Leviticus: Where people stop when they read thru the bible.
This Sunday, we will begin Leviticus.
No, no, please don’t stop reading. Hey, seriously, don’t click away.
This will be good.
Most people make the case for Leviticus this way: “Oh, you have to know that Jesus is the fulfillment of all those crazy purity laws in order for it to make sense.” Well, ok.
But it goes further. We cannot understand Jesus, if we don’t understand Leviticus. It is the theological foundation of everything that comes later. A Jewish youngster who is being taught the Torah, starts with….Leviticus.
And sadly, most evan
gelicals can’t trouble themselves with leper cleansings and bodily discharges. You see, Jesus has lambs to cuddle and Starbucks to sip. But they forget something. What they don’t read (or want to read) is read by those that think the Bible is a mythical crock of fable and fantastical oral traditions. And they are puzzled by all of these strange laws far more than the most Christians.
Use this for a guiding theme throughout: God is holy. In fact, holy, holy, holy. The Hebrew way of writing a superlative. Double it. A girl girl? A amazingly good lookin’ girl. A pit pit? A really horrible pit. Holy, holy, holy? The grandest biblical superlative. And what does holy mean? Separate. He is totally separate from man. And he wants his people to be separate from the nations. But he also wants fellowship. So how does this happen?
Welcome to Leviticus.
My prayer is the Jesus becomes grander with every laborious and tedious requirment given to his people. Because he will fill them all.
My favorite part has to be the “letter-to-the-editor” that exposes this: Christians freedoms are always called “secondary,” or relegated to the nit-picking Christian ethicist. The importance of these issues cannot be overstated. As soon as they are linked to what a Christian must do to be properly called a “Christian,” then they themselves have assumed a salvific quality.
Thanks to the feminine representative of our departing Vander Wal family for finding this gem.
If a month happens to have five Sundays, Riverwood has traditionally used that 5th Sunday to collect an offering we have dubbed “The Deacon’s Fund.” These monies are used outside of our general budget to address the needs of those within our church family, and specific acts of mercy at the discretion and disbursal of our diaconate.
As a preview for this month’s offering March 29th, please watch this brief 2-minute video clip of John Piper:
There is no shame is needing. If there is, then, perhaps, there has been an improper standard for what we believe a Christian really is.
Just recently, the Calumet Village Police (Calumet, Michigan) heard from a lawbreaker who had evaded justice for 32 years. The criminal enclosed a $20 bill, a parking ticket from 1976, and a small note. Investigator/patrolman/spokesman/Police Chief David Outinen noted that the envelope did not have a return address.
The letter explained:
“I always had good intentions of paying it,” ….”I put it aside and every once in a while I would come across it and said, ‘Some day, I’m going to pay it.’ Now I think it’s time.”
The fine for the ticket was $20 in 1976, but if unpaid after 72 hours from issuance, it carried an additional fee for $5.
She ended the letter this way:
“Please don’t try to track me down, I am a respectable lady.”
The most telling sentence comes at the end: “I am a respectable lady.” If by “respectable” you mean that you answer your cell phone with discretion and little annoyance. If by “respectable” you mean that you don’t scream at the top of your lungs when every line at the supermarket moves except yours. If by “respectable” you mean that you smile and say thank you. If by “respectable” you mean that you follow the overwhelming majority of laws currently on the books. If by “respectable” you mean that others consider you to be generally inoffensive.
It is not good which evil violates, for good is inviolate: only a degraded good can be violated. That which is the direct opposite of an evil never belongs to the order of higher good. It is often scarcely any higher than evil. (Examples: theft and the bourgeois respect for property: adultery and the ‘respectable’ woman; the savings in a bank and waste; lying and sincerity.’) – Simone Weil
I often use the illustration of several long-jumpers attempting to cross the Grand Canyon. First, a disabled man approaches the mark, jumps and dies. A normal man runs, jumps, and launches himself 15 ft, also resulting in a spectacular looking death. Finally, the world’s finest long jumper stretches, struts, crouches, and blasts towards the edge. He really has the finest jump of his entire career: 40 ft. But he dies— just like the other two. The Grand Canyon is called Grand for a reason.
The problem I have with moralism is that it views itself as sufficient. It is not. It is death to the same degree as the brazenly offensive.
And in a stroke of ironic sad comedy, our “respectable lady” is still $5 short of innocence.
The tendency to exclusively understand the Gospel in light of my own sin exposes my weakness and my own immaturity in the Gospel.
But Saint Paul has something else in mind: (Ephesians 3:1-13ff)
You do not even understand the Gospel fully for yourself,
until you understand it for someone outside of yourself.
But not only that, but someone who has sinned against you and is rightly deserving of punishment.
Spiritual navel gazing cannot sustain a believer.
Another great group of people joined Riverwood recently. However, according to the Association of Religious Data Archive, less and less people view actual membership as vital, necessary, or spiritually significant.
And although, this is substantially less-than-scientific, I have compiled a “Top 10 List” of popular objections to official membership. Instead of commenting on all of them, select just one and point out its flaws or merits.
Two weeks ago, baby Addie Elizabeth Crawford was baptized on Sunday morning. Although I am not much of a sensationalist or an experientialist, upon reflection, I was struck with the grand significance of the occasion. There was only one part of that holy sacrament that was interchangeable. You could not find other earthly parents for little Addie, because there is only one set ordained by God. You could not have had another little girl, because it would not have been Addie E Crawford. We couldn’t have changed the element of water, because it would have ceased to be a baptism if we did so. We couldn’t have found another deity, because this sacramental ceremony highlights the initiation and proactive work of One God, who reaches out to man before man even knows it himself/herself. But you could have changed one element. It could have easily been another pastor, priest, or bishop. Our denomination accepts any “Trinitarian baptism.” (done in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.) Highlighting, again, that the clergy, temperature of the water, sincerity of prayer, or faith of the parents are not the key “ingredients.” The validity of infant baptism is placed squarely upon the covenantal promises of a faithful God to perennially unfaithful people.
And this is what struck me: I was a part of that. I was there. I witnessed it. I repeated the promises of God to little Addie. I didn’t do anything in the spiritual sense, but I was allowed to be a tool. A completely interchangeable tool. But it was me. Part of the beauty of the sacraments is the humility which they bestow. Not the fake brand of humility, but the real stuff—the kind that just gives you awe at something greater than yourself.
Every year around Thanksgiving, we hear pretty much the same thing, “We should be grateful for everything we have.” And, that statement is correct: We should be grateful for the abundance of blessings that we possess—if it’s wealth, health, or relationships. However, another question has always lingered in my head: Why is it increasingly more difficult to be thankful when we are faced with overwhelming and unprecedented material riches? Is it a spiritual deficiency? Are we too jaded and calloused to the varied exhibitions of leisure and entertainment? Or is it simply because we don’t pause and reflect enough? Well, most likely, it’s a little of all of those possibilities, but I think there is more beneath the surface.
Diminishing Marginal Return
The academic world of economics has described (in fancier terms) what Job’s friend, Zophar, describes in Job chapter twenty. As Zophar describes the behavior and eventual outcome of the wicked, he makes this comment in verse twenty:
“Because he [the wicked man] knew no contentment in his belly, he will not let anything in which he delights escape him.”
Unsatisfied and ungrateful, the wicked man chases every possible fancy and pleasurable pursuit, and, yet, the more he plunges headlong into hedonism, the more he is dissatisfied and, consequently, ungrateful. This, in turn, leads to an increased drive to quench his discontentment—and the ugly cycle continues. Increased pleasure-seeking yields less and less return. Economists refer to this as the Law of Diminishing Returns or Diminishing Marginal Return. These erudite terms describe the benefit that you will receive from each additional unit that is purchased or gained. Although I was unable to fully articulate this concept, I discovered Diminishing Marginal Return during high school. Since money was tight, I was only able to purchase one CD at a time. My third CD that I purchased was Tom Petty’s Full Moon Fever. (Right behind AC/DC’s The Razor’s Edge, and UB40’s Promises and Lies). I listened to it non-stop. I can still hum every song on that album. I appreciated that album. You might even say I was even “grateful” for that album. And then I got a job. Those early paychecks were spent rather quickly. In fact, I blew an entire paycheck at the music store—buying more than 20 CDs at once. Although those CDs were purchased for around $15, I wasn’t getting my $15 worth of enjoyment, because my time was limited. With each additional CD that I would subsequently buy, their individual worth was decreased, because I could not possibly listen to all of them during the course of a day, week, or month. The following principle emerges from this example: With every additional car, house, or toy that is acquired, their relative value (or “return”) decreases (or “diminishes”). We will experience less and less fulfillment from buying luxury items, because they can do less and less for us.
Value and Cost
Traditionally, scarcity has defined value—if something is rare, then it must be valuable (diamonds, for example). However, modern economists have updated that concept with, yet another term, “maximization.” Since time is scarce, there is a limited amount of hours to be given towards any certain activity. So “value” or “cost” becomes what you are willing to give up for what you really want. One can get more money by working harder, but it will also come at the expense of having less leisure time. One can eat more turkey, but it also means that you will eat less of the pumpkin pie. One can drive the Hummer, but it also means you will not be driving the Mercedes. Jimmy Hopper recently expressed this sentiment when he told me that he “doesn’t have any time to read inferior books.” That statement was neither snobbery nor moral restraint. He was simply saying that reading pulp would mean that he could not be reading excellent literature during the same time span. Inevitably, there are trade-offs. And so “value” or “cost” can be properly referred to as “opportunity costs”—or, what you would give up to get something.
Mundane Yet Fulfilling
Although paying our monthly bills is a boring (and, at times, depressing) task, we receive the most fulfillment and contentment when we spend our money on these things. According to a recent study, Americans feel the most “fulfilled” when they spend their money for the basics of survival: food, shelter, warmth, and clothing. Surprisingly, it was not an act of generosity, tithing, or as a result of hard labor that produced this gratification. However, this can be described using the Law of Diminishing Marginal Returns. The basics to survival have a high Marginal Return. We will trade an enormous amount of “money” or “opportunity cost” to insure that these things are in place. Miss a meal, forget your jacket, spend the night camping somewhere, or get a toothache—and these things become far more important than the paint-color in your living room.
Conclusion
Following this line of reasoning, it is not surprising (nor cliché) to hear what everyone is thankful for around the Thanksgiving holiday. The usual suspects make their appearance: nourishment, family, God, and clothes. At one time I would have thought that these would have been shallow responses. However, they powerfully demonstrate what people view as a high Marginal Benefit. Today, in the Tuscaloosa News (Tuesday, November 21, 2006, Section D, page 1), there was a column that highlighted a group of local junior high students. Each student was asked the perennial question: “What are you thankful for?” Almost to a person, the responses were identical: food, family, God, house, school, and clothes. Coincidence? No. Shallow? Another resounding “no.”
We are not discontented or ungrateful because we do not have, we are not thankful because we have too much. And if we are thankful, it is precisely because God has, indeed, supplied “our daily bread.”
An early Sunday morning confession: Father, I want to appeal to as many people as possible. I want to seem relevant, hip, cool, sophisticated, and modern. Father, forgive me. An early Sunday morning fear: Those who are young, will be bored from the worship service, and will dismiss me quickly as they escape from all manners of traditions. Father, forgive me.
Words from G.K. Chesterton:
Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about. All democrats object to men being disqualified by the accident of birth; tradition objects to their being disqualified by the accident of death. Democracy tells us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our groom; tradition asks us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our father.
Words from Hebrews:
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.
Father, assure me, again, that the fire that fueled the martyrs’ faith, is the same fire found within your Gospel.
Recently, one of our elders took me to his place of business for the grand tour of the facilities and to meet some of his employees. After checking out the premises, he introduced me to a coworker, “Hey, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. So-and-so, Tim; Tim, So-and-so.” I was about to cringe, but nothing happened. They casually said, “Good to meet you,” cracked a joke about my height, and we continued down the hall. Believe it or not, that was the best introduction that I’ve received for a long time.
Usually, the exchange is something like this:
Friend: “Hey, there, Charlene, I’d like you to meet my pastor.”
(Charlene blinks.)
(Slides a TPS report over her cigarettes.)
Charlene: “Oh, my, very pleased to meet you.”
(Charlene begins to think of ways to end
this already-too-long conversation.)
Me: “Hey, good to meetchya, Charlene.”
(Charlene edges to the door.
(Glances at her watch and Blackberry.)
Charlene: “Well, um, yeah, well….see you around.”
(uncharacteristically, Charlene displays the
agility of Jackie Chan—by scaling filing cabinets
and cubicle walls to escape the “Preacher.”)
We live in one of the few regions that maintain an external respect for clergy. Whether fake or not, my position grants me a modicum of respect from the general community. I can’t stand that. This is only one man’s opinion, but I think that respect should be earned, especially, since the office has become so broadly defined by the various flavors of clergy. It has been my experience that people cease to be themselves once they become aware of my occupation. It’s as if I am down by two touchdowns before the game has even begun. It would be much better, if, after normal conversation, someone asked with incredulity, “He’s your pastor?!”
