Jesus constantly dealt with hypocrites, most of whom simply didn’t like that he didn’t praise them or uphold them as the paragon of righteousness; and what’s perhaps most infuriating about them is that they’re willing to go to amazing lengths to try to discredit him, focusing in on whatever minuscule breach of etiquette they can pin on him, or even on his followers, in order to delegitimize his authority or righteousness. 

One of the standout encounters of this sort is found in chapter seven of Mark’s Gospel, when the Pharisees notice that some of Jesus’ disciples didn’t wash their hands before eating.  We’ve all gotten used to life with COVID-19, and so perhaps empathize a bit with their complaint, but of course they’re not concerned about external effects eventuated by lackluster hygiene—they’re just mad that the “tradition of the elders” (v5) is being ignored.

I’ve written about this text before in the last few months, focusing somewhat on the good aspects of these traditions, but this time I’d like to pay more attention to Jesus’ response, and apply that standard to us.  He deftly swats down the initial complaint, calling out the hypocrisy, and the fact that tradition is a far lower standard than God’s commandment; but he’s not done there.

And he called the people to him again and said to them, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.” (Mk 7.14-15)

This would seem like lunacy to his audience of Jewish disciples, because of course their entire system of ritual purity focused on the external, with detailed instructions about how to avoid defilement, and what onerous steps had to be taken in order to be considered “clean” after a defiling event, such as coming into contact with a dead body, becoming infected with various dermatological ailments, eating unclean foods, having a baby, or even simply participating in various required aspects of worship that led to ritual defilement.  Even though God acknowledged that many of these acts weren’t avoidable, there’s a general stigma against even taking the action that would lead to becoming ceremonially unclean, which is particularly easy to see with respect to the dietary code in Leviticus 11, where the terms are “clean” and “unclean” just like the rest, but they’re commanded, “You shall not eat” the unclean foods (e.g. Le 11.8).

Yet, here Jesus says the opposite, even to the point that Mark includes a helpful commentary on his teaching, “Thus he declared all foods clean” (Mk 7.19).  Of course, this is because of what Paul says in Colossians:

Therefore let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink, or with regard to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath. These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ. (Co 2.16-17)

Jesus is explaining to them more fully, at the proper time, what the Law was meant to teach them about holiness—that it is delicate, that it is easily tainted, that it must be carefully guarded and deliberately cultivated; and that our everyday actions in even the most mundane situations put us in danger of defiling ourselves.

In, or Out?

However, those shadows were not the substance, and the substance gives us freedom, while simultaneously applying a more stringent standard on us.

And he said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him.  For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness.  All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person. (Mk 7.20-23)

If we’re honest, we’ll admit that there is darkness within our hearts, however much we wish it weren’t there, try to eradicate it, or simply pretend it isn’t so.  “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Je 17.9).  Our hearts are complicated, more complicated than we ourselves even understand, and within the labyrinth are corners, walls, and even entire hallways that remain hidden in the shadows ruled by the “the cosmic powers over this present darkness” (Ep 6.12).  If left to our own devices, we’d all succumb to that darkness and let it enslave us, while telling ourselves that we are really the ones in charge.

When we repent of sin, as Jesus tells us over and over again that we must do, we are, in a sense, filling another of those dark corners with the light of Christ, exposing their secrets for what they are, and replacing them with truth, love, and God’s glory.  It’s all too easy to pin our eternal fate on a single “come to Jesus” moment, and while there is a clear turning point, demonstrated by the many events of baptism and conversion preserved and explained for us in the book of Acts, we must not stop there.  This is to be a lifelong process of conforming more and more closely the image of God’s Son (Ro 8.29), constantly examining and testing ourselves (2Co 13.5), never sitting back in satisfaction with our own cleanness.  “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life” (Pr 4.23).

Jeremy Nettles

We recently studied Pontius Pilate at River Ridge.  While the story of the man himself is instructive, one aspect of the story that really stands out to me is how readily he is swayed by the mob.  The historical record offers some pretty strong clues as to why this is, but even without those the Bible makes it clear that a) he knew Jesus was innocent; b) he knew the mob was both dangerous and fickle; and c) he based his decision, not on justice, but on whatever would appease the crowd.  It is with disapproval that the earliest Christians remember his part in the story. While acknowledging that his role had been to further “whatever [God’s] hand and [God’s] plan had predestined to take place” (Ac 4.28), they portray Pilate as one of the Gentiles who raged, plotted in vain, and “gathered together, against the Lord and against his Anointed” (vv25-26, citing Ps 2.1-2).

The mob is even worse, of course.  Jesus tells Pilate “he who delivered me over to you has the greater sin” (Jn 19.11b).  They are the driving force, not Jesus, and not Pilate.  Yet even they had been hijacked by a small cadre of ideologues who bent the mob to their own will.  As Mark tells us, the greater part of the crowd had gathered, not to demand Jesus’ execution, but to request the release of a prisoner, because “at the feast he used to release for them one prisoner for whom they asked” (Mk 15.6).  Perhaps it’s Pilate’s naïveté showing through, but more likely he knows enough about Jesus and his following that he simply assumes they will be asking for this harmless, innocent teacher, suggesting to them in verse 9, “Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?”

But no—the society’s supposed moral betters had already gotten to them.  “The chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release for them Barabbas” (v11), a rebel, “who had committed murder in the insurrection” (15.7).  Note that Mark doesn’t say he was suspected of committing murder, or that he was awaiting trial for murder, but that was in fact guilty of that offense.  Yet, having been primed by these self-righteous snakes, the mob goes right along in asking that he be put back on the streets of Jerusalem, among their wives, children, friends, and businesses.  It’s obviously not in their own best interests even from a fleshly perspective, but they made the mistake of listening to the lies  spread by those who supposedly stood for justice and righteousness.

“So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified” (Mk 15.15).  He knows justice is not being served.  He knows this is due to the “envy” (v10) of an elite few.  Still, he bows to the mob, and gives them what they think they want.  Pilate was not a God-fearing man, but was appointed by God for a purpose:

There is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God's servant for your good. (Ro 13.1b-4a)

Jesus says the same to Pilate’s face, “You would have no authority over me at all unless it had been given you from above” (Jn 19.11a).  Pilate failed in this purpose, and while he preserved his political power for a while, he also made himself guilty, by going along with the mob.

I suppose it’s obvious why I’ve been thinking about these events a lot lately, and perhaps as you read it you’re trying to determine what is my political angle.  I don’t know that I have one—I just can’t get past the moral catastrophe that has unfolded in every major American city over the last two weeks.  There’s been so much rotten behavior, from so many sources, fueled by pent-up stress and cabin fever after we all locked ourselves away for two months, and fanned into flame—figuratively, by the same sort of self-righteous, cynical snobs as those who smugly celebrated after murdering Jesus; and literally, by a morally bankrupt mob, devoid of the conscience that would have barred most of the individuals from such acts, if only they weren’t egged on by truly reprehensible instigators.

I’ve been very saddened to see so many lives destroyed, so many people who worked hard and did their best to build something, suffered through the economic drought of the pandemic, and then watched all their labor go up in smoke, or out the door in the hands of thieves, or simply dashed in pieces because a mob was angry and they happened to be the closest target.  It’s tough to watch.  Every element of the story, from the incident that provided the spark, to the smoldering ruins, breaks my heart to see.  But it’s not the first time this has happened, even in this country, and although it may get much, much worse, it may also get much, much better.  That’s up to each of us to decide for ourselves.

There are other mob scenes in the Bible, and they’re all instructive as we try to process this and move forward.  But I’d like to wrap up with the one that occurred in Ephesus, led by a group of people who felt their economic fortunes were looking bleak, and exacerbated by racial hatred between Gentiles and Jews.  Eventually, a nameless, low-ranking public official steps in and addresses the crowd.  He soothes the specific fears of the instigators, and then closes:

“If therefore Demetrius and the craftsmen with him have a complaint against anyone, the courts are open, and there are proconsuls. Let them bring charges against one another. But if you seek anything further, it shall be settled in the regular assembly. For we really are in danger of being charged with rioting today, since there is no cause that we can give to justify this commotion.” And when he had said these things, he dismissed the assembly.

Every town should have such a clerk.  This guy isn’t even a Christian, but he shows a basic awareness of right and wrong, practical foresight, and the guts to put his own life on the line for what’s right, and for the common good.  How much better could you do?

Jeremy Nettles

The transfiguration of Jesus is an episode in the Gospel that almost feels like a dream to us.  Jesus performed a number of miracles, but the great majority of them fall into a couple of categories—healing, and demonstrating mastery over nature.  On top of that, there are a handful of instances in the Gospels when the Father gets involved, speaking from heaven or altering natural phenomena, but it’s rare.  We’ve perhaps gotten used to the miracles by this point—not to be irreverent, but Jesus does them so often that they become for us a bit commonplace.

And then there’s the transfiguration.  Before that, he feeds people, teaches people, walks on water, heals people, teaches people, people, feeds people, and teaches people some more; then all of a sudden, he’s on a mountain somewhere, talking to two dead guys while shining like the sun and being shrouded by a shiny cloud that talks.  Then he heals some more, teaches some more, sends his disciples out to teach, heals some more…Clearly, one of these things is not like the others, and we’re perhaps left feeling the way we do in a dream, when we can’t keep up and process all of the sensory input we’re receiving, and struggle to recall it later.  In fact, although by all available evidence this happened in the physical world, Jesus even refers to it as a “vision” as he is telling “heavy with sleep” (Lk 9.32) Peter, James, and John to keep it quiet for the time being: “as they were coming down the mountain, Jesus commanded them, ‘Tell no one the vision, until the Son of Man is raised from the dead’” (Mt 17.9).  Yet, although it remains somewhat fuzzy, its immediate witnesses weren’t allowed to mention it, and we can’t explain or fully understand everything that occurred, there’s surely a reason this episode is shared with us.

Where?

We don’t know exactly where this took place.  The authors of the Gospels tell us it happened on “a high mountain” (e.g. Mt 17.1), but that isn’t very specific.  The most serious of the many proposed locations are Mount Tabor and Mount Hermon, but really, it isn’t all that important beyond what we’re told—it’s a mountain.  Why?  Because it juts into the sky, getting closer to heaven, in a manner of speaking.  There’s a long history and tradition surrounding God and mountains, for example Moses’ several meetings with him on Mt. Sinai, as well as Mt. Nebo; the Temple Mount also fits in here going all the way back to Genesis 22, and of course the Israelites’ unauthorized use of “high places” to worship God, as wells as idols, subscribes to the same notion.  So, when Jesus ascends a mountain and encounters these two heroes of the Old Testament, as well as the Father himself, it’s both symbolic of proximity to God, and a reference to the many other encounter like this one.

When?

The transfiguration took place “after six days” (e.g. Mt 17.1), which is not particularly helpful without knowing the context, but what’s more important is knowing the overall story arc, and this incident’s place on that arc.  It follows right after Peter confessed his belief that Jesus is “the Christ, the Son of the living God” (e.g. Mt 16.16), and Jesus’ pronouncements not only about the church he would institute, but about his own coming death and resurrection.  After this point, while Jesus continued much of the same teaching and healing as before, he also foretold twice more that he would die and rise, and it was shortly after this that he “set his face to go to Jerusalem” (Lk 9.51), setting off the cycle of events culminating in that death and resurrection.  There’s much left to the story, but the transfiguration is a turning point, after which the story focuses on coming closer and closer to the purpose for which Jesus came to earth.

Who?

The usual members of the cast are standard equipment at this point, but the other two, Moses and Elijah, are quite surprising, not least because they’re dead—well, sort of.  Moses had died before Israel entered the promised land, and God buried his body somewhere secret (De 34.5-6); but Elijah was taken up into heaven without experiencing death (2Ki 2.11).  In fact these two events happened in the same area, just east of the Jordan River opposite Jericho.  There are other similarities between Moses and Elijah, from their meetings with God on Mt. Sinai to their crossing bodies of water on dry land, to their relationship with Israel’s thirst.  But perhaps most important to the transfiguration is their status as representatives.  In broad terms, Moses stands for the Law, and Elijah stands for the Prophets—the whole of God’s word to Israel.

Why?

In this, the reason and purpose are made clear.  Peter’s dumbfounded, cringe-inducing input at seeing all of this is to say, “let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah” (Mk 9.5).  It’s obvious that he attaches some kind of religious significance to these proposed tents, perhaps in line with the Feast of Tabernacles.  Since he proposes a tent for each one, it’s as if he’s exalting Jesus, implying that he holds him in the same regard as even Moses and Elijah—high praise, indeed!  Yet, “He was still speaking when, behold, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him’” (Mt 17.5).  And that’s pretty much the point of this whole thing, both for them and for us.  We may hold Jesus in high esteem, but does he have any equals in our minds?  The Father gave his endorsement of his Son’s teaching, the next step in fulfilling, superseding, and annulling the old way of doing things.  For us, it’s probably now the Jewish Law and Prophets that need to be subordinated to Christ, but whatever else we might hold in high regard, whatever else we might consider authoritative.  These things may still be good, but they are nothing in comparison to God’s own Son.  Let’s make sure we are listening to him.

Jeremy Nettles

The exhortation given in the title is a strange curiosity.  It appears about thirteen times in the Old Testament (depending on the translation), and most of them occur within the space of a few weeks.  Then, it’s brought out in seemingly dire or uncertain situations, using the same Hebrew phrase in an almost formulaic pattern; yet rather than becoming a tired, old standard, we only see it used these few times.

It begins in Deuteronomy 31, as Moses is wraps up his long address to the nation of Israel, which functions as a history, a sermon, a pep-talk, and a farewell speech all in one.  As he tells them his leadership role is about to pass to Joshua when the nation crosses the Jordan to encounter a new set of obstacles, he tells them: “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you” (v6).  Immediately after this, he shifts his focus away from the nation and onto their future leader, Joshua, telling him also,

Be strong and courageous, for you shall go with this people into the land that the Lord has sworn to their fathers to give them, and you shall put them in possession of it. It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. (vv7-8)

Then, he repeats it again in verse 23 of the same chapter.

Apparently, God wanted this to leave a lasting impression on Joshua, because he takes those words he’d so recently put in Moses’ mouth, and and speaks them directly to Joshua, just after Moses’ death: “No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life. Just as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous, for you shall cause this people to inherit the land that I swore to their fathers to give them” (Jos 1.5-6).  After giving Joshua this reassurance of his blessing and presence, he also tells Joshua what is involved in carrying out this mandate, telling him, “Only be strong and very courageous, being careful to do according to all the law that Moses my servant commanded you. Do not turn from it to the right hand or to the left, that you may have good success wherever you go” (v7).  Just in case Joshua didn’t get the picture from all of this, he repeats the refrain once more in verse 9, so that Joshua is left with four points to take away from what God has told him: 1) I know it’s scary to have lost your leader and to take over as his untested, unproven replacement; 2) I know it’s scary to risk your life and the lives of your people fighting against an entrenched enemy with no earthly allies; 3) but I will be with you and give you the same success I gave to Moses; 4) if you will trust me and keep my commandments even when it seems to you there’s a better way.

God isn’t the only one strengthening Joshua with this exhortation—the people, who had been told the same thing by Moses just a short time before, and who had witnessed Moses telling Joshua twice to “be strong and courageous,” remind him of that commission once more as they express solidarity with him as their new leader:

“All that you have commanded us we will do, and wherever you send us we will go. Just as we obeyed Moses in all things, so we will obey you. Only may the Lord your God be with you, as he was with Moses! Whoever rebels against your commandment and disobeys your words, whatever you command him, shall be put to death. Only be strong and courageous.” (vv16-18)

This time, it serves as a vote of confidence, acknowledging that they’re following the New Guy into some of the most risky and consequential actions of their nation’s history to date, and reassuring him that they feel the stress to, but consider that they’re all in this together, and will not abandon or rebel against him.

The impression all of this was supposed to make on Joshua clearly lasted.  We find him, some time later, in the midst of the war of conquest, repeating the same words back to his people, as the opening stages of the war wrap up with astonishing success, ushering in a series of campaigns that we only see in summary in chapters 10 and 11 of Joshua.  During this transitional period of the narrative, at a point when God has demonstrated his faithfulness, Joshua has demonstrated his leadership, and the people have demonstrated their obedience—all the things that had been somewhat in question before—Joshua propels them on to the next phase of the conquest by saying, “Do not be afraid or dismayed; be strong and courageous. For thus the Lord will do to all your enemies against whom you fight” (Jos 10.25).  It’s a deliberate reminder of what Moses had said, what God had said, and what the people themselves had said, before all this started, and a confirmation that all parties had been faithful to their promises, and should continue to be.

Later

After this, it disappears for several hundred years.  The next time we see it is in Psalm 27.14, where David considers some of the same themes present in Deuteronomy and Joshua, then closes by saying, “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!”  He’s added a poetic flair to it, but at its core this is the same Hebrew phrase, and he says the same thing again in verse 24 of Psalm 34, after a similar expression of trust that God will keep his promises to those who keep faith with him.

David is also the source of the next pair of times this phrase shows up, in a strikingly close comparison to the way Moses began the whole thing.  As he prepares to hand the reins over to his son Solomon he says, “you will prosper if you are careful to observe the statutes and the rules that the Lord commanded Moses for Israel. Be strong and courageous. Fear not; do not be dismayed.”  He deliberately recalls the words of God in Joshua 1.7, while playing out a similar scenario as in Deuteronomy 31.  The longtime leader of the people is passing the torch to someone untested and unproven, and David clearly sees the similarity to Moses and Joshua, and hopes Solomon will succeed him as worthily as Joshua succeeded Moses.  Lest he (or we) forget, David tells Solomon this same thing a bit later, in the presence of the assembled representatives of Israel: “Be strong and courageous and do it. Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed, for the Lord God, even my God, is with you. He will not leave you or forsake you, until all the work for the service of the house of the Lord is finished” (1Ch 28.20).  One can’t help but notice that, this time, he’s deliberately included even more of the words of Moses to the people and to Joshua.

It appears once more, after another few centuries, this time in the mouth of Hezekiah, whose name means “the Lord strengthens,” using the same root as appears in the phrase that has been our focus.  He puns on his own name while referring back to Moses and Joshua again, telling a nation paralyzed by fear of an invading Assyrian army, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or dismayed before the king of Assyria and all the horde that is with him, for there are more with us than with him” (2Ch 32.7).  In the face of gigantic army of pagan evildoers, he subtly reminds his people of another time in their history when they fought against overwhelming numbers, and overcame through God’s help.

Today

Of course, these words apply to us at all times, considering the work we do in building a spiritual dwelling for God on earth, and the spiritual war we fight against the devil and his minions, the constant frailties and shortcomings that hamper our efforts and set us back, our lack of confidence in the flesh we all inhabit, and the unseen nature of God’s greatest promises to us.  Today, however, they apply to us all the more, because of the war we’ve been fighting against the pandemic.  This has often left us uncertain and afraid, perhaps even in dread.  But especially now, as our communities begin to open the doors and take small steps back toward the way things were before the virus hijacked our lives and livelihoods, the transitional nature, the untested, unproven leaders and methods, the risks, and the moral imperatives, all come together to create a similar scenario to those in which various Israelites were told, “be strong and courageous.”  We would do well to heed these words, too, “For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Ro 8.15), “for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control” (2Ti 1.7), and Jesus has the power to “deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery” (Heb 2.15).  We are sons of God, and he loves us and delivers us both from sin and, eventually, from death as well.  And, we have work to do.  This doesn’t mean we should jump willy-nilly into the fray, throw caution to the wind, and welcome the virus into our open arms (and lungs).  But it does mean that we should remember what’s really important, keep our eyes on the joy set before us, continue to take reasonable precautions to preserve our own lives and the lives of others, especially those who are more vulnerable, and otherwise be careful to do according to all that the Lord has commanded us.  We all knew going into this time that it wouldn’t last forever, and although it’s not over yet, we’ve reached the proper time to carefully venture into the world again.  As we do so, let’s be strong and courageous.

Jeremy Nettles

There’s an irritating dichotomy that we all have to deal with, every day of our lives, whether we realize it or not.  I’ve been thinking about it lately in physical terms, because my family just bought a property that needs a lot of work.  My wife and I have made list upon list of changes to make, and at the time, each item seems minor—but then my obsessive attention to detail kicks in, and what seemed like a one-hour project turns into a full day or more.  So far, we’re always happy with the results, but we’re certainly not breaking any speed records.  I end up frustrated, because the big picture isn’t taking shape as quickly as I would like.  In truth, this is probably just a good exercise for me in developing better patience and efficiency, but it has brought into focus the choice that we all have to make many times each day: will I focus my efforts on the big picture, or the minute details?

Perhaps finding a good balance in our everyday lives will be beneficial, but as so often happens, the lessons that we learn in the physical world can help us see what’s happening behind it, in the spiritual realm.  In Matthew 23.23, Jesus says, “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others. You blind guides, straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel!”  The problem is more than simple neglect of particular commandments.  In the first case, Jesus calls justice, mercy, and faithfulness “the weightier matters.”  In the second, the difference between the sizes of the unclean animals being (metaphorically) consumed is comically exaggerated to make the point—they’re focused on the small things, to the extent that they have completely missed the big picture.

That doesn’t mean they should’ve deliberately ignored the herbs and spices they grew when they counted out the tithe, or that they should’ve left the gnats in their drink—only that it was worse to fail in the grand scheme of things, than it would have been to have a handful of accidental oversights to their accounts.

Since the law of Moses is a bit foreign to us, perhaps it’s easier to use a more modern analogy, making use of the expression, “the big picture,” that I’ve already used three times above.  In the digital world, pictures are made up of vast numbers of tiny pixels, each of which is assigned a very specific color (one of 16 million even in the most common compressed format), and placed in a very specific location in relation to all the rest.  Even my phone has a 12-megapixel camera, which means any given picture I take has roughly 12 million little dots.  That’s 192 quadrillion values each pixel could be, and a practically infinite number of ways they could be arranged—and even that would present a compressed image, which is to say a slightly distorted approximation of what the sensor actually saw, which in turn was also a slightly distorted approximation of the reality in front of the camera.  The point is that obsessing over each infinitesimal pixel may mean you end up with a high degree of accuracy…but you’d never in your life be able to cover the entire picture that way.  You’d end up with a highly accurate little speck, while completely missing…the big picture.

Yet, at the same time, significant errors in even a small number of pixels stand out on the finished product, and our eyes can detect them, and focus in on them accompanied by silent judgment of whoever edited the photo.  This is only a rough analogy for the task facing us spiritually, but I think it frames the challenge pretty well.  God wants our lives to form a certain “picture”—essentially, we ought to look like Christ.  And throughout our lives, we expend untold effort over years or decades trying to get each little dot as perfect as we can; yet, we’re in danger of completely failing, if we spend all of our time on a handful of small points, while excluding the rest of the picture.

Put this way, it’s slightly terrifying to think how many different ways we could fail to live up to God’s expectations, and how few ways there are to present a complete picture to him that is close enough to his standard to be acceptable.  If we spend our entire lives perfecting and tweaking a particular practice or belief—be it an element of worship, a complex moral issue, an exegesis of a particular text, a fine point of theology, soteriology, christology, ecclesiology, epistemology, eschatology, or any other arcane -ology that strives to accurately describe and inform, but means almost nothing to our everyday lives—if we spend our entire lives on one or two of these, what good is it, if on the day of judgment the Lord tells us we’ve missed the big picture?

On the other hand, if we take the general approach and worry only about the major, life-shaping, and obvious, and reassure ourselves that the big picture is “close enough,” what good is it, if the Lord holds us responsible for relaxing one of the least of his commandments (Mt 5.19)?

Mercifully, God has given some pointers to keep us from despair.  Jesus tells us, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets” (Mt 22.37-40), and “whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets” (Mt 7.12).  Paul tells us, “the commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery, You shall not murder, You shall not steal, You shall not covet,’ and any other commandment, are summed up in this word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law” (Ro 13.9-10).  And yet both of these, and the the rest of the Apostles and New Testament authors, also give us ample commentary on a large number of the minor points, too.  The big picture ought to be our smell-test, a gauge we consult carefully and frequently, but that helps us to identify which parts of the picture need our attention, using simple questions, easily answered most of the time: does this behavior or belief reflect love?  Does it look like Christ?

We have to live from day to day among the small decisions, the infinitesimal little dots that make up the big picture, and we ought to be careful to conform each of them to God’s standard to the best of our ability.  Then, we need to reassess the big picture, and move on to the next area that requires our focus.  We won’t ever really finish the task in this life, but that’s ok.  The process, as much as the product, is the point.

There’s another expression in English, “to miss the forest for the trees,” that conveys the same problem we’ve been discussing.  Perhaps it’s even a better representation, because the forest is so much more complex than the sum of its trees.  Ideally, the countless small factors of a dozen different systems add up to a beautiful forest, but just a few of them being improper or less than ideal can leave the forest ratty and troubled.  It’s a mistake to ignore the trees, or the water, or the wildlife, or soil, air, drainage, etc. in favor of the overall image of the forest as a whole; but it’s a tragedy to focus on making one tree what it ought to be, while the whole forest is in flames.  In our spiritual lives, “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ep 6.12).  This is the biggest picture there is.  Let’s do our best to play our parts, to faithfully execute God’s instructions without omission or oversight, “so that when he appears we may have confidence and not shrink from him in shame at his coming” (1Jn 2.28).

Jeremy Nettles