Matt 6:1-4
The Pharisees
had subtle and not-so-subtle ways of calling attention to their good deeds to
help the public acknowledge their good works. May some of them deluded
themselves that this was to provide a good example to follow so, even if it was
a little gauche, they humbled themselves by not being modest, which helped
others understand the better path.
I’ve gotten
to see a lot of this at church. Keep in mind, this becomes a big issue
when the theology is good, when you at least understand that technically good
works don’t buy your way to heaven. But maybe it doesn’t matter if
other’s see? It is kind of anticlimactic if a good work doesn’t
accomplish anything… that is, aside from the work itself. It’s a matter
of efficiency, right…?
So you don’t
go out of your way to hide your goodness. Maybe you put it a little on
display? Maybe you realize that, when everyone’s talking about godly
people, it’s a good idea to appear godly. It’s a good idea to appear as
godly as you really are. Why should it matter if people just discover
that you’re godly?
That was my
justification. Subtle. Gradual. I still feel that way
sometimes. Now, more than ever, knowing that good works are simply the
sign of sanctification (they’re a proof of a condition, but otherwise useless
since God doesn’t choose according to works), there are points when, feeling
like more credit is given to others, I find it very hard to not tell people
about some of the things I’m most proud of. It’s insidious, really; it
eats at me that other people might not know how good I am. And at the
same time I have that knowledge that there are many more things I hope no one
knows; the things I’d rather not know that prove how rotten I am before God.
And maybe my good works can help me forget the rest, and help others forget
too.
I find it’s
hard to have that personal relationship with God; no one blows trumpets, but to
do good works entirely in secret, just between you and God? I found how
much I’m a sinner simply processing that concept in my own heart. It
really is counter intuitive. After all, I have a reputation to keep with
people.
Matt 6:5-18
Prayer became
easier when I first converted and I spent my day in the Bible, researching and
debating. But once I was stable and solid, I didn’t study much, and my
prayer life suffered. I hated so many of the Bible Student prayers that
just seemed like more, dry, stale preaching to the crowd rather than talking
with God. Following my old boss’ example, I started praying from the
heart. And discovered that many Bible Student friends appreciated such a
heartfelt prayer. And I found, because I thought and felt deeply, that
when I came to Grace other’s appreciated it too. And despite that I had
started from the heart, I found I prayed much better in public because I now,
using the heart’s words, could craft an appropriate prayer, but I couldn’t with
God because God knows my words and heart. Prayer is about relationship,
and as mine deteriorated, even praying a “heartfelt” prayer became empty.
And yet, I found it became easier to pray publicly. Sometimes, good
public prayer because your own mask to hide what your prayer life really is
like. No wonder the Pharisees got good at it; they were trying to impress
themselves as well as others; if others thought them holy, maybe they were and
they could put aside their secret doubts.
A lot of
people pray by repetition. Even if not pagan, maybe they say “Hail Mary”
twenty times or maybe they use the same stock phrases. Bible Students are
good at that, often using the same language Russell used a century ago.
That’s why we as kids wondered when we might consecrate, because we figured
we’d have to learn an incredible amount of vocabulary, believing also that such
vocabulary coincided with an incredible understanding of the Bible. If
consecrated people talk like that, it’s way beyond our experience. A lot
of groups do that. Repetition means determination and endurance; others
can admire the effort; maybe God can too. Esoteric phrases simply sound
impressive to others, and if the lesser people are awed by it, maybe it means
you’ve achieved something. And maybe, the finer you talk, the less most
people understand you; and maybe they may never find out that you stand below
them. The same things that convince others we’re farther than they are
help blind them to how far behind me might be. It’s a tactic.
It’s
interesting the pattern Jesus gives: true prayer begins with an acknowledgement
of who God is, that he’s in heaven, and a desire that his name be exalted,
separate; that people keep it holy. It begins with a desire for the
things closest to God’s heart, which he desires: that his promised kingdom will
come, and that his will may be done on Earth also. And only then, do we
ask God, not to provide for the specific desires of today, but for the things
he always provides, which we’re most likely to take for granted. Things
like food. Like v.8 tells us, God already knows what we want and
need. We don’t need to repeat our desires for the specifics, but rather
we need to not forget the things he always provides, remembering that even the
most basic things we’ve come to rely on and expect, come by his provision.
There’s also
a subtle threat in this prayer as well as an implication. God, forgive
our sins. Not just my own, but yours too. We’re all in this
together. But not just yours but mine too. It’s my sin, and it’s Adams , and we all need the same forgiveness. God,
forgive our sins as we forgive others implies that we are forgiving as
well. But God, forgive our sins as we forgive others reminds us that God
help us if we, hoping for forgiveness, are not forgiving, lest God forgive us
in the same way we really forgive others.
And finally,
lead us away from temptation; don’t let us yield to it; keep us from it; don’t
lead us anywhere near it. God isn’t the author of evil, but he does allow
trials in our lives, and maybe we pray that he doesn’t let us go to close to
where we secretly know our greatest, most damning temptations are. We
spend our lives racing from our greatest demons, not necessarily to God, but at
least hoping to stay just a little ahead of what we know will drag us under.
Often we see others dragged under and while we’re eager to share with friends
that apparent weakness of others we wonder deep down what our price is; what
would cause our demise. God, don’t let us get close to our temptations,
keep us away, and rescue us from the evil one; we, if offered the right things,
may fall into our temptation, but the devil is there to help us along,
gloating, setting us up. Our natural weaknesses would be enough to damn
us eventually, but he’s there to make it worse and quicker. God, rescue
us from ourselves and from him.
When we fast,
it’s a noble thing for God, something we rarely do now. Maybe it cleanses
us, maybe it’s a reset button for our lives, weakening and slowing us, maybe it
helps us think more clearly, not being able to take advantage of the things we
usually do. But it becomes easy for us, especially Christians, to glorify
suffering and persecution, and sometimes you can get to the point where you
start to think you’re as holy as people think you are. You start to look
like those pitiful Catholic paintings of the suffering saints lifting their
pious heads. It doesn’t have to be obvious, just subtle enough and
noticeable enough. We ought to keep our good works secret and our
suffering secret. Sometimes, the only friend who’s opinion matters is
God’s, and to let others in who can do nothing else but watch and admire,
damages that sacred trust and bond.
Matt 6:19-34
In keeping
with that, we’re encouraged to keep our sufferings and our noble efforts in
God’s hands, in heaven. Our treasures on earth, our efforts here, if we
do them for our own ambitions or to impress mere men; it all vanishes in
time. People forget; maybe they never cared. Everything changes and
we could devote our lives simply to maintaining what we already have, let alone
gaining more; and it’s not ours once we die. Only God awaits us.
Your eye,
your ability to see is quite literally a way of taking in light to your body,
of processing it; a metaphor for our spiritual condition. When our
conscience is good we experience the glories that are God and God’s life in the
Spirit. But if we’re hardened to it, that life doesn’t come it.
Yet, a delusion is far worse. If we’re hardened to spiritual life, at
least we may feel empty; maybe the sinner feels in his soul that he’s
running. I feel this when I’m sinning; like speeding on the freeway,
something I find I’m doing more of, not less; and in those moments I’m
painfully aware of rebellion, of not wanting God there! I grip myself
with resolve and determination, push my foot farther down and my car is flying,
almost… like I’m running from God. And I know it. There must be
moments in your life when you are pushing yourself, and you know you are doing
it so you won’t have to face God, as if we could run far enough away that we
could live our lives the way we want. It’s childish, but at least it’s so
obvious that we mind understand it while there’s still time to slow down.
But maybe
this becomes the pattern of a life, and when confronted by another, we’ll put
up our strongest defense and finally make the critic look foolish. Never
mind that he’s right, but he has no right to judge us. Look at his
life. What about the log brother? So really, at least I’m not the
hypocrite. At least… and in the space of years, maybe you can just
silence that conscience enough, maybe you can convince yourself that you’re
spiritual, maybe you will find any religion, any philosophy, to prop up your
self-determined way of living. Your peace with God will be on your
terms. You will control how far he comes in your life, and in what form, and
maybe then you can believe that, while God might rule space, you are sovereign
over your own life. A good Christian can become an even better pagan with
just a little effort and a refusal to find himself really guilty.
But if we
think the darkness coming into our darkened eye is really light, how much
greater that darkness is, because believing you have the light, you have no
clue that you still need it and will no longer seek it. And the years
will go by until there are no more left.
So don’t be
deceived. You can’t serve two masters. You have your treasures in
heaven, or those on earth, but it’s an either-or. You can’t serve both
God and money. Nor God and sin of any kind. Nor God and
yourself. If you only pay lip-service to God, but spend your life really
serving yourself, no matter what others think, you hate God by hating the
things and commands of God in those limited years he’s given you. You
could spend your life hoarding everything, especially everything material given
to you, jealously guarding it all, but that’s no use to God who gave it to you
freely and easily.
From plants
to birds, insignificant things God took great care to create and design and
even maintain and feed, it should be obvious we’re of a much higher order;
we’re much more valuable, and if God takes care of such little things, isn’t it
a leap of logic to fear he won’t bother with us? That we have to spend
our lives keeping ourselves provisioned stubbornly refusing to believe that we
actually can rely on God? That it isn’t every man for himself?
But I suppose
to really trust implies that we have such a relationship with God as most of us
are afraid we don’t have. If I’m a sinner, and if I refuse to really
repent (I can come crying, sure, but it doesn’t mean I’m willing to give up my
sinning), my conscience carries a very fundamental doubt that the God I’m
disobeying really will help me. After all, I wouldn’t do that for someone
so blatantly turning their back on me. Ingrained in us, we have a sense
of cosmic justice and even now it damns us. Yet we could just let go of
that sin… But while we might let go of one or another, there’s still
others that we want to retain. But maybe if we can take care of our lives
properly we don’t need God. So we push for independence, hoping the God
who controls everything, even if he won’t help us, will just ignore us and not
bring the calamity we know he could easily bring. You have an entire
world of people keeping their heads down, hoping God will just ignore them and
let them go about their lives. Let us keep our own destinies…
What will we
eat or drink? What are we going to wear? How are we going to get
it? Unbelievers are dominated by this thinking. They have nothing
else because they allow nothing else. Real trust is built on a
relationship that we know is built on a real repentance that our hearts
instinctively refuse.
Ironic,
because God knows our needs. We’re told trust him and seek his kingdom
first, same as in the prayer, and then recognize that he is the source even of
the mundane, ignoble, daily things of our life; live righteously, rightly
before God; walk humbly with your God as Micah 6:6-8 says, and he will give you
everything you need. It’s not even a blind hope: if I force myself to
trust, or say that I trust God, maybe he’ll give it to me. No, he will,
just as he has in the past, just as he provides for things and creatures far
less valuable than you. All of God’s promises are always grounded in what
he already does and has done. We just have to remember. And
repent. And seek the things of God’s heart.
So stop
worrying. If you really understood God’s heart, you’d understand worry to
be sin, because in that moment you stop trusting God again and set your mind
trying to figure out how things can possibly work out according to everything
you see around you or can do yourself, and forget that God is sovereign over
everything. Today has enough trouble, and God has enough grace for
it. Let God worry about tomorrow. Today is for action, and trust in
the same God who is eternal, even declaring the end of everything from the very
beginning of it all.
No comments:
Post a Comment