Pharisee Recycling Center

From Pharisee to un-Pharisee—is there a place for recycled Pharisees? As a church child, “Pharisee” was a bad word (‘Cause a Pharisee’s not fair, you see?). But I have come to a newer, deeper awareness of the people-pleasing, want-to-do-it-right, want-to-do-it-my-way, of the Jewish political group known as the Pharisees.

Perhaps the most well-known Pharisee in the Christian world is the Apostle Paul. As an adult, he left the pretense of obedience, he was called out from the outward living of the law. In his conversion, He saw the Lord and was taught by God Himself what it meant to live as an un-Pharisee. (But when God, who set me apart from birth and called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son in me so that I might preach him among the Gentiles, I did not consult any man, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to see those who were apostles before I was, but I went immediately into Arabia and later returned to Damascus. Gal. 1:15-17). The re-learning did not happen overnight. It took three years. And it took three years apart from those who would pervert the teaching, apart from those he would seek to please, apart from those who would stand in judgement of his new understanding.

Paul’s whole struggle with Pharisee-ism hinged on pleasing others. It hinged on doing what he did because others were watching, others were measuring, others were talking, others were distributing power and opportunity. But now, apart from what others saw or thought or did, Paul was free to live the gospel, to speak the gospel, to solicit on behalf of the gospel. 

 
After reading the book, Pleasing People, by Lou Priolo, my whole world was set on end. Through the revelation of the Word, the Holy Spirit convicted me that many, so many, of my behaviors were dependent on the praise of man. In fact, much of life in the church today--the reason many Christians seek to be “nice” people--is for the personal benefit to self. This benefit comes in the form of positive strokes, compliments, reciprocal treatment, and additional opportunities. 

 
Think about it. If, on Sunday morning you go out of your way to hold the door for the elderly, handicapped, and small children will you not receive many kind words and gestures? Perhaps someone might even take an extra glance and comment on your behavior to others. Before long, the pastor will approach you and recommend you for a position as a greeter or usher. You have begun to climb the rungs of church acceptance. You find yourself steaming and polishing your invisible I-am-someone-important button.

So after feeling the weight of conviction about my own desire to please others over and above pleasing God, I confessed my sin and prayed for repentance. Quite honestly, I do not like to repent. I do not often want to repent. But repentance is God’s big prerequisite. There is nothing left to do but ask. “Please, Lord, give me a heart of repentance. I want to keep pleasing myself. I want to keep doing what is comfortable and easy. I don’t want me to change, but You do.” And, even now, as I write, I find myself struggling with the desire to please you—the reader—rather than God Himself.
As a result, in the spirit of repentance, when I come to a door at church I stop and ask, “Is there someone I can love by holding this door?” Instead of asking, “Who will see me hold the door? Maybe it will be someone new… maybe it will be someone important….maybe the pastor (or deacon or elder) will walk by and see my holding the door….” And in living in Pharisee awareness I have discovered the opposite of Pharisee-ism. Un-Pharisee-ism says, “I don’t want to love that person. And, if I cannot love in sincerity, I will not serve at all.” Slam. Boom.

After struggling three years with my desire to please others, I find myself wondering if there should be a return to Pharisee behavior? I feel stuck in a no-man’s land of not pleasing others because I do not want to be a slave to the law. But when I do not live to please others, the magnet to please self pulls much more strongly and I find that selfishness and sin seem to increase. The struggle has become stronger, the desire to please self has morphed. It justifies itself because I am avoiding the pleasing-others pattern I have lived for so long. In the pain of putting myself ahead of others, I wonder if perhaps it would be better to return to simply “doing what is right” no matter what? Thank God for Paul’s continued argument in favor of grace. ("If, while we seek to be justified in Christ, it becomes evident that we ourselves are sinners, does that mean that Christ promotes sin? Absolutely not! If I rebuild what I destroyed, I prove that I am a lawbreaker. For through the law I died to the law so that I might live for God. I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!" Gal. 2:17-21).

In other words, no, there is no place for living by law (pleasing God and others through my deeds) on one hand and living by grace (realizing that God is the only One who pleases Himself, and I am fully depending on Jesus Christ for that work) on the other hand.

As I continue to skim Paul’s letter to the Galatians, I see repeated descriptions of children—and with the descriptions comes peace and comfort. He cites one child who is born under law and another who is born under grace. There is a child born under obligation and another born under promise. In each case, the child is born (duh!—or, more nicely said, “Think about it.”). A child that has just been born is a baby. It is not a fully functioning adult until it achieves that status through time and experience. In the same way, as a newly born un-Pharisee, I am re-learning the ropes of grace. Up to this point, I have lived a life of faith as it was revealed to me and understood through God’s Word, by His Spirit—fruitful, productive, loving and serving, but with a hidden component. Now I am learning a deeper, less-me, way to live by faith. It is as if God removed His hand from the bottom of my bicycle seat. He is running beside me, enabling and equipping me, but there is a very real sense of imbalance and fear and anxiety as I peddle down the road. I have been recycled. 

As I wobble and swerve, I hear His voice, “This is the way, walk in it. I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you.” And I respond, “ The Lord is my helper, I will not be afraid. What will man do to me?” (Isaiah 20:31, Hebrews 13:5-6).

Manhattan

We left New York City at the end of a 9-day East Coast family adventure. As we drove past Central Park this morning, I couldn't help but remember our treks from one side to the other: children laid out on rock outcrops, a dreaded flip-flop failure in the rambles.

Now, as we whizzed past storefronts, transfer stations, and landmarks we had passed on foot—holding hands, singing, Miss-Mary-Mack-ing—there, right there, in the quietness of reflection, was the Lord. He wouldn't show up on film (regular or digital), but He had been there. In each step, each moment, each delay, each uncertainty, He was there. He was closer, in fact, than the familiar presence of those who walked, ate, slept, and breathed those same new experiences. Our family had been away from our regular routine, apart from the anchors of everyday activities and the daily reminders of His presence—and He had been there, too.

With each passing block I found myself reliving and remembering our vacation, reminded of His presence. Being with one another 24-7 for 9 days is a bit intense (the 4-children-included variety). And, as much as I know God is there, the moments traveled at a speed quite their own. But now, communing through the streets of Manhattan I discovered the sense of belonging because God was there. And God is home.

As I opened the memories of each day, a woman's face came to the surface. She sat on a cement step, eating lunch. Our eyes met. Her countenance typified the Manhattan attitude, a confidence and self-awareness that said “I am here. I am myself. It is enough.” And in that moment, this morning, surrounded by the silent eagerness of returning home with those I love most, the Lord reminded me once again of His sufficient presence—independent of the people or the place. With my heart on its knees, I saw the pride of humanity in my own heart, cringed at the shining rebellion in my own eyes. In its place was the small cry, "Lord, here I am. You have given all that I have. You are enough."

He is the friend that stays closer than a brother. He is. And that is truly enough.

If you do not have a closer, deeper relationship with Creator God than with those around you, be challenged to check out this website: http://www.needhim.org/

(With a special thanks to Pastor Carter Conlon and those who ministered through Time Square Church with the message "Jesus Cares," June 13, 2010).

This Cracked Pot

If I were to be unfashionably transparent, I would admit that I have struggled with bitterness and resentment lately. There was an opportunity for gratitude and appreciation, and it never came. There was a place for public recognition or an expression of thanks. It never happened. Instead, after weeks of feeling set up, laughed at, made fun of, criticized, taken advantage of, and extremely disrespected, I was overlooked. Taken for granted. I didn’t want to be the martyr, or feel the martyr—and at the time, I didn’t. But later on? Yeah. It was the afterward part that got to me.

“Well,” I muse, “that’s life….” And, that’s God. Not artificially or sarcastically. Sincerely. In reading and studying 1 & 2 Chronicles, God’s hand in King David’s life was so evident. There were times he was overlooked and taken for granted, even despised, by King Saul. There were moments of victory and praise. There were times he sought God and times he disobeyed. In every moment, every circumstance, the purpose and hand of God moved the hearts of men to accomplish His will. What a tremendous testimony of life!

Then, this morning, as I read in 2 Corinthians, I was encouraged by this passage and thought:
“For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness,” is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves” (2 Corinthians 4: 6-7).

What I have, say, and do that glorifies God is the result of His grace and glory in my life. My life, in and of itself—this body, this shell—is simply a vessel intended to carry and bear the life of Christ. When that is what I am doing, I am accomplishing the purpose God has for me. It is not in the accomplishments of life or the platitudes of men that I meet my potential (though it would seem that way and many others would believe it). I do not deserve praise or appreciation or gratitude. When I look at Christ's example, I am ashamed and humbled to think I felt an entitlement that never existed.

My goal and aim is to bear Jesus Christ in this body, in these circumstances, at this point in time, to those who surround me. Sometimes it means death—affliction, perplexity, persecution, being struck down or forsaken. But even in death there is victory, for these moments of pain and confusion are working to bring an eternal result. There is an inner renewing day after day after day, despite the circumstances. There is an eternal weight affixed to each small victory in which the outcome is not my physical, emotional, or mental improvement, but a representation of Christ in that moment, toward a specific individual or circumstance. This is life as it should be.

As those thoughts of sadness or disappointment come in waves, I am choosing to set them aside and step forward asking, “Was Christ reflected in that moment?” If the answer is yes, the goal has been met. Today is a new moment to show Christ through the cracks of this earthen vessel.