For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! —Romans 5:10, NIV
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The Lord appeared to us in the past, saying:“ I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness. —Jeremiah 31:3, NIV I am about to die. But God will surely come to your aid and take you up out of this land to the land he promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. And Joseph made the Israelites swear an oath and said, “God will surely come to your aid, and then you must carry my bones up from this place.”—Genesis 50:24 & 25, NIV But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.' —Luke 18: 13, NIV The Pharisee rose from his chair and placed himself on the center pulpit. It was his Sabbath, his turn to speak. But before he would enlighten his willing congregation, he would utter a very peculiar prayer. The man was loved by everybody, even if his standards for holiness were crushingly high. So he would never invite any blind or crippled worshiper to his place of honor so they can appreciate the service better; but everybody understood that everything had to be perfect for Yahweh. And women could only be placed outside or in a separate room away from her husbands, but everybody understood since their ungodly figures would distract his —oh, he meant, the men's gazes away from Yahweh. Yes— his actions made sense in the eyes of the Lord, as he was to maintain the Glory close to the people's hearts.
He started: "Thank You, for I am not like the other people around me: liars, beggars, thieves, scoundrels, fornicators, or even tax collectors. I fast twice a week —especially during those horrible market days—, I pray three times a day with the window open so the nation can see an example of Your love, I tithe everything I have and I carefully calculate it so I never fall broke, and I teach my people how to be decent and holy human beings... unlike that tax collector sitting in the farthest pew, looking at the floor as he ponders Your judgment upon him." This prayer moved the church. They wept. They sang. They took his words as a badge of honor. But then came the tax collector, the thief, the liar, the scoundrel, the traitor. He was beaten by a zealot because he taxed too much oil and grain from his family's precious crops. Some widow spat at him for repossessing her home due to her late husband's lack of payments. In his command, he was the most efficient tax collector the Empire has ever seen...at the cost of his family's respect and his nation's dignity. But he was human, yes —he was completely human, and he still had a bit of humanity left. He still cries for what he does. He hated it at first. But then he liked it... he liked it too much. If only someone like God would help him through this mess! "Father", said the tax collector while he beat his breast, "I know You must hate me. I know You may want to kill me. Everybody hates me. And they are right! It may be too late for them to forgive me or to bring them back everything I pried from their hands. But please, forgive me! Have mercy on ME!" And as he left the temple, he smiled once again, as he never did in a long time. If I have found favor in your eyes, put your hand under my thigh and promise that you will show me kindness and faithfulness. Do not bury me in Egypt, but when I rest with my fathers, carry me out of Egypt and bury me where they are buried. —Genesis 47:29 & 30, NIV (emphasis mine) At least there is hope for a tree: If it is cut down, it will sprout again, and its new shoots will not fail. Its roots may grow old in the ground and its stump die in the soil, yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth shoots like a plant. —Job 14:7-9, NIV There were no true Jews living in Jerusalem at the time. For those who were lucky to die, what ran to their shallow graves was their own decadence. For those unlucky enough to run to be forced to say under their masters' tutelage, they were either forced to marry and work and live their lives in the heart of Babylon. Their deepest songs of praise were fodder for the drunken whips. Their simple vestments attracted scorn and shame to themselves. Were they too poor to follow their heart? Were they too unworthy to return to their homeland?
Not that everyone was poor, though. Some were well-off and actually held important positions of power in the empire. Some were scientists. Some were advisers. Even some were lodged as concubines in the king's own harem! They had fruitful vines and shallow suns, enough to become kings and queens back in Judah. But for a moment, they forgot about Ephraim and Manasseh; about the parting seas and rocky waters, about the sun of battle and the quest for justice. For some, life was is they never left at all. Their kids knew Hebrew and Greek and Persian. They could make their little tabernacles and wave their own sacrifices on the holy days. They were still circumcised, although some wanted their foreskins back in order to mingle with the locals. Stories about Jerusalem were a far and distant fantasy as Gilgamesh and Troy. Being who they were was a heritage, but it was time to change. That is, until Cyrus allowed them to return. For those who survived captivity, this was a dream come true. For others who never wanted to leave their comfort, returning was never in their plans! But for those who have lived among the pagans, their lives needed to be expunged. As they marched to Jerusalem, the one-barren ground began to flourish again. The plows were sharpened, and the livestock began to regain its strength. What became of their Temple, their pride and glory, was reduced to rubble. They had to rebuild it as soon as they can. And what was left of the tree stump that awaited for them? Well, a small flower started to bloom in its heart... Now Joseph gave these instructions to the steward of his house: “Fill the men’s sacks with as much food as they can carry, and put each man’s silver in the mouth of his sack. Then put my cup, the silver one, in the mouth of the youngest one’s sack, along with the silver for his grain. —Genesis 44:1 & 2, NIV Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. -Habakkuk 3:17 & 18, NIV Son of man, with one blow I am about to take away from you the delight of your eyes. Yet do not lament or weep or shed any tears. Groan quietly; do not mourn for the dead. Keep your turban fastened and your sandals on your feet; do not cover your mustache and beard or eat the customary food of mourners. -Ezekiel 24: 15b-17, NIV |
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