The Gates of Hell

** This teaching was highly influenced by my time spent with Ray VanderLaan and his teaching which can be seen in the "That the World May Know" DVD series.

If Jesus was worried about the disciples not getting out of the boat at Susita, or truly learning the lessons of the last few chapters of Matthew, Jesus puts the disciples in a real pressure cooker in the next story.

Jesus marches the disciples into the region of Caesarea Philippi, and to properly understand the message surrounding the famous passage we often call “Peter’s Great Confession,” we need to do a basic history lesson regarding this place referred to as Caesarea Philippi.

In the ancient world of the Old Testament, this location would have served as a major place of worship for the Assyrian, Canaanite, and Phonecian god of Baal. While the nuances change throughout the ancient world, Baal was seen, almost without exception, as the god of agricultural fertility. Thunder was his voice, lightning was his weapon, and rain was his “gift” to the earth. Water was the common image of Baal. Therefore, wherever the ancient world had a spring or a water source that came from the earth, it was immediately associated with Baal worship.

At this particular location, a major water source flowed out of the rock face; in the ancient world, seven springs were reported to have flowed from this location. It serves as one of three major sources which form the headwaters of the Jordan River. The religious myth went something like this (it is not my desire to be crude, but to explain very clearly the context of this story):

In the winter, everything begins to die. This is because Baal has left this earth to descend into the underworld and pursue his mistress, Ashtoreth (or Asherah, the goddess of sexual fertility). Baal pursues her and she continually teases him to the point of ejaculation. The rainy season is actually Baal’s sperm watering the earth and bringing life to the world around us. In the spring, Baal grows weary of this game and emerges from the underworld and the agriculture springs back to life.

This myth will eventually evolve from Baal worship into Pan worship (the preferred god of the Greeks) and the underworld being Hades (the Greek version of hell). The name of the location will become Panias — or sometimes translated in the Roman world as Banias.

Ruins of the temple to Pan at the "rock" known to the
ancient world as the 'Gates of Hell'

When Herod dies and wills his kingdom to his three sons, this region falls under the rule of Philip in the north. Philip, in an effort to gain the admiration of Caesar, follows in his father’s footsteps and rebuilds the city of Banias, dedicating it to Caesar and attaching his name, calling it Caesarea of Philip (or Caesarea Philippi). Most historians believe it was an effort to build a commercial enterprise out of the annual festival held in honor of the god Pan, called Pandaemonium. This festival included a parade featuring a six-foot erect penis made of gold, which was paraded in the midst of the women who would caress the statue and work themselves into a sexual frenzy. Meanwhile, the men would celebrate the story of Pan by engaging in beastial relations with goats.

The Roman world called this location “the Gates of Hell.”

This is the region of Ceasarea Philippi. It makes the Decapolis look like a children’s playground.

Jesus brings his disciples here, and the following conversation takes place:

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

Jesus is incredibly pleased with Peter’s answer. In fact, in reference to an earlier conversation we’ve had, Jesus claims Peter has received sod (more on this in the next post). He also includes another detail in his exclamation:

And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

Now, if I’m reading this passage correctly in context, Jesus is following that brilliant rabbinic principle of never teaching about something you cannot point at. We have for centuries argued about what the rock is that Jesus will build his church on. The Catholics have argued that the rock is Peter himself; I think there is some truth to that — Peter will be the leader of the Christian movement. Protestants have argued that the rock is the truth of Peter’s confession; obviously, I think there is plenty of truth to that, as well.

But both of these answers ignores the cultural setting of Caesarea Philippi. Jesus is saying, “Listen guys! I’m building my church and I’m bringing the Kingdom of God RIGHT HERE! I’m going to bring shalom to the most incredible chaos. And the Gates of Hell itself will not be able to prevail against what I’m doing in the world!”

Now, this raises a hundred different observations, but one of the most impactful for me as I’ve studied in this region is that Jesus’s movement in the world is an offensive strategy, not a defensive one. I have grown up with a faith that worked hard to play it safe. This message is telling me Jesus is running INTO the chaos with shalom. He’s looking for the places where it’s needed most and he is employing it at the points of crisis.

He trusts in the work of God that much.

He trusts the story.

And he’s wanting to hand us the keys.

Eyes that Cannot See

Now, let’s put the past posts into context and try to catch Matthew’s narrative arc as he tells this story. Matthew is not just simply telling a collection of random and disjointed stories, but a larger narrative with a larger agenda at play. So join me as we remember where we’ve been and try to piece together the bigger picture.

Let’s pick up with Jesus’s public entrance at the Sermon on the Mount. 

After the message (in chapters 5–7), Jesus has some encounters with people who land “outside the lines” and is amazed by their faith. 

In order to make his point, it appears Jesus travels to the Decapolis and heals the demoniac — the most unclean of the unclean. 

Jesus comes back to the Triangle and teaches the people of God about this Kingdom he is pronouncing. 

Jesus then attempts to get away to some solitude, but is followed by the multitudes. 

Jesus seizes the teaching opportunity and feeds the 5000 in order to teach the disciples about his mission. 

(It could be seen that Peter walking on the water is an affirmation that the disciples have what it take to do what Jesus is telling them to do.) 

Jesus finally gets away to Phonecia and finds some quiet. 

While there, Jesus realizes that his mission is even bigger than he originally thought. 

Jesus immediately puts this into a teaching lesson by traveling back to the Decapolis to feed the 4000. 

Finally, Jesus tells the disciples to beware the teaching of the religious leadership that will tell them this is unacceptable.

This “mission” of Jesus fits perfectly with Matthew’s larger agenda of the mumzer.

Add to this the story Mark has in his narrative and this teaching lesson gets even stronger. Mark interjects a story Matthew leaves out; immediately after Jesus’s warning about the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees, Mark tells the following story:

And they came to Bethsaida. And some people brought to him a blind man and begged him to touch him. And he took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the village, and when he had spit on his eyes and laid his hands on him, he asked him, “Do you see anything?” And he looked up and said, “I see people, but they look like trees, walking.” Then Jesus laid his hands on his eyes again; and he opened his eyes, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. And he sent him to his home, saying, “Do not even enter the village.”

Uh oh. Apparently Jesus didn’t get enough rest on his mini-sabbatical, because he’s having a hard time completing his miracles.

Or is he?

In typical rabbinic fashion, Jesus has turned this scenario into a teaching lesson. If you remember, when Jesus tells the disciples to beware the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees, the Text tells us they are confused and begin discussing the food supply (or lack thereof). Jesus’s response seems to be, “You’ve got to be kidding me! After all of that — after the 5000 and the woman with her daughter and the 4000 in the Decapolis — you think I’m talking about food?!” Listen to the words from Mark:

“Why are you discussing the fact that you have no bread? Do you not yet perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not hear? And do you not remember? When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?” They said to him, “Twelve.” “And the seven for the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?” And they said to him, “Seven.” And he said to them, “Do you not yet understand?”

Jesus asks them if they have eyes, but cannot see.

The rabbi promptly demands they pull the boat over, stomps into Bethsaida, grabs a blind man and pulls him outside of town. He “heals” him in such a way that he has eyes, but cannot see. I imagine Jesus putting his hands on his hips and looking around at all the disciples, who begin to hang their heads. He then finishes the healing of the man and sends him on his way.

This is a perfect example of Jesus’s miracles being a teaching tool and not about the content of the miracle. This blind man is nothing more than a prop for Jesus’s teaching!

But Jesus’s point still stands out to his disciples. “I am here to reach the whole world. This Kingdom business is about everybody; all the people you thought were out are more in then you realize! Watch out for the religious; they aren’t going to like this message much!”

This lesson is going to mean so much to Jesus that he’s about to lead his disciples on a hike that will make his trip to the Decapolis look like a ride on a carousel.

From Five to Four

It may have been a little bit of a stretch to suggest to you that the feeding of the five thousand was actually a rabbinic story about numeric values and larger allegorical teachings.

And I may have asked too much of you in the last post to imagine Jesus had to learn about his calling.

But now I ask you to consider the next story in light of what Matthew is doing in his gospel. If you will remember, we suggested the following in the earlier post about the feeding of the five thousand:

Jesus takes the Law (five loaves [Books of Moses] and two fish [tablets]; this makes the complete law [5 + 2 = 7]) and he gives it to his disciples. His disciples feed the people of God (the Jewish people; five [Books of Moses] times ten [complete community] times ten times ten). When the people take and eat the Law that they received from the disciples as they received it from Jesus there is more than enough for all of God’s people (twelve [tribes of Israel] baskets of leftovers).

Jesus’s larger teaching point seems to be: “I am the second Moses. (Remember Jesus putting the people in groups of fifty? Think about the story of Jethro. What comes next? Moses gives them the Law.) When you let me interpret the Law and completely trust me with it, there is more than enough to go around for all of you.”

If we were to take those same principles and apply them to the next story, we might find something incredible about Jesus’s rabbinic methods. (NOTE: If you need to refresh your mind on what the numbers represent, please go back and read that post.)

First, consider the context. Jesus has now returned for the second and final time (as far as we’re told) to the region of the Decapolis. This time, he feeds a crowd of 4000 (compared to 5000 previously). If the number five was a Jewish number (“books of Moses”) and the number 1000 was meant to convey complete community, then we suggested that 5000 men would communicate a Jewish community in the Jewish region of the triangle.

But now we are in the Decapolis. We don’t have a community of “books of Moses” people; we have a community of pagan Gentiles. Hence the number is four (“corners of the earth” = the Gentile nations). Not only this, but we aren’t told how many fish there are, because apparently the Holy Spirit couldn’t remember this time (that’s a joke). Instead, we are told there are seven loaves. Jesus distributes the food to his disciples, who give it to the people. This time there are seven baskets of leftovers (compared to twelve).

I find it interesting that in the story which takes place in the Jewish setting, the feeding is full of Jewish numbers: fives, twos, and twelves. In the story which takes place in the Decapolis, the numbers change to the Gentile numbers: four and seven.

Jesus is tricky.

His point appears to be — after his startling revelation with the woman in Syrophonecia — “Not only am I enough for the Jewish people, I am enough for the Gentile nations, as well.”

Consider the story that follows this in the narrative of Matthew. The Pharisees and Sadducees come asking for a sign and Jesus tells them that the only sign he will give them is the sign of Jonah (the prophet sent to the Gentiles). While Matthew’s other reference (in chapter 12) to the sign of Jonah will add the note about Jesus being in the heart of the earth for three days and nights, that addition is mysteriously absent in this reference and all the other references in the other gospels. The “sign of Jonah” is about the Gentiles believing and repenting.

Jesus’s response to the Pharisees and Sadducees is, “You want a sign? I’ll give you a sign. The Gentiles are believing this stuff.”

Jesus then warns the disciples to beware the “yeast” (or teachings) of the Pharisees and the Sadducees. Why? Because they teach you not to interact with these mumzers. Even to mention the name of the Decapolis will make you unclean for a week. They would never be caught dead in a place like the Decapolis.

And Jesus tells them to be careful of that kind of teaching, because you’ll miss out on what God’s doing to bring shalom into chaos.

Jesus Resorts to Name-Calling

Jesus finally manages to do what he’s been trying to do for some time in the story — pull away and get some alone time for a little rest and solitude. In order to find it, he has to travel to the far north, into the land of Syrophonecia. This is the land of the Gentiles and no longer the land of his Jewish brethren. But at least it provides a chance to catch some space to breathe.

But his breather doesn’t last long.

It takes merely two verses to explain that Jesus encounters a Gentile woman. (Matthew goes to the trouble of using the terms of biblical history, calling her a Canaanite and referring to the region as “Tyre and Sidon”; Mark does not do this, using instead the more modern, Roman terms in calling her a Syrophonecian.) She begins begging Jesus to heal her daughter.

Jesus ignores her.

She keeps begging. The disciples ask him to do something about the situation.

Jesus tells her that it’s not his job to help Gentiles.

Ouch.

She continues to beg him.

He reiterates his response, this time in slightly stronger language: “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

Wait, did Jesus just call her a dog?

It would be good to point out something we mentioned in a previous post: It was cultural slang in the first-century Jewish world to refer to the Gentiles as dogs or pigs. Seen in this light, the reader can understand that Jesus is simply reiterating his previous point: I am here to work with the Jewish people; I’m trying to catch a breather here.

But this explanation still doesn’t satisfy for the rest of this passage. The woman responds with the following words:

“Yes, Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

At this, Jesus is astounded. “Woman, you have great faith!” And he grants her request.

What just took place there? What turned Jesus’s opinion on its head in a single sentence?

Before I answer that, I would like you to entertain a possibility in your head. I’d like you to consider the idea that Jesus LEARNS things, that he can be unaware of a certain truth. I would never take away from Jesus’s divinity or divine nature for one moment; I believe Jesus is 100% divine and affirm historic Christian orthodoxy. But, I also believe that while he is God, Philippians 2 teaches us that he set the God-nature aside and came to function as a man.

Hebrews tells us that Jesus learned obedience. In the gospel of John, Jesus says, “Everything I have learned from my father, I have made known to you.”

I would like to suggest that Jesus learned things in his human nature.

I believe this is important here, because one day I was studying this passage over in Israel with Ray Vander Laan and he suggested it is in this story that Jesus realizes he is here for the Gentiles, too. And I think Ray nails it.

So, back to my question: What just turned Jesus’s opinion on its head in a single sentence? 

Well, as we’ve seen before, I believe the answer is in the Text. One of the things we never notice as western readers is geography. Even after I pointed out where this story took place, I’m certain that very, very few of you realized another story took place in this exact same location. It was the story of Elijah staying with the widow at Zarephath (1 Kings 17:7–24). 

Now, if we recall the story, we will notice this is the story of Elijah and a Phonecian woman who will end up having a son who needs healing. The entire time Elijah stays with the woman, God miraculously continues to provide biscuits for the household. The biscuits He provides are simply a starvation ration of biscuits. Not only this, but there are two biblical characters who will dominate the conversation around the Hebrew word for “master” (which shares a root with the term used later for “rabbi”).

So the widow in Elijah’s story literally ends up eating crumbs from the master’s table.

The woman in the story of Jesus knows her Text. And it blows him away.

You may find this to be a hard sell, but give me a little time to show you what comes next in the story.

She Giggled (part two)

Continued from the last post...

O YOU OF LITTLE FAITH

There is a story in the gospels we all know quite well. It’s the story of Peter walking on the water. It’s an amazing story that fascinates us to no end. Our western minds are blown away as we consider the possibility of a man pursuing Jesus out onto the waves of the Sea of Galilee, performing such a miraculous feat to mirror that of his rabbi. It’s almost too much for us to believe. And then, just as we’re beginning to become skeptical, Peter meets all of the worldly expectations and succumbs to the failure we’ve all been wishing he would defeat as our representative. He wavers, he fails, and he sinks.

I’ve seen the look in too many people’s eyes as they read that story. It’s this look of hopeful disbelief, followed by a “that’s what I thought would happen” expression on their face (even if they’ve read the story a thousand times, I will see this expression or hear this tone). We then listen as Jesus scolds Peter’s faith — while we all readily put ourselves into Peter’s shoes and share his scolding — and we nod.

But there is so much more taking place in this story. Much has been taught about this story already, so I don’t want to be accused of plagiarizing anything. Ray Vander Laan had an excellent treatment of this subject in That the World May Know, a series put out by Focus on the Family (DVD 6, “In the Dust of the Rabbi,” Zondervan). Rob Bell treated the subject very well in Velvet Elvis (Zondervan, 2005). And another great and concise source of reference for this story can be found in the NOOMA video entitled Dust (flannel.org), among many others. I could not recommend these resources enough (or any others from these teachers, for that matter).

The first-century concept of discipleship was such that the most “successful” thing you could do in the Jewish culture, the thing they valued the most, was the study of Torah. One of the pinnacle experiences of the Jewish school system was being given the opportunity to become a talmid — or as we say it, a disciple.

If you thought you had what it takes as a student of the Torah, you would apply for discipleship under a rabbi. One of the greatest honors a boy could receive would be the acceptance of a rabbi to be his talmid. If a rabbi chose you as a disciple, he was in essence saying to you, “I believe you have what it takes to become just like me.” It was a great honor. So, the path of a disciple was a path of memorizing the rabbi’s teachings, taking on the rabbi’s set of interpretations, and — most importantly — becoming just like the rabbi.

This meant you spent all day, every day, trying to mimic the thoughts, actions, and teachings of your teacher. Some Jewish scholars say they have seen a rabbi proceed into a restroom and in his wake are ten or twelve young disciples.

You want to be just like your rabbi.

If your rabbi does it — you do it.

And you know that you can do it — because if you could not have done it, the rabbi would never have called you. The rabbi’s call is his affirmation in your ability and potential.

Peter finds himself in a boat that night with the other disciples and they end up encountering Jesus, who happens to be walking on the water. If Jesus is walking on the water, what does Peter want to do? He wants to be just like his rabbi.

“Lord, if it’s really you, call me out to you on the water.”

“Come.”

And Peter does. He walks on the water. It’s an incredible story. Peter is a true disciple.

And then Peter sinks. But why does Peter sink? The answer for many of us is that Peter loses faith; he sees the wind and the waves and he loses faith. This is correct, but as Bell asks: whom does he lose faith in? Jesus?

Jesus is not sinking. Jesus is doing just fine.

Does Peter lose faith in Jesus’s ability to help him walk on water?

Or, does Peter lose faith in himself?

Jesus rescues Peter, pulls him into the boat, and then asks, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” Is this actually a rabbinical scolding of Peter’s failure to accomplish his task? Or is this question of Jesus actually driving at his belief in Peter?

“Peter, if you didn’t have what it takes to walk on water, I never would have called you out. You had everything you needed to do this! I believe in you, Peter! You can do whatever I call you to do. I will never ask you to do something you cannot do.”

Listen to what Bell says in Velvet Elvis:

So at the end of his time with his disciples, Jesus has some final words for them. He tells them to go to the ends of the earth and make more disciples. And then he leaves. He promises to send his Spirit to guide them and give them power, but Jesus himself leaves the future of the movement in their hands. And he doesn’t stick around to make sure they don’t screw it up. He’s gone. He trusts that they can actually do it. 

God has an incredibly high view of people. God believes that people are capable of amazing things.

I have been told that I need to believe in Jesus. Which is a good thing. But what I am learning is that Jesus believes in me.

I have been told that I need to have faith in God. Which is a good thing. But what I am learning is that God has faith in me. 

The rabbi thinks we can be like him.

TO HAVE THE ABILITY TO GIGGLE

I often watch my children and wonder when it was that I lost faith in myself.

Now, I’m not talking about a narcissistic faith that seems to elevate my standing in God’s created order and lacks humility. I’m certainly not trying to promote some humanistic worldview that seems to assert that the answer to our ills somehow lies within us. I truly and earnestly believe the hope for all of this world’s brokenness lies in the power of the resurrected Christ and the reality of Jesus.

But I’m talking about the faith in myself that recognizes I’m made in the image of God — the kind of faith that might actually be willing to believe there must be something worth loving and worth saving if God was willing to save it through the story of the cross.

I wonder, as I watch my children, how it was that my innocence was somehow connected with my confidence. (Boy, there’s another chapter or two waiting to be written, eh?)

Jesus tells me that if I were to watch children for a little while, it would probably do me some good — that if I cannot change and become like little children, the Kingdom will be out of my reach.

One of the things that I’m noticing about children is they have incredible faith in themselves. They know Dad is there and they know Mom is there and they know they are loved and they just want to play and smile and laugh and tumble.

It seems like later on in life, we begin to question all of those things.

Is Dad really there for me? Am I really worth loving? Can I really do this?

And we try to do the things we know in our hearts we were created to do. We step out of the boat and we begin to walk, but we know the wind and the waves are out there somewhere, just waiting to sabotage our one fleeting moment of weak courage. We try and we sink.

And we’re not surprised, really, are we?

We knew it would happen just like this. There’s no way we could ever walk on water. So we grab for our life preserver and we climb back into the boat and we hold our gaze on the floor and we take the scolding we knew we had coming. O me of little faith. O me the big doubter. It’s just another failed attempt to live out what God intends for my life. When will I ever learn? I should just get used to this and stay in the boat next time; it will save me the humiliation and the pain and the failure. It’s much safer and nicer here in the boat.

Yeah. Next time, I won’t be so silly.

I picture Jesus grabbing me by the chin and jerking my head up, waiting for my gaze to meet his. And with a divine sparkle in his eye, he looks into my soul — the soul he knows intimately because he personally knit it together — and says, “You can do this.”

I go back in my mind and remember my daughter on that slope.

Twenty times. Thirty times.

Ten minutes later, we have finally traversed the twelve feet that leads to the top of the slope. And she laughs and she giggles and she prances and waddles along the now-level ground and she is thrilled to be at the top and to run and play with ease.

Of course, she was happy to be at the bottom of the slope, too.

I’ve come to a new realization: I want to learn how to giggle.

Now, I would never suggest we trivialize sin for even a moment. I’m not saying that failure is somehow okay and God doesn’t care about our success. I am not one of the Jesus followers who seems to whip God’s grace around like it’s a “Get Out of Jail Free” card from the Monopoly game of real life. In fact, I’ve noticed it’s the very fact that I take my sin so seriously that I end up being incapacitated.

But there’s something here I’m supposed to learn about my daughter.

There’s something about that slope in the park that’s bringing me closer to the Kingdom of Heaven.

I’m tired of being immobilized by my failures. I’m tired of being the guy who knows there’s no way he can pull this off. I’m tired of having a laundry list of excuses. I’m tired of letting this stinking slope get the better of me. I’m tired of wondering whether or not my Father is there for me. I’m tired of trying to decide if I’m really worth being loved. I’m tired of worrying about what the world wants from me and expects from me and thinks of me and says about me.

And I can’t just snap my fingers and make the slope go away. My problems and my hiccups and my sins are things I’m going to have to deal with. I’m going to have to get over the problems that seem to keep me down. The Spirit of God is trying to complete the work within me that He started a long time ago. I have some falling to do, and I have plenty of getting up to do. And I have a salvation that needs to be “worked out with fear and trembling” and it’s going to take some effort.

But I wonder if God would rather sit in a boat and say, “You of little faith…”

Or if He’d rather sit on a park bench and watch His children learn how to walk. I wonder if He could actually sit back and enjoy Himself if we could learn how to fall and get up and fall and get up and keep believing and keep getting back up and keep refusing to give up because we’re going to make it up this slope and we’re just so glad to be with Dad and to be loved and to know that we’re okay.

I know that I love to watch my daughter learn new things and not be stopped by her failures.

I love to watch her giggle.

I want to learn how to giggle.

She Giggled (part one)

The next story we would need to deal with would be the story of Peter walking on water. It has become one of the more moving stories in the gospels for me. A few years ago, I wrote a personal book for my daughter as I learned lessons from her that taught me much about my own walk with God. One of those chapters dealt with the story of Peter walking on water.

So, I thought I would break from my traditional blog genre and share that chapter that I have written in the next two posts. I pray it would be meaningful to you and that you would be gentle with it, as it is difficult to share publicly something that was written so personally. But I digress...

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SHE GIGGLED

“Remember, you did not choose me; I chose you.”

–Jesus of Nazareth

I continue to be fascinated by Jesus’s exhortation to have faith like a child. There is something about the nature of a child’s understanding of his or her world that Jesus finds exemplary. It’s hard for me, if I’m honest, to actually consider a child being an example of faith. At best, I have thought of this lesson as cute — but certainly not packed with precious depth.

And yet, I guess I’ve interacted with enough of Jesus’s teachings to know better. As a Jewish rabbi teaching his disciples valuable and important lessons, I know that if a rabbi such as Jesus takes the time to set up a scenario and then uses it as a picture of spiritual formation, the listeners had better take note. Visible lessons from the rabbi are never intended to be empty — or easy, for that matter.

In short, I need to stop treating that lesson as trivial or something that belongs on the flannel graph.

Part of my experience as a father, as I continue to make valuable observations, has been to notice how much profound depth there is to this very lesson. As the story goes in one gospel, Jesus gathers the children around him. How long does this gathering and discussion take place? We are not told. I have always assumed that Jesus takes about twenty seconds to gather some kids up, looks at his disciples and other listeners and says, “Unless you have faith like a little child, you cannot enter the kingdom.” Then, I have always imagined him ushering the children away, so that he could proceed with his much more important, significant, and profound rabbinical teachings for the day.

But after watching children at great length, I have begun to question my chronological assumptions. Perhaps this wasn’t merely a two-minute lesson that day; perhaps it didn’t resemble the silly “children’s sermon” the pastor gives before the “real” message. Perhaps this teaching was much more profound than I realized. Let me just suggest another possible scenario.

Imagine Jesus and the disciples arose that morning, went about their typical duties, gathered in the synagogue for morning readings, and left for the day’s adventures. I picture maybe Matthew asking the question, “Rabbi, who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?”

I picture Jesus pausing, silently gazing off into the nearby village and, without a word, marching off in the direction of the houses. Jesus arrives on the outskirts of the village and sees a whole host of children, ten or fifteen of them, playing in a courtyard. He leads his disciples into the courtyard with the honored parents watching and welcoming him and his disciples, gracious to have such esteemed guests.

The disciples, of course, are watching, paying attention to Jesus’s every move as he scoops up a child and begins to playfully interact with the children. As a disciple, of course, your main duty is to mimic every move of your rabbi and so you begin to engage the children in horseplay, as well. I imagine Jesus and his disciples spending the day with the children — telling stories, playing games, maybe even taking naps.

As the day begins to come to a close, the family insists you stay for dinner. As you begin to recline in the shade of a nearby tree, Jesus speaks some of the first and only words he’s spoken to you all day.

“Watch the children.”

You watch and you recline and you eat. As the sun begins to set in the sky, Jesus calls one of the children over by name. He takes him and pulls him close under his arm and he looks around at all of his disciples, making eye contact with all of them.

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself as this little child will be the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven.”

I have discovered there are great lessons to be learned from watching children.

THE STRENGTH OF A LITTLE GIRL

Not too long ago, Mom was at work and it was a nice day outside for a blustery winter in Idaho. It was just dad and daughter, so I took her to a local park. In a rare moment for this control-freak of a father, I decided I just wanted to let my daughter be. I wasn’t going to assume that toys or swings were what her entertainment of choice would be. I would watch her and keep her out of trouble, but I had this desire to see what she would do if she was left to be the captain of her own ship.

She had just learned to walk.

The whole experience of learning to walk was an incredible thing to behold as a parent. There are certain milestones you wait for in a newborn’s life — the first time she rolls over, the first crawl, the first tooth — but there is nothing that compares to the ability of walking.

There’s the sheer panic the parent feels when their kid isn’t walking as soon as their friends’ kid is. You begin to question whether or not your child is going to be okay just a few weeks after “all the other children are walking.” It’s an interesting thing, really. You don’t obsess over teeth or weight like you do for walking.

And I can remember the joy of seeing my child learn to crawl or mutter her first words. But nothing compares to the pure thrill of those first five or six steps. It’s an incredible high — a rush of adrenaline and cheering with the look of bliss and joy covering your child’s face. It’s a look that says they are having the ride of their life on their own two legs for the first time. It’s a look that says she is so happy to be the joy of her parents. It’s a great look.

But anyway, back to the park. She had just learned how to walk and walking was, as they say, the cat’s meow. She was on top of the world just walking around in the grass. I was here only to watch, enjoy, and keep her from disappearing into a sprinkler hole.

At one point in our afternoon she had walked off to the side of the park and down a very slight slope. I say “slight” from the perspective of someone who stands at 6’4’’, not as a one-year-old. I was actually quite impressed she had not fallen face-first on the way down the slope. Now, however, she had turned around and decided she was ready to make her ascent back up the hill.

What I witnessed next was simple.

But what I witnessed next I will never forget as long as I live.

This upward slope was a brand new experience for her; she had never encountered the physics of walking uphill. She attempted to take a step and immediately fell backward. The green grass was nice and long from a whole fall and winter season of no lawn mowers. She was unhurt. There was no need for Dad to step in. He could continue to observe.

She giggled.

She got back up (which is not an easy process for a one-year-old just learning to walk in the grass). She attempted to take a step…

She fell.

She got up. She attempted to take a step.

She fell.

She got up. She fell.

She giggled.

I expected to hear a cry or a whimper, but one never came. I expected to hear her whine and stretch out her hand to Dad for assistance. But she was just fine.

She giggled.

And she got up, she tried again, and she fell.

Without exaggerating, I can honestly say this process repeated itself a good twenty times before anything changed. Each and every time, she got up, she stepped, she fell. Every now and again, she would giggle.

At this point, she had begun to make some adjustments based on her newfound data in this one-year-old physics laboratory of sorts. She shifted her weight differently. She took her time. She placed her feet differently in relation to her body and the slope. She placed her feet, took a step, and took another step. She had remained upright.

She screamed a happy little girly scream.

She took another step — and fell.

She giggled.

** This post will be continued in the next post this week.

5 Loaves, 2 Fish, and a Big Lesson

One of the next stories we run across in Matthew is the famous story of the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus moves from these long, cerebral conversations that surround parables and hidden teachings and, like a typical rabbi, changes pace and keeps the scenery fresh. His teaching now becomes more theatrical and “in action” than a spoken parable; he now puts his teaching into a real life picture.

But don’t be mistaken, the depth of the parable is still present in the depth of this teaching. This action by Jesus is far wider than simply a tug at his heart strings because of a bunch of hungry people. Which brings us to a point: Jesus is a typical rabbi in that everything he does is done with an incredible level of rabbinical intentionality; every move he makes he makes on purpose. He does not heal an invalid flippantly — he buries a teaching in the encounter. He does not rebuke the wind and the waves without tying it to Text.

And he doesn’t feed thousands of people just because they are hungry. No, there is much more going on here. Consider this portion of the story from the gospel of John:

When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?” He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do.

Jesus already knew what he wanted to do and he brings his students into the situation for their next lesson. Of course, we are familiar with the story. He tells the disciples to feed the crowd and they balk at the request, reporting that they have a measly five loaves and two fish from a boy’s lunch. Jesus responds to their counter with a counter of his own. He tells the people to sit down, blesses God for the provision and begins to distribute the food to his disciples, who in turn distribute it to the people. Now, the reader is not told how the food grows or multiplies or expands, but we are told that by the time this gigantic meal is over, there are twelve baskets of leftovers.

Now, what stands out to a Jewish reader is all the numbers present in this story. Again, every Jewish teaching from a rabbi is going to be loaded with depth; the student is looking for clues and insight into the rabbi’s deeper lesson. As we’ve discussed before, numbers to an easterner are far more than just quantitative values. Numbers are a picture — they have qualitative meaning to the student. A story loaded with numbers is going to grab the attention of a Jewish reader. Five loaves, two fish, five thousand people, groups of fifty, twelve baskets of leftovers. These all have to mean something for the larger teaching.

There are numbers that mean certain things in the world of the Jew. Let me give you a non-comprehensive list of examples that will help us with this story. NOTE: This list is not comprehensive and many of these “qualitative meanings” change according to their setting and the point in Jewish history under consideration.

One: God

Two: Tablets of the Law of Moses

Three: Community (patriarchs or priest/Levites/Israelites)

Four: Four Corners of the Earth (Gentiles)

Five: Books of Moses

Six: Number of Sinful Man

Seven: Completeness (either of God’s goodness [creation] or pagan evil [seven nations of Canaan])

Ten: 3 + 7 — Complete Community

Twelve: Tribes of Israel

Now, let’s take a look at those numbers in the story again. This is a story full of “Jewish” numbers. (five, two, one thousand [10 x 10 x 10], and twelve). If we apply this understanding to the story, look at what happens to the teaching of Jesus.

Jesus takes the Law (five loaves [Books of Moses] and two fish [tablets]; this makes the complete law [5 + 2 = 7]) and he gives it to his disciples. His disciples feed the people of God (the Jewish people; five [Books of Moses] times ten [complete community] times ten times ten). When the people take and eat the Law that they received from the disciples as they received it from Jesus there is more than enough for all of God’s people (twelve [tribes of Israel] baskets of leftovers).

Jesus’s larger teaching point seems to be: “I am the second Moses (remember Jesus putting the people in groups of fifty? Think about the story of Jethro. What comes next? Moses gives them the Law). When you let me interpret the Law and completely trust me with it, there is more than enough to go around for all of you.”

Now, you don’t have to buy all of this number business if you just aren’t ready to go there yet, but I have a feeling in a few chapters that you will. And please do not turn this into a Bible Code. This is not a cryptic code “hidden” in the pages of Scripture; this is an objective discussion about rabbinic teaching points within an eastern worldview. And please understand how easy it is to try and force this “rule” on every number you find in the Bible. It doesn’t always work like this.

But again, we run into the fact that Jesus is doing things under the surface we never realized. It’s an eye-opener to see some of the things that have been “hidden” in plain sight just because we lack the cultural understanding of the Scriptures.