Jesus spends most of Matthew chapter 13 speaking in parables. A parable is a teaching tool in which a quick story is told with exaggeration and familiar illustrations. Jesus uses parables to help others imagine “the kingdom of heaven.”
The kingdom of heaven is not an address in the land of Eternity. Instead, it is the in-breaking of Christ in our lives. The kingdom of heaven is God’s dream for people and creation; it is like everyday life with some heaven-dust sprinkled on top.
Several times, Jesus uses these two words: “is like.” The kingdom of heaven “is like” a mustard seed, “is like” yeast hidden in flour, “is like” a farmer who sowed good seed. In each of these parables, the kingdom of heaven starts small and ends big.
Here is another one Jesus may have forgotten. The kingdom of heaven is like friendship. Perhaps this parable was missed when the gospel accounts were finally written down. Around a campfire with his own friends, I imagine Jesus saying the kingdom of heaven is like friendship. One small act of compassion grows into immense joy. The generous work of listening becomes the wide embrace of being known. The hidden hopes tucked away like yeast in the flour move out of hiding and it is God’s wide embrace known among our neighbors.
The kingdom of heaven is like friendship – the few and far between kind. The kind in which one friend speaks truth, occasionally a hard-to-swallow truth, the sort of truth that helps the other friend mature. The kingdom of heaven is like friendship, offering the caring questions that clarify the other friend’s thinking while being gentle with the conveyor belt of feelings.
The kingdom of heaven is like friendship, as one person caring for another sprinkles heaven-dust upon an ordinary world and there is joy. Two people evolve into two more well-defined, true selves, who respond to Christ’s joy by whole-heartedly caring for their neighbors with joy.
There are ten bridesmaids in the parable in Matthew 25:1-13. Five are called wise and the other five foolish. Late into the night of the wedding, all ten are waiting to meet the bridegroom. Where is the bride? We have no idea, which is a hint that the parable is not a true story. In a true story, the bride is somewhere.
In this parable, the five bridesmaids are wise because they planned ahead, anticipating that the bridegroom would be late. They prepared by bringing extra oil for their oil lamps. The five foolish bridesmaids only brought what they expected they would need. They brought enough oil for a bridegroom who knew that 15 minutes early is on time and on time is late.
This dude was extremely late. Late. Late. Late.
All the bridesmaids took a nap while they waited. When someone shouted that the bridegroom was on his way, the five foolish bridesmaids woke to realize the oil in their lamps were running out. They asked their wise friends for more oil, but they declined, sending the foolish out to find an lamp oil shop in the middle of the night.
Did you know there are podcasts for people who enjoy planning and planners? Entire podcasts giving tips on daily, monthly, quarterly, yearly planning, as well as highlighters, markers and pens. On Monday, I listened eagerly to a podcaster’s pen recommendations. Eagerly!
Planning, however, can pose a problem. If we are too eager to plan our days and lives, we cling to the oil in our own lamps. We cling to the routine, cling to the comfort, cling to our own plans and favorite pens.
The parable wakes me up to recognize life is not an adventure to be planned. When people arrive asking for oil, they are not a disruption but an unexpected part of the adventure. I like to think I would have been a wise bridesmaid in the story. But unlike the wise in the story, I would have shared my oil and not sent the others out into the night to pointlessly look for a 24-hour lamp oil shop.
Blessed are those who plan without growing too attached to their plans. And blessed are those whose plans include a radiant response to the unexpected.
The parable of the laborers would have ended differently had the laborers kept their eyes on their own paychecks.
In Matthew 20:1-16, Jesus tells a tale of a vineyard landowner who hired laborers early one morning after agreeing to pay them the usual daily wage. Off to work they went.
Oddly, the landowner went on to hire more workers throughout the day. When he handed out paychecks at the end of the day, we learn he was less concerned about profit and more concerned about putting people to work. Understandably, the early risers expected a heftier paycheck than those who started at the end of the day.
That’s where the parable gets infuriating. The landowner paid all the workers, regardless of the number of hours they worked, the usual daily wage. Seeing everyone else’s daily wages, the early risers grumbled.
This parable is rich with conversation starters, but focus with me on only one: How does our understanding of what we already have change when we see what else we could have?
You have had your vehicle for a few years and it works just great. You are hoping to pay it off in the next year…until your neighbor buys a new car and suddenly you must replace your worn-out vehicle with a shinier one.
You decide to take a break from buying any new clothes for one whole month. And then you scroll through Instagram. And then the adorable new sweatshirt you ordered arrives on your doorstep!
The list could go on for me. The furniture is just fine, but then a Wayfair ad pops up. On Goodreads, I add more books to my want list instead of reading the books I already have.
The laborers agreed to the daily wage but grumbled when they saw what the landowner paid the others. And I get it. Not fair. Except…
What the early risers were paid was enough. It was the usual daily wage. It only became not enough when they took their eyes off their own paychecks.
Lent invites us to look at our own lives and see what we already have. Notice what is enough, recognize what is plenty. This is incredibly hard when you can have more with a “buy now” quick click. But what would happen if you chose not to buy it? Would you discover that what you have is already enough? What forgotten treasure might you find buried in a closet or dresser drawer?
When we look at our own lives and notice what we already have, the more we recognize the generosity of the landowner. Keeping our eyes on our own lives, the less we seem to want. Wanting less, the more we recognize what we already have, which is enough.
We all know them: Christians who bubble over with judgement, who hold people to impossible standards, whose words of criticism set a bushel basket over the gleam of Christ’s mercy. Not only do we know them, we are them.
“You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.”
Matthew 7:5
Ugh! It might be the disturbing image of a log lodged in a person’s eye that makes this verse unforgettable. How careless must a person be to end up with log in the eye? The logistics baffle me.
Sure, Jesus is being hyperbolic. Stretching the illustration to ridiculous proportions, he wants you to realize that at the very moment you are judging someone, you are ignoring the many reasons you could be judged.
I know, I don’t like it either!
Today I learned a new term: “blame validation”. It means that first we find someone to blame and then we create reasons to justify it. We live out our toddler years again and again when we point blame and judgement far away from our own selves.
The country’s deficit dilemma? It’s those politicians on the other side.
The murder of Tyre Nichols? It was ___ fault. Not my problem.
My own home state is facing extreme legislation related to gun laws and abortion. Blame validation fills the space between each line of the bills.
The toaster waffles are gone? It’s my brother’s fault.
While it may appear to make our lives easier to point blame and judgement, it actually makes our lives more complicated. Judgement is corrosive to our hearts. Where compassion is needed, we paste over the corrosion with self-righteousness. Practicing blame validation, we continue to come up with reasons to justify the blame. This is particularly dangerous if we hang around people who agree with us.
This is always a good question for self-reflection. Who do I visit who does not agree with me politically? Visiting with people who are willingly to challenge you in a respectful way will always make you wiser. They will help you see the log you somehow got stuck in your eye. If you are courageous enough to keep the conversation going, you will then help them see the speck in their own eye. The following week, the roles will be reversed: you with the speck and your conversation companion with the log.
In Matthew, chapter seven, it helps to keep reading. Jesus follows up the log and speck illustration with instructions for prayer.
“Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock; and the door will be opened for you.”
Matthew 7:7
And a few verses later, the “golden rule”.
“In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets.”
Matthew 7:12
Jesus moved from warning against judgement, to instructions to pray persistently, to the ancient law to love your neighbor as yourself. We may want to rephrase that verse to say, “judge your neighbor as yourself,” but that would put us out of bounds. As much as we feel drawn to the judge’s seat, we do not belong there. Ever.
Notice yourself today when you slip into blame validation. Then check your eye for a log.
Humanity has a way of complicating the simple. As if anything worth doing should be difficult. Christians are currently in the second millennium of overcomplicating two simple instructions: love God and love your neighbor.
Love God. Well, I’m busy. My kids are busy. My grandkids are busy. There is a new season of my favorite show.
Love your neighbor. Who, precisely, is my neighbor? How much do I really need to care? Will it cost me money? Can I draw a border? Do I have to? Can’t the neighbor meet me halfway? Isn’t it someone else’s job?
My life as a wife, mom and pastor may appear complicated and is when I overcomplicate it. But really, it is simple. I am to show up with Christ’s love. Nothing more, nothing less. I am to be present one person at a time, one moment at a time, not worrying too far ahead, and letting go of what has been done.
In Matthew 6, Jesus demonstrates how prayer is also simple, providing words to guide our way. We need not overcomplicate a conversation with God. Pray for justice on earth, basic needs to be met, forgiveness given and received, and protection. Pray to the one whose name is most holy, with assurance that your meager words are enfolded into God’s eternal love story with God’s people.
The Lord’s Prayer is a guide that not only offers you words, but offers you community. Billions of people have prayed this very prayer for over 2,023 years. These particular words have been spoken by believers and doubters, the living and the dying, at kitchen tables and hospital bedsides, by people under the thumb of dementia, by nearly ever flavor of the Christian experience, and by martyrs for whom these words were their last. The words of the Lord’s Prayer might be the most unifying words ever spoken.
These words, simply put, are your guide whenever you need them.
In perhaps the longest sermon Jesus ever preached, he gave a lesson on prayer. In Matthew 6, Jesus covered how to and how not to pray. He illustrated insincere prayer as attention-seeking and wordy. Sincere prayer, on the other hand, happens in the dark corners of the world and in our hearts.
Prayer from the heart and treasure, it seems, are related. What you pray unveils what you treasure. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21)
Look around your heart. What are you treasuring these days? Truly treasuring? Do your prayers tell the secrets held in the dark corners of your heart? Do your prayers reach the dark corners of the world?
Take a moment now to pray, for your words are a treasure to the God who shines mercy into dark corners.
In her book, “Extraordinary Relationships: A New Way of Thinking About Human Interactions”, Roberta M. Gilbert describes two people who meet, are attracted to each other, and grow intensely close. Even thinking about being together makes each of them happy. Soon after, they are considered “fused,” meaning when one person is happy, so is the other. When one person is frustrated or sad, so is the other. Their interactions become intense, trying to return to and maintain a state of happiness. They work so hard to keep each other happy, knowing when one of them is happy, so is the other. They constantly struggle in their pursuit of good feelings. They have lost their own selves in the relationship.
If you have attended a wedding ceremony when a new couple lights a unity candle, you might remember they light one candle using their own individual candles. “Be sure not to blow out your own candles,” I tell couples during rehearsal. “You are still your own person in your marrage!”
This idea is confusing in part because of the movies. When couples fall in love in the movies, they become like one person, synchronized, fused. They are together in every sense of the word, but that relationship only has to last until the credits roll! In real life, couples are not to become one person, they are to remain two separate people with their own ideas, hopes and dreams; their own opinions and worries; their own friends and connection to families of origin; having their own unique relationship with kids. “Relationships become uncomfortable, not because we care too little, but because we lose too much of ourselves in them.” (Gilbert, p. 77).
You can identify a fused relationship in your life by noticing which relationship feels most demanding and even draining. Gilbert asks whether there are unrealistic expectations tied up in this relationship. Another question for self-reflection is whether you can spot fusion in your family of origin? Could the people in your family have their own identities and priorities? What did it look like when one person expressed opinions that differed from the family, or when a family member moved far away?
As my teenagers add years to their lives, I both enjoy and am challenged by their individual perspectives. Aware of how fusion makes it difficult to be our own selves, my kids are not required to agree with me, nor am I required to agree with them. We can have our own thoughts regarding politics, relationships, gaming, and music. It is so much fun, and again challenging, to equip them to be their own unique persons, like individual candles that keep burning. Each of my kids are valued members of our family not because we agree, but because our different ideas make our family more interesting.
In my marriage, I was slow to learn what a gift it is that my husband and I sometimes see politics and theology differently. In the early years of marriage, it seemed as though the goal was to be like-minded. (Again, the movies!) But thank goodness like-mindedness is not the goal! In my family of origin, too, it has been a blessing to have parents whose own opinions and perspectives differ, which offered even more perspectives growing up.
Fusion in families stunts our individual growth. When we try too hard to keep the peace and fake our agreement, we miss out on each person’s individuality. It is, in fact, enriching to live under the same roof with someone who respectfully disagrees with me, even though it can be a pain the neck! Growth is hard. I am challenged to keep learning, and to keep defining my own perspective.
Next week, in the last part of this series, we will zoom in one more step to notice our human tendency to be together, think alike, and avoid conflict. I will share a few last thoughts to encourage you to keep your own candle burning, just as Jesus said: “In the same way, let your light so shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)
Each of the four gospels begin differently. Mark hits the road of Jesus’ ministry running by beginning with his baptism. John begins in the very beginning with the Word that was there when the very first wind blew over the face of the earth. Luke begins with the Christmas story as we hear it each Christmas Eve in churches. And Matthew begins with a tree, a family tree that is.
At first glance, the first chapter of Matthew’s gospel is booooring. It resembles the terrible stretches you encounter if you’ve ever determined to read the Bible from cover to cover. Begat, begat, be-oring. Yet Matthew’s beginning, like all our beginnings, matters. In the long line of the faithful, the fearless, and the forgotten, Matthew draws a line from the beginning to Jesus. He establishes Joseph’s and then Jesus’ credibility as a member of the tribe of Judah. Like a bouncer perched at the door of the world’s most exclusive club, Matthew is letting Jesus in by uncovering the Messiah’s beginning.
Christmas is the story of Jesus’ beginning, which I find so interesting because your feelings around this holiday are profoundly shaped by your own beginnings. The way you celebrated Christmas (or didn’t) as a child shapes how you approach every single December 25th. Did you gather with few or far too many family members? Was it delightful or dreadful? Did you eat ham, turkey, or something nonconforming? How were gifts exchanged? Did you open them on the 24th or 25th or another day? Was church a part of your party? If so, was that delightful or dreadful?
These happen to be rich questions for pre-marriage counseling. They give each partner a glimpse of the other’s beginning. We can piece out expectations, hurts, and joys of each unique family, and conversation is carefully cracked open around the distinct dysfunction of each of our families.
Looking back to my own beginnings, I have fond memories of Christmases with cousins and cookies and my Grandma Florence’s outrageously oversized tree. I grew up in a small town where much of my family resided within three blocks of my house, including my grandparents. This meant we celebrated Jesus’ birth three times each year in under 24 hours: at each grandparent house and our own. There was a consistent and equitable routine to our Christmas celebrations. My husband’s memories are similar and yet different. It took a few years to recognize that the differences in our Christmas beginnings created differing gift-giving expectations. Gifts were a big deal in my family and not so much in his. Food was also a point of discussion. His family ate tiger meat (raw seasoned hamburger) and my family ate lefsa.
Once my husband and I understood the diverse rituals that marked our own beginning Christmases, we could establish some of our own. Remembering our beginnings clarified some of our feelings around this feelings-filled holiday. Christmas is filled with feelings. Like emptying a stocking (a big deal at my house and not so much at my husband’s), admire each feeling as it comes. What do you miss about your beginning Christmases? What are you thankful to shed?
The birth of a Savior, the beginning of Christmas, assures you the beginning matters less than the ending. Your ending is full of feelings of joy and joy alone for families of every level of dysfunction. Yes, even yours.
PRAYER PRACTICE
Light a candle. Tell God in writing or out loud a childhood memory that shapes your understanding of this season. Do you need to let it go? Create a new practice? Celebrate the memory? Share it with God, the Word who was in the beginning, who became flesh to write your ending.
Lisa Lewton 