Within a year of signing the Declaration of Independence, on June 14, 1777, the United States adopted a new symbol for a new nation: a flag with thirteen stars set on a dark blue background (a new constellation in the heavens) with thirteen alternating red and white stripes. The colonies fought under this banner for independence from England until 1783. When the British surrendered and agreed to leave New York, as they evacuated, General George Washington led troops into New York in a display of conquering the city and claiming it as part of an independent United States. The Union Jack that flew over the city was removed, and the US flag was raised. This flag was a sign of the victory of the US and the establishment of a new government.
From that time until this, our two-hundred-fiftieth birthday, the American flag, going through all of its iterations, has flown in times of war and peace. The flag embodies our history, good and bad. Because of what it stands for, it promises and anticipates future independence and freedom. Waving the flag in national pride is a statement. When we greet our national heroes with flags, we are not only celebrating them, but we are also saying that they embody what the flag stands for and have preserved and moved the purpose and promise of this country forward.
What our American flag is for us, palm branches were to the Jews of the first century. When Jesus entered Jerusalem to crowds waving palm branches, it was what we might call “a political” or “nationalist” statement. The crowds didn’t simply pick up the closest thing to them to wave. They were declaring in symbol as well as with their words, “This is our King, our deliverer, the embodiment of our history and promise for our future.”
A little over a century before Palm Sunday, Israel greeted Judas Maccabeus the same way after his defeat of Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus had conquered Jerusalem and desecrated the Temple. Judas led a guerrilla warfare revolt that eventually drove him from Jerusalem. The Temple was rededicated, and Judas was proclaimed king.
The Jews knew exactly what they were doing when they waved palms before Jesus. The palm branch became a national symbol, even being used on coins as a revolt against Rome. Palm branches told Israel’s story from the time God delivered them from Egypt and protected and preserved them in the wilderness as they dwelt in leafy booths. Judas, and now Jesus, embody that history.
Jesus never rebuked them for this display of national pride. Even though they didn’t understand the depth of the story being told, they were in the ballpark. Jesus was the embodiment of Israel’s history and the promise for its future.
Though not completely analogous since America isn’t a chosen nation as Israel was chosen, our flag-waving gratitude to God for all that he has done in our country is not a bad thing. There are some, even within our circles, who downplay national pride (in the best sense of that word), so that it seems to turn into practical disdain for our country. All that matters is the kingdom of God, so there is no celebration of our national history. It is almost as if America and her history and culture have nothing to do with the kingdom of God. So many bad things have happened and are happening in America, why would we celebrate this country? Well, it’s not like bad things didn’t happen in Israel’s history, but God, in his providence, blessed the world through Israel. God has blessed us and the world through America, even with all the horrible things that have gone on. We can be thankful for that even while mourning our sin and calling our country to repentance.
There are others in our circles who seem to want to make American nationalism the be-all-end-all. It is almost as if the kingdom of God doesn’t survive if America fails. We must preserve America at all costs. There are problems with this as well. Just as Israel was expendable, so is America … even more so than Israel. God has done and is doing great things through America, but he is writing a deeper story through her history that will last long after America is but a page in a history book. This doesn’t mean that we and our country are insignificant. God doesn’t do insignificant things. Creating and sustaining one of the greatest countries in world history is no insignificant matter.
However, even while we celebrate the wonders he has done, we must recognize that he is transforming all of it into something new and more glorious. There is nothing wrong with celebrating our heritage and loving our country, but there may come a time when God tells us, our children, or our children’s children to let it go in order to enter a more glorious future, just as he did with Israel.
Jesus came in as a Jew, embodied all the history of Israel, entered as Israel’s king, and then transformed everything for Israel’s sake and for the sake of the world. He is writing a deeper, more profound story than the history of America. He is remaking the world. America is a part of that, but only a part. We can’t be near-sighted so that all we see is America, and we can’t be so far-sighted that we lose sight of our place and part in God’s grand kingdom work.
Jesus is King of America. He loves our country. He has blessed our country, and we ought to be thankful for that. We ought also to use our privileges as Americans to advance his kingdom purposes, not only in America, but for the whole world.
“The leech has two daughters–Give and Give!...” Proverbs 30:15
You and all that you do are never enough. More is required. You are the reason that I am in the shape that I am in. If you were only “there” for me the way I expected you to be. If you had only given me better counsel. If only you were more emotionally present. If only …
These are the words of a leech. I know, that’s not too polite, but that is what Solomon calls the demanding, black hole, self-consumed person. All they know is “Give, give.” They are parasites that live off of the life of others. When they have drained you dry of all the life that is in you, they move to find another host, thinking this one will finally meet all my needs; this one will fix me; this one will be all that I expect. Again and again, they are disappointed because no one is adequate. No one meets their high expectations.
Because you are a loving Christian, you genuinely want to help this person. You want to be a good friend and try to be all that they expect from you. You are a pastor whose responsibility is to feed and lead the flock, and this person has come to you with needs. You are a husband or wife who sincerely desires to please your spouse.
But you can’t. The expectations are not “high.” They are impossible and, therefore, unreasonable. No one can meet those needs. No one can fix what is broken inside the other person.
You know you are in a relationship like this when you are always drained from time spent with the person. There is no refreshment of your soul. They are draining. They demand you give, but they never give to contribute to your life.
Several attitudes and actions characterize these overly demanding people.
1. They always expect more from others than they do from themselves.
They may say that they have high expectations of themselves, but when everyone else is blamed for what they are or are not doing, it’s a lie. They expect everyone else to do for them what they should be doing for themselves.
2. Leeches never see themselves as the problem and, therefore, responsible to fix themselves.
Blame is always placed outside of themselves. “You weren’t there for me.” But what does it mean to be “there?” “You didn’t give me good counsel.” This, being translated, is, “You didn’t give me a magic pill to solve all my problems.” These people never see the problem within themselves. They are always looking for someone else to “give” them what they think they need. It matters not that you are not the one who turns on the computer and navigates through porn sites for him; somehow, you are not giving him what he needs to battle his problem. You are not the one who nagged her husband until it destroyed her marriage, but somehow you didn’t help her enough. You are not the one who didn’t act as a husband should, but now you are the one who is responsible for his bad marriage. “I can’t be the problem. Someone didn’t ‘give’ something to me.”
3. The overly demanding person will discard relationships when he/she doesn’t get out of them what they want (sometimes the first time they don’t get what they want).
You try to meet every demand. You wear yourself out seeking to serve this person. The first time you don’t do what he/she expects, you are the enemy. You will be cut off. Your friend will leave. That church member will go find another church. Your spouse will alienate you. Unless the person sincerely repents, you will lose the relationship. It is only a matter of time … and there is nothing, absolutely nothing you can do about it.
So, what do you do?
First, even though you don’t want to be cynical, you must be honest and recognize the leech as soon as possible. If they have a history of relationships like this, approach with caution and realistic expectations.
Second, understand that you can’t meet this person’s needs or expectations. No one can, and you are no different. The problem doesn’t lie in the acquaintances the person has had in the past, but in him.
Third, if this overly demanding person seeks to latch on to you, tell him what he needs to hear instead of trying to submit to his expectations. That is the most loving thing you can do. They may or may not listen. That’s not your problem.
Fourth, if they don’t repent, let them go. You shouldn’t try to take responsibility where you have no authority. You have no authority to change someone else’s life. All you can do is encourage and instruct. You may be castigated as uncompassionate. You may be blamed for the problems. Those are control tactics to get you under their power so that they can suck the life out of you. Don’t submit to it. Don’t allow them to guilt you into being a host for their bloodlust. You are wasting the time Jesus gave you to be productive with other people. Be a good steward of the time Jesus gives you.
If they repent, taking personal responsibility and are willing to do what it takes to remedy their problems, by all means, help them in any way you can.
One of the great killers of a marriage is apathy. Apathy is stealthy, a slow, quiet, methodical killer. A marriage that begins with great affection is systematically destroyed through distractions, other things that command our time and attention. Some of these are good and necessary, such as raising children or keeping a job. But we begin to permit these things to push out the primary relationship. One day, maybe after all the children are gone, we wake up and realize that we don’t know the other person and, frighteningly, we don’t even care to know the other person. A lack of cultivating disciplines in the garden of our marriage has allowed the choking weeds of apathy to kill our marriage.
The same is true in our relationship with Christ. There is a time when things are exciting. We are learning new things. Our minds are being renewed. But as we grow older and are given new responsibilities, we allow them to become distractions to our primary relationship. They are all good things, like rearing children and working the job. We are blessed with these ever-growing opportunities, but slowly, they become the primary focus. Your relationship with Christ in and through his church becomes just another activity on a crowded calendar. Those activities aren’t as important, and any excuse will do to avoid them. Besides, it’s not as if they are strictly “required.” A son’s baseball game, a daughter’s gymnastics demonstration, or a child’s musical performance aren’t strictly required either, but everything will be planned around them because they are important to you. And they should be. We plan and pour ourselves into those activities that are important to us. This reveals where our love is.
When Mary anointed Jesus’ feet with the extremely expensive nard in John 12, it was a demonstration of extravagant loyalty. It wasn’t strictly required. She, most likely, paid her tithe as was required by God’s Law. That was fundamental loyalty. Because she lived close to Jerusalem, she probably even attended Passover, though, technically, she wasn’t required to do so. Only the men were required to attend. So, she probably already went above her strict requirements. The nard that was worth a year’s wages was gaudy love, so much so that there were some who were offended by what they considered waste. However, like the bride in Song of Songs 1, who is overcome with desire and affection, Mary wants to give the best she has, not because it is strictly required or because she is afraid that if she doesn’t, Jesus will send her to hell, but because she loves Jesus.
Granted, Jesus had recently raised her brother from the dead and, no doubt, she is feeling a deep sense of gratitude. She is overwhelmed with emotion. But she had already confessed her loyalty to Jesus even before he raised Lazarus from the dead. Her loyalty was already there.
We are not going to remain in a “red-hot” love all our lives. No one can live that way. But the danger is that we don’t cultivate our relationship with Christ and allow apathy to creep in so that one day we wake up and just don’t care. What’s more is that this apathy is contagious in our families. What is important to parents becomes important to children. That is, children know what you genuinely love and what you simply endure. They will endure with you while they are at home, but if you simply endure your Christian duties so that they are not a part of your deepest loyalties and your fundamental identity, they will not only notice, but they will not become what they love in the future. This is why apathy is such a problem in second- and third-generation Christians.
Cultivate extravagant loyalty to Christ. Fight slow-killing apathy.
Tensions always seek resolution. From music to marriage, from personal life to politics, we know that we can’t continue to live in discord, so we seek harmonious resolution. Being sinful, we often seek this resolution in the wrong ways. The problem in me or the problem between us is outside of us. Someone else is to blame. If we unite and eliminate this person, we have solved the problem and can live at peace. This is the scapegoat mentality. It works … temporarily. When the divorce is final, when the co-worker is fired, when the enemy is killed, we experience a sense of calm relief and peace. But then the cycle begins again, and it will continue because the real issues are never dealt with. You are always and only looking for the scapegoat.
Jesus was causing problems for the Jewish authorities. He was revealing not only that the world they were living in was coming to its prophesied end, but he was also revealing their rebellion against the God they said they worshiped. He was performing signs like a greater Moses, announcing a greater Passover and Exodus. No matter how much the aristocratic Sadducees and the Pharisees hated one another, they liked their present power, even under their Roman overlords. The tensions they had with one another and with Rome would be solved if they killed Jesus. This was Caiaphas’ solution after Jesus gained even more followers subsequent to raising Lazarus from the dead. “One man must die for the people” (Jn 11:50). Kill Jesus, and we will resolve the tension.
Caiaphas’ mentality is classic scapegoatism that continues to be reflected in our human relationships. Our marriage is a wreck, and it’s because the counselor is not giving us the answers. My personal life is all out of order, and it’s because President Trump went to war with Iran. My friendship is a disaster because of this third party. So, we fight the scapegoat. He is the distraction that draws the focus of all our anger, so we don’t need to home in on the genuine issues. If the scapegoat is undefeatable, all the better, in some cases. I am then interminably in a fight with something other than my sins. If he can be defeated by cutting him off, we are then left again dealing with the real issues, so we begin the cycle again.
While Caiaphas meant to engage in the cyclical scapegoatism, his words were sovereignly chosen and had a deeper significance than he knew. As high priest, he was prophesying (Jn 11:51-52). God has always intended to provide a true “scapegoat,” a Passover Lamb who would die for the people and create genuine peace. God accomplishes this by defeating the sin that caused the tensions. Because I have a place where I can deal with my sins, I am able to live in true peace with others, not merely as a temporary arrangement of co-belligerents. Because I am at peace with God, I can be at peace with others instead of always seeing them as my rivals or the cause of all my problems. I can take full responsibility for my sin because I am forgiven, and that forgiveness gives me freedom, allowing me not to see everyone as a threat.
God has provided the true scapegoat. If you trust him, you will need no other.
Many times, there is a great gap between what ought to be (or what someone has conjured up in his mind as what ought to be) and what is. “Is” is reality. “Ought” may or may not be at this time or may never be in our lifetime. Some people can’t live with what “is,” accepting and dealing with reality contentedly. They live frustrated because things aren’t what they perceive they “ought to be.” They are always demanding and angry. Learning to live content with what “is” while working in patience toward what “ought to be” is a sign of wisdom.
Jesus wept (Jn 11:35). Why? His friend, Lazarus, was dead. Mary, Martha, and many Jews who came to join them for the funeral were all mourning. Any of us who have lost someone dear to us can immediately identify with mourning. Sin’s death has separated us from our loved one and, with him/her, has taken a piece of us that can’t be replaced. Death should be mourned. Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t be grieving at a funeral because your loved one has gone to a better place or has received his healing. Those things are true, but mourning is a proper response to death. This is not the way things are supposed to be. One day, God will wipe away every tear from our eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for all those remnants of the old creation will have passed away (Rev 21:4). That is our hope. Consequently, we mourn in hope (1 Thess 4:13), but we mourn nevertheless because our hope remains in the future.
But why is Jesus weeping when he knows that he is about to raise Lazarus from the dead? Shouldn’t he be strutting in among all the mourners with utmost confidence and maybe a bit of joviality? Not at all. It is not appropriate for the situation. Jesus’ tears come from his “groaning in his spirit” and being “troubled” (Jn 11:33, 38). The word translated as “groan” has more of the idea of being angry. Jesus has immersed himself in the world of affliction and tastes the bitterness of death. He is angry and torn up inside because the one who has the power over death, the devil (Heb 2:14), creates this disorder, destruction, and with them, pain. Jesus has come to undo the effects of sin and its death, but until the work is completed through his own imminent death and our final resurrection, there is grief.
When we imagine this scene in our mind’s eye, we see the human Jesus weeping at the tomb. But John wants us to see more. Jesus’ weeping isn’t merely the display of his humanity. Jesus’ weeping is the perfect revelation of the Father. Jesus is the heart of the Father and reveals the Father (Jn 1:18). Jesus isn’t crying as a mere human experience. He is revealing the grief of God. God himself grieves with those who grieve.
Many Christians, especially those of the Reformed persuasion, have an Aristotelian view of God as the Unmoved Mover. God is without “passions,” as the Westminster Confession of Faith says, and we take that as God having no emotions. Any time God is described with any emotion, it will be said that these are anthropomorphisms, describing God in human terms. One major problem with that is that we are made in the image of God–theomorphs–not the other way around. We have emotions because they reflect something true about God himself.
God is not aloof. He is not the unmoved God watching as we writhe in grief. Jesus reveals that God weeps with us.
We do not understand why God ordered history the way he did, allowing evil that causes our pain and grief, so that even he suffers with us. His ways are incomprehensible to us. God became flesh to enter our suffering with us and for us to lead us through it to resurrection.
Mourn, but mourn in hope.
I have been at the bedside of a number of dying family and friends, watching, waiting, and praying when they take their last breath. I have attended and/or officiated more funerals than I care to remember. I buried my parents and grandparents. I have watched the grief of young parents with stillborn infants. I have seen the shock, anger, and sadness of suicide. I have watched chronic illness slowly but inevitably take lives. I have seen men and women live to ripe old ages and die with family around them, mixed with conflicting joy and sadness. I have preached the funerals of people with hope and people with no hope, the latter of whom were wailing desperately and trying to crawl into the coffin. In all of this, I have seen that what you believe determines how you will face death, your own and those you love.
In John 11, Jesus attends a funeral, a funeral that, according to the man’s sisters, could have been avoided if Jesus had been there (Jn 11:20, 32). Two sisters saying the same thing at different times provide a double witness to what they believe was Jesus’ failure. There seems to be an angry edge to their statements. That is not surprising. Anger is part of the grieving process, and it is ultimately directed toward God, who could have changed the fate but didn’t.
Even in their anger, both sisters had hope. That hope was confessed by Martha and was common among the Jews: her brother, Lazarus, would rise again on the last day (Jn 11:24). From the beginning of creation, resurrection was inscribed on everything. When the land from which man was created emerged from the primordial waters on the third day, culminating in rest on the seventh day, it was an image of resurrection. When Adam went into a death-like sleep and awoke glorified, that was an image of resurrection. Sin entered the world and would have halted the process of moving from glory to glory through death and resurrection were it not for God’s grace. But full and final resurrection was always God’s plan.
God’s plan is that the resurrection would come in two parts: a first resurrection and a final resurrection. These resurrections would occur on the third day (the day the land emerged from the waters) and the last day (the seventh day, the day of enthronement rest). These resurrections were typified and enacted in the third and seventh day baptisms recorded in Numbers 19. Anyone who had contracted death by touching a dead body had to be “resurrected” through the ashes of the red heifer, cedar wood, hyssop, scarlet, and running water. The first baptism was on the third day of the week, and the final baptism was on the seventh day of the week. Two baptisms. Two resurrections.
Martha knew all this. God promised resurrection from the beginning of the Scriptures to the end. The patriarchs and prophets all declared it. Every seed that was ever planted proclaimed it as it had to die in order to bear fruit (cf. Jn 12:24). Lazarus, a faithful man, would rise again on the last day.
Jesus declares to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in me shall never die” (Jn 11:25-26). Jesus is the I AM, Yahweh, God of Israel, who delivers his people from slavery, not merely the slavery of the Pharaohs of the world, but from that which empowers the Pharaohs of the world: sin and its death. United to Jesus by faith, though you may die physically, you will not experience the second death, a life in hell (Rev 20:6). Death will serve you, leading to greater glory (cf. 1 Cor 3:21-23).
Our resurrection is still in two stages: baptism and final resurrection. When you are baptized into Christ, you participate in the third-day, first resurrection (cf. Rom 6). Your baptism anticipates a “seventh-day” resurrection, our resurrection on the last day (1 Cor 15). As you participate in Christ’s first resurrection, trusting him, you have hope for the final resurrection. Death is not your master but your servant.
Do you believe this? Do you believe that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? Do you believe it when you face your own mortality or the illness and death of loved ones? Do you believe this when it looks as if the enemy is winning and you are distressed? Do you believe this? What you believe … or better, in whom you believe … will determine if you face death in the comfort of hope or in the emptiness of hopelessness.
Doesn’t God see the distress I’m in with my spouse on the verge of death and my child with a chronic illness? Doesn’t he hear my prayers? Why is he not doing anything to deliver me from this evil?
Didn’t God tell us that sexual perversion, the murder of the unborn, wicked government officials, and many more evils in our society are the disorders of his creation that he intends to solve? Why is he not doing something about them now?
Why God delays when he can do something about it if he wants is a question that haunts God’s people. Yet God has always been, in some ways, a God of delay. He could have made the world and everything in it instantly, but he took six days. He could have sent his Son immediately after the fall, but he delayed for four thousand years. He could have set the world completely right immediately after Jesus' ascension, but he delays until this present day.
God has his reasons.
In the story of Lazarus’ resurrection recorded in John 11, we receive a glimpse into the story of the God who delays. Jesus’ close friends, Lazarus, Mary, and Martha, are in distress. Lazarus is ill to the point of death. Mary and Martha, Lazarus’ sisters, send word to Jesus about his friend’s condition with the obvious expectation that Jesus, who has healed complete strangers, will come and heal him. Jesus receives the message and waits two days before going. The way John records the story, Jesus waits because he loved them (Jn 11:5-6).
There are, no doubt, deep Scriptural themes running in the background of this personal story. Jesus waits two days and then, on the third day, he leaves to resurrect Lazarus from the dead. Third-day resurrection, connecting Lazarus to the themes of Scripture and Jesus’ own death and resurrection, is certainly theme music behind this scene. But Jesus isn’t merely ticking theological boxes, autistically fulfilling some sort of checklist. He delays because he loves them.
When he tells the disciples that Lazarus is dead, he follows it by saying, “and I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, that you may believe” (Jn 11:15). The disciples, the sisters, and the Jews who will later join in the scene all needed to see that Jesus is the resurrection and the life (Jn 11:25-26). Immediate relief from their distress merely to extend this mortal, old creation life was not what was best for them. They needed to know that Jesus is the Lord of death. Even though he delays, he has the power and will raise them from the dead. Jesus has eternity in mind.
We desire immediate relief from our distress. That is understandable. We know that much of what we suffer is that from which God has promised to one day deliver us. We know that death that rips us apart, tearing our bodies and spirits as well as separating us from others, is not God’s goal for us. It is an evil from which we want relief. But God delays, and he does so for a purpose. One reason God gives us the story of Lazarus is to teach us to trust him in the delay. He has not forgotten us. He doesn’t hate us. He is not enjoying watching us suffer. He loves us and has a purpose, a purpose we don’t understand completely at this time. But you can trust a God who entered our afflictions, took them upon himself, and was delivered from them through resurrection. His path will be our path. Resurrection follows suffering and death. Always.