Words of the Heart….

Our hearts speak the language of “poetry,” using poetic expressions of truth, since declarative words are never enough to convey the heart of the matter. When God created the heavens and the earth, he “sang” them into being – the words he used composed a song – and its melody resounds with the emotional weight of his grace and his glory. Therefore we can speak of the “poetry of creation” – its meaning, form, sound, rhythm – expressing the artistry of God as the Creator (Psalm 19:1-4). The various psalms of the Bible are also musical and lyric (i.e., to be accompanied with a lyre), because prayer, meditation, and worship are expressed in the hue and color of emotional feelings, or the language of the heart… These include expressions of praise, cries of lament, sighs for deliverance, and so on. In fact, poetic language is found throughout the Scriptures. Consider the various metaphors, similes, hyperboles, symbols, allusions, equivocations, parables, allegories, prophetic signs and visions – all formed from words of the heart.

The Hebrew prophets often used poetic expression in their messages: “Let judgment run down as the waters / and righteousness as a mighty stream!” (Amos 5:24). Moreover dirges (kinnot) and lamentations are expressed poetically in the Scriptures. For example, the Book of Lamentations is an acrostic poem chanted using a rhythmic formula of a long line followed by a shorter line to evoke feelings of sorrow and woe.

We sometimes want to talk about God “theologically,” using language of fact or “objectivity,” though it’s important to remember that God is a Person, a Subject, and the Bible often uses anthropomorphic language to help us connect with him. The sages said “Torah is written in the language of men.” The words of God are often emotional, passionate, and vibrate with meaning and feeling – words of the divine pathos for us. The message of the gospel, the “story” of God’s astounding love for us, is a message from his heart to ours… It is the greatest story ever told, full of mystery, suspense, romance, heroism, sacrificial love, the very depths of sorrow, the ecstasies of joy, and so on.

Friend, may your heart pulse and yearn for the beauty of the Lord; may you cry out for his presence in your life; may you find your utmost good and blessing in him. May you cry out with all of your heart to the LORD your beloved Redeemer: “Whom have I in heaven buy You? and there is nothing on earth I desire beside you” (Psalm 73:25).

 

Hebrew Lesson

 

 

 

Losing and Finding yourself…

Many of us deal inner conflicts, self-reproach, and meagerness of faith…  It is reported that on his deathbed Rev Zusya said, “I am not afraid that the Holy One will ask me, ‘Zusya, why were you not more like Moses?’ Rather, I fear the Holy One will say, ‘Zusya, why were you not more like Zusya?'” This Hasidic story is interesting because, on the one hand, how could Zusya be anyone other than he is? and on the other, why is Zusya afraid that he is not who he should be? Zusya’s parable reveals that there is an inner conflict in his soul. He senses that has not lived as he ought, that he has failed himself (and God), and that he is lost in the rift between the ideal and the real… His struggle, then, is with himself. Who he is and who he thinks he should be are at odds within his heart.

The question of who we are supposed to be haunts us, and consciousness of the failure to practice our ideals leads to a sense of guilt, anxiety, and shame. For those who believe in Yeshua the question is essential to the question of what it means to be an authentic disciple. How are we to live before God and be accountable for what we do? For instance, we read Yeshua’s message in the Sermon on the Mount and we eventually realize – if we are honest with ourselves – that it is not within our nature to be able to do as he teaches, and this leads us to a despair not unlike that which Zusya experienced. A divided house cannot stand….

Rev Zusya’s despair can be remedied only by overcoming the inner divide through a personal relationship with Yeshua, for salvation is not simply deliverance from the accusations of conscience (i.e., the verdict of the law) but constitutes the healing grace that delivers us from ourselves. Yeshua did not die on the cross to simply take away our sins, but to create within us indestructible new nature that it no longer enslaved to the power of sin. The message of the gospel is that your heart can, and ultimately will be, transformed by the miracle of God.

Salvation is not a matter of “religion” or of man’s attempt to justify himself by some kind of reformation of character. Yeshua is not the “second coming of Moses,” after all. Try as you might to live a “good life,” keep the commandments, and aspire to elevate yourself spiritually, you will eventually come to realize that it is impossible to change yourself. You will then be faced with a decision: either to deceive yourself about who you are, or to be honest and confess your wretched and hopeless condition. This is the “lawful use of the law,” that reveals the “ought-to-be” self so that the gap between the ideal and the real becomes unsurpassable, and we know ourselves as lost sinners who are in peril over ourselves…

In our natural estate we are “fallen,” shattered of heart, full of trouble “as the sparks fly upward.” As Simone de Beavoir once wrote: “In the very condition of man there enters the possibility of not fulfilling who he is” (Ethics of Ambiguity). The breach between who we are and what we ought to be creates a sense of alienation from ourselves, a “shadow self” that we deny, suppress, or try to control. In a moment of rare lucidity, the “natural man” cries out to God: “What do you want from me?” This is the moment when truth has its opportunity, when the heart is stirred to confess its need for deliverance and to accept God’s love, despite the brokenness and incoherence of life.

When we escape from the “hard yoke” of our laws, and our vain attempts at self-justification, we do not encounter yet another set of laws, or yet another heavy yoke, but rather we take hold of the love of God, a personal love, and we engage in relationship with God as the central (and unifying) reality of our lives. Deliverance from ourselves is not found in religious (or “spiritual”) recipes of any kind but in our connection with the truth of who God really is, trusting in his love and healing for all that we are, have been, and ever shall be, amen.

“Salvation is of the LORD,” which means that God does the work of righteousness within you. When you say “I can’t,” you are either looking at yourself or at God. If you are looking at yourself, “I can’t” is better understood as “I won’t,” and the problem then is a lack of faith. On the other hand, if you are looking to God, “I can’t” is followed by “but You can, O Lord” and faith trusts that God will complete the good work that he has begun in you.

It has been said that God sends each soul into the world with a special message to deliver, a revelation that only he or she can disclose… No one else can bring your message to this world – only you can do this. And since God is entirely unique, you are called to be who you were created to be, and not someone else. As George MacDonald once said, “I would rather be what God chose to make me than the most glorious creature that I could think of; for to have been thought about, born in God’s thought, and then made by God, is the dearest, grandest and most precious thing in all thinking.” That’s the good news of the gospel, friends: God not only saves us from ourselves, he remakes us to be true bearers of his image and likeness. He works all things together for his glory and our good. Amen, let it be so, O Lord.

 

By the grace of God I am what I am.”
(xάριτι δὲ θεοῦ εἰμι ὅ εἰμι)

Hebrew Lesson

 

Healing the Divided Self…

Shalom friends. Soren Kierkegaard understood the “self” – that is, what is most essential to what you really are – to be a “dialectical relationship” you have with your own inner life, namely, with your thoughts, your feelings, and so on. He famously said: “The self is a relation which relates to itself, or that in the relation which is its relating to itself. The self is not the relation but the relation’s relating to itself” (Sickness unto Death). This might seem like a nonsense statement, but what Kierkegaard meant was that you are always having a conversation with yourself, and there – in that dialog or “dialectic” – you are always deciding what matters most to you, what you really want, what you choose to believe, and so on. As strange as it may sound, “you” are always in relationship with yourself – both as speaker and hearer, and you are also the one who reasons and makes judgments about what to do in the midst of the ongoing conversation… Now what is most significant about this inner discourse, this “court of decision,” is both the reasons for or against something, as well as the moral competence and authority of the judge. How could the “divided self” be unified, after all, if it made decisions that were not based on reality and truth?

Of course much of the time we are not conscious of what we are thinking, but we act from impulse acquired through unreflective habit and the passive acquiescence of worldly “assumptions” made about the meaning of things. This is the mode of the “mass mind” that has gone asleep and no longer bothers to ask searching questions about what is real… However, since whatever is thought is indeed based on assumptions, it is important to discern what those assumptions are and to question their veracity.

For example, you might “find yourself” feeling upset over the political affairs of the world, anxious about the future, and so on. “The world is falling apart,” you might say, or “everything is coming undone!” It is wise, in this case, to discover the assumptions being employed that give reasons for your fear. What “argument” is being made within yourself that leads you to conclude that fear (or outrage or despair) is the appropriate response? What “axioms” or premises are at work in your thinking? Perhaps you assume that “God takes care of those who take care of themselves” and therefore you must “take control,” you must fight against evil, and that you are responsible (somehow) for the state of the world, and so on.

If you take time to honestly examine your reasons for believing that your fear (or anger, or despair) is justified, you will eventually encounter foundational assumptions that are paradoxical and contradictory, such as notions that you are (both) responsible for everything yet nothing is within your control, or that you are (both) “free” yet determined by necessity, that God is (both) distant and yet very near, and so on. And this is where things get interesting and vitally important: in the midst of these tensions, in the midst of the “dialog” you have with such ultimate questions, in the midst of such ambiguity, you (both) must make a practical decision and yet you are unable to do so. Though you “hear” the arguments pro and con within your heart, you are simply unqualified to make a decision about what you should do: you are “double minded, unstable in all your ways.”

It is not hopeless, however, because you were never meant to be the judge and moral authority of your life, since that role belongs to God alone who is the Sovereign LORD over all reality, and the only one who truly defines what is “good” and what is “evil.” The original sin, after all, was the usurpation of God’s authority over our lives. When Adam ate from the Tree of the knowledge of good *and* evil, he sat himself upon the throne of the heart as the god of his own life. The dreadful fall…

Healing comes through teshuvah, or returning to God as the true Authority of our lives. In the midst of the inner dialog of the self, your ego or “false judge” must abdicate the throne before the LORD, sincerely submitting to God’s wisdom and truth. Doing so presents another “Voice” to the inner conversation of your self, namely the Voice of God’s presence, power, and authority as the true Judge and Lord of our lives. This is the deeper meaning of “Shema,” that is, to listen to God, to submit to his terms of reality, and to engage this within the deepest recesses of the self. Doing so yields “shalom” because you rest in God’s wisdom and care for your life, instead of anxiously debating about what to do in the midst of the ambiguity and confusion of this world. Let’s face it, you make for a poor god…

When you are tempted to despair, friend, when you seek to lose yourself in distractions of rage or fear, turn to God and ground yourself in what is real. Pray. Ask for divine wisdom; ask for truth in the midst of your inner conflict and uncertainty (Heb. 4:16). Then listen. Open your heart and ready yourself to hear the “still small voice” that will guide you. Doing so will purify your heart and transform your mind. “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to You, O LORD, my Strength and my Redeemer” (Psalm 19:14).

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Hebrew Lesson
Psalm 19:14 Hebrew reading and commentary:

 

The Hidden Kingdom…

When the disciples asked Yeshua how they should pray, he began with the words: “Our Heavenly Father, sacred is your name; may your kingdom come, may your will be done…” (Matt. 6:9-10).  You might overlook it, but these words imply that God’s kingdom is not naturally within us, and indeed, as Yeshua taught elsewhere, what is “naturally” within the heart is just the opposite: “For from within, out of the heart of a person, come evil reasonings (οἱ διαλογισμοὶ οἱ κακοι), adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lewdness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within and defile a person” (Mark 7:21-23). So when Yeshua told the Pharisees that the kingdom of God is “within you,” he meant that the kingdom is a matter of a heart that has been reborn by the Spirit – not that people are naturally endowed with a divine “spark” (ניצוץ) within them. No, the default condition of the unregenerated heart is one of selfish autonomy that refuses to submit to God’s right to reign. Its creed is: “I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul” (Henley). The natural man is a rebel against God; a usurper of the prerogatives of God, and therefore he “eats from the apple” to define “good” and “evil” in his own self-serving terms….

The “default” condition of the soul is one of “spiritual death,” an appearance of life that is actually “cut off” or alienated from the truth of God, and is therefore devoid of eternal life. As Yeshua told Nicodemus, “unless a person is born again (i.e., γεννηθῇ ἄνωθεν, “born from above”), they cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). The spiritual seed of the kingdom must be planted within the heart by the Spirit of God. “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not marvel that I said to you, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit” (John 3:6-8).

The miracle of new life comes through a supernatural conception, “from above” (ἄνωθεν), which means that we are entirely powerless in our natural state to impart life to ourselves. And that, of course, is the essential problem of human nature — that despite our natural desire to be “godlike,” we are monstrous in our estate, and therefore what we most need is “deliverance from ourselves,” that is, salvation from the horrors of selfish existence.

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Faith and Knowledge…

All thinking is a form of believing, and therefore there is no truth apart from faith. The scientist who carefully observes phenomena, for instance, is a person of faith who believes that an external world exists, that it is knowable by the human mind, that the future “resembles” the past (i.e., the uniformity of nature), that causal relationships exist, that the scientific method is able to reliably use logical inference to reach tentative conclusions, and so on. Indeed, the entire scientific worldview relies on metaphysical assumptions no less than any other religious view.On a practical and existential level, then, we note that everyone trusts and makes decisions based on metaphysical presuppositions that they (sub)consciously assume to be trustworthy. Regarding such assumptions, (i.e., axioms of ultimate meaning and “consequential weight”), we are constrained to give account, though we cannot settle the truth of such assumptions using the science or a naturalistic worldview without begging questions…

Some examples of matters of ultimate meaning include: “Why is there something rather than nothing?” “Does God exist?” “Is the universe a finite closed-system of cause and effect or the handiwork of a personal Creator, or neither?” “Is there a purpose to life, and if so, what is it?” “What is the nature of reality? Is everything categorically made up of “matter” (however you define it) or is there a non-material, spiritual dimension to reality as well? On the other hand, could everything be made up of spirit (or mind) and the idea that matter matter “exists” is just a fictive product of the mind?” “Is the universe governed by impersonal forces or does God personally supervise all that happens?” “How do we know things, and indeed, how can we properly define knowledge?” “Do we acquire knowledge exclusively through our senses or may it be attained by reasoning, intuition, or mystical revelation as well?” And so on…

 

 

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Blessing of Inner Peace…

It is remarkable that the traditional morning blessing recited at synagogues around the world begins with words attributed to Balaam, the enigmatic and self-styled prophet: Mah Tovu: “How lovely are your tents, O Jacob; your dwelling places, O Israel!” (Num. 24:5). The sages say that the word “tent” (אהֶל) refers to the inner life – how we really feel inside – whereas the word “dwelling” (מִשְׁכָּן) refers to the outer life – our place or circumstances. Together, the inner and the outer mark the quality of our lives, but the inner is the starting point, since we must first learn to live in peace with ourselves. This is vital: we must first tolerate our shortcomings and practice compassion toward our frail humanity… This is sometimes called shalom ba’bayit, “peace in the home” (of the self). Such inner peace is the greatest of blessings, since without it we will cling to pain, fear, and anger, thereby making us unable to find our place at the table in God’s kingdom of love.

 

Hebrew Lesson:

 

 

Small in our Eyes…

Torah portion Shelach-Lekha is a “heavy one” since it reports the “Sin of the Spies” (i.e., chet ha’meraglim: חטא המרגלים) and the subsequent failure of the people to trust that the Lord would take care for them. The people’s lack of bittachon (trust) in God is the most serious sin recorded in all the Torah, even more serious than the sin of the Golden Calf (i.e., chet ha’egel: חטא העגל). This is confirmed by the testimony of the New Testament, which presents the fate of the Exodus generation as the dire warning of apostasy for those who claim to follow the Messiah (see Heb. 3:7-4:2).

Trust, then, is the central issue, though in order to trust God, you must believe that you are valuable to Him and that He genuinely desires relationship with you… God redeemed you so you could know and love Him (Isa. 43:1). In this connection it is important to notice that the spies said, “we were in our eyes like grasshoppers” (Num. 13:33). They felt small because they had forgotten the reason for their redemption – they had forgotten how much they meant to God! Their lack of self-respect made them feel unworthy of the inheritance. The sin of the spies was not simply that they doubted they could overcome the “giants in the land,” but rather that they were worthy people in God’s eyes… Sadly the spies view of themselves was more real to them than God’s view of them, and that is why they added, “and so we were (like grasshoppers) in their eyes.” From a spiritual point of view, this was profoundly tragic…

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Trust in Difficult Days…

We are living in times of difficulty leading up to the coming of our Messiah, Yeshua, and therefore we all need courage and grace to persevere. When Andrew Murray was bedridden and sick, he advised another sufferer using these words: “In time of trouble say: “First, He brought me here. It is by His will I am in this straight place; in that I will rest. Next, He will keep me here in His love, and give me grace to behave as His child. Then, He will make the trial a blessing, teaching me the lessons He intends me to learn, and working in me the grace He means to bestow. Last, In His good time He can bring me out again – how and when He knows. [Therefore] let me say I am here, (1) by God’s appointment; (2) in his keeping; (3) under His training; and (4) for His time.”

Deep within I discover that I can bless the Lord, losing sight of myself and my fears as I affirm my deepest purpose and heritage: “My (boundary) lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; indeed, my inheritance is beautiful to me” (Psalm 16:6). Though I might have felt bereft and even tempted to curse my estate, by God’s grace I am made able to give thanks and to bless, even in the midst of my troubles and pain: “I will bless the LORD who has counseled me; my conscience disciplines me in the night” (Psalm 16:7). Therefore שִׁוִּיתִי יְהוָה לְנֶגְדִּי תָמִיד – “I have set the Lord always before me” – especially in desperate moments when I can barely endure – since I have learned that “because he is at my right hand, I shall not come undone” (Psalm 16:8). God gives me strength to renew my hope: therefore “my heart is made glad, my whole being rejoices, and my body shall rest in trust” (Psalm 16:9).

 

Hebrew Lesson

 

 

When I feel hopeless, I seek hope; when in pain, I seek strength; when in despair over besetting sins, I yearn again for a place I can call home… In the midst of these things, my heart wonders whether my suffering has come because I deserve it or somehow “need” it. I reason that it may make sense that God extends special care for his favored ones, for those who are righteous and who seem free from the vexation of despair, but does it make sense for me, one who is undone, broken, alone, and unworthy? My heart protests that this is not the whole story of my life, and that more to be said. I need God and I know that he cares for me. I recall his promises to heal, to bind up the broken of heart, and extend his comfort for our afflictions. Might pain herald the advent of something new to come? Might there be a deeper beauty and surpassing grace going “through the wound” instead of objecting to it?

Receiving what you give…

From our Torah portion this week (i.e., Naso) we read: “Each one shall keep his holy donations: whatever anyone gives to the priest shall be his [לוֹ יִהְיֶה]” (Num. 5:10). This is the spiritual principle that what we give away is what we possess, and as we measure, so will be measured back to us again (Luke 6:38). The sages comment that being selfish, acquisitive, and power-hungry are drives common among the animals, but what makes a man unique is his ability to sacrifice himself for others. Giving tzedakah, then, is an inherently spiritual act, and ultimately only that which we give to others in love will be kept as holy. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matt. 6:21).

As you believe, so you will receive (Matt. 21:22). This is the “like for like” principle of faith. Forgive us as we forgive; judge us as we judge; love us as we love; make us righteous as we take hold of righteousness, give us courage as we believe, and so on. As Isaiah said to Ahaz: “If you will not be firm in faith, you will not be firm at all” (Isa. 7:9). Your “amen” echoes the “amen” of heaven: “Let it be done for you according to your faith” (Matt. 9:29).

Instead of refusing to judge others (in the name of tolerance), or judging them in terms of their worth, we are commanded judge people favorably by using a “good eye” (עַיִן טוֹבָה). As it is written in the Torah, “in righteousness judge your neighbor (בְּצֶדֶק תִּשְׁפּט עֲמִיתֶךָ)” (Lev. 19:15). Notice that the word translated “righteousness” is tzedek (צֶדֶק), a word that includes the heart motive of “charity” and love. We are commanded to give tzedakah (צְדָקָה, “charity”) not just because it is “right,” but it is right because it is based on God’s love and care for others. Something is righteous, in other words, because it expresses the truth about God’s love. We could read this commandment as “in love judge your neighbor.” Our judgments should be based on compassion, empathy, and care for others – never as a verdict about someone’s worth and status before God. We see with a redemptive eye, and that means seeing the potential of others and their inherent worth as God’s children.

Lord, help me receive what you give and give what I have received, for love’s sake. Amen.

 

Hebrew Lesson:

 

 

Why Shavuot Matters…

The holiday of Shavuot (חג השבועות) is called “Pentecost” in Christian tradition. The Greek word Pentecost (πεντηκοστή) means “the holiday of fifty days” that refers to the 50th day after the crucifixion of Yeshua when the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples and when Peter first proclaimed the truth of salvation in Jerusalem (Acts 2:1-43). The Torah teaches that Shavuot is a major biblical holiday (it is one of the three “required festivals” of the LORD, see Exod. 23:14-17; Deut. 16:16) and therefore it behooves us to understand its significance as the climax of Passover itself — ‘the endpoint’ of the redemptive experience. Indeed, just as the blood of the lambs smeared on the door posts led directly to Sinai 50 days later, so the crucifixion of Yeshua led directly to the descent of the Holy Spirit to empower His followers to serve God under the new covenant of Zion.

 

 

There are two basic priestly rituals commanded for Shavuot: 1) the waving (i.e., tenufah: תנופה) of the two loaves of (new) wheat bread (called shtei ha’lechem: שתי הלחם), and 2) the offering of peace sacrifices (i.e., korban shelamim: קורבן שלמים). Both of these aspects of the priestly service were fulfilled in the greater sacrifice of Yeshua made on our behalf. Moreover, just as worshipers at the Temple would present bikkurim (בכורים) – their choicest first fruits – and attest to God’s faithfulness before the altar (Deut. 26:3), so we are called to walk in the fruit of the Spirit (פרי רוח הקודש) and to proclaim the message of God’s faithful love for us.

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