Autonomy is an Assyrian King

“You’re in Isaiah again, aren’t you?”  Yep. 

Isaiah 36 opens with the southern kingdom of Judah in dire straits.  They are once again threatened by a foreign oppressor.  The city of Jerusalem is surrounded, and there’s no hope for victory on the horizon.  And then the trash talk begins.

After an unsuccessful attempt to sway King Hezekiah, the Assyrian general tries to bargain with the people.  He assures them that there is no chance for victory through the Lord’s deliverance, then says this:

“Do not listen to Hezekiah. For thus says the king of Assyria: Make your peace with me and come out to me. Then each one of you will eat of his own vine, and each one of his own fig tree, and each one of you will drink the water of his own cistern, until I come and take you away to a land like your own land, a land of grain and wine, a land of bread and vineyards.” Isaiah 36:16-17 (ESV)

“Come to the dark side, we have cookies.”  This is the promise of the Assyrian king: that they would have abundant food, wine, and water, that they would have control of these resources, they would have them for themselves, they would each own their own vine and fig tree, and be able to drink from their own cistern.  At its core, what the Assyrian king is promising is autonomy and self-sufficiency.

This all sounds great, until we take a step back, we see that peace with the Assyrians would be no peace at all.  The Assyrian empire was known throughout the Middle East for its cruelty.  The northern kingdom of Israel had already been conquered and the people had been exiled.  Surrender to the demands of the Assyrians would be just that—surrender.  They would not be free, but a people conquered and oppressed by the Assyrian empire.  They would be subjected to fear, exiled from their homeland, and forced to pay tribute—in essence, slaves.

The promise of the Assyrian king is much like the promise of sin. Sin promises us everything we ever wanted if only we surrender to it, promises that we’ll be autonomous and self-sufficient, if we come out and make peace with it.  These are promises that it cannot and will not keep.

Yet this offer is so appealing to us because this sort of independence and self-sufficiency is such a core American value, that we fought for it 200 years ago and celebrate it every year on July 4th.   Autonomy is exactly what its Greek word roots break down into:  auto – self and nomos – rule.  It tells us, “Be free to do whatever it is that you want to do,” or as our 21st century lexicon more economically puts it, “You do you.” But the Bible tells us just how this works out.  After narrating the unspeakable atrocities in its last five chapters, the book of Judges ends with this refrain: “Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”  And what results is the total chaotic rule of sin.  It seems that when we rule ourselves, what we end up obeying is our own sinful nature, which leads us into sin.  And what Jesus tells us in John 8:34, is that “everyone who sins is a slave to sin” (NIV).

Paul expounds on this in Romans 6, where he says,

“Do you not know that if you present yourselves to anyone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness?” Romans 6:16-17 (ESV)

Paul makes it clear that we are always slaves to something—It is either to sin or to righteousness.  We’ll never be truly autonomous, because we become slaves to whoever we obey.  Self-rule is an illusion that disguises an ugly reality of slavery to sin.  The freedom that we want deep down is only found in Christ, and it’s not the freedom to rule ourselves, but to become slaves of a good Master, subjects of a good King, and sons of a good Father.

Not That Kind of Savior (Late Reflections on Palm Sunday)

Palm Sunday.  The Triumphal Entry.  Long story short, Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey, and the crowd goes nuts, shouting “Hosanna” and laying down palm branches and clothing for Him to ride over.  This story appears in all four of the gospels, and I’ve never given terribly much thought to it.  I understand that Jesus does this to fulfill the prophecy in Zechariah 9:9, where it says that the messiah would come riding on a donkey.

I’ve been chewing on this story ever since I read the gospel of Mark over spring break and more so after the pastor preached on it this past Sunday.  When we look at the historical context that Jesus came into, we see that He came to a people living under the oppression of Rome.  As the crowds were shouting “Hosanna,” which means “save us” in Hebrew, they were expecting a political savior to deliver them from Rome, expecting Jesus to take his place as the promised Son of David, the king that would reestablish the Jewish nation.

But as Jesus headed to the cross on Good Friday, as the cries of “Hosanna” turned to “Crucify Him!”, the people realized that Jesus wasn’t the messiah they expected.  The Rome that he was supposed to lead them into victory over, was the Rome that humiliated Him, stripped Him, beat Him, and crucified Him.  But the very thing that seemed like defeat was the greatest victory.  Jesus came to build not the kingdom of Israel, but the kingdom of God—they would be free, not from Rome, but from sin, a far more cruel oppressor.  Instead of defeating the Romans, He defeated death.  The Romans would not be overthrown, but would become brothers, fellow subjects under the true King Jesus.  This was not the victory they expected, but the one the Jews needed and the one the world needed.

And I think for us, thousands of years later, still get Jesus as wrong as the Jews did.  Most people like Jesus of Nazareth—they think he was a pretty good guy: a good teacher, a good moral example, a social justice activist, a revolutionary, the list goes on.  And some would assent, at least mentally, that Jesus is the Son of God.  But despite the way in which we look to Him, Jesus didn’t come to save us from the threat of terrorism or global warming or income inequality or low self-esteem or our bad habits.  He didn’t come to make America (or Israel) great again.  He didn’t come to give us our best life now, to make us happy, healthy, and wealthy.  No, He came to die in our place, to pay the price of sin, and to reconcile us to God.

Granted, I believe that Jesus does call His followers, once they have been freed from the chains of sin, to live in a way that portrays heaven on earth, which involves doing the things on God’s heart—acting justly and loving mercy (Micah 6:8).  But as He says in John 16:33, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (NIV).   We will have trouble in this world.  Yet in the midst of the brokenness we witness and experience, He has given us Himself.  And we have the hope that one day He is coming to make all things right, to take His place as King—not just over the kingdom of Israel, but over all creation.

Our greatest need is not world peace or a cure for cancer or access to education or clean water. Our greatest problem is sin and our greatest need is reconciliation with God.  And Jesus came for that exact purpose.  Not the savior we expected, not the savior we deserved, but the one we needed.

Four Surefire Tips for Improving Your Relationship with God

I’ve been a Christian for more than half of my life, and it’s been a continual process of growing closer to the God of the universe.  In thinking about my journey, I’ve found these four things super effective in my walk with Him, and I wanted to pass them on to you.  They’ll help your spiritual growth, guaranteed.

1. Store your Bible in the attic.

The best place for a Bible, hands-down is the attic (or basement or other storage space equivalent).  Keep it there until you really need it.  Until then, the stream of hand-picked inspirational Bible verses superimposed against sunsets on Instagram and your personal experience will tell you enough about God to keep your spiritual life up and running.  As a bonus, it’ll help you check evangelism off your list of Christian duties, as the rats will be chewing on the Word for you.  Hopefully they’ll have chewed out those pesky passages about sin or the wrath of God by the next time you dust it off.

2. Pray the Jamba Juice secret menu.

Namely, “Hello Jesus” and “Thank You Jesus.”  Some have suggested praying through the Psalms or praying through the names of God, but the thing I’ve found most helpful has been the Jamba Juice secret menu.  The Lord, in his divine wisdom, has given us a prayer book unequaled by any other.  But really, pray in whatever way works for you.

3. Avoid other people.

If solitude and isolation was good for some of the holiest people we know of, the monastic way of life must be good for us.  Just think about it.  There are so many sins that can simply be avoided by avoiding other people…anger, bitterness, brawling, cheating, gossip, lying, lust and adultery.  No people, no problem.  When the Bible says two is better than one, it’s spot on.  You and Jesus.  Two.  That’s all you need.

4. Only share the gospel with words when absolutely necessary.

Good ol’ misattributed wisdom of St. Francis of Assisi.  Sharing the gospel with words can be really awkward and uncomfortable.  Instead of verbally telling people about sin and the grace they can’t earn, interpretive dance and passive-aggressive grunts have been shown to be much more ambiguous, which leaves people confused, but still less uncomfortable in the end.  Other suggestions for avoiding sharing the gospel verbally include blasting Christian radio wherever you go and unexplained gospel illustrations.
Or you could just avoid sharing the gospel all together.  It’s not like Jesus commands us to…the Great Suggestion, am I right?  Tip #3 also really helps with this one.

These four tips are loosely based on four of the five spokes of the wheel, a classic illustration developed by the Navigators, who have really shaped my faith during my college years.  Another very helpful illustration that they’ve developed is the Fellowship Foot.

Also, happy April Fools’ Day.  Or as I see it, National Heresy Day, the day that I get to write intense heresy/satire.  Mild apologies for this sorry excuse for satire.  Good stuff is coming soon, I promise.