in an eternity of separation from God (He uses the word twice there.), and then again when he describes what it was like for pastor Paul to say goodbye to a church for the last time. It’s clearly a heart wrenching word that describes a profound and deep anguish. We’re talking here about a Mary who’s probably admitting that she was nothing less than an emotional and spiritual wreck. Her heart was ripped to shreds inside her. She was probably constructing all kinds of awful scenarios in her mind about what happened to Jesus; how much she’d miss him; how much guilt she’d have as a result. Mary was one sad and lost soul here who shows up to her preteen son in the Temple in Jerusalem having lost not just a normal kid, but God’s kid. And now was so upset about it that when she finds him with the teachers in the Temple she has the gall to attempt to tell him that it was his fault.

It’s shocking really. No goo, goo, ga, ga. No stories of Jesus obediently eating his broccoli. No hammer hitting thumb stories. Just this one, which no matter which way you cut it isn’t the most flattering picture of Mary, her parenting, or of her spiritual life. But it’s always like that, isn’t it? When you read in the Scriptures about people who experience God’s gospel work in their lives? It’s always unexpected. It’s always surprising. Often it feels wrong and dangerous. And the people who experience it never understand it as it happens. They never understand that the Lord may well be up to a million things in their lives. And because they don’t great, great emotional and spiritual uncertainty results. I’m not sure I even have to work that hard to show this to you. How can bad things like losing the Son of God ever feel like part of a good, master plan? How can other bad things like still being single when you thought you’d have found Prince Charming five years ago be either? How can wishing that you’d have had five kids by now and still be suffering with unexplained infertility be a part of it? How can that marriage that started with so much promise end with so much regret and hurt make any sense? How does that move or that demotion or that heartbreaking miscarriage fit into something bigger, something better that we can’t see right now? And can we not be asking like Mary, “How can God take my sins and my mistakes – even massive ones like losing God’s Son for three days – be a part of some kind of salvation jigsaw puzzle for me and for everyone else?”

You know what Jesus’ answer is to that? And, by the way, these are Jesus’ first spoken words in the entire Bible. Did you know that? I don’t think we can make a too big a deal of that. These are the first red letter words Bible EVER. Jesus’ first words to us aren’t, “Momma or Da da.” They’re words that just about give away his whole mission and work. They’re two questions to Mary’s one question, “Why are you searching for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in Father’s house?” (v. 49) Which when you read those words you can’t help but begin to see that that is such a huge theme for everybody who’s ever been involved in Jesus’ salvation story. After Jesus rose from the dead, do you remember what the angels kept saying, “Why are you searching for him? He’s not here.” It’s always the same story for everyone who gets involved with Jesus’ salvation. The gospel arc in our lives is way too high for us to see so we search for it, but we can’t seem to find it. So we show up at the Temple and we can’t quite grasp that Jesus had to be there to be taking care of his Father’s business. And we show up to the ultimate grave yards, Jesus’ tomb, and we actually expect to find his lifeless bones there. We do this searching because we’re not yet seeing the big, salvation picture. We’re not yet seeing that God might just be up to a million salvation things even as we grasp only about three of them.

It’s only later that Mary understood. It was always about going to Jerusalem for Jesus. It’s only later she got that he had to go there to and take care of his Father’s household. That he had to go there and be about his Father’s business of saving people. It’s only later that she understood that Jesus would do that not just by going missing for three days from a travel caravan as he sat with the teachers of the Scripture, but that he would go missing from the entire living world for another epic set of three days and that once again people would search for him with hearts even more broken and sadder than her heart was in that moment. It’s only later that she pieced it all together and she understood that the preteen Jesus was asking her heart the same question that the angels of the resurrected Jesus’ asked other the believers after he died, “Don’t you get it? Why are you searching like this? It had to be this way. It had to be. And now it’s happened. And you’re saved.” And now here’s Mary sitting with Luke with tears of joy glistening in her eyes saying, “we, “…did not understand what he was saying.” (v. 50) But we do now. We do now. He had to go to Jerusalem. He had to be there. He had to fulfill the Scriptures. He had to go missing for three days. He had to die. He had to rise. And now. Only now I see.”

You know what else I think Mary said to Luke? I think she said with those same glistening tears and that same heart full of the Spirit, “Luke, tell them that story. Don’t tell them the one about Jesus’ first steps. And forget the one about Joseph teaching him to handle a hammer for the first time. Tell them this story. I think they’ll need this one the most. Tell them the one that shows how easy it is to live inside the salvation jigsaw puzzle, be a piece, and miss the fact that you’re a part of the puzzle. Tell them that one. Tell the one about how anxious we were; how it was like death had a grip on my soul for the moment. Tell them the one about the Father who was up to just one thing with this young mother and her son and how this young mother understood absolutely none of it. Help them see that even as I knew none of it that he was always working the plan for us even as a preteen. That he was headed to Jerusalem. That he was about his Father’s house and his Father’s business the whole time. Tell them that story so they’ll see how big and saving he is for them too. Tell them that the infertility matters. Tell them that the move to Aiken was divine. Tell them that that tough upbringing mattered and that that rocky marriage wasn’t for nothing. Tell them that the miscarriage, the heart problems, the anxiety, and the demotion was all a part of it. Tell them that they’re pieces of the salvation puzzle that all fit perfectly together in a way they’ll come to understand only later. Tell them that story so they’ll know this truth: That God’s actually not up to a million things in their lives. He’s up to only one. He’s going to save them.” Amen.

Luke 2:41–52 Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover. 42 When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to the custom. 43 After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but they were unaware of it. 44 Thinking he was in their company, they traveled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. 45 When they did not find him, they went back to Jerusalem to look for him. 46 After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. 47 Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers. 48 When his parents saw him, they were astonished. His mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.” 49 “Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” 50 But they did not understand what he was saying to them. 51 Then he went down to Nazareth with them and was obedient to them. But his mother treasured all these things in her heart. 52 And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man.

God is up to a million things in our lives and we might understand three of them. At least, that’s the way it seemed to Mary at this moment.

It’s interesting that she admits this so openly. And, yes, it almost certainly is her admitting this. It probably wasn’t Joseph who goes around telling this story. He disappears from Luke’s gospel after this. He may not have been around too much longer. And it almost certainly wasn’t those teachers that Jesus was sitting with either. I mean can you imagine a mother outing herself in front of that culture’s leading figures? Can you imagine it? Can you imagine her saying to those authority figures, “Excuse me for a moment while I talk to my preteen son who by the way I haven’t seen, texted, or talked to, or known his whereabouts for three days?” Can you imagine? I’m pretty sure those authority figures wouldn’t have known the full extent of this story. I doubt it was the family or the relatives that traveled with either. I suppose that Mary could’ve let them in on it later, but Luke doesn’t suggest anywhere that it was them. I mean Luke’s quoting Mary to Jesus and Jesus to Mary verbatim here. But you know what really seals the deal that this was Mary telling her story? It’s Luke telling us, “But his mother treasured all these things in her heart.” (v. 51) How would he have known that unless Mary told him herself. And by that way, this is already the second time Luke told us that about Mary in his Gospel. How else would Luke be able to develop Mary this thoroughly, know her reactions to Jesus’ birth announcement, and now know about this twelve-year-old and preteen Jesus who Mary parents? This all seems to be coming directly from the horse’s mouth: a personal interview with Mary.

Which, of course, brings us to an altogether different and shocking question: Mary, why this story? Seriously, Mary, why this story? I mean just think about the massive, massive historical leap we’re making here. If you do, it’s the kind of reflection that produces a sort of spiritual vertigo and nausea because of the incredibly swift movement. I mean here we are being introduced to preteen Jesus when just two days ago he had been wrapped in clothes and lying in a manger. Do you see what a jump that is? All of a sudden we’re put into a time warp and we’re introduced to a twelve-year-old. That’s one massive jump. And in between there’s no cute verbal photo album where Mary’s recalling Jesus trying out human language for the first time saying, “goo, goo, ga, ga.” There’s no image of Joseph holding out his arms to a teetering toddler saying, “Come on, Jesus. You can do it. Take your first step.” There isn’t even a sort of funny and equally amazing story about how Joseph said, “Jesus, this is how you hammer a nail.” And Jesus misses the nail, hits his thumb, and that perfect child has absolutely no inclination to say a naughty word when does. You only have this vertigo, nausea inducing time warp from Jesus the tiny infant to Jesus the preteen.

It gets even more shocking from there. I mean Mary could have told any story from Jesus’ preteen years. Any at all. Just think of how shocking it is that she includes this one. I mean. Come on. What more maternally damaging story is there than the one where you tell the whole world, “Yup. I committed one of the most egregious parenting sins you can commit. I completely and utterly lost my kid.” I mean seriously. This isn’t losing your kid for a brief heart stopping moment behind a wall of clothing at Macy’s only to rediscover her 60 seconds later. This is losing your kid for three whole heartrending days. And, yeah, we understand there are some big cultural differences here. They traveled caravan style and the village was helping raising the kid. And, moreover, they clearly weren’t the overwhelming sort of helicopter parents we are these days, but still. But still. You lost your kid for three whole days. Can you imagine what an aggressive DHEC would do with that one? And let’s be honest. This wasn’t any old kid we’re talking about. If there was any kid, you should probably keep your eye on. If there was any mother who really should’ve been a helicopter parent, it was Mary. I mean this is the Savior, the Most High, and the Redeemer. Jesus was not just her son. Jesus was her whole future and the future of us all. And Mary risked it all with her lackadaisical parenting. She didn’t lose some normal kid. She lost God.

And then she made it worse. Did you catch that? She compounded her parental failure. I get that she was upset. I know that she was emotional. I know that she was stressed to within an inch of her life. I grant all that to her and I feel along with her, but even she doesn’t cut herself any slack on this. She gives us a direct quote of what she said to Jesus. She said, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.” (v. 48) Do you see what she just did? She blamed him for her less than observant parenting. Even with a normal kid, it’s not particularly wise or endearing to blame the kid for getting lost. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t make it any better when you blame God for it either. Especially when you had now had twelve years to figure out how divine he was. I mean can you imagine? Everybody at mom’s club is talking about how their kids won’t eat their broccoli and Mary just sits there and in her mind’s eye sees Jesus obediently always eating his off his tray. No threats of not dessert getting were ever needed. None. Can you imagine? She’s had twelve years of perfect obedience from Jesus where she had come to understand that her amazing parenting had nothing to do with his perfect obedience and yet the first time something weird happens she has the gall to show up and blame God for her failures. Suffice to say this isn’t the most flattering picture of Mary you’ll find in the Scriptures.

Especially when you consider her emotional state, which Luke very clearly outlines for us. When Mary said, “I have been anxiously searching for you,” (v. 48) she really meant anxiously searching for you. The Greek word she used to describe her emotional state is incredibly intense. Especially for Luke. Luke uses this word only three other times: to describe the torment of loss and anguish in an eternity of separation from God (He uses the word twice there.), and then again when he describes what it was like for pastor Paul to say goodbye to a church for the last time. It’s clearly a heart wrenching word that describes a profound and deep anguish. We’re talking here about a Mary who’s probably admitting that she was nothing less than an emotional and spiritual wreck. Her heart was ripped to shreds inside her. She was probably constructing all kinds of awful scenarios in her mind about what happened to Jesus; how much she’d miss him; how much guilt she’d have as a result. Mary was one sad and lost soul here who shows up to her preteen son in the Temple in Jerusalem having lost not just a normal kid, but God’s kid. And now was so upset about it that when she finds him with the teachers in the Temple she has the gall to attempt to tell him that it was his fault.

It’s shocking really. No goo, goo, ga, ga. No stories of Jesus obediently eating his broccoli. No hammer hitting thumb stories. Just this one, which no matter which way you cut it isn’t the most flattering picture of Mary, her parenting, or of her spiritual life. But it’s always like that, isn’t it? When you read in the Scriptures about people who experience God’s gospel work in their lives? It’s always unexpected. It’s always surprising. Often it feels wrong and dangerous. And the people who experience it never understand it as it happens. They never understand that the Lord may well be up to a million things in their lives. And because they don’t great, great emotional and spiritual uncertainty results. I’m not sure I even have to work that hard to show this to you. How can bad things like losing the Son of God ever feel like part of a good, master plan? How can other bad things like still being single when you thought you’d have found Prince Charming five years ago be either? How can wishing that you’d have had five kids by now and still be suffering with unexplained infertility be a part of it? How can that marriage that started with so much promise end with so much regret and hurt make any sense? How does that move or that demotion or that heartbreaking miscarriage fit into something bigger, something better that we can’t see right now? And can we not be asking like Mary, “How can God take my sins and my mistakes – even massive ones like losing God’s Son for three days – be a part of some kind of salvation jigsaw puzzle for me and for everyone else?”

You know what Jesus’ answer is to that? And, by the way, these are Jesus’ first spoken words in the entire Bible. Did you know that? I don’t think we can make a too big a deal of that. These are the first red letter words Bible EVER. Jesus’ first words to us aren’t, “Momma or Da da.” They’re words that just about give away his whole mission and work. They’re two questions to Mary’s one question, “Why are you searching for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in Father’s house?” (v. 49) Which when you read those words you can’t help but begin to see that that is such a huge theme for everybody who’s ever been involved in Jesus’ salvation story. After Jesus rose from the dead, do you remember what the angels kept saying, “Why are you searching for him? He’s not here.” It’s always the same story for everyone who gets involved with Jesus’ salvation. The gospel arc in our lives is way too high for us to see so we search for it, but we can’t seem to find it. So we show up at the Temple and we can’t quite grasp that Jesus had to be there to be taking care of his Father’s business. And we show up to the ultimate grave yards, Jesus’ tomb, and we actually expect to find his lifeless bones there. We do this searching because we’re not yet seeing the big, salvation picture. We’re not yet seeing that God might just be up to a million salvation things even as we grasp only about three of them.

It’s only later that Mary understood. It was always about going to Jerusalem for Jesus. It’s only later she got that he had to go there to and take care of his Father’s household. That he had to go there and be about his Father’s business of saving people. It’s only later that she understood that Jesus would do that not just by going missing for three days from a travel caravan as he sat with the teachers of the Scripture, but that he would go missing from the entire living world for another epic set of three days and that once again people would search for him with hearts even more broken and sadder than her heart was in that moment. It’s only later that she pieced it all together and she understood that the preteen Jesus was asking her heart the same question that the angels of the resurrected Jesus’ asked other the believers after he died, “Don’t you get it? Why are you searching like this? It had to be this way. It had to be. And now it’s happened. And you’re saved.” And now here’s Mary sitting with Luke with tears of joy glistening in her eyes saying, “we, “…did not understand what he was saying.” (v. 50) But we do now. We do now. He had to go to Jerusalem. He had to be there. He had to fulfill the Scriptures. He had to go missing for three days. He had to die. He had to rise. And now. Only now I see.”

You know what else I think Mary said to Luke? I think she said with those same glistening tears and that same heart full of the Spirit, “Luke, tell them that story. Don’t tell them the one about Jesus’ first steps. And forget the one about Joseph teaching him to handle a hammer for the first time. Tell them this story. I think they’ll need this one the most. Tell them the one that shows how easy it is to live inside the salvation jigsaw puzzle, be a piece, and miss the fact that you’re a part of the puzzle. Tell them that one. Tell the one about how anxious we were; how it was like death had a grip on my soul for the moment. Tell them the one about the Father who was up to just one thing with this young mother and her son and how this young mother understood absolutely none of it. Help them see that even as I knew none of it that he was always working the plan for us even as a preteen. That he was headed to Jerusalem. That he was about his Father’s house and his Father’s business the whole time. Tell them that story so they’ll see how big and saving he is for them too. Tell them that the infertility matters. Tell them that the move to Aiken was divine. Tell them that that tough upbringing mattered and that that rocky marriage wasn’t for nothing. Tell them that the miscarriage, the heart problems, the anxiety, and the demotion was all a part of it. Tell them that they’re pieces of the salvation puzzle that all fit perfectly together in a way they’ll come to understand only later. Tell them that story so they’ll know this truth: That God’s actually not up to a million things in their lives. He’s up to only one. He’s going to save them.” Amen.

Hebrews 2:6–8 But there is a place where someone has testified: “What is mankind that you are mindful of them, a son of man that you care for him? 7 You made them a little lower than the angels; you crowned them with glory and honor 8 and put everything under their feet.”

But there is a place where someone has testified: what is mankind that you are mindful of him?

Such a profound question with such a seemingly flippant introduction.

I mean seriously, writer to the Hebrews, that’s the best you’ve got? Somewhere someone once said. Seriously? You can’t do any better than that? Why so off-the-cuff with your introduction? Why so anti-intellectual that you don’t bother citing your sources?

What do you think this writer’s doing? Do you think he’s trying to be clearly unacademic to show us how far this is from some intellectual exercise? That he wants us realizing that the truth this question tries to get at so far surpasses every cognitive ability that he won’t touch scholarship with a ten-foot-pole? Or do you think it’s because the citation was so widely known? That everybody knew it because it was at the front of everybody’s ancient hymnal – that he’s quoting here Psalm 8?

Or do you think it’s actually a literary tactic? That by being so flippant with the introduction that we’d be forced in our minds to run even quicker to the citation; to remember where the quote first came to life; to think back to its original source, Psalm 8? And do you think he did that so we’d reconsider what Psalm 8 is about – God’s heavens? Do you think he wants us pondering how God’s fingers fashioned everything up there? Do you think he wants us contemplating again how God didn’t use some tool to shape the moon and each of the stars? That the psalm says it was his fingers; that he personally created and cared for and set into orbit each star and each planet; that he wants us to awe at God’s might that gathered gravitational pull and mustered gaseous fires into tight compact looking lights called stars? Do you think he wants us to thrill at God’s power and God’s wisdom that set worlds spinning each on their own axis and sends moons making their way around their own planets?

Do you think part of what he meant when he asked, “What is mankind that you are mindful of him?” Or do you think it was something more?

Do you think it’s more than wanting us to think about God’s powerful fingers that set those heavenly bodies in place? Do you think it’s also that he wants us to intellectually get blown out of the water as we stare up into the sky and see a septillion stars there – each carefully made with divine fingers? Do you think that that’s it? Do you think he knew that we’d see our complete inability to grasp the depth of space and the sheer number of the stars? Do you think he wants us to stop everything and look up like children into the twinkling of the night sky and just get a sense of our own insignificance against its expanse? Do you think he wants us to be swallowed up with its immensity, its depth, its magnitude and its size so that we begin to see how just how small, just how micro, just how little we are?

Do you think that that’s it?

Or do you think he’s after something altogether different? Do you think he’s emphasizing not the expanse of the sky or the magnitude of the stars and our smallness in comparison, but really that we were made just a little lower than the angels; that we were crowned with glory and honor and that everything was put under our feet; that he’s highlighting for us how far we’ve fallen from that; that we’ve harnessed the energy of the atom not first to power our world, but first to destroy each other; that we’ve used our understanding of biology and human reproduction not only to bless the youngest of our race, but also to ensure that some of them won’t ever see the light of day; that he gave us spouses to love and nurture and protect and we end up being the ones sometimes who damage them the most. Do you think he wants us to think through all of our very real relational failures and misguided planetary priorities? Do you think he wanted us to see how far we’ve fallen from the glory and the power and the perfection that God intended us to have?

Do you think that that’s why he asked, “What is mankind that you are mindful of him?”

Or do you think it’s a combination of all of the above? Do you think he thought about those stars and was in awe of God’s care and power? Do you think he thought about the multitude of them and sensed his own insignificance? Do you think he thought about the crown of creation responsibility that he also threw off and shrunk down when he thought of it? That he felt so small not just against the night sky, but especially against the night of his own sin; that he felt microscopic not only under the hugeness of God, but also also under the hugeness of his shirked responsibilities toward that God?

Or do you think it was something more?

That he knew the immensity of space and the multitude of the stars and the hugeness of his own spiritual inadequacy. And, yet, he still didn’t shrink away. That the writer lifted up his voice. That he called out to God with joy. That he said how majestic is your name in all the earth. Because once again he saw God’s fingers. This time not shaping the stars in the distant galaxies. This time he saw God’s fingers up close and infantile wrapped up around his mother’s forefinger. And he must’ve thought about how those fingers would grow and work and become God’s hands. Hands that this time wouldn’t be off lovingly setting moons into orbit, but this time would be off being pierced through with the sharp nails of human sin. Because he was to grow up and be the one who wouldn’t throw off his crown of creation responsibility. He would wear it for us ringed with thorns though it was.

Do you that’s why he asked, “What is mankind that you are mindful of him?”

Or do you think he asked it simply so that we’d re-ask the question too? And that by the asking of the question we’d fumble around for its answer and in that fumbling the Spirit would do his great faith building work; that when we ask, “What is mankind that you are mindful of him?” we come to see that the answer is so ellusive and high that we’re actually never supposed to answer it. We’re supposed to celebrate that the fact we can ask it at all. That just as God mindfully set the stars in their orbit, God was mindful of us too – people who had willfully left theirs. That he was so mindful of us that he entered our orbit, our hay, and our manger; and took up sin, our death, our thrown down creation and our lost lives. So that we could all reenter his orbit, his throne room, his righteousness, wear his crown, and find our eternal lives in him.

That he asked “What is man that you are mindful of him?” just to deepen us in the fact that he was and that we’d see in Jesus’ manger just how mindful he was. And there at the manger find ourselves not melting away from the immensity of God and and sensing our own insignificance amongst the rest of his creation, but drawn to the heights of faith only beginning to see how significant we are to that huge God. That he was mindful of you. And even as he fell asleep in that pile of prickly hay that Christmas night he slept tight. Mindful even in his dreams of you. That’s what he dreamed of. That’s why he had come. For your forgiveness. For your eternity. For your salvation. So that you could forever ask, “What am I that you are mindful of me?” Not with any intent of ever answering the question, but filled with perfect and holy awe that you could ask it at all. Merry Christmas, Peace family. Amen.