1 Corinthians 15:51 “Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed–in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.”

How long would you like to live? When I was a little boy, there was something attractive about the idea of living to be 100. I think it was a combination of the fact that 100 of anything seems like a big number to a four year old. I also had a sense that it was a relatively rare achievement because I didn’t personally know anyone that old, and people who did reach that milestone sometimes made the news. As a little boy I wanted to be stronger, and faster, and smarter and taller than anybody else. Why not older, too?

Then you meet some people who have lived so long that they have outlived their good health. They may be far from 100, but they live in constant pain, or they are too weak to take care of themselves. You meet others who have outlived their mind, their memory, their reason. At best they have entered second childhood. At worst they are practically comatose. All of a sudden living so many years loses its appeal.

Jesus promises those who believe in him eternal life–not 100 years, but forever. This wasn’t an obscure idea he once floated, a side comment he made while preaching about something else. It was a major theme of his ministry. Read John’s gospel again. Almost every chapter deals with immortality. In light of the unpleasant consequences of old age, we might ask, “Is this really a good idea?”

Paul settles our concerns with the mystery he unveils in this part of his letter to the Corinthians. Among other things, that mystery involves a profound change.

The things we fear about long life aren’t really features of living. They are symptoms of dying. They are evidence that we are infected with death, and we have reached advanced stages of that infection. But everyone reading these words is suffering symptoms already.

When I was still in grade school it got harder and harder to see the blackboard from the back of the room. I needed glasses because my eyes were dying. I went through puberty and my skin didn’t function right anymore. Blemishes started to appear. It mostly recovered when puberty ended, but now it gets too dry and chapped, especially in the winter. I have already reached the age of back pain, and occasional insomnia, and monthly contributions to my local pharmacy. I used to laugh at the old people who didn’t need to talk about the weather to keep a conversation going. They could talk about their ailments for hours. I am quickly becoming one of them.

More than symptoms of death, these are symptoms of our sin. Not everyone I meet is convinced they have much to repent of. “I am a good person,” they object. Really? I may not know enough details of their lives to know the specifics of their sins. It’s not my job to play private investigator and try to point them out. But their symptoms still betray the sickness is present, just like mine do. “The wages of sin is death.” “The soul who sins is the one who will die.” There is no mystery about what is wrong with us. We are dying because of our sin.

But Jesus promises us change. That change first dealt with the sin-sickness underneath. On Good Friday he created the cure. At the cross he produced the medicine of immortality. His blood cleanses us from every sin. His death redeems us from them. He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours, but also for the sins of the entire world.

Between Friday evening and Sunday morning, however, Jesus himself went through an astounding change. His body came back to life. But it wasn’t raised the broken and battered body that hung on the cross. His wounds no longer ran with blood. His bones were no longer out of joint. This body was glorified. It passed through sealed stone and locked doors. It materialized, and then disappeared, in a moment, instantly traveling between locations to show himself to his own. It could still be touched and embraced. It could still eat and drink. But now it was elevated, perfected. The only things Jesus kept from his cross were the scars on his hands and feet and side, but those were like badges of honor, the most meaningful and beautiful things ever “tattooed” on human skin.

Earlier in this same chapter of 1 Corinthians, Paul assures us Jesus’ new life is a promise and foretaste of our own: “For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.” And later: “Just as we have born the likeness of the earthly man (Adam), so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven (Jesus).” Jesus is both promise and picture of the change waiting for us.

John 19:28-29 “Later, knowing that all was now complete, and so that the Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, ‘I am thirsty.’ A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips.”

Do you know what Scriptures weighed on Jesus’ mind just moments before his death, what words he needed to fulfill? Buried deep within the psalms, Psalm 69 to be specific, are these seemingly incidental words, “They put gall in my food and gave me vinegar for my thirst.” They are hardly the most important detail of the great mission he accomplished this day. They are not directly a part of the price he paid. They simply describe a moment in the misery of the cross. Would anyone have noticed if Jesus never addressed this, or if the gospel writers had left it out of the historical record? Would you?

Didn’t Jesus have more urgent things to be thinking about? He can no longer draw a satisfying breath. His heart is beating like a drum, overworked to the point of failure by the cruel torture he is suffering. His muscles cramp from exhaustion and dehydration, and there is no way to stretch or relax them. Who can even say what the greatest source of pain is for him as he hangs there: these cramps and the struggle to breath? The spikes tearing at his hands and feet? The flesh torn from his back? The wounds from his crown of thorns, now invaded by the burning salt of his own sweat? In literally seconds, he will be dead. Let the obscure prophecy from the psalm go. What does it matter?

It matters deeply to the perfect Son of God. This is his word, after all, and every word of God is true. We don’t take his word so seriously, I am afraid. We don’t see the problem with fudging on it here or there. Sometimes it makes my life harder, or so we think. Why should I give up my pleasure, or my freedom, for something written thousands of years ago? It’s probably just Paul’s, or Peter’s, or a prophet’s opinion anyway. Sometimes it seems so hard to understand. All these details about trinities, and virgin births, and complicated systems of redemption from sin, and distinctions between justification and sanctification–being saved or living saved: all this theology makes my head spin! Isn’t it enough just to be good to other people? Isn’t the Bible just words on a page? Shouldn’t we avoid putting too much trust in a book?

Such casual attitudes about God’s carefully crafted record of his saving love may be popular. But there is nothing Christian about them. In his ministry Jesus preached, “The Scriptures cannot be broken” (John 10:35). “Blessed, rather, are those who hear the word of God and obey it” (Luke 11:28). “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished” (Matthew 5:17-18).

And so Jesus could not let this one go, either. He called for a drink. He took the bitter combination of wine vinegar and gall, one last insult to his abused system. There are 419,687 words in the Hebrew Old Testament. This prophecy of Psalm 69 is just six of them. But Jesus took the drink so that every detail of God’s word and our salvation would be fulfilled.

Matthew 26:26-27 “While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, ‘Take and eat; this is my body.’ Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, ‘Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the new covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

Let’s not pass over the context in which this happens. “While they were eating,” Matthew writes. They were eating the Passover meal. That meal commemorated Israel’s deliverance from Egypt 1400 years earlier. It wasn’t like your anniversary dinner or birthday lunch–random food choices that change every year, because they are really incidental, secondary, to what you are celebrating. This was the marriage of feast and worship. Every item on the menu was ripe with meaning, chosen by God for the message it delivered. The conversation at the meal was scripted. Even the guests were carefully chosen.

You see, citizens of Cairo, Athens, or Rome didn’t observe the Passover, not unless they were also Jews. They could come, but only if they would be circumcised if they were males. In other words, they first had to join the Jewish people and embrace the Jewish faith. This table fellowship was more than a casual meal. It meant something. At the very first Passover, God was saying to Israel, “You are my special, my chosen people. I have redeemed you from Egypt as my very own.” At every Passover afterward he was making the same claim. These were the people he desired as his very own.

Meals and tables have a way of saying that sort of thing, don’t they? If you are sitting at the diner, then who knows who might take the stool next to you at the lunch counter. But if you are at a table with family or friends, you enjoy a special relationship with each other. It would be odd, wouldn’t it, if a stranger came and took a seat with you, at least in most settings? Nothing against the person, but there is something about breaking bread together that says, “We already share something.” It is intimate. It reflects and it nurtures a relationship. Those who eat together have sought out each other’s presence.

Jesus integrated this same intimacy, this same personal claim, into his own supper. At the beginning of the meal, Luke tells us, he said to the disciples, “ I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.” And when it came time to create his own new rite of eating and drinking out of the elements of the Passover, it was this intimate circle of his disciples with whom he shared it. “Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples…” It wasn’t the five thousand seated on the hillside to whom he fed the loaves and fishes. It wasn’t the masses of people who welcomed him into Jerusalem. It wasn’t the crowds to whom he preached. It was these twelve men who understood and knew him best, the ones he called “friends” and “brothers.” Others would be invited later, too, after they came to know Jesus better. But on this night, this was the family whose presence he desired.

When we commune, Jesus eagerly desires to share this meal with us as well. You are his disciples by faith, not casual acquaintances but the men and women he has called by name and now claims as brothers and sisters in his family. He gives you a seat at his table. Take what he is offering: his own body and blood “for the forgiveness of your sins.”

Luke 19:36 “As he went along, people spread their cloaks on the road.”

I have never seen or heard anything quite like this Palm Sunday scene in my lifetime. Perhaps the closest thing I can compare are pictures of chivalrous men from a century or two ago laying their coats over a puddle or muddy spot so that a lady could walk across without getting her shoes dirty. But I think we understand the sentiment behind the actions of those who carpeted the road with their own clothing.

This gesture was more than bowing or kneeling as the king went by. It confessed that Jesus was so exalted, so high above those celebrating his arrival, that not just Jesus, but the animal on which he was riding should not have to come into contact with the same ground, the same pavement, on which the common sinners who followed him stood. It was better that their own clothing get trampled, soiled, maybe even torn by a lowly beast of burden than that the animal carrying the King be soiled by the road. And remember, this was at a time when people didn’t have huge closets full of clothes like we do, or easy ways to clean them. Most of these people were travelers without Samsonite luggage full of fashionable choices to wear tomorrow.

It was a little like Moses at the burning bush in reverse. You remember that God told Moses to take his shoes off in his presence at Mount Sinai. God’s presence made the ground holy, and it was not appropriate for Moses to be dragging whatever his sandals had picked up chasing the sheep across that holy ground. That would dishonor God’s presence. Here the ground was polluted, desecrated by the many people traipsing on it, and it shouldn’t be allowed to contaminate the Holy Champion arriving in Jerusalem to fight for their salvation.

We don’t have the opportunity to do what they did. Jesus has returned to heaven. Even if he were here, we have no command obligating us to honor him in exactly this way. So what can we take from the actions of those praising Jesus like this?

In a broader way, it demonstrates a deep and sincere humility and submission, doesn’t it? It acknowledges, “Jesus is better than me. Jesus is more important than me.” That is not a lesson we learn easily. Since the founding of our nation, we have had the idea “All men are created equal” pounded into our brains. We don’t have nobility. We don’t like aristocrats. You watch the movie Titanic, and you hate all the rich snobs teaming up against poor Jack the underdog, thinking they are better than he is.

Though Jesus came and made himself our servant, we have never been even his equals. He has always been our superior. He is better than we are. He is more important, infinitely so. Do our lives reflect that kind of humility?

Jesus has made our bodies his home. In a mystical and spiritual way he lives in our hearts. Do we lay down a barrier between his presence in there, and the dirt, pollution, and corruption of the world in which we live? Or do we let the filth and corruption stream through our ears and our eyes–vulgar language, vulgar humor, vulgar entertainment, vulgar lifestyles?

Will we let him be King over us, and conduct our lives his way? Sometimes people have come to me for counsel. Something is making their lives miserable. Listening to their complaint, it becomes clear that a big source of the problem is a sinful pattern or lifestyle they have adopted. I don’t mean to suggest I am better than they are, because I have my own sinful hangups. But before I can start to give them any help, I have to ask, “Are you ready to stop doing things your way and start doing things Jesus’ way? Because if you are not, I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer. I’m a pastor, and my counsel comes from Jesus’ word, and I don’t have ways to make sin work better for you.”

The people welcoming Jesus were welcoming him as a king, but they weren’t really cheering for more law enforcement. “Yay! Now we can pay more fines and penalties!” No, they are cheering for a protector, a deliverer, a liberator. Few if any on the first Palm Sunday were thinking beyond a King to fight for Jewish independence and a free Israel.

But Jesus comes for a spiritual battle. He fights for our freedom from death and hell. He liberates us from our slavery to sin. He protects us from the consequences of our own foolishness. This king was worth praising. He still is.

Luke 15:17ff “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.’ So he got up and went to his father.” 

This wayward son gives us a beautiful picture of repentance. He is no longer the arrogant, demanding, rebellious son who left home. He starts by confessing that his sin is first an offense to God. He comes knowing that he is not worthy of anything for which he asks, that he has nothing to offer his father, but that he is entirely at his father’s mercy. “I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” He comes turning away from his past life, the wicked freedom to sin that he wanted, and willing to serve his father. “Make me like one of your hired men.” In all of this, he comes in trust, in faith, knowing and believing his father can save him. “So he got up and went to his father.”

And how did his father react? We find that all the time his son had been living in this self-indulgence, he still loved him. “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.”

Do you get the picture here of a father who so loves his son that he never stopped hoping for his return, never stopped watching the road to see if maybe today his son would be back again? This is the image our God wants us to keep in mind when he calls himself our Father. This is the kind of Father that he is to us all. Everything about the father’s actions tell us how eagerly, how freely he forgives you and me. He was filled with compassion. That is the deep caring for someone that is so emotional, so moving, that one can physically feel it. It so fills the father that he can’t hold himself back. Before the son gets all the way home, the father has run to him, and thrown himself upon him with a big bear hug and kissed him. No sin stands between father and son any more. He doesn’t make his son prove himself. It’s as if none of the sinful past had ever happened.

The father doesn’t even let his son completely finish his confession of sin. He immediately starts making sure that there is no doubt of his grace. So he removes the rags and dresses his son in the finest robe. Our own heavenly Father removes the rags of our sin, and he dresses us in the purity of Jesus’ own life. This is not the cold, heartless purity of something like pure gold or pure silver. This is the warm, living, loving, compassionate, giving purity of Jesus’ own perfect life.

Then a ring is placed on the son’s finger, the kind of official ring used for a seal or signature. It is a sign that his son has all the rights and privileges that come with being a member of the family. Even though he has misused and squandered his father’s wealth, he is an heir again. And we are God’s own sons, full-fledged members of his family. All his promises for life belong to us right now. All his promises for heaven belong to us right now, too.

Finally, slaves go barefoot, but a son wears shoes. No detail of his return to sonship is forgotten. He must be sure. And we must be sure as well. Each week, in the celebration of our Father’s presence and feast of his blessings we call worship, we find assurance again and again that he loves us as his own children. The hymns, the absolution, the preaching, the Lord’s supper all say the same thing: Our father welcomes us home, embraces us for himself, and claims us as his own.

Never be afraid to come home. Only love is waiting.

Luke 15:11ff “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided the property between them. Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living.”

Did you notice how thanklessly this son takes his share of the estate? He comes to his father and positively lays this down as a command. “Give it to me.” There is no polite request. There is no recognition that he really has no right to any of this before his father passes away.

And how many people don’t take God’s good gifts in exactly the same way? It doesn’t matter what the gift is. It may be money or possessions, but it doesn’t have to be. Whatever God has given–health, talent, family, position–is taken with a sort of “life owes it to me” attitude. And when people can’t have what they want, they sulk around, and the “life owes it to me” attitude becomes even worse.

Then this son takes his undeserved wealth and his thankless attitude, and he travels far from home where he can abuse it all freely. He doesn’t want his father looking over his shoulder telling him what to do with what is now his own stuff. He wants the freedom to do as he pleases. He squanders it all in wild living.

It’s just like the people who want to be free from the shackles of God and religion, and tell the church to mind its own business. After all, it’s my money, and it’s no one else’s business if I want to blow huge sums of it on lottery tickets. It’s my body, and it’s a free country, and I have every right to share my bed with whomever I please. It’s my time, and if I want to sacrifice most or all of it on the altar of career, or prestige, or recreation, that’s up to me. Let the other fools waste it in church or Bible study.

And even if we haven’t wandered completely away from the faith, it’s just like us when we have our own secret sins, the ones we freely indulge ourselves in when no one else is looking, and we feel like we have escaped far away from our Father’s watchful eye, if only for the time being.

When I have been self-indulgent in sin, my Father’s love often comes in the shape of pain or trouble, as it does here. “After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything” (Luke 15:14-16).

Was this a good thing or a bad thing that happened to this young man? So often we fight just to have a “comfortable” life. We don’t want to be too rich or have too much. Life can be fairly simple if only we don’t have too much trouble.

But often we find God’s goodness in the hard life. What if this man had settled down into a comfortable life after his wild living? Sometimes the world’s solutions for problems can put a big enough band-aid on life’s wounds, they can take away the pain of the symptoms well enough, to make a person think they are alright. What if that had happened to this man? What if one of the citizens of this foreign country, away from his father, had really befriended him, had given him a nice job so that he could enjoy a simple but comfortable life? Maybe he wouldn’t have starved, but he might have been eternally separated from his father. Were the humiliation and the hunger really this young man’s problems?

Sometimes life is hard, and we find ourselves grasping at anything to make us feel better. As Christians, we find ourselves begging God, “Take it away! Take it away!”

But what is the Lord doing for us at such times? This young man could have died in unrepentance, died full of himself and full of his sin, eternally separated from God without the famine and the hunger. Maybe we haven’t wandered so far away, or maybe we are already fairly close to our heavenly Father when trouble comes, but still God uses these things to bring us closer to himself.

One of my own sons had cancer and two years of chemo. Another had to have his jaw and skull broken in multiple places and his jaw wired shut to correct a severe issue with his bite. These situations created plenty of misery. I wouldn’t wish this on my sons again, and I wouldn’t wish the worry on our family again. But I know that we found ourselves much closer to our heavenly Father in prayer during those times. Even if sin were the reason my life has become hard, I can be sure that our Father loves me as his own dear child, and only wants to pull me closer.

1 Corinthians 10:11-13 These things happened to them as examples and were written down as warnings for us, on whom the fulfillment of the ages has come. So if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall! No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.”

To keep us from falling, Paul offers these helpful truths. First, we live in a special time in world history. “The fulfillment of the ages has come.” We see God’s promise kept. We look back on Jesus becoming a man and living in our world, shouldering our sins as our substitute, taking our sins to the cross and dying to pay for them all there. We live in the certainty of a resurrected and victorious Lord who has forgiven all our sins, conquered death, and now rules over the universe to bless and benefit his people. The love God showed to make us his own, and the blessings we can claim by keeping the faith, are clearer for us to see.

We can throw the weight of those gifts into the scales against the puny promises temptation offers. Just what do we get by following gods who are nothing but fantasies? How do a few moments of illicit pleasure compare to the eternity of God’s love and grace in heaven? How is grumbling against God’s care for our lives supposed to improve our situation in any way?

Second, we have not been singled out for particularly difficult temptations. “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man.” God’s list of right and wrong hasn’t changed. The desires of human hearts haven’t really changed. We have all wanted pretty much the same things. The differences are little more than variations on a theme.

So it comes down to a simple question: Are we going to trust what God says, or not? Are we going to trust him when he says this activity is bad for us? Are we going to trust him when he says that all the decisions he makes for our lives are good for us? Are we going to trust the one who became one of us and even died for us to save us? Remember how the devil began the very first temptation in the Bible: “Did God really say…?” Questioning what God says still lies at the heart of every temptation. In a sense, they are all the same. Learning to trust God’s word no matter what he tells us is a key to keep us from falling.

Finally, the Lord promises that even temptation is subject to his management, and his limits. “And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.”

Based on this verse, sometimes people say, “God won’t give you more than you can handle,” but that is more than Paul says. He is talking specifically about temptation to sin. He is not saying that God will never give you a problem that is more than you can solve on your own. He is not saying you will never face a tragedy that might paralyze you with fear, or melt you into puddle of tears.            

Nor is he promising to keep temptation from coming or to make it go away. We are constantly exposed. But it is all the common kind, right? And, “he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” If we have listened to his promises, if we have believed his words, his Spirit lives in our hearts, his strength works through our wills. “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.” We are equipped. We are strong to stand and resist whatever temptation we might confront. His power keeps us from falling.

1 Corinthians 10:6-10 “Now these things occurred as examples to keep us from setting our hearts on evil things as they did. Do not be idolaters, as some of them were; as it is written: ‘The people sat down to eat and drink and got up to indulge in pagan revelry.’ We should not commit sexual immorality, as some of them did–and in one day twenty-three thousand of them died. We should not test the Lord, as some of them did–and were killed by snakes. And do not grumble, as some of them did–and were killed by the destroying angel.”

A shortness of breath; nausea, indigestion or heartburn; lightheadedness or dizziness; feelings of heavy fatigue; cold sweats; a tight feeling in the chest spreading to the arms and neck–these are warning signs of a heart attack. Call 911 or have someone take you to the emergency room immediately.

Dabbling in other religions and interest in other forms of spirituality; accepting and adopting sex outside of marriage as normal and healthy; questioning and challenging God’s promises and providence; grumbling about your standard of living–these are warning signs that faith is fading. The true spiritual life in you is dying, and you need to seek God’s remedies before it is too late.

Most of the Christians in Corinth were new to the Bible faith. A few of them grew up in Judaism. The Jews knew the accounts of Moses and Israel’s forty years of wandering in the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land. They were aware of the many bad examples set by their ancestors. Paul wanted the rest of the congregation to be aware of this history so they could see the warning signs, too.

Bad example number one: Israel worshiped the golden calf idol at the foot of Mount Sinai. They waited just over a month for Moses to come down from the mountain with God’s instructions. Then they grew tired of waiting and wanted a new god to lead them. They proposed a new god–something they could see, a shape they could understand, not some invisible being. Their new god would be fun to worship. A party atmosphere surrounded his worship, not a serious God reminding them of their failings. Three thousand people died as a direct result of this experiment in idolatry.

Maybe our idols aren’t metal statues in the shape of farm animals. Maybe they are green pieces of paper and little metal disks we collect and trade. The cult of money doesn’t ask us to change. It just promises a happier version of ourselves.

Even the increasingly popular turn toward atheism doesn’t so much promote God’s nonexistence. Have you ever listened to one of these people talk about their unfaith? It becomes clear they still belong to a cult. It is the cult of self, an idol far more jealous of glory and praise, and far less gracious and giving, than the God Moses met on Mt. Sinai.

Bad example number two: Shortly before Israel entered the Promised Land, thousands of Israelite men were lured into the promiscuous sex practiced as part of a fertility cult in Moab. The Lord sent a deadly plague to chastise them.

For us, departures from God’s command to limit sexual relations to one man and one woman joined in marriage is one of the great cultural tragedies of our time. We still pay an incredible price in sickness and death. Over 15,000 Americans die of STD’s each year according to the CDC and National Institutes of Health. The spiritual toll contemporary attitudes and practices take on human souls can’t be measured.

Bad example number three: Israel complained about the free food the Lord gave them in the wilderness. They also grumbled about the new country he was giving them, because taking possession would require a military campaign. Both incidents resulted in more loss of life.

Have you ever felt as though you didn’t have enough? This car, this home, this job, this income, maybe even this family was something less than you needed. Envy is a sin that gets little attention. It is a close cousin to greed and a common human failing. I am not immune to it. I can’t afford the vacation someone else took. I have to buy used instead of new. This can turn my heart against the Lord. My spirit accuses him of not doing right by me. That is as spiritually poisonous as any of the other examples Paul has given.

Can we say we have faith in the God we are accusing of cheating us? Paul provides examples from these past events so we don’t miss the warning signs of a dying faith. Confronting this isn’t meant to hurt us. It is meant to turn us. The Lord has something better for us than golden idols, sexual pleasure, or material possessions. He loves us without limits. He gives his Son to save us. His grace is inexhaustible. Heaven offers even more. Don’t ignore the warning signs. Don’t miss the alternative to false gods we think we want.

Luke 13:34 “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing.”

Jesus’ desire to gather such faithless people is not a passing whim he felt one particularly good day when he was in a generous mood. “How often” he says. “How many times I wanted this!” It is truly his standing policy toward the lost. It is the eternal stance he takes from Creation to Judgment Day.

There is no flip-flopping on this matter like the politician who changes positions with every shift in the breeze. Jesus never stops wanting the murderous, lost, and unwilling people who have rejected him. “God our Savior wants all men to be saved,” Paul writes Timothy. “He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance,” is the way Peter said it in his second letter. They say that for a relationship to work between a man and a woman, love has to be a little blind. But for Jesus still to want us, and a lost and hostile world beyond us? No one else will ever love you that way.

Nor is this some cold principle or policy he is following because, you know, the world needs it. I was speaking to a special ed teacher who has many students who act out in the classroom. Some even become violent. She has taught herself not to take their behavior personally. She has to put some professional distance between herself and the students so that she can continue to serve them.

Jesus takes no professional distance. “I have longed to gather your children together.” This is his deep and heartfelt desire. He has thrown caution to the wind, and allowed himself to love each of us without boundaries, without limitations, without regard for the consequences to himself. He pours himself into winning us. He invests his whole heart in having us, no matter who we are or what we have done.

But it is not a selfish love. It is “as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.” The hen does not gather her chicks because they are so cute and soft and fuzzy. We might like holding the little chicks because we get a kick out of this. They make us feel good. Not so much the mother bird.

The hen gathers her chicks to protect them. Perhaps the owl, or the hawk, or the fox is looking for dinner. The hen puts herself between her young and the danger. She is no match for any of these predators. But she will give her life, take their place in the fox’s jaws or the hawks claws, to save her young.

Which is the same reason that Jesus was heading for Jerusalem. He was putting himself between us and the danger to our souls. He was giving his life, taking our place, on the cross to save us from sin and rescue us from the jaws and claws of the devil who wants to devour us himself. When we come to Jesus in repentance and faith, this is what the people he gathers find.