John 10:1-21 Being a Good Shepherd

Translation becomes a little more challenging with passages like John 10:1-21, in which the authors of John identify Jesus as the "good shepherd" and every other teacher as a coward, thief, and liar. Many readers tend to treat Jesus as a unique figure and take the passage at face value without much thought. Considering our definition of "divinity" as something inherent to every human being and our rational conclusion that there is no external supernatural intelligence guiding human life and decisions, finding value in this passage requires sticking with the understanding that the Jesus character in the gospel of John is intended as an exemplar.

As with many of these passages, we have a few characters (or groups of characters) to examine. First, there are the sheep; then there are the hired hands, thieves, and bandits; then there is the good shepherd archetype. Let's consider the sheep first. Calling people sheep is not flattering. Sheep were easy for people to domesticate because of their flock behavior. If one sheep heads toward a new grazing area, the flock has a tendency to follow right along. For a sheep, leading a flock of sheep is as simple as moving before anyone else does. Sheep also have a tendency to run away if anything not-sheep gets too close. So, controlling sheep is easy for people who know how to exploit the flocking and fleeing tendencies of the animals. Sheep also seem to quickly adapt to getting food from people, which leads them to treat people as safe.

However intelligent sheep may be, they don't seem to be particularly thoughtful. It's understandable that people -- especially large groups of people -- would be likened to sheep. Human beings have a fairly strong drive toward togetherness, too. And human beings aren't particularly thoughtful when they shift into mob mentality. Like sheep following whoever happened to move first, people sometimes seem to gratefully follow the first person with an idea. It's almost like we appreciate not having to think through an issue for ourselves. Someone else's impulsiveness saves us the hard mental work of evaluating an issue.

The description of sheep in John suggests that sheep-people know the difference between people who intend harm and people who intend to contribute to their well-being. This is a bit confusing, though, because people have listened to a wide variety of teachers, and it has historically seemed difficult for people to distinguish between good ideas and harmful ideas when they are part of a flock. Individuals can be brilliant, but those same individuals in the midst of a reactive group might behave just as impulsively as everyone else, grateful for the opportunity not to have to think. The quote that comes to mind is from the first Men in Black, in which Tommy Lee Jones observes, "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals."

This would seem to be something of a choice. Yes, we have a tendency to follow the flock thoughtlessly, but we're capable of thinking through a situation and connecting our values to our behavior. If we're capable of doing that as individuals, we're capable of doing that in a group of people, even if everyone around us is mindlessly following the flock. Should the sheep analogy hold true, we may end up being inadvertent leaders, just because we choose to move in a direction before anybody else.

Sheep don't choose to lead, though. There's no voting. There's no volunteering. Among sheep, leadership is an accident. This might be the case among people sometimes, too, but it doesn't have to be. We can be more intentional in our decisions and in our influence. If we understand that people in groups are going to be mentally lazier than individuals, we have the potential to influence people through our intentional action. Some individuals step into leadership with the idea that they can get their way by being persuasive in front of a group of people. Through manipulation and coercion, some people wind up leading a flock into dangerous territory. These kinds of leaders are reacting to their own un-confronted fears, and the fears that lead us to seek wealth, power, and safety are never satisfied. Even the wealthiest people often think they need more money to be happy, and even the most powerful people are concerned about their vulnerabilities. Leading because of fear does not create a better world, and it does not create a more satisfying life.

The thieves and scoundrels of the story in John 10 are these sorts of leaders, wrapped up in their own fear to the extent that they bring harm to the people who listen to them. We see and hear this sort of fear-laden persuasion and coercion all the time. They don't really have the best interests of anyone else in mind. If something tragic happens to one of the people they've persuaded, the fear-driven leader might quickly disown that unfortunate soul. Like the hired hand who runs when one of the sheep is snatched up by a wolf, fear-driven people are quick to distance themselves from people who might jeopardize their influence.

A good shepherd isn't consumed by fear. Good leaders know their values and guiding principles, and they also work at dismantling the fears that are likely to be a distraction. They accept that people are often going to stop thinking when they get into a group and start reacting to something, Instead of using this information to take advantage of others for personal gain, a good leader chooses to respond out of a space of those values and guiding principles, influencing a flock toward greater well-being, even when the flock is too busy not thinking to realize what's going on.

You may be skimming past these statements about leaders because you think that you aren't one. The point of the passage, though, is that you are. If you are even thinking about living by a set of meaningful guiding principles, you are in a position to make clearer decisions than the average mob or committee. You can choose to be a sheep, of course. You can shut your brain down when someone else in a group has an idea. You can stop thinking when someone else moves in a direction. That is your prerogative. If you choose to act with integrity to your guiding principles, though, you will influence people. The reality of humanity is that most people will not be willing or able to think through purposeful, intentional responses to the things that spark their anxiety, and being in a group of people diminishes that capacity even further. Should you be willing to act with integrity in the midst of an anxious flock, you might influence people toward well-being that they cannot even imagine in that moment.

Now, the authors of the gospel suggest that a good shepherd lays down life itself, and so many believers look at this as a rather unique role for Jesus. The authors also say that the good shepherd takes life back up again, which becomes interpreted as a resurrection -- another unique role for Jesus. The passage is filled with metaphor, however. What if laying down one's life actually means setting aside one's fears and accepting the vulnerability of living with intention and integrity? What if laying down one's life actually means sacrificing a sense of personal security in order to contribute to the greatest well-being of greatest number of people? Understanding the nature of systems, we cannot actually have well-being in every dimension of our own lives if the people around us aren't experiencing well-being. In this way, perhaps we take our lives back up again. Or perhaps taking life back up again is what happens when we channel our energy toward living with integrity where we once devoted it toward alleviating our irrational fears. It's possible that we can set aside one way of being (fear-driven or sheep-like) for another way of being (intentional and principled). We are potential good shepherds. This is not a unique role.

The authors of the gospel also suggest the value of unity -- one flock for one shepherd. This is perhaps based on a fear of diverse opinions or some other fears. Maybe even rational fears of other people's reactivity. Even in the twenty-first century, people are killing each other over differences of opinion. Unity under one banner would seem to be a superb vision, and yet I can't imagine how such a unity would be accomplished without coercion or manipulation of someone. It may be enough to recognize the palpable tension in society at the time this gospel was written and to accept that the only unity worth achieving would be a unity of free-willed individuals with shared values, living intentionally with one another. Hold it as a vision if you like, but don't let it become another reason to mistreat people who disagree with you.

At the heart of this passage, then, we have choices to make. We can choose to thoughtlessly follow the groups in which we find ourselves, or we can act with our own sense of individuality. Should we choose to act, we can act out of our fears or we can act with intentionality and integrity to our guiding principles. However we choose to act, we will influence others. We can lead others toward doing what we think will alleviate our own anxiety, or we can lead others toward greater well-being. In the words of the passage, we can be thieves and bandits or we can be good shepherds. Or we can be sheep.


A Little Experiment: Move First. Sheep don't lead intentionally, but people can. If you aren't accustomed to making decisions, see what happens if you offer the first suggestions to a group about where to go and what to do. Maybe others will offer their suggestions as well. Leading doesn't mean digging in our heels unless we get our way.

Another Little Experiment: Wait a Minute. Sheep don't lead intentionally, but the first one to move in a direction often influences the entire flock. If you're the usually the first one to offer a suggestion in a group, try hanging back and see if anyone else moves first. You might be surprised what you learn.

A Bigger Experiment: Shepherd Well. When you are in a group, be particularly aware of how your guiding principles inform your behavior. If the group seems to veer in a direction that doesn't align with your guiding principles, state your principles and your concern clearly, and propose the course of action you will take. The group may still head off in a direction that doesn't work for you. You get to decide whether to head off with them or to stick with your principled decision.

John 1: People Notice Authenticity

In the last section of John 1, we meet the main character of the story. We can draw some insights from the behavior of the disciples (students) in this brief summary of how they came to be associated with Jesus, and we can draw some insights from the behavior of Jesus. We might find ourselves situated in multiple places in this narrative. In a way, this flows directly from our observations about John the Baptist's authenticity and brings forward some additional things about people who are authentic.

Part of the purpose of this segment of the story is to legitimize -- or at least relate -- the brief origin stories of some of the significant legendary figures in the early church. This story is not identical to other stories about how the followers of Jesus were assembled, but it serves as an introduction to these men and defines their connection to one another. It appears that all of these initial followers were friends or family members of one another. We can't overplay this observation, because we don't actually have any written materials from any of these followers. We know them (and their relationships) only by tradition. Still, it is perhaps worth noting that the reason people gathered in community around this teacher is because of the invitations of friends and family members -- people who were known and trusted.

Various readers might try to make a big deal about how Jesus knows the things that he knows about people -- as if he had some supernatural insights about them. We aren't explicitly told that he has any telepathic powers, but people read their own impressions into the story. In the context of the story, it's just as likely that Andrew could say to Jesus, "I want to bring my brother to meet you," and the next day Jesus said, "Ah, you're that guy that Andrew was going to bring." And it's just as likely that Jesus literally saw Nathaniel sitting under a fig tree and formed an opinion about him. It's also worth remembering that it's a story that has no means of being verified, so we have to just let it be a story. The point is that it's a story about human interaction, not about superhuman abilities.

In noticing what the story leaves out at this point, two things seem apparent. First, we read nothing about those people who ignored or rejected Jesus as a teacher. We only read about the handful of individuals who saw something worth emulating in Jesus. We also only read one instance of Jesus "calling" someone, and that person seems to have known some other folks who were traveling with Jesus. Everyone who decides to follow this leader makes a personal choice to do so; they aren't all sought out and tapped by the leader as if they had been destined for it since birth.

On the one hand, if we want people to know about what we are doing, we have to talk about what we are doing at some point. That may not mean calling people to follow us, but there are some people who will only consider collaboration when they are invited into it. Maybe that was what was going on with Philip. Who knows. The truth that this story highlights, though, is that if we are authentically ourselves, we will attract people who want to know more about how we developed that ability. It's rare enough to see someone show up authentically that people still find it rather impressive. We won't attract everyone by showing up authentically, but that isn't the point. It isn't a marketing tactic. It's a way of being.

By suggesting that we be authentically ourselves, I'm also not suggesting that we do whatever we want and act like we rule the world. That isn't actually authentic. The attitude that some individuals adopt that seems to suggest that they own the road, or a restaurant, or a store clerk's attention, is far from authentic. Equally inauthentic are those of us who play small and pretend to be invisible, as if we have nothing to contribute and we don't want anyone to find out how worthless we are. In order to show up authentically, we have to be aware of ourselves and aware of our connection to the people around us. It means not pretending to be something we aren't, neither more nor less than our complete selves.

Some people will be attracted to that level of authenticity for different reasons. A couple of John's disciples jumped ship and decided to learn from Jesus instead. Maybe they had learned all they could from John. Maybe they just didn't like what John was teaching them. We have a tendency to do this kind of thing, too. We want to grow or learn something, but when a teacher or situation challenges us beyond our comfort zone, our fear may provoke us to run away and look for something else. We concoct all sorts of excuses, but sometimes the most honest reason we do things is that we are scared.

To complicate matters, there are legitimately some circumstances that are unhealthy or unhelpful to us. We may actually be ready to move on to something else. Some teachers misrepresent themselves, perhaps even unknowingly. If we stay in a situation out of a sense of loyalty, we might actually convince ourselves to stay in relationships that are detrimental to us -- that don't lead to greater well-being. So, we have to consider why we are choosing to do what we choose to do. If we leave one relationship for another without thinking through the honest reasons why -- not just the convenient excuses to cover up our fears and anxieties -- we are likely to find ourselves in similar situations over and over again.

Some of the people who approach Jesus in the story have to get over their own prejudices. "Can anything good come from Nazareth?" is not far off from some of the assumptions we make about the capabilities of people who come from different cultures. When we buy into the idea that people are intrinsically different just because they have some different practices or beliefs, we run the risk of considering ourselves to be worth more than other human beings by virtue of superficial things. When we understand that all people have inherent value, but that we all have different perspectives, we have a better opportunity to assess ideas honestly and still honor and respect the human beings who hold those different ideas. From one perspective, we are trying to "win" somehow -- to be right or to be better than someone else. From the other, we might grow toward a best possible version of ourselves by remaining open to other points of view.

We said early on in introducing this book that we would be meeting ourselves -- or at least our potential selves -- in observing the main character of Jesus. In this story about gathering people in community, we see the possibility of understanding ourselves and our connection to others so clearly that other people notice something compelling about how we show up. We might expect that the rest of the story will suggest some of the means to grow toward that level of authenticity. For now, let it suffice to say that we often show up the way we think other people expect us to show up, or we show up reacting to other people out of our anxieties about ourselves. When we are comfortable with our deep values and we show up confident in our authentic identity -- not pretending to be more or less than who we really are -- people will notice.

A Little Experiment: Our journey begins with noticing how we are -- how we choose to be. Notice this week when you are trying to "win" something you don't need to win, like driving or drawing the attention of a store clerk away from another customer. Notice also when you are letting yourself pretend to be invisible or playing small, like not speaking in a conversation or trying not to be noticed. What is going on for you when you are trying to prove your importance or hide from people? What would it be like for you to be more authentically present? More aware of who you actually are and more aware of your connection to (and impact on) other people? What would it take for you to be comfortable showing up without any sort of mask?

John 1: Being Comfortable with Ourselves and Pointing to Others

The next section of the gospel of John sets up the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus. In John 1:19-34, we see a brief character sketch of John the Baptist before we are officially introduced to the character Jesus. Some scholars see evidence (in biblical and extrabiblical sources) that John the Baptist and Jesus had competing cults, and that eventually the Jesus cult received many of John's followers after John was executed. It is possible that John was the leader of a Mandaean sect. There are still some Mandaeans today in southern Mesopotamia, and they generally revere John the Baptist (among others) and reject Jesus of Nazareth. A significant Mandaic population in Iraq and Iran (tens of thousands of people) has dwindled in recent years due to war and religious persecution. If the Mandaic community and the new sect of Christianity were at odds with one another in the first century, it would provide some incentive for gospel writers to attempt to bridge that conflict in a way that placed their group in a superior position. Such a conflict, however, is largely conjecture at this point; the scant evidence that exists is only suggestive.

From just reading the story, we get an impression of the John the Baptist character, though. Here is a man of conviction, unafraid to stand up to the religious authorities of the predominant culture, and even impish enough to be a bit cryptic while he does it. John the Baptist reflects a person who knows himself, and isn't afraid of pointing the way to another leader or teacher. His rejection of the Pharisees is not simply a manifestation of authority issues or narcissism; he is willing to recognize true capability and wisdom when he sees it. This character sketch may have some value for us.

There are some other bits that make for a compelling story, but it would be rather fruitless to get too mired in details from a historical or factual perspective. There is simply too much time that passed between any actual events and the writing of this narrative, and there is no way to accurately guess what was going on in John the Baptist's mind. Did John refer to Jesus in such obsequious tones? Nobody can know, and it ultimately doesn't matter. Did John actually see a dove-like supernatural manifestation? Probably not, but he may have seen something that he interpreted as a supernatural event. Or he may have been having a heat stroke. Or he may have had other hallucinations that aren't recorded anywhere. Or he may have made things up to bolster his own identity as a mystic and to convince others of the veracity of his words. Other religious leaders have been known to do so. There's really no telling if any of this "actually" happened. It's a story. Let's take what we can from it and leave it at that.

So, this fellow John is the focus of these few paragraphs. He knows who he is, and he is presumably a capable leader of his sect (otherwise the Pharisees wouldn't care what he was doing). He is also able to see competence in others, and he is not intimidated by another capable leader. Quite the contrary--he recommends another capable leader to some of his own followers. He apparently does not base his own sense of personal value or identity on the behavior of other people. He doesn't base his self worth on people's reactions to him. He acts out of his own guiding principles and lets that be enough.

Some roles in our society require pointing to others. When a concert pianist performs a virtuosic solo, she shows up very differently from when she is accompanying a vocalist. In one instance, she is the star feature, and in the other she has a supporting role. It takes a slightly different set of musical skills to be an excellent accompanist. One has to be tuned into what the other performer is doing if one is to really collaborate in creating a musical experience. The same performer can be an excellent soloist and an excellent accompanist, but it requires a shift in attitude -- it requires showing up a little bit differently. I'm sure you can think of other roles that similarly require directing attention to others rather than to oneself.

We sometimes find ourselves in a roomful of people who want to be seen as capable, who want to be recognized as competent leaders. Often such people talk about themselves. A lot. They have an experience that relates to (and possibly trumps) whatever anyone else says. Or perhaps they have been down that road before and they have expert advice to share. We have all probably been in those conversations. Unfortunately, at some point in time, we have all probably been the person who wanted to share advice or who had a "better-than-you" story to tell.

Gaining a feeling of superiority and giving advice are reactions to the anxiety we feel when we want people to see us a certain way. This anxiety becomes particularly acute when we think that we might not actually be that competent, capable person we want people to see. When we are telling stories that trump other people's experiences or giving unsolicited expert advice (or doing anything else in an effort to seem better than somebody else), we are often trying to show up as somebody different than who we really think we are. We are trying to convince people of something about us, and perhaps we are not so convinced ourselves.

When we show up authentically, when we are honest about who we are and what we are capable of doing, people will notice. Part of this requires managing the anxiety that we feel when we want to be seen a certain way. For some people, it requires being visible -- showing up and being fully present rather than shrinking away from attention. Showing up authentically does not mean playing small any more than it means pretending to be more than we actually are. It means being honest about who we are and how we want to engage in the world.

John the Baptist (as he is portrayed here, at least) is an example of that sort of person. He is clear about how he wants to show up, and he seems to be relatively low-anxiety about that. He does his thing, and when another capable leader comes along, he acknowledges it. Now, John the Baptist may go a bit overboard in humiliating himself and propping up Jesus. No one needs the sort of boot-licking compliments that John the Baptist heaps on Jesus in this story. Compliments are nice, but people can be personally responsible for showing up authentically without us going off the deep end in our attempts to "sell" them to other folks. John saw something that impressed him about Jesus, though, and he wasn't threatened by it. He told other people that he saw something impressive without it needing to mean anything about John's capability.

Now, as we continue along in the story, we'll see that showing up authentically does not mean that everyone else is going to love you. Other people are still potentially wrapped up in their own anxiety, and their reactivity is out of our control. John the Baptist's authenticity gets him killed. Or maybe it is his lack of tact. We'll see. The point is that showing up authentically is not risk-free. The advantage is that we aren't pretending to be something different from who we really are. Knowing how we want to show up as a reflection of our deep values -- our guiding principles -- means that we give people an opportunity to see us more clearly. Some people will be attracted to that. Some people will be threatened by it. The real advantage is that we are at peace with ourselves -- that we have integrity. Who we are on the outside can reflect who we are on the inside.

Of course, the first trick to this is knowing ourselves better, and that requires managing our anxiety better. We all carry around fears and lies about who we are deep down inside, and how we think we have to show up so that no one sees the "truth" about us. We have to dismantle those fears and lies in order to be the people we most want to be. This story into which we're delving will point the way for some of this work.

For now, we can recognize that we don't need to be threatened by other competent, capable people. We can point to what impresses us about others without demeaning ourselves. (Are you listening, John the Baptist?) We don't need to trump other people's stories or give unsolicited advice in order to impress other people. When we show up reflecting the things that matter most to us, people will either be impressed or they won't. Our role is to live out of our deepest values.

A Little Experiment: The next time you are in a public setting, notice whether you are trying to be impressive or trying to compete with the people around you for attention or acknowledgment. If you're willing, try to relax into yourself and let go of that anxiety. Consider the possibility that you may not need to pretend to be something other than yourself in order to be seen the way you want to be seen.

Another Little Experiment: Be on the lookout for authentic people -- people who seem comfortable with themselves, who aren't giving unsolicited advice or trying to gain superiority through story-telling. Allow yourself to be impressed by other people's authenticity.

Mark 14-15: Personal Authenticity and What Happens When We Don't Have It.

I had hoped to get to the remainder of Mark before Easter, but that just didn't happen. Being a little behind the Christian holiday, though, has the advantage of not seeming like it is intended to be some sort of odd Lenten devotional reading. As we have observed, the Passion story in Mark is the earliest of the biblical Passion narratives, save perhaps for a few vague mentions in Pauline letters. Since the narratives are very different (the version in Matthew is based on the book of Isaiah and a couple of psalms), we will stick with just what appears in the gospel of Mark. This part of the story is after Jesus has been arrested, up until he is taken to be executed, so Mark 14:53-15:20.

First of all, we must recognize that this is a story that cannot be narrated by a firsthand witness. One disciple (Peter) tries to follow Jesus as far as he can, but no one follows Jesus into the assembly of Jewish priests, and the priests certainly would not have recounted the story as it appears here. It's a dramatic story, with some great stock characters, but someone is filling in a few gaps here. Likewise with the subplot involving Peter denying his association with Jesus. Very dramatic. 

Second, it is important to acknowledge that there are some cultural implications and some narrative implications. Culturally, the Jewish people could not execute anyone; only the Roman government had that authority. This is what prompts the involvement of the local Roman official, Pontius Pilate (who was an actual historical figure, although that does not mean that he did any of the things attributed to him in the biblical narrative). Also culturally, certain sects of Jewish people, namely Zealots, launched frequent rebellions against Roman rule. Every charismatic Zealot leader who could effectively organize a militia was heralded as the messiah who would free Israel from the tyranny of Rome and establish a new Jewish kingdom. This is the kind of insurrection in which Barabbas would have potentially participated. It was this sort of constant rebellion that eventually provoked the Roman military to tear down the temple in Jerusalem and scatter the Jewish people across the empire.

Narratively, however, it was important that the Roman government think favorably of the new Christian cult that was emerging in the empire. It was bad enough that Christians refused to pay homage to the emperor and allegedly had secret love feasts at which they ate flesh and drank blood (of babies, by some reports). The story of their founder had to paint the Roman official involved in the execution as blamelessly as possible. The Jewish people (who were antagonistic toward the upstart sect) needed to be the real villains of the story. It is worth mentioning that the antisemitism inherent in the Christian passion narrative contributed to oppression, violence, and genocidal acts against Jewish people through the twentieth century, and perhaps still in some places today. Historically, Roman officials didn't customarily release a murderer once a year. They didn't have to; they were very much in control with no real need to appease the populace.

Also, it was important for the early Christian church to create a dramatic and ironic contrast between the violent authoritarian leadership exhibited by Zealot militia leaders and Roman authorities and a more humble relational leadership style that sought to change external circumstances by changing internal realities of human perceptions and expectations. The abuse by the soldiers may have been a historical reality in terms of how criminals slated for crucifixion were treated, but even more importantly for the early church, it reflected something about the character of Jesus -- a character that they were supposed to emulate.

There can be no doubt that the story of Jesus' arrest and torture is emotionally charged, especially for people who think that he was a historical divine figure. Setting aside torture porn like The Passion of the Christ, however, we can draw forth something of potentially greater personal value than the unwarranted feelings of guilt or shame that some religious figures seem to want this story to evoke. Specifically, I think we can learn something from the Jesus character, from the Pilate character, something from the Jewish leaders, and something from the mob and soldiers.

Should any of us decide to engage in non-violent protest, this story demonstrates a rather extreme case. Jesus is willing to state his identity as he sees it, but he doesn't resort to defending himself or arguing with anyone about his guilt. One might say he takes things a little too passively, but we might think of the character as an archetype. The early church had a few decades to develop their origin story, and the way they tell it, Jesus knew all along that he was going to get himself killed if he tried to challenge the status quo. Understanding that danger, he challenged the status quo. He spoke out against injustice, and he promoted what he believed to be a better way of building community, based on love and respect for one another rather than coveting power and hoarding wealth. He believed in his principles strongly enough that he was willing to die for them, and he was centered and grounded enough that he could stand in the face of obviously fabricated accusations and remain calm and unprovoked. How well do you know yourself and your guiding principles? 

When you don't know yourself or your guiding principles, you might wind up behaving like the Jewish mob and the soldiers, who abdicated control of their decisions to other people. If you aren't willing to be personally responsible for your actions, there will usually be someone else who will happily direct you toward their ends. We have authority in our own lives; we have responsibility for our actions and beliefs. When people give that power over to other people, we sometimes wind up with violent mobs. Granted, sometimes revolution might be necessary, and sometimes oppressed people feel so disenfranchised and powerless that violence seems like the only option available. When we know ourselves and our guiding principles well, we might just be able to see other alternatives.

The Jewish leaders were, of course, afraid. Their way of doing things was being called into question, and change terrifies us like little else. They were attached to a certain identity of power and authority, and to give up that identity was a big threat. Eventually, they had to give it up anyway, in 70 CE when the Romans destroyed the temple. They had to learn a new identity, based on something other than the potentially superficial things on which they had based their previous identity. We're talking about characters in a story in which the Jewish leaders were the bad guys, of course, so it would be a mistake to think that every historical Jewish leader behaved in the way depicted by the early Christians. Still, if we are going to derive some value from the example of these characters in the story, it might be that we not only need to know ourselves and our guiding principles, but we also need to know what we are afraid of. 

When we know what makes us anxious, when we know what that anxiety feels like, we can better manage ourselves. We can calm ourselves down and get back to the guiding principles that we care about most. When we let our anxiety determine our behavior, we stop thinking and just react, which means that we probably are not acting with our guiding principles in mind. If we want to be people of integrity, we must manage our anxiety. Had the Jewish leaders in the story managed their anxiety, they may have realized that what they most wanted was not all that different from what Jesus most wanted. They got anxious about some superficial things and missed the opportunity for connection and growth. 

Pilate had a different sort of identity problem. Again, we are looking just at the character as he was portrayed by the author(s) of Mark, and not considering the historical Pilate. Here we see a man in a very lonely leadership role, faced with a decision that he didn't want to make. More than the mob of people who were unwilling to be personally responsible for their behavior, more than the Jewish religious leaders who were so wrapped up in their anxiety that they had forgotten themselves, Pilate was in a position to decisively act on what he knew to be right. He had the political authority to make a decision and the military power to back it up. He knew that Jesus was innocent of any crime worthy of execution, and he recognized that ordering his death would be unjust. Yet, unlike Jesus, he was intimidated by a willful mob and abdicated authority to the loudest voices rather than what he knew to be right. Knowing his principles, and knowing his role in the situation, Pilate betrayed himself because of some unidentified fear. He felt helpless, even though he wasn't.

We only have some unreliable and biased stories to go on, so we aren't really trying to derive any lessons from history. We're looking at the representations of human tendencies and finding connections with our own behavior so that we might do things better in our own lives. Even if there was a historical Jesus, and even if he was actually crucified, we still don't have any guarantees that it happened as the gospel of Mark conveys. What we do know is that only one person in the story reflected the kind of personal authenticity we hold in high regard, and everybody else was being something other than the best possible version of themselves. What we do know is that when we don't know what matters most to us, and when we don't manage our anxiety, we wind up with less than satisfactory results in our lives. Introspection is the key to all of these issues, and introspection is a skill. We must get to know ourselves deeply -- what we care about, what we fear, and what we can do to support one and dismantle the other. When we know what to be intentional about, we stand a better change of creating the lives and the world we most deeply want.  

Mark 9: Authentic Power

The next portion of Mark 9 is a string of short scenes with a couple of overlapping themes. As such, they are probably best approached over two weeks rather than trying to fit everything into one entry. We'll look first at the scenes, and then at how the authors of Matthew and Luke treat them, and finally we'll consider the argument about greatness. Next week, we'll look closer at what it means to "cause another person to sin," especially in a more humanist context that doesn't grant validity to the idea of sinfulness.

Both the gospel of Matthew and the gospel of Luke include a version of the first scene, in which the disciples argue about which of them will be in positions of authority when the Romans are overthrown and a new world order is established by their revolutionary leader. The response recorded indicates that they have some misconceptions about the new measure of leadership that is being established. This scene is followed by what appears to be a threat to Jesus' brand, as another miracle worker is seen performing some wondrous deeds without the direct approval of Jesus or his followers. The gospel of Matthew doesn't represent this scene, but the author of Luke included a truncated version of it. Once again, the response to the disciples' indignation is a revision to their assumptions about authority.

In the gospel of Matthew, the final scene in this grouping is dovetailed into the discussion of leadership, with the symbolic child being the bridge between the two passages. The author of Luke includes an abbreviated version of the teaching, separated from the scenes about leadership and authority. This scene suggests that the people who promote wrongdoing (or wrong thinking) in others will suffer for it, with symbolism suggesting that the author had an impression that individuals would have some kind of physical bodies in the afterlife.

This is also one of the passages that has given us a perspective of hell as a fiery place, but the actual word used here (Gehenna) refers to a specific place, also called the Valley of the Son of Hinnom in the Old Testament. It was here that Moloch and Ba'al worshipers (some of whom were Israelites) are said to have sacrificed their children to the fire. Since no mass graves of children's bones have been discovered anywhere in the area, many archaeologists and scholars have concluded that the symbolic sacrifices were something more akin to child dedications involving fire. Obviously, upstanding Jewish citizens would disapprove of parents dedicating children to a foreign god, and they would have had obvious reasons for equating such dedication as tantamount to sacrificing the child's spiritual future. The author of Mark puts clever words in Jesus' mouth, suggesting that anyone who is a negative spiritual influence on a child will be punished not just by being sacrificed to a fire, but by a fire that never quits consuming -- a darkly ironic Gehenna that is never quenched. We'll return to this passage next week, but it's obvious that the author of Matthew connects it with the earlier discussion of who deserves to be in positions of power.

We don't have to try very hard to find modern day parallels to the two earlier scenes in this passage. Sometimes we become quite preoccupied with what our position is, in the microcosms of our life as well as in a broader sense. We find ways to measure our level of power, whether in terms of the titles bestowed upon us, the amount of money we have, the number of friends (or "friends") we have in our networks, or some other scale that represents power to us. Some people are impressed by those who seem to have an air of authority, people who just exude self-confidence or seem to have an unshakably high opinion of themselves. The lesson expressed through Jesus in this passage suggests that all of this is valueless. These things are illusions that have no real bearing on what matters most. More important than how much apparent power one wields is how well one serves, particularly how well one serves those who are unable to do anything in terms of compensation.

A child is used as a powerful example here of the kinds of relationships that most reflect how well any of us understand what is most important. A child cannot pay us for our actions. A child cannot award titles or promotions. A child can't even vote in the next election. A child can do very little to increase our apparent power. Yet, if we are truly aware of ourselves -- if we are adept at dismantling fears about scarcity and insignificance, if we practice living with integrity by guiding principles that reflect something deeper than titles and dollar signs -- then we will likely be paying attention more to what we can do for other people than we will what other people can do for us. It won't matter that a person will be unable to offer us anything for our efforts (including a chance to have our picture in the paper and a headline with the word "Hero"). What will matter is that we have an opportunity to act with integrity to a deeply held value.

When we start thinking in terms of our role in the pecking order, or our position in a hierarchy, we can start determining personal value (of ourselves and of others) based on superficial details. Our value as human beings is not based on apparent power. It's an inherent trait that all human beings have in common. Chains of command and hierarchies of responsibility have their usefulness, but their benefits do not include knowing a person's value based on place within a hierarchy. People who wield authority have greater responsibility (as is indicated by the discussion about diving suits fitted with millstones), but they do not have greater value as human beings.

We determine how our human capability will be expressed in our lives. If we release our need to be seen as powerful, our actual capability will have more of a chance to shine through with authenticity. Our fears about there not being enough respect or love or admiration to go around can cloud our thinking on this to some extent, but we really don't know what the world would look like if everyone stopped worrying and started living out of their deepest guiding principles. If everyone stopped being afraid and just loved, we might all look pretty powerful. The truth is that we all are powerful, and we don't need to prove it to anyone. We are all capable of incredible acts of love and creativity. We are all capable of being peacemakers. We are all capable of profound feats of connection. We are all capable of seeing the inherent worth in people who seem to be doing their very best to keep it hidden.

The disciples in the story were concerned (probably even angry) because someone else was stealing their schtick. You've probably already seen through this as more fear of scarcity being expressed. There were then, as there are now, plenty of hurting people to go around. The point behind helping people was not then, as it need not be now, a chance to make a name for oneself, or an opportunity to get appointed to a position of authority, or a way to get ahead financially. The point behind helping people was and is to help people. The point behind living with integrity and intentionality was and is to live with integrity and intentionality. Being authentic and exercising one's full capability is the reward; our relationships with other people are just the context in which we get to be authentic and capable.

There was a book a while back with a title suggesting that if we do what we are passionate about -- what "feeds our soul" some might say -- then financial well being will come automatically. The content of the book revealed something different, that if we do what we love, then the satisfaction of doing what we love will follow. That's potentially a discouraging message to people who are caught up (like the disciples were in these scenes) with concerns about apparent power, market share, and personal brand management. The message of these scenes is not intended to be discouraging at all, though. The author of Mark is conveying that if we recognize what really matters to us and we intentionally live like those things really matter to us, we will be noticed by all the people we need to be noticed by and we will have all of the things we need to be happy.

Honestly, we may not have all of the wealth or apparent power that we want, or all that will allow our every whim to be entertained. The point, though, is that we don't get any closer to living by our deepest guiding principles by prioritizing wealth or wielding power over others. In other words, we've allowed our standards to become skewed toward something artificial and superficial. Most likely, we've done this because looking inward at what really matters most to us is scary at some level. Some people are afraid that they won't find much there at all if they look within, and others are afraid that if they are honest about their deepest guiding principles, their entire life will have to change. Maybe it will. The message of these scenes in Mark is that it will be worth it: Realize what really matters. Change your standards. Change your life -- and quite possibly the lives of everyone around you. It's an image of authentic power that any of us can choose to embrace.

2 Chronicles 28: One Voice (a portrait of the prophet Oded)

As we've seen, 2 Kings 15 doesn't paint a flattering picture of the rulers of Israel and Judah in the 8th century BCE. They were self-absorbed, indulgent, murderous lot whose deeds were barely worthy of a paragraph from the historian. Already, there were signs during the reigns of Menahem and Pekah that the nations of Judah and Israel would be troubled by Assyria's ruler Tiglath-Pileser III (who is also called by the name Pul or Pulu). Tiglath-Pileser III claimed rulership of Assyria during a civil war, and in an effort to seem more authentic, he took his throne name from two previous Assyrian rulers who had come by the throne legitimately. His military reforms and expansionist ideals created an empire that included most of the nations known to the Assyrians at the time. One of his most successful policies in preventing further internal conflict was to force thousands of citizens to relocate to diverse parts of the empire, breaking up subcultural identities based on connections with a particular land.

Into this climate, King Ahaz ascended to the throne of Judah when his father Jotham died. 2 Kings 16 tells one version of his reign, which apparently began early on with participation in the various foreign religious practices that had become popular in Judah. High places, hills, and green trees were chosen as sites for worship and sacrifices because these places were thought to be favored by various gods. Ahaz is also said to have made his son "pass through fire," which is often interpreted as an act of child sacrifice. Based on current archeological evidence, the sacrifice of children was not nearly as prevalent as some biblical passages suggest, although some ancient writers did use the accusation of child sacrifice as propaganda to demonize enemy civilizations during times of war. It is known, however, that some societies committed child sacrifices in times of great duress, as an extraordinary means of appealing to their supernaturals for aid, and Ahaz certainly reigned during a time of great duress in Judah. It's important to understand a little something of Ahaz in order to understand some of the writings of the prophet Isaiah.

During the reign of Ahaz, Judah was attacked by Aram and Israel. The nation of Aram was really a collection of city-states, one of which was Damascus. King Rezin was obviously connected to Damascus, based on 2 Kings. Rezin joined forces with Pekah, the king of Israel to attack Judah; there is no indication as to their motivations, but in the end (according to 2 Kings) Rezin drove the Judeans out of Elath and reclaimed it. (Edom and Aram are probably synonymous in this passage.) In light of this offensive action, Ahaz sought military aid from Tiglath-Pileser III, bribing him with valuables from his own holdings as well as the temple treasury. The Assyrian emperor, seeing the potential for expanding the Assyrian empire, attacked Damascus, killed Rezin, and annexed a portion of Aram.

After seeing the altar in Damascus, Ahaz made some radical changes to the temple in Jerusalem, with the assistance of the priest Uriah. Perhaps he wanted to be more like Tiglath-Pileser III, even though he could not possibly match the Assyrian emperor's military and social ingenuity. The prophet Isaiah was an adviser to Ahaz during this entire crisis, so there will be more to unpack about this ruler. The Chronicler, however, interprets the relationship between Ahaz and Tiglath-Pileser somewhat differently in 2 Chronicles 28. Beginning with the quote from 2 Kings criticizing Ahaz for idolatry and child sacrifice, the Chronicler then goes on to describe just how severely the armies of Aram and Israel defeated Judah. Of course, the Chronicler interprets this defeat as a consequence of the king's idolatry, but we can be confident that there were political motivations for the action against Judah.

According to the Chronicler, there were multiple incursions into Judah by foreign armies who reclaimed and settled cities, whittling away at Judah's borders. When Ahaz turned to Tiglath-Pileser III for assistance in this interpretation of history, the Assyrian leader saw Judah's weakened position and took advantage of the situation, demanding tribute but providing no meaningful aid. Ahaz made what was a logical decision for a person in his time and culture; he started worshiping gods that had seemingly brought success to his enemies. It is a constant danger in cultures where the supernatural is legitimized that people will look ever more frantically for something outside of themselves to make life easier, better, and safer. The answer to making positive changes lies within a person's own behavior, however, and not with some invented god or supernatural force. Change comes when people are willing to take an honest look within themselves and act in a way that leads toward a desirable future.

Which brings us to Oded. This prophet is never mentioned again in the Bible, and perhaps his name (which means "Restorer") is more of a symbolic moniker than anything else. When the Israel army had soundly defeated Judah (with the aid of Rezin's forces), they claimed 200,000 Judeans as spoils of war. They intended to take these people as slaves, even though they shared a common heritage; of all the people in the world, these captives were most like the people of Israel. Oded spoke out in protest. He could not stand by and watch people taking their own kindred as prisoners of war; he understood the immorality of subjugating people who shared a deep bond of culture and history. Once Oded stood up, other leaders began to speak out in agreement. Who knows whether they would have said anything if Oded had remained silent, but once the truth was spoken, their own integrity won out over greed-fear and the thoughtless fervor of military victory. They clothed the captives, fed them, escorted them to a safe place, even using their own pack animals as necessary, and they set them free. 

It didn't matter that the Judeans had committed idolatry. It didn't matter that they had been militarily inferior. It didn't matter that they had been on the wrong side of the division of Israelite culture. They were human beings who were more similar to the people of Israel than they were different. They deserved to be treated with respect and dignity, even as conquered people. Oded saw this, and he spoke the truth boldly. The Israelite soldiers could have cut him down and silenced him; it would only have taken one man who didn't like what Oded had to say. This has happened on more than one occasion throughout human history. In this instance, though, for whatever reason, Oded's words had the power to invoke true justice.

Our world has captives. Our world has slaves, figurative and literal. Some people suffer because of war. Some people suffer because of oppressive systems. Some people suffer because of other people's fear. Some people are just stuck in a cycle of poverty or prejudice that they cannot break on their own. There is nothing that makes these people less worthy of respect and dignity than any other person. If we are honest, we must acknowledge that human beings are more alike than different. We like to be tribal; it's comfortable to draw lines of distinction. But we are not that different from one another. People -- all people -- have inherent worth and dignity, Israelite and Judean, male and female, slave and free, rich and poor, conservative and liberal, Muslim and Christian and Buddhist and Hindu and Wiccan and Atheist and ...

There was nothing that credentialed Oded to speak out except that he saw the truth and was willing to speak out on the side of justice, equity, and compassion. His words had nothing to do with what was legally permissible. His words had to do with integrity and human value. Oded would perhaps not have spoken out against claiming other peoples as prisoners of war. He was, after all, a product of his place and time. We have some advantage of perspective over Oded. We can aim higher in our own lives. We, too, can speak out with bold honesty against injustice, oppression, and fear. If we speak so that others can hear, perhaps our words will inspire others to take a stand as well. Moreover, we can take action in our lives to demonstrate what it means to have integrity, to be ethically astute in our treatment of other human beings. There is no reason that a modern day portrait of Oded should not look exactly like us.

1 Samuel 13-31: More about Fear and Abdication

Fear is the hallmark of Saul's reign as first king of Israel.  Although the narrative in the book of Samuel gives God credit for selecting him as king, right out of the gate he's told that God is disappointed in him.  The Jewish folklore recorded in the Bible paints Saul as a madman, possessed by demons that induced fits of rage.  Perhaps he had a bona fide psychiatric condition.  Or perhaps if there was a historic King Saul, he became a fictionalized caricature to serve as a literary foil to David, arguably ancient Israel's most legendary folk hero.  Whatever the case, the writers of the book of Chronicles relegate Saul's entire existence to a suicide and posthumous humiliation contained in a single chapter.  This was not the great leader the Israelites had in mind when they asked to have a king appointed to keep order.

Still, there are a couple of things we can learn from the story of Saul.  To begin with, he displayed a profound lack of trust in the people who were in his life to help him.  Fear that his army would desert him led him to take over Samuel's job, fear about the might of the Philistines paralyzed Saul on the battlefield, and fear about David's popularity and cunning drove Saul to spend a significant portion of his reign chasing David around the countryside.  Fear that God was on David's side provoked Saul to kill all the priests that could have guided him, and fear that God had abandoned him led him to consult a medium, against his own proclamations.  When he was mortally wounded in battle, alongside his son, he took his own life out of fear that he would be humiliated if his enemy killed him.  The Philistines took his corpse and humiliated him anyway.

Saul accomplished nothing, according to the biblical narrative.  He was so subject to fear that his entire reign was spent reacting to it.  It must have been a frustrating and exhausting life, constantly fearful and paranoid, never quite realizing that his reactions were only going to make matters worse.  Saul could have addressed his fears differently, but unfortunately there was no one in his life who could be trusted to tell him how.  Samuel was all but useless as a spiritual advisor, ready to condemn Saul the first time he stepped out of line.  And as far as we see in the story, Samuel is the only real spiritual presence after Saul's coronation.  If Saul had recognized divinity as an inner characteristic rather than an external entity, and if he had been guided by some insightful spiritual teacher, his fears may not have had such power.  Of course, Saul's behavior was an important aspect of the story to show how incredible David was by contrast, but we aren't bound by the same rigid cultural identity as ancient Israel.

Imagine for a moment that Saul is a real, flesh-and-blood human being with choices.  In every moment, he can choose whether to react or respond, whether to take action without thinking or contemplate his options and their consequences.  If Saul believes that divinity is an intrinsic part of his identity as a human being, he might be more inclined to reach inward and find meaningful, centered guidance.  But, if Saul has been told that everything in his life is under God's control, that he is essentially powerless to accomplish anything on his own, that belief might contribute negatively to his leadership ability.  If Saul is told that God made a mistake in appointing him to his position and that God now stands against him, what ammunition does Saul have against his fears?  Given the culture of his time, Saul's inability to conceive of personal power and personal responsibility cripples him when his concept of the divine is turned against him.  Placing God outside of ourselves means that he abdicates his authentic control over and responsibility for his own life and choices.

People aren't born knowing how to take personal responsibility, though.  People do not automatically see clearly the bounds of their own control.  Some people want to control more than they can, and some people give up more control in their lives than they have to.  Most people benefit from meaningful wise counsel in order to hone their ability to accept appropriate control over their own lives and decisions.  Based on the story told by the biblical writers, Samuel was the one person Saul should have been able to count on in his early kingship, and Samuel was unfortunately poor support.  Perhaps he was insecure in his own ways, too preoccupied with his own fears to be of service to Saul.  That doesn't change the fact that their relationship could have been something more.  

For the ancient Israelites, it was a challenge to acknowledge personal responsibility.  It isn't often in the biblical narrative that consequences are logically connected to the actions of human beings.  Instead, consequences are a response from God when he is upset about what one of his subjects has done.  He punishes and rewards with fickle intelligence in the Bible stories.  In reality, consequences are directly tied to the actions that produce them.  We muddy the waters of our own personal responsibility and control when we place an imaginary intermediary between our actions and their results.  Once Saul was convinced that an imaginary all-powerful being was unhappy with him, there was no possibility of dealing with his fears rationally.  We are not characters in a story, and we are not limited to the worldview of the ancient Near East.  What we do matters, and the consequences are ours to own.

When we realize that we are ruled by fear, we can take some actions to start doing things differently.  We don't have to conclude that we are doomed or cursed.  When we realize that things are not working out for us the way we want, we can examine our own behavior and make adjustments.  We don't have to look for someone or something more powerful than ourselves to blame.  We don't have to throw up our hands and assume that God must have a different plan for our lives.  And when we know that we want to do things differently and don't quite know how, it's alright for us to find other people that can provide meaningful insights.  The trick is that we have to be discerning.  People that just tell us what we want to hear are not valuable.  And people that tell us that there is something inherently wrong with us are not going to empower us to take personal responsibility in our lives.  We are responsible for the lives we create, and we are responsible for the impact we have on others.

One last note about Samuel and his relationship to Saul.  We sometimes fail to recognize when there are people around us who could benefit from our graceful and loving support.  We get caught up in our own lives, our own fears, our own insecurities, and we forget that we are in relationship with one another.  Samuel is a warning for us.  Saul could potentially have been a much better leader if Samuel had been a better mentor.  We do not always see clearly the boundaries of their personal responsibility and capability.  We need one another.  Our own clarity is refined through meaningful connection with each other. 

Eighteen chapters is a large chunk of the biblical narrative to take in at once.  We could dig into Saul's decisions in greater detail, but ultimately I believe we will find the same dynamics at work time and again.  Fear can cripple us.  We are personally responsible for handling our fear healthily and finding a way to assess our circumstances more honestly.  We are responsible for our actions and their consequences.  Our integrity matters.  And we need one another to stay sharp in all of this, because it isn't always easy.  If we all just did a little more to take appropriate responsibility in our lives, just imagine what kind of impact that could have in our families, our communities, our world.

1 Samuel 8-12: Heirarchies of Power and Why We Love Them

Over the next several chapters of the first book of Samuel, the Israelites ask for a king, Saul is selected, and Samuel tells them how evil a thing it was for them to ask for a king.  Several different stories about these events are bundled together here, but the general theme is that the people think they will be better off with a leader.  They have a good reason to want some kind of change: after Joshua's less-than-total invasion of Canaan and the decreasing effectiveness of local "judges", Israelite society had degenerated into people chasing after personal satisfaction without regard for anyone else.  They wanted a king to bring order and justice to their society, because they weren't willing to do it for themselves.

We are not so far off from the ancient Israelites in this respect.  We often abdicate personal responsibility to authority figures.  We like to be able to claim that we are "just following orders" when we honestly know that what we are doing is out of alignment with our most noble selves.  We like it when some loud and angry person on a soapbox gives us permission to feel righteous indignation, even when there is nothing righteous about it.  We like having someone else to blame, and we don't like making decisions if personal risk is involved.  As long as we have a chain of command, we have a place to point when something goes awry.  Especially when what we know is right seems uncomfortable or inconvenient to us personally, we would almost rather listen to anyone else than our inner selves, whether it be a religious leader, a political leader, someone in a position of power in our workplace, or some other voice of authority.

Leadership is not a bad thing, however.  There are leaders who organize people into incredible acts of service and creativity.  It isn't an evil thing to have a leader over a country or a company or an organization.  Samuel's rebuke of the Israelites was about something other than organizational structure.  He was pointing out to them that they already knew what they needed to know in order to create the society they claimed to want.  A leader can't change our willingness to live based on what we already know.  If the Israelites were really looking to sharpen their capacity for living out the truth they already knew, they could have done that without a king.

When people are willing to live in accordance with their most noble selves, a leader can be of service by reminding people what they already know and encouraging people to take personal responsibility for their actions and beliefs.  When a leader is more interested in personal gain or personal power, or exclusively represents the interests of people who are not living in alignment with their most noble selves, that leader can not ultimately usher in the kind of reality we most want, whether that be in our places of work, our personal lives, our nation, or our world.  We have the responsibility to create the lives we most want, based on our deep awareness of truth, beauty, and creativity that glimmers beneath the fears and lies we have accumulated.

We can't rationally expect leaders to fix things we have collectively broken, and we can't create the kind of world in which we can thrive by abdicating our personal responsibility to someone up a chain of command.  Leaders are valuable to us when they empower us to peel back the irrational fears that keep us from connecting with our deepest selves.  Leaders are valuable when they remind us of our personal role in our lives.  The responsibility is ours to create a world in which everyone has what they need and no one has a legitimate reason for fear.  We do not need a king, or a president, or a CEO, to tell us how to live or to take responsibility for our decisions.

Our lives -- our world -- our society -- our relationships -- are ours to nurture or destroy.  We don't need an authority figure to bear the weight of responsibility for us.  We need connection with our deepest selves and connection with one another so that we can live out our authentic personal responsibility in the most meaningful way possible.

Joshua 1: Courage Is a Vital Ingredient to Living with Integrity

About half of the book of Joshua is folklore about this Israelite leader's success in conquering the Promised Land.  The other half is about how the land was divided up among the Israelites, which reads about as interesting as any tax roll.  Joshua's life as depicted in the Bible would make a very exciting movie, and let's face it, telling stories with the community gathered together was the ancient civilization equivalent of a movie theater.  We can draw spiritual truth from these stories as easily as we can draw spiritual truth from the stories of any culture, but the book of Joshua begins with one of the most blatant and timeless admonishments found anywhere in scripture.  Be strong and courageous.

Moses was dead, and Joshua had been selected to fill his shoes.  The Israelite people hadn't been entirely respectful of Moses' leadership.  They were quite an unruly lot from time to time.  Now a new leader has to manage a rather belligerent young society, while they most likely did what any classroom of students do with a new teacher: test boundaries and see what they can get away with.  Now, the Bible doesn't include much about the Israelites' bad behavior in the relatively short book of Joshua, but if the previous books are anything to go by, Joshua had his hands full.  Fortunately, most of his reported leadership was a series of successful military battles, so his popularity was probably much higher than his cantankerous predecessor who was always telling people what they couldn't do and meting out punishments for their constant complaining.

The biggest problem when someone new takes charge, or when we enter some new phase of life -- a new job, a new city, parenthood, retirement -- is that we have gotten accustomed to things being a certain way, and now we have to deal with change.  Some people aren't wired to enjoy change.  They like the appearance of a predictable, secure existence, even if that includes a predictable level of stress.  Unpredictable pleasure is almost more threatening than predictable pain to some people.  While I respect the preferences of those people and understand the comfort to be found in predictable patterns, I would submit that very little in life is truly predictable and consistent.  We are faced with a certain amount of upheaval over the course of our lives, no matter how well we may have planned everything out.  Since there is no way to truly avoid change, what matters most is how we handle it.

Our beliefs determine a lot of our decisions.  What we believe about ourselves and other people (and life in general) informs how we respond to changes, however slight they may be.  Whether the change is someone moving our coffee cup or someone firing us from a job, whether it's a little rain on our picnic or a natural disaster destroying our home, our beliefs are the source of our responses.  And those beliefs are constantly being challenged.  If we believe that people are inherently good, there will be evidence to the contrary whenever we get around enough people who all want to get to the same place at the same time.  If we believe that people are inherently selfish, there will be generous acts that challenge that belief.  Whether you believe that you are attractive or unattractive, there will be people who disagree with you, some more vocally than others.  Our beliefs cannot remain intact by mere observation of things around us.  Strong beliefs originate from someplace deeper.

Not all of our beliefs are beneficial to us.  If we want our beliefs to be useful, we have to sort through them and stake our claim on the beliefs that truly make sense to us.  Our beliefs also change over time.  We may start off thinking one way about a particular group of people and wind up changing that belief when we gain new information.  When we are aware of how our beliefs are affecting our decisions, we can take a bit more conscious responsibility.  There aren't a lot of people who are going to confront us on what we believe, so we are best off taking some initiative to confront ourselves. 

Plenty of folks claim to believe one thing and then act completely contrary to that claim.  These people are being dishonest somewhere along the line.  Either they know what they believe and are unwilling to admit it because they fear what people will think of them, or they don't know what they believe and make a claim based on what they think they're supposed to believe in.  Some of these people even have strong convictions that are essentially empty of meaning because there is no real thought behind the convictions.  It is spiritual laziness to express unexamined beliefs with vehemence and passion.

When we are willing to engage in some self-examination, both of what we believe and how we behave, we can see clearly enough where the disconnections are, and we can address those disconnections.  We might revise what we believe so that our beliefs clearly line up with the decisions we want to make, or we might change our behavior so that it best reflects what we believe.  We might discover that we have some beliefs that are in conflict with one another, and we can make a clear decision about which we will strengthen and which we will jettison.  Without this level of integrity, we will always be struggling with conflict that comes from within our very being, and everything we do and experience will be to some extent impacted by this conflict.  Living a satisfying life depends upon knowing what we believe and having the integrity to make decisions based on those beliefs.

Being spiritually strong involves knowing who we are and committing to a life that reflects that identity clearly.  It doesn't mean bullying people who believe differently, and it doesn't mean being louder than anyone else.  Spiritual strength is about how well our behavior reflects what is at our core.  I am convinced that the beliefs that arise from that core will ultimately reflect the truth that human beings have value, that we are all imbued with creativity, and that we live in abundance.  A lot of the beliefs that seem contrary to those truths are actually fears that we have clung to for so long that they seem true.  Beliefs about needing to be wealthy, or needing to make people behave the way we want them to, or needing to eradicate a certain type of person in order to make our own lives better.  Fear is not great at disguises, but it's often enough for us to convince ourselves.  When we begin to examine our beliefs, though, we can start to recognize fear for what it is.  We can work to let go of irrational beliefs about ourselves and other people and the way life must be, and we can strengthen the beliefs that better allow us to create the kind of life we most want with integrity.

And this requires courage.  There will be challenges to what we believe.  Some of the challenges will arise from within us, as those irrational fears continue to crop up.  Some of the challenges will arise from outside of us, in the way that other people behave, or the circumstances in which we find ourselves.  It takes courage to stand in the face of violence and claim that all human beings have value and are worthy of respect.  It takes courage to look at a difficult situation and trust that you have the creativity and resources to find a way through to the other side with your integrity intact.  It takes courage to keep living by a certain set of principles when other people seem to be doing just fine -- even better than you perhaps -- by taking advantage of people or lying.  Fear is enticing, and it takes courage to live from the core of who we are rather than be distracted by whatever fears may seduce us away from that. 

Be strong and courageous.  Do not give fear a foothold.  Do not fall prey to discouragement.  You have within you the capability to live a satisfying and fulfilling life.  You will have an impact on the world around you, and you have the power to choose what kind of impact that will be.  Build integrity between your beliefs and your actions.  Verify that your beliefs serve you and the world around you, and be fearless in the knowledge that you embody an undeniable beauty and creativity.  Be strong and very courageous.  Fear has done enough damage in the world and in our lives.  Fear destroys our integrity.  And even though fear will always be present in our lives, we don't have to give it control of our behavior.  Be strong and courageous, and live like you mean it. 

Numbers 18-20: Tithing as a Priestly Pyramid Scheme and the Smoke Screen of Religious Rhetoric

In between all the stories about the Israelites complaining and getting punished for it, Numbers 18-20 describes how tithes were to be distributed and tells the story of the first passing of the high-priest torch.  On the surface, it looks like a sweet deal for the Levites, who get temple-related jobs.  They get to keep everyone else's tithes, the 10% of their wealth that the Israelites were obligated to offer to their god.  And 10% of that tithe went specifically to Aaron, the high priest.  Of course, the Levites were presumably doing work for this payment, and since doing tasks for the temple didn't have as direct a source of payment as raising livestock, this was a way of making working at the temple a reasonable career.  One might even say lucrative, since 10% of the community’s wealth was being concentrated in less than 3% of the population.

The chronology of establishing the priesthood is a bit odd.  After the Israelites leave Egypt, Moses counts everyone except the members of his own tribe, the Levites, presumably because they were going to guard the tabernacle.  When the Levites were finally counted, they were tallied differently than the rest of the Israelites.  All the other tribes were looked at as warriors, so only able-bodied adult males were counted.  Of the Levites, every male one month old and older was counted, and still they wound up being the smallest tribe at 22,000 official people.  This was roughly equal to the number of first-born males in the whole Israelite community, so back in Numbers 3 a justification was made to set apart the tribe of Levi as a priesthood.  One potential priest for every first-born male, at least at that moment in Israelite history.

So, at this point, the Levites did the temple-related work, and everyone else paid them to do it.  This is essentially what the tithe was.  It was a tax.  The Israelite government was a theocracy (much like Egypt), with the dictatorial Moses at its head and the remainder of his tribe handling the management of the tabernacle, which was the central feature in Israelite life.  What went on at the tabernacle affected life and death of thousands of people through supernatural means that the average Israelite couldn't hope to understand.  Moses' brother Aaron was the high priest over all the other Levites, so they levied a tax on the other tribes.  If an American doesn't pay taxes, the worst case scenario is that the offender could be imprisoned while the IRS takes the money to which it's entitled by force.  If an Israelite didn't pay the required tithe, a hole could open up in the earth and swallow them.  Or they could die from a mysterious plague.

Later on, it will be clear that the Levites were expected to have other sources of income.  There wasn’t really enough temple-related work to occupy the entirety of the tribe.  Levites are recorded as being doctors, teachers, judges, musicians, and law enforcement officers.  A part of the tithe also went to support people in the community who were no longer able to earn a living, essentially a form of social security.  So, although the Levites were entitled to a share in the community’s wealth, they did provide important services for the community.

Even though it's not necessarily a familiar way of setting up a society, it certainly makes sense.  The one thing that seems odd is how apologetic Moses is about the whole thing.  Instead of just saying, "I'm in charge, and this is how it's going to be," he sets up God as the source for all of these proclamations.  Maybe that's something he learned from the Egyptians.  Maybe he thought it would keep people from complaining about things.  But no matter how many plagues or fires killed off groups of dissatisfied Israelites, people kept complaining.  They complained about Moses, and they complained about God.  On the surface, they may have used language that suggested they were giving a tithe "to God," but they knew at some level that they were paying what amounted to a tax to the Levites.  Just as taxpayers feel entitled to complain about their government today, the Israelites felt entitled to complain about the way they were being governed, even if it meant being irreverent to the point of risking death.

At the beginning of Numbers 20, they complain again.  Miriam dies, and in the next sentence the Israelites complain that there isn’t any water.  It’s tempting to tie this back into the purity laws of the previous chapter regarding cleaning oneself with water after handling a dead body, but it doesn’t really seem like that was the chief complaint.  They needed water to drink just to stay alive.  In this famous story, God commands Moses and Aaron to go and command a rock to provide water.  Instead, Moses takes personal credit and strikes the rock with an angry admonition toward the Israelites.  His sister had just died, so one can understand his irritability in the face of more complaints.  Water flowed forth, and everyone was satisfied for the moment.

Everyone except God.  Moses and Aaron were admonished because they took credit for the water.  In the story, God told the two leaders that they would not enter the Promised Land as a punishment for not treating him as holy in front of the Israelites.  There are plenty of lessons that could be extracted from the 12 verses that comprise this story, but you can draw spiritual lessons from nearly any source if you are looking for them.  It’s likely that tales like this were initially told to create a justification for the names of the places involved.  This particular tale also creates a reason for why the leaders of the Israelites died before the community reached its goal.

Aaron dies just a short time after that scene at the rock, and the mantle of high priest is passed on to his son, Eleazar.  Since it was no secret that this time would eventually come, Numbers 19 is essentially a training ritual for Eleazar.  It’s a special sacrifice that involves all of the things that a high priest should be able to do confidently, and it’s specified that Eleazar will preside over the ceremony.  One chapter later, Eleazar is made high priest and Aaron dies.  The "Ordinance of the Red Heifer" was his final exam, even though the text doesn’t quite put it that way.

Just before Aaron dies, Moses sends word to the Edomites, asking for safe passage through their lands.  Not surprisingly, this request is denied.  The Edomites were the descendants of Esau, whom Jacob tricked out of his inheritance.  When Jacob ran away and came back fourteen years later, Esau attempted to rekindle their brotherly relationship, but Jacob was fearful and basically avoided his brother’s lands.  Whether the story is true or not, any Edomite who identified with his forefather Esau would understandably be suspicious of any descendant of Jacob asking for any favors.  So Aaron dies on the border of Edom, with armed Edomites prepared to defend their borders against an Israelite invasion.

Religious rhetoric provided a colorful context for early Israelite society, and it didn't prevent people from being involved citizens, vocal about their concerns and disappointments.  Some people today are more cowed than the Israelites were by the idea that God has commanded something.  It has perhaps become more dangerous than a physical plague.  Certain segments of our society hear a person claim to know what God wants and they accept it without question.  This is not a thoughtful or enlightened way to participate in one’s society.  When we take away the “infallible absolute authority” as intermediary, the people who ask us to think, spend, or vote a certain way are required to explain their platform much more clearly than a simple “God said so.”  It becomes much easier to judge ideas based on their merits and their potential benefits to society when the smoke screen of religion is taken away.  The cynic in me suggests that there are some leaders who prefer having the smoke screen, for whatever reason.

Perhaps it would have gone exactly the same for Moses if he had controlled the early Israelite society through some other means.  If he had said, “We’re going to collect a 10% tax from everyone, and that tax will be used to pay for doctors, teachers, and the officials that will settle disputes in our community,” would there have been a great public outcry against that?  Abraham knew about the Mesopotamian practice of collecting a tithe, so the concept was nothing revolutionary.  Even claiming that a god (i.e., a particular priesthood) was entitled to a portion of a community’s wealth was nothing new.  Maybe I’m crediting the Israelites with more sophistication that they actually possessed, but the real revolutionary idea would have been to say, “This is what will be best for our community, so this is what we will do.”  Then again, (if the biblical account is to be believed) Moses was never really comfortable with the idea of being responsible for so many people’s well-being.

Have we matured enough as a society to be honest about our ideas?  Are we able to set smoke screens and emotional rhetoric aside to consider the actual merits of our ideas?  Can we discern between what is the best for our society and what is simply a personal preference?  And if we have that discernment, do we also possess the integrity to put personal preferences aside for the greater good?  Whatever the answer, the way to strengthen our discernment and integrity is to expect it of ourselves and of one another.  There are ways to gently invite the religious and emotional rhetoric to be put aside for a moment, to reassure an individual that ideas can be considered without resorting to personal attacks.  We don’t always have the opportunity to have such frank conversations with our leaders today, but they also don’t have the power to make the earth swallow us whole.  As often as we do share ideas with one another, though, we have the opportunity to become more discerning and honest – to be better citizens of our society, and more effective participants in our own lives.

Numbers 16-17: The Endless Pursuit of Preserving Power and the Art of Interpreting Divinations

Moses didn't grow up in a democracy.  He also didn't grow up in expansive, politically unaffiliated pastureland.  Moses grew up in Egypt, where powerful families passed localized absolute political power down from one generation to the next.  His example of governing or leading people was rather one-sided, unless one counts the example of his father-in-law, about which we know almost nothing.  The nice thing about absolute rulership is that one never needs to learn conflict management or communication skills.  Everyone else is simply expected to fall in line behind your orders.  If they don't, bad things will happen to them.  We see the frustration that brings about time and time again in the story of Moses' leadership, not least in Numbers 16, which records two back-to-back challenges to Moses' authority over the Israelites with a combined death toll close to 15,000 people.

One could draw a few different messages from this.  Assuming that we accept the suggestion that God killed all those people because they challenged his chosen leader, we can interpolate a great many things about how believers should engage in the political spectrum.  It would appear that God is in favor of granting absolute political power to a single individual, and it would appear that challenging the person God places in charge is sinful to the point of being deadly.  We can assume that people who happen to be in the position of dictator were placed there because God wanted them to be, so revolution is an ungodly endeavor, even if the person in charge is doing a less than admirable job.

This actually fits with the biblical depiction of the "Pharaoh" character as well.  God never suggests that the Israelites should overthrow him, or effect regime change through an assassination attempt.  Pharaoh’s role as ruler of his little patch of Egypt was never contested or portrayed as unjust.  And it is with that example in mind that the governance of the Israelites emerges as an unassailable dictatorship.  As every gangster film ever made has taught us, it's difficult to hang on to that kind of power.  When the Bible tells us that 14,700 people died from a plague because they complained that Moses had just killed 250 people for complaining, God is the one who is clearly responsible for the deaths.  According to the story, Moses didn't really kill anyone.  But placing that sort of behavior on God has some other dangerous implications.

Why are some people so convinced that God is in favor of democracy?  He supposedly had the chance to tell Moses exactly how to do things, and he apparently didn't mention democracy once.  Even so, how can some Christians in the United States rail against the president and cry for impeachment when they know that God kills people for that sort of thing?  If a divine power appoints leaders that are not to be criticized, why are some believers so convinced that God wants them to be involved in politics at all?  And if God punishes people with death for complaining against the behavior of their leader, why do some Christians get so up in arms when a dictator abuses his power somewhere in the world?

There is something within us that recognizes that we are all connected as human beings.  We call it human rights, and we refer to human dignity and such, but whatever terminology we use, there is something within us that is offended by a politically powerful person hurting less politically powerful people.  We know that there is something wrong with genocide.  We know that there is something wrong with testing weapons on innocents.  We have started to become a bit jaded by this point, but a part of us knows that there is something wrong with using violence to solve our problems.  Even people who vehemently defend preemptive aggression know in some part of themselves that there's something wrong with that course of action.

We don't just intuitively know that there's something wrong with using violence to preserve or challenge power.  We also have piles of historical evidence to support that belief.  From the aforementioned gangster movies to gang violence in urban America to drug cartels south of the border to Middle Eastern warlords that have been at each other’s throats for millennia, violence begets violence.  This is not a new idea.  This is nothing original.  And yet, we are often quick to promote the easy and reactive solution to the world's problems.

It's interesting to note that the people who were challenging Moses' authority in Numbers 16 weren't out for blood.  They wanted to be given equal consideration, and they wanted leadership that would benefit the Israelites beyond just scraping up unidentifiable "dew flakes" from the desert generation after generation.  And when the first complainers got killed, the mob that rose up in their defense wasn't trying to knock Moses completely down off his pharonic pedestal.  They were just saying, "We don't approve of you causing those people's deaths."  I guess the example of divine violence in response to those complaints is what gives many believers today the impression that violence is a holy ideal.  It isn't.

People don't always want to do what they know is right, though.  Even when we recognize the endless and futile vendetta cycles that violence provokes, we still want to be violent.  Even when we realize that some complaints about our leadership have merit, we still want to defend ourselves rather than admit that we've made a mistake.  Sometimes we want permission to make decisions that go against the deepest truths that we know.  Sometimes we just want permission to be thoughtless – to make a choice and then not be held responsible for the consequences.  And so we perform little acts of divination.

For Moses and Aaron, it was a matter of whose incense would be lit or whose staff would blossom.  For us today, we may interpret divine approval from getting a particular piece of mail just after a significant phone conversation, turning on the radio just in time to hear something important, or running into someone at a neighborhood supermarket.  I know some Christians who literally believe that God will provide answers to their personal problems if they just let their Bible fall open randomly.  Hitting all green lights on your way across town does not mean that some supernatural overseer approves of your destination.  When the man in your television set looks out into your eyes and points, he's not literally speaking to you personally.  And if he is, it's a clever trick.

Whether someone is dealing out tarot cards, casting bones, reading tea leaves, or treating scripture like a fortune cookie, divinations work because of what we already know.  We already know what we believe is right in a given circumstance, and we already know what we actually want.  We use divinations of various kinds to give us permission not to think too hard about it when a conflict arises between what we believe and what we want in the moment.  When we actually take the time to consider what we believe and what we want, we stand a pretty good chance of learning something about ourselves.  We might reconsider our beliefs, or they might be refined a bit.  We might realize that what we want is superficial or petty compared to beliefs that are very important to us.  Either way, we grow a bit when we actually work out those conflicts instead of relying on some kind of divination to give us an easy answer.

These chapters of the book of Numbers reveal some prevalent tendencies we slip into very easily.  We want to save face.  When someone challenges us, our impulse is to defend ourselves.  And when we experience self-doubt or internal conflict, we often want easy third-party permission instead of in-depth self examination.  We know that these things don't ultimately serve us, but they are starting point behaviors from which we can grow.  Imagine a leader who could handle the criticism of 250 people without resorting to having the earth swallow them up.  Imagine a leader who could admit that he exercised poor judgment in a particular instance instead of letting thousands of people die to keep his position of power intact.  That would be an impressive leader.  And imagine what life would be like if more people took a moment or two to think about their actions instead of letting random meaningless symbols determine things on their behalf.  It wouldn't mean that people always made wise choices, but it would certainly encourage personal responsibility for those choices.

As with all change, it starts with you.
Keep growing.