stewardship = sacrifice

And the Lord said, “Who then is that faithful and wise steward, whom his master will make ruler over his household…?”

 

- Luke 12:42, NKJ

 

What does it mean to be a “good steward”? We hear this phrase used frequently but perhaps we are a little hazy on the particulars. What Scripture calls a steward, we would call a property manager. It is a person who is given the authority to oversee someone else’s resources. So when Jesus instructs us to be “faithful and wise” in this capacity, he is reminding us that all we have is on loan from God and we are merely the temporary guardians of it.

 

In the very broadest sense, we are charged with stewardship of our lives. None of us chose to enter this world; we are the product of God’s plans and our parents’ decisions. Thus, it stands to reason that at the most fundamental level, life is a gift that is given to us – a fact which makes us stewards. But how do we even begin to manage something as broad and complex as our very existence?

 

It begins with a simple principle: Stewards don’t act primarily in their own interest; they act in the interest of their employer. Translated into our lingo, this means that we live not with self in mind, but with God in mind. Yet, this goes against every natural impulse we have. Humans are born with the instinctive belief that we are the center of the universe; that we are the lead in the script; that everyone else, including God, plays a supporting role in our story. But as stewards, we are tasked with rebelling against reflex to do something immeasurably difficult: Removing self from the center of our existence. Allow that to sink in for just a moment: I am not the focal point of my life.

 

Challenging as it may be, living in this way is liberating. After all, being the center of the universe is an exhausting business. It is exhausting to always be “on,” to always wear the weight of the world upon your shoulders. It is draining to feel that you must always have the answers to every question and to all of life’s problems. It is a weary thing to believe that the world cannot go on without you. I suspect that we all feel this way, far more often than we care to admit. But that burden is not ours to bear. We must learn how to live beyond self, outside of self, free of self. As the Apostle Paul wrote:

 

My ego is no longer central… Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not “mine,” but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me (Galatians 2:20, The Message)

 

Generally speaking, this means giving ourselves away for the good of others. Scripture uses phrases like “spend yourself” and “lay down your life” to describe the Christian ethic. God does not bestow blessings – even life itself – to be locked up, sat on, or buried. When we do that, it is tantamount to putting them on a shelf, where they become idols; they are treasured above all else, even God.

 

Consider Jesus. What if he had taken the same approach to life that we often do? He wouldn’t have hung out with society’s untouchables and outcasts, for fear of tarnishing his reputation. He wouldn’t have challenged the religious establishment, corrupt as it was, for the sake of preserving tradition and sparing himself the personal attacks. He wouldn’t have spent 3 years of his life training a dozen men, choosing instead to pursue his own comfort and happiness. And he wouldn’t have bled out for crimes he didn’t commit to benefit people who had shown him contempt. By many standards, Jesus was frivolous and even downright wasteful of his life. Yet if he had not done so, where would that leave us? Jesus was the very model of stewarding the life God gave him because in expending it, he brought life to more people than just himself.

 

Let us consider that same scenario as it applies to each of our lives: What happens to all the people our lives touch if we choose not to emulate Jesus? Where does that leave them? We are called to take up our crosses each day, cashing in our lives in the course of our daily existence so others may live. At times, stewardship is synonymous with sacrifice. But as the life of Jesus proved, expending our lives doesn’t diminish us; it makes us greater. And that is the cycle of stewardship: God blesses us so we can bless others; and when we bless others, God blesses us.

learning to be the light

“You are the light of the world – like a city on a mountain, glowing in the night for all to see.”

 

- Matthew 5:14, NLT

 

It is a rather famous statement, spoken by Jesus to the masses of Galilee, Decapolis, Jerusalem, and Judea. These crowds of common folk gathered to hear the man so unlike the religious, the man who healed the incurably sick and diseased, pulled the wheelchair-bound to their feet, and gave eviction notices to demons. And this uncommon man told them, “You are the light of the world.” We miss the shock; the audacity of it is lost on us. I imagine these people hanging on Jesus’ every word, only to erupt with murmurs upon hearing this. Perhaps even a few whispers of “blasphemy” or “heresy” punctuated the tumult. “Who are you talking to, Jesus? Surely not us! We are not societal elites. We are the rabble, mere ordinaries.” But it was to them that Jesus spoke, as he speaks to us now.

 

In this, what Jesus was really saying was, “You are like me. You can do what I do.” After all, this is the very same designation he used for himself in John’s Gospel: “I am the light of the world” (8:12, 9:5). Certainly he wasn’t speaking of saving humanity from sin; nor was he saying, as some suppose, that we can become “enlightened” and thus, our own saviors. These are obvious perversions of his teachings. He was, however, stating quite forcefully and in no uncertain terms that we can follow in his footsteps, illuminating planet Earth with the radiant glory of God.

 

Something within us, like the itinerant crowds, bristles at this notion. Our straight-laced upbringing cries sacrilege: “I am too unworthy, too much of a sinner, too far fallen!” And so we prophesy, self-fulfilling. We forget that we were created in God’s image. We disregard that Jesus’ mission was the ransom and restoration of God’s original, flawless design in us. We settle for spiritual mediocrity, chanting our mantra of “just a sinner saved by grace.” But in emphasizing our failures over the fact that we are the redeemed, we are really saying to Jesus, “I don’t believe you. No, not me, you must have the wrong person. My flaws are greater than your grace.”

 

What happened to becoming a new creation – “old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new” (2 Corinthians 5:17)? Perhaps the devil stole that blessed promise from us. Perhaps he has convinced us that orthodoxy means living a defeated life. But God forbid! We were created to blaze with the very light that illuminated Jesus’ face at the Transfiguration. We were made for glory – not our own, but to reflect that of our Creator. Friends, it is high time that we begin taking Jesus at his word. Together, let us begin to say, “We are the light of the world.”

making Jesus puke

“I know all the things you do, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish that you were one or the other! But since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.”

- Revelation 3:15-16, NLT

In our home is 20-gallon water heater which sits in a cabinet underneath the kitchen countertops. It didn’t take long for my wife and me to figure out that after 5 minutes in the shower, it’s time to get out. At that point the water isn’t hot anymore; even with the hot faucet opened full throttle, the water is, at best, lukewarm.

 

Jesus wrote a letter to a church located in the city of Laodicea in Asia Minor (what is now Turkey). From his vantage point in heaven, he observed a congregation that was much like tepid bathwater. It was neither hot nor cold. Some, reading Jesus’ statement, “I wish that you were one or the other,” have suggested that he prefers outright opposition to indifference. But I’m not certain that is an accurate interpretation. After all, hot water is good, and so is cold water. Hot water is used for cleaning, among other things. And cold water is refreshing. In Laodicea, Jesus saw neither. The church had no heat: It was not cleaning; it didn’t stand against the moral decay of society; people were not being convicted of sin. Nor was there coolness: It no longer proclaimed the Word; souls were not being refreshed by the good news of Jesus.

 

Instead, Laodicean Christians were stuck in a halfhearted in-between. Jesus, hoping to remedy the situation, chooses a metaphor they would understand. For all of its affluence, the citizenry lacked a reliable water supply. They could draw water from the rain and melting snow of nearby mountains, but by the time the water arrived it had warmed. Another source was an aqueduct that piped water from a nearby hot spring; but along the journey the water cooled. Understandably, Laodiceans were frustrated that they could enjoy neither hot water nor cold water. Seeing his opportunity, Jesus says to them, “You know how your room-temperature water disgusts you? That’s how I feel about your church.”

 

Ouch. Why would Jesus say such a thing, and to Christians of all people? He answers near the end of the letter: “I correct and discipline everyone I love. So be diligent and turn from your indifference” (verse 19). Jesus was still invested in Laodicea; he envisioned great things for its people. The church had an enormous opportunity. Laodicea was a hub of economic activity with its financial industry, designer-label wool outerwear, and medical institution; it was a crossroads through which people from all over the empire – if not the known world – passed. The city church quite literally had an opportunity to reach the world with the Gospel.

 

I sometimes wonder: If Jesus wrote a letter from heaven to our church, what would it say? He most certainly would say, “I know all the things you do,” as he does in some form to each of Revelation’s seven churches. But what would the verdict be? Would we be lukewarm like Laodicea? Alive and well like Smyrna? Dead like Sardis? Faithful like Philadelphia? Friends, these letters are written to us that we may learn from the successes and mistakes of our forebears. May Jesus find us passionately and faithfully seizing the opportunities he has given to us.

spiritual myopia

I spent Monday morning in the optometrist’s office, waiting to have my eyes inspected. It had been several years since my last checkup, and I needed a new contact lens prescription. When they called me back to the exam room, I was subjected to a battery of blinding lights, “which-is-better” lens tests, rows of letters in varying sizes, and stinging liquids. After completing the workup, the doctor laughed good-naturedly. “You are a near-sighted individual!”

 

She was right. As I put in my trial pair of lenses, my surroundings came into focus. My eyes took in light and shadow, color and subtle detail with razor sharpness. The world, previously seen in low resolution, now leapt at me in high definition. I was amazed at all that I had been missing. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how poor my eyesight was.

 

Our world is like that.

 

Scripture relates a similar account of corrected vision. Saul, fanatical hunter of all things apostate, was on a mission of bloodlust when he collided with Jesus. In one blinding moment, Saul’s eyes matched the sightlessness of his soul. To him, Jesus had been no less than a heresy to be extinguished; he was so sure of it, he was willing to execute any who dared follow the Way. Yet now, lying in the dusty road, he knew with certainty that he had been wrong. For the first time, it was evident just how blind he was.

 

Sightless and deprived of his life’s mission, Saul spent the next three days praying and fasting. Then a man named Ananias showed up. Laying his hands upon Saul, Ananias said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on the road, has sent me so that you might regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” In that instant, something resembling scales dropped from Saul’s eyes and he saw clearly again. Within a matter of days, Saul found his new identity as Paul – the renowned evangelist, church-planter, and chosen instrument of Jesus (Acts 9:17-20).

 

How many Sauls walk our streets, muddling through life and work, dreams and heartache every day? How many pursue fruitless ends with the zeal of a radical, blind to the fact that they are blind? How many have yet to meet Jesus? How many sightless Sauls could become visionary Pauls with the touch of our hand?

 

The people of this world have no idea just how myopic they are. It is up to us, the Body of Christ, to convince them, and words alone will not suffice. We must show them; they must see for themselves. Will we be Ananias, daring to touch even the enemies of our faith? Let us remember that they, too, have been invited by Jesus.

a resolution for the new year

The New Year is a season of celebration, reflection, anticipation – and resolutions. But one has to wonder: Just how effective are these undertakings? Studies confirm what experience tells us, that most go unfulfilled. Estimates suggest that fewer than 10% of those making resolutions will succeed. This is the time of year when diets begin and gym membership peaks. Yet, when the initial ambition wears off, many find it difficult to sustain any lasting momentum.

 

Now, please don’t misunderstand; I am certainly a proponent of efforts at self-improvement. But how many such pledges are only superficial? If I were to guess, I would say that most are little more than skin deep. The unspoken assumption goes something like, "If only I were thinner/fitter/more organized/ thriftier/healthier/less addicted then I would be happy." And perhaps in many cases this is true. But are we going to become thinner/fitter/more organized/thriftier/healthier/less addicted by sheer willpower alone? Not likely. We neglect the reality that we're not solely physical beings. As a quote often attributed to C.S. Lewis says, “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”

 

The truth, then, is that we have it backwards. We don't improve the soul by fixing the body; we improve the body by fixing the soul. Jesus alluded to this when he said, “A good person produces good deeds from a good heart, and an evil person produces evil deeds from an evil heart” (Luke 6:45, NLT).

 

Perhaps this year we should challenge ourselves with resolutions of a more substantial nature. My wife read about choosing a word to which you aspire in the New Year. For example, someone might choose faithful:

 

“The master was full of praise. ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let's celebrate together!’” (Matthew 25:21, NLT)

Faithful in relationships, faithful in the workplace, faithful in finances, faithful in the church -  this is, no doubt, an admirable aspiration. Much more meaningful than, say, losing 10 pounds.

 

Or one might select the word love:

 

“‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the other commandments and all the demands of the prophets are based on these…” (Matthew 22:37-40, NLT)

To love God and people well: What loftier goal can we set for ourselves than this?  Surely relationships are a much worthier investment than neatness or thrift.

 

Friends, let us remember that each new day is a gift, an opportunity to be all that God intended us to be. May we daily aim for the nobility of character and soul that is possible through Jesus. This year, let us resolve to be the embodiment of Christ to our world.