The End of the Story Part II

Jesus raised a man who was wrapped head to toe in death.  Of course, that was only the beginning.

I am terrible at Math.  My brain just doesn't work in calculations and formulas.  Thank goodness there are people who are good at math and can compute things in their heads.  Because I can't.  

In fourth grade, there were two math classes.  Everyone knew what it meant if you were in room 7.  It meant that you sucked at math.  Room 7 was a place characterized by sorrow, failure, and a terrible view of the white brick building next door.  Room 4, however, was a place of infinite glee where young fourth graders ate cupcakes, solved math problems with ease, and generally relished in the knowledge that they would eventually become the great engineers of the age to come.  The view from room 4 was of the playground and the sweeping fields of Scotland, Pennsylvania.  Room 4 was where you wanted to be.

One particularly terrible day in room 7, I was taking a particularly terrible test.  When you failed a test at Scotland, you had to have your parents sign it; probably so that they could start planning early for what they believed to be their child's downward spiral into oblivion.  Needless to say, I had to have a few of these math tests signed; so many in fact that my parents had  forewarned me that one more of these signatures would result in what I interpreted to be my certain annihilation.

So I sat in room 7, taking my test on fractions; my future hanging in the balance.

By one point, I got a D.  I proudly stood before my parents, exclaiming brightly that I had not failed the test.  My joy was cut short by my parents swiftly observing that the teacher had graded the test incorrectly.  He had forgotten to mark an incorrect answer.  I had failed the test after all.

I tell this story for one reason, really.  For the ending.  The ending you read in the paragraph above shows you only a single perspective.  And perspective has everything to do with endings.

In a different time and a different place, the man who had restored other people from death back to life was dead Himself.  He had been crucified; killed between two thieves.  For some, everything was riding on Jesus.  Their hopes, dreams, and livelihoods.  But now those dreams were dead along with the man who inspired them.  This was probably the perspective of many to all of the disciples of Jesus Christ at the time of His death.  

And you could end the story there.  But for those of us who are Christians, we believe that the end of that story is not the end.

Because three days later Jesus was walking around and talking to people.  He was also walking through walls (but that's another story).  Along with Christ, the first Easter resurrected the hopes and dreams of those who followed Christ then and now.  Because we believe that Jesus beat death forever.  On Easter Sunday, this is the story we get.  Then church is over.

But the story doesn't end there.  Most of us know that.  Lots of amazing things happen after Christ is resurrected.  In fact, twenty-three books of the Bible full of pictures of the interaction of early Christians with Jesus and each other happen after the resurrection part of the story.

But the story doesn't end with the Bible.  Maybe you knew I was going to say that.  

The story earlier ended with my failure because that's where I ended it.  But the story didn't really end there.  If you read the last entry, you would have noticed that I graduated from college.  Obviously, fourth grade math couldn't hold me down forever.  But from our perspective, we impose endings all the time in order to categorize and understand information.  Humans have trouble with the infinite.

In our lives, relationships, and even our theology we impose all sorts of endings for all sorts of reasons.  Control.  Addiction.  Brokenness.  Confusion.  Endings are a result of sin, and sin is death.  Death is an ending.  But Jesus beat that.  And the divine reversal began.  

For every ending we impose, Jesus says "there's more."

For every person we say we're done with.  There's more.  For every tree that withers.  There's more.  For every heart that remains unfulfilled.  There's more.  Because I passed fourth grade math.  Because every cell that dies is replaced.  Because Jesus didn't stay dead.  Because even though our perspective suggests that the story has ended, there is always more.

This is why Jesus must be at the heart of the Gospel.  Jesus is the incarnate pinnacle of a redemptive movement that courses through our very molecules.  So when you think it's over, look again, because it has in fact just begun.

Maybe you know that next I am going to say that this is just the beginning too.

The End of the Story

Recently, I graduated from college.  In many ways, it was an ending.  It was the end of a four year long learning and social engagement.  It was the end of my day to day relationships with many people.  It was the end of my life in a place.  From Shippensburg and its University, I have been dynamically severed and cut off.

That sounds terribly sad, doesn't it?  There are ways I have previously connected with Shippensburg and its people which I will never again be able to do.  That part of my life has come to an end.  That story seems to be over.

In a different time and a different place, a man named Lazarus is dead.  Jesus stands just outside the tomb where Lazarus was lain, weeping.  This is the same Jesus who, three days ago, said that the sickness in Lazarus' body would not end in death.  But life in the body of Lazarus is nil.  That story seems to be over.

Those who are around have varying reactions to the tension created by the presence of death and Jesus in the same location.  Many in the crowd stand confused, thinking that if this is the same Jesus who opened the eyes of the blind then surely He could have healed the sickness of a man whom He called friend.

But another bystander in the crowd, Martha, holds in her heart a strange sensation of hope.  For just a bit ago, Jesus had approached her and had Himself claimed to be "the Resurrection and the Life."  She believed this but did not fully understand it, as she couldn't quite wrap her mind around how this man could be the incarnate version of restoration.  But if there was one thing she did know and believe, it was that restoration was coming.  Because her God had promised this, and the promises of her God were true.

Despite the mysterious claims of Jesus, things were dark.  Martha may have even thought to herself, "Lazarus is dead and Jesus is weeping.  What more is there?"

But there is more.  Because the end of the story is that the story does not end.

Jesus tells the people to roll away the tombstone.  There is protest, but eventual agreement.  Out steps Lazarus, dressed in endings but certainly alive.  And Martha stands amazed.  Maybe amazed that Jesus could raise the dead, but certainly amazed that the resurrection that He was talking about permeated deeper than she had ever imagined.

And that's just it.  God says in Scripture that He is not the God of the dead.  Because death is an ending and God does not end.  And so, while we brought death into the world, threatening to end the story God had begun, God would not have it.  Period.

When we look our world, we see all sorts of death; all sorts of endings.  Endings and death cut us off from things; they sever us from experiencing fullness.  But Yahweh God has a plan to bring all things back to Himself.  And Yahweh is a God who is alive and unending.  So, naturally, God specializes in continuing.

As His followers then, we enter into God's plan to restore everything.  In the name of Jesus Christ we have the power to do all things.  This has all sorts of implications, many of which are explored in Scripture.  The whole Bible is about this mission that God is on to bring everything out of death and back into life.

But the point of all of this is that the end of the story is never the end.  Just when you think the story seems to be over, there's more to it.  Because graduating doesn't mean everything ends.  In fact, everything is just beginning.  That's what they say at every cheesy graduation speech, right?  They're right on many levels.  To illustrate exactly what they are talking about in all of those speeches, Jesus raised a man who was wrapped head to toe in death.

Of course, that was only the beginning.

Rationalizing the Walk

The high dive at Guilford pool was at least six feet high. At age eleven, my worst nightmare was jumping off of it. I imagined it. I'd fall screaming and flailing, only to hit the pool and be torn to ribbons. If by some miraculous chance I was still alive, I would surely drown in the twelve foot depths. I was perfectly content jumping off of the low dive. It was fun. For a while. Then I started wondering why none of my friends had been horribly annihilated by the terrible fall. They would tell me I should try it. I would tell them they were idiots. I think it was the day everyone was doing 360s that I snapped. I stood at the base of the ladder, nearly in tears, the line now folding over itself behind me. Maybe it was the constant death threats and "hurry up kid!" being repeatedly shouted at me, but I did it. My eleven year old psyche in shambles, I ran up the ladder as fast as I could and launched off the diving board. When I hit the water, though slightly shocked at the lack of lacerations and contusions I had endured, I simply remained underwater and mimicked death. I think it was the wake of the next kid that snapped me back to reality. After surfacing, making a doggy paddle dash to the ladder, and pulling the obligatory "high dive wedgie" out of my pants, I immediately got back in line. The high dive was the best kept secret in the world.

To this day I'm still afraid of heights. But I'm eternally grateful I stopped thinking and jumped off that stupid plank. And here's the point of that overly-dramatized story. Sometimes we out think our actions. We talk the talk, then we rationalize the walk.

In the book of Mark, Jesus heals a man with paralysis. The paralyzed man's buddies climb up the side of a building with the man on a mat. Trying to find some way to get through the crowds surrounding Jesus, they then proceed to lower him through the roof. Awesome. Jesus first tells the man his sins are forgiven, then tells him to pick his mat up and walk. Then the man gets up and walks on out.

But what if the man didn't get up?

What if he sat there and though to himself "I've been paralyzed for quite a while now. What if I look like a fool? What if this guy Jesus isn't who He says He is? Just because this guy touched me, I shouldn't be able to walk." The list could have gone on and on. But it didn't. Scripture doesn't suggest the man had any other response than doing exactly what Jesus told him to do. He got up and walked.

How often do we not just get up and walk? How often do we think about how high the high dive is, how deep that water is, or how very sick we are. We rationalize everything. "Polar bear swims are just too cold." "I'll look really stupid if she says no." "I'm too tired to write right now." "I really need this money...I just can't let go of it right now." All rationalizations I've used before. As an academic, it hurts me to say this, but I think we could stand to think a little bit less about almost everything we do. Or don't do.

Aren't the best parts of the story when the character overcomes some great adversity to get something he wants? There's something all of those characters have in common. They hadn't completely made a rock solid plan before they acted. Few of them scarcely had time to think at all. There are at least five to ten good reasons why you shouldn't do anything that's good. But you'll find a life infinitely more rewarding if you charge recklessly into the world with Christ. So the next time your mind thinks "I want to go for a run!" Go run, right then. Yes, you might not have time later for that thing you were going to do. But you're not thinking of that. You're in the street with snow in your lungs and salt on your shoes.

The Cause

Classical Sociological Theory is one of the most interesting and difficult classes I've ever taken. When I first began studying sociology, I thought that all of the stuff I was learning about was pretty bogus and obvious. But when the theory of it all is examined, it becomes a beautiful and intricate discipline. The specificities of sociology are deep and wide.

One of the elements that define relationships among or between concepts within the theory is a lack of spuriousness. If a theory has spuriousness, it means that an unforeseen variable is having some sort of effect on the variables that are being examined. Here's an example. In the summer, people eat more ice cream. Also, the crime rate is higher in the summer than any other season. So, does ice cream cause crime? No. There's a third, spurious variable playing into the relationship. People eat more ice cream when it's hot, and the people commit more crimes when it's hot. Conclusions like the one that says crime is a result of ice cream consumption are based on a problem of causation.

When Moses stands before the burning bush, God tells him to take his sandals off because he is standing on holy ground. Why was the ground holy? God was there. It's not because Moses took his sandals off. If we come to that conclusion we have a problem with causation. Moses didn't do anything to cause the ground to be holy, God did. God caused the ground to be holy by being there.

In Matthew, Jesus tells a parable about a slave who is offered forgiveness from his massive debt, but does not offer his fellow slave forgiveness from a very meager debt. When word of this gets back to the master who forgave the first slave, he throws him in jail until he can pay everything he had originally owed. Jesus then says that His Father will treat us this way if we do not forgive our brothers from our hearts. This is a difficult passage to accept, and many people interpret this to say that if we don't forgive people, God won't forgive us. But if we come to this conclusion, we have a serious problem with causation. Our works can not cause God to do anything. In fact, it's the other way around completely.

The master offered the slave forgiveness first, yet he refused to accept it. Therefore, when it came time to forgive his brother, he had no forgiveness to give. You can't give something that you don't have. If we are to forgive our brothers, or even more, our enemies, we first have to claim the forgiveness we need. It is only when We take the gift of forgiveness God is presenting us that we are able to genuinely give it away to our brothers. If we choose not to do so, we are truly imprisoned by our own selfish pride. Thus, God treats us exactly how we have chosen to live; God will not release us from a jail within which we choose to live.

There are many other instances in scripture where it is easy to take what is written and interpret it in a way that makes us responsible for God's blessings. The Beatitudes are another prime example. They say:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Again, we have the tendency to confuse the causality. It is easy to believe that if we become merciful, peacemakers, poor in spirit, etc., then we will be blessed. But the truth is, Jesus is making us into these things, and we are blessed because we accept that transformation. These promises stand no matter what we do, it is only our place to accept or deny their coming in our lives.

The ground would have been holy even if Moses had not removed His sandals. His action was actually a reaction to the presence of the Most High God. Likewise, our forgiveness of others is a reaction to the forgiveness that we have received. If we have truly claimed such a thing, how could we not forgive our brothers?

Isn't it comforting to know that God's Kingdom is still moving no matter what we do? When things are going well as far as we can see, it's popular to be proud of what we've done. But what about when things are going badly? I fall often into the trap that if I don't do what I had planned to do, the Kingdom of Heaven would fall into chaos, and the Movement that Jesus started would be no more. But the ground is still holy. God is still moving. Jesus is still shaping us. The Kingdom is still prevailing. We can not forget what is causing this Kingdom movement in the first place.

One of the best parts about the whole Story is that God is using me and you and all of us to do His work, even though He could do it Himself. What an extravagant way to say "I love you!" Stories often go to great lengths to convey simple truths. God is causing a story to unfold all around you. He only wants you to be a part of it.