Outside In and Inside Out

Wherever Jesus went during his ministry in Galilee, people gathered. Wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they brought the sick and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed (see Mark 6:56). People wanted to get close to him because his presence was healing.

Others gathered, because Jesus’ presence was confusing, even disturbing. The Pharisees and some of the scribes from Jerusalem closely watched him, kept an eye on his followers and what they did, and what they saw didn’t mesh with their high expectations for proper piety:

• Tax collectors and sinners sat at table with him and his disciples.
• The disciples of John the Baptist and the disciples of the Pharisees fasted regularly, but his didn’t.
• On the sabbath, they plucked heads of grain while walking through the fields, and their master even cured a man with a withered hand in the synagogue on that holy day.

It was all a bit too much for the Pharisees. The Pharisees were a reform movement within Judaism with a passion for sanctifying every dimension of daily life. When God said to Moses, “You shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation” (Exodua 19:6), they heard a call to holy living modelled on priestly standards. God wanted Israel to be a priestly kingdom, and for the Pharisees that meant that the laws written for the priesthood and the Temple applied to all people and every aspect of daily home life.

To them every meal was a sacred ritual, every action an occasion for blessing the Lord. They opened their eyes in the morning praising God for the gift of light; they went about their daily work praising God for the gifts of their skills and strength; they opened a scroll of scripture blessing God for the gift of Torah; they broke bread giving thanks to God for the gifts of the earth and of human labor; they tucked in their sons and daughters at night praising God for the gift of children – a beautiful practice.

Yet Pharisees also stayed away from all things and all people that might have rendered them unclean. They did not eat with known sinners. They avoided interacting with strangers. And around the sick, they were careful not to touch or be touched.

Wherever Jesus went, people gathered.

Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them (Mark 7:1-2).

Their concern was not personal hygiene, but piety and ritual purity. Ritual washing would remove any accidental impurity they might have acquired unknowingly while interacting with all kinds of people. A simple act like pouring a little water over one’s hands before a meal, recommended by wise teachers of the past, helped maintain the boundary between holiness and the common world.

Some of Jesus’ disciples did not observe that tradition, others apparently did; so the clash wasn’t just between Jesus and the Pharisees, but perhaps also between groups of Jesus’ own followers. In Mark’s account, however, perhaps for the sake of clarity, the lines are clearly drawn. He even adds an editorial comment saying, “all the Jews do not eat unless they wash their hands,” which is incorrect historically, but makes for great drama.

“Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders?” the Pharisees and the scribes from Jerusalem ask. Jesus calls them hypocrites who honor God outwardly, but whose hearts are far from God. He accuses them of teaching human precepts as doctrines while abandoning the commandment of God and holding on to human tradition.

If anyone asked you and me whether we will live by God’s word and commandment or by human tradition, we would obviously choose God’s word. But then it wouldn’t take us long to realize that God’s word is available to us only through human mediation, be it written or spoken or embodied. The word and command of God is not a voice from heaven or a book that fell from the sky, but a voice that speaks to us in the voice of Moses and the prophets, in the life of Jesus, in his death and resurrection, in the teachings of the apostles and the stories of the gospels. Before we can understand and obey, we must interpret the written and spoken words – and our interpretations will always differ.

The Pharisees heard the commandment of God, “You shall be holy to me; for I the Lord am holy, and I have separated you from the other peoples to be mine” (Leviticus 20:26). Who can blame them for wanting to maintain that separation in every dimension of daily life? Who can blame them for striving for holiness in all things? Who can blame them for sometimes losing sight of God’s mercy in their persistent attention on the line between the sacred and the profane and on not allowing it to get blurry?

In the conflict of interpretations, of course we identify our own traditions with the word of God and denigrate the viewpoints of our opponents as merely human tradition. Things will only get better when we learn to listen together to the many streams of our tradition. Things will only get better when we have men and women who teach us not only to understand and obey the word of God in our own tradition, but also to look at our own certainties from the perspective of those who question them.

The Pharisees gathered around Jesus when he ate with sinners; they saw that he crossed a line; what they didn’t see was that he crossed it to bring reconciliation.

The Pharisees gathered around Jesus when he cured a man on the sabbath; they saw that he crossed a line; what they didn’t see was that he crossed it to include the man in the peace and promise of sabbath by healing him.

The Pharisees gathered around Jesus when five-thousand had been fed with bread and fish and the baskets were overflowing – and all they could see was that some disciples hadn’t washed their hands.

Their passion was deep, their knowledge broad, but they could only see what their tradition allowed them to see. Like them, we will only see what our tradition allows us to see – unless we at least consider that sometimes the living word of God will say and do something unheard of.

“Listen to me,” says Jesus, “all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come.”

I want to scribble in the margins, “Not so fast. There is plenty outside a person that by going in can defile. We are not born with our prejudices. We are not immune to the subtle messages that tell us that we are unworthy of love.” Like I said, if I had an inch or two of white margins in my Bible, I would have started listing the many ways in which words, ideas, attitudes, and reactions can defile a person’s innate sacredness and even snuff the light of hope in their heart.

But Jesus is speaking in the context of a tense debate over boundaries and how to maintain holiness, and he flips the Pharisees’ view on its head.

Their focus on ritual purity leads to a desire for islands of holiness in the threatening sea of unholy chaos that is the world. In their view, the danger comes from outside, from others, from those whose only place in the sacred order of things is that of outsiders.

And Jesus says, “Evil things come from within. Evil intentions come from the human heart.” He draws my attention away from me as the possible victim of exposure to unholy and polluting influences. And he draws my attention back to me as the possible source of the very things that I’m afraid might touch me.

As long as I expect the threat to holy living only to come from outside, I’m more likely to develop patterns of avoidance, critical observation, and accusation of others. But as soon as I begin to look honestly at myself, I will learn patterns of self-knowledge, repentance, and humility. And the better I know my own heart, the deeper my compassion for others will be.

The God we serve is holy and calls us to be holy. The God we serve is in our midst not to erect new boundaries but to gather us into relationships and draw us into the holiness of Christ. And in his presence we realize that, yes, sin is strong, but forgiveness prevails. The world is not what it could and should be, but Christ is risen from the dead and a new world has begun. Our calling in that new world is to find windows in the walls, to reach across barriers of language and culture, and to push aside barricades of prejudice and fear.

Jesus was not afraid to touch the sick, the poor, the crazed, he wasn’t afraid to brush against those fallen from the public’s grace, he touched and healed and held and fed, and wherever he went, the people gathered. Because of him we know that God’s holiness is not the static quality of a distant deity, but a movement to the world, a loving fearlessness that leaps over walls to get to every single one of us, until all are one.

You know better than I where you can participate in that movement. You know better than I who might be waiting for a phone call from you. You know better than I where you can reach across the fences that still divide our community into insiders and outsiders.

• In the law of Moses, God commands God’s people, “Be holy, for I am holy” (Leviticus 11:45).
• In the gospel of Luke, Jesus commands, “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36).
• In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus commands, “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect”(Matthew 5:48).

Once we begin to see that God’s holiness is God’s merciful movement to the world, all three speak of the same reality: God transforms our hearts that our lives may be sanctified by our daily participation in God’s mission, finding windows in the walls, reaching across barriers, and taking down barricades.

God Moments

There’s a brand-new feature on vinestreet.ning.com; it’s a microblog called God Moments.

It works very much like a community bulletin board. Members write brief paragraphs to share those unexpected moments in the course of a day when God becomes more real than anything or everything else around. They write about beautiful encounters that inspired them, or situations that shocked them into noticing the previously ignored. God Moments is about all kinds of daily encounters with the Divine.

Vine Street members and friends are familiar with a beautiful night ritual to lift up a day of work, play, and fellowship: one person asks, “Where did you see God today?”, and some or all members of the group respond by sharing their stories.

The microblog God Moments is very similar. The one thing that’s different is that the focus isn’t so much on seeing, but on being found. The opening question is, “How did God find you today?”

The God moments members share will appear at vinestreet.ning.com, Vine Street’s social network for members, as well as at Vine Street’s new website (will go live in early September). There, they will give online visitors an opportunity to see faces and hear voices that introduce them to the people of Vine Street (and not just to the staff and/or webmaster).

Give Me Jesus (Flesh and Blood)

One day, tired out by his journey, Jesus was sitting by a well around noon. When a woman came to draw water, he asked her for a drink. She thought that was strange, since he was a Jew and she was a Samaritan, and Jews didn’t share things in common with Samaritans.

He said to her, “If you knew who it is that asked you for a drink, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

The woman pointed out that the well was deep and that he didn’t have a bucket. “Where do you get that living water?”

And he said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”

What else could she have said in reply but, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty”? -- John 4:5-15

We drink to replenish our bodies with water, lest we faint and shrivel up like raisins and die. We drink, and we get thirsty again. We eat, and we get hungry again. The fullness doesn’t last.

One day, Jesus was sitting by the lakeshore. When he looked up and saw the large crowd gathered around him, he gave thanks for a little boy’s lunch, broke the loaves and distributed them to all. They ate as much as they wanted, all five-thousand of them, and the left-over pieces of bread filled twelve baskets.

No wonder they came back the next day, looking for him, and he said to them, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life. The bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

What else could they have said in reply but, “Sir, give us this bread always”? --John 6:1-34

We eat in order to grow and to fuel our bodies for work and play, lest we faint and die. We eat, and we get hungry again. We drink, and we get thirsty again. Hunger and thirst are familiar rhythms of our life like waking and sleeping, work and rest, going out and coming in, breathing in and breathing out. The fullness doesn’t last.


When Martin Luther wrote his Small Catechism, he wanted to give children and their parents a resource to study the basics of the faith. In the chapter on the Lord’s Prayer, reflecting on the line, Give us this day our daily bread, he asks, "What, then, is meant by daily bread?”

And the answer follows,

Daily bread includes everything that we need for our bodily welfare, such as food and drink, clothing and shoes, house and home, land and cattle, money and goods, a godly spouse, godly children, godly workers, godly and faithful leaders, good government, good weather, peace and order, health, a good name, good friends, faithful neighbors, and the like.

Our prayer for bread is indeed our prayer for everything that we need for our bodily welfare. We say bread, because we don’t know a more beautiful word for the dailiness of our needs, the fragile nature of our lives, and our dependence on God, the earth, and one another.

Jesus offers us bread that stills our hunger not just for a while, but for good. He offers us water that quenches our thirst not just for a while, but for good. Some of you hear this, and you can’t help but think about one of those late-night infomercials where a salesman praises the benefits of this or that product that will change your life not just for a while, but for good: the pill that will make you both smart and sexy; the crème that will take twenty years of wrinkles off your face; the tonic that will give you your hair back and bring about world peace.

We’re on our guard because we think that somebody’s always trying to sell us something. Jesus isn’t selling anything.

Living water and living bread – this is no two-for-one with a free crystal cross thrown in for good measure, a $69 value for only $9.95 plus shipping and handling. No, Jesus isn’t selling anything. The world sells, but Jesus gives.

The merchants and the marketeers know every dimension of our hunger and our thirst, in ever more sophisticated consumer profiles and with offers tailored to our credit ratings, but the fulfillment never lasts. We drink, and we get thirsty again, and we drink more. We eat, and we get hungry again, and we eat more. We labor for that which does not satisfy, and spend our money for that which is not bread (Isaiah 55:2). And when the bubble bursts, we act surprised.

Jesus isn’t selling anything, he gives – living water, living bread. He gives what only God can give – life, and he gives it abundantly.

When the crowd came to him, he said to them, “You are looking for me, not because you know who I am, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.” In the presence of Jesus, bread was miraculously abundant. He gave them bread to eat, because he never taught people with empty stomachs that man and woman don’t live by bread alone. He gave them bread to eat until even the hungriest among the twelve-year olds said, ‘I’m kinda full’ – and he waited until the next day to teach them that fullness of life is not the same as a full stomach.

What do you eat when the desire behind your hunger is a gnawing hunger for life itself? What do you drink when the desire beneath your thirst is a craving for fullness that will last? We eat our daily bread knowing that we cannot live without it – and sometimes sensing that we cannot live by it alone.

To know and live life in fullness, we need the Word of God, and we need that Word in the flesh – visible, tangible, vulnerable, audible, and edible. We need the bread of life. We need the bread that comes down from heaven for the life of the world. We need the living bread: whoever eats of it will live forever. Fullness that will last.

Jesus points us away from the bakery and the vineyard, from the fields and the stores and the malls and the banks and the credit card bills and yes, from all labor and every broken promise, and he points to himself: I am the bread of life. I give what the world cannot give. I give you what no one on earth can grow or make or sell or buy. I myself am the food that gives life, not the loaves miraculously multiplied.

And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.

Suddenly he’s done talking about bread and water, and now he talks about flesh and blood. We can handle talk of flesh and blood; we sometimes speak of our children as our flesh and blood. Jesus is done talking about bread and water, but he continues to talk about eating and drinking:

Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.

We’re not sure what to make of the associations this sets off in our imagination – surely, he doesn’t mean…?

Eating, drinking, and breathing refer to the most basic level of our being, the most fundamental necessities of food, water, and air. Jesus invites us, urges us to relate to him, and through him to God, at that most basic level of our need: Eat me. Drink me. Breathe me. Sleep in my arms. I want you to know me with your intellect and will, but also with your skin and bones. I want you to know me completely, the Word of God in flesh and blood. I want to be your first thought at dawn and your last thought before you go to sleep. And I want to be your daily bread, the light in your eyes, and the fire in your belly. Let me be your life, for I am the life of the world.

The fullness you seek is not more of what you have or what you work for; fullness is what I give – and I give myself. Eat me. Drink me. Know me completely, the Word of God in flesh and blood.

And what do you say in response to this offer of life-giving, life-restoring, life-fulfilling relationship? What can you say?

Give me Jesus; this one is all I need.
When I wake up in the morning – give me Jesus.
When I close my eyes at the end of the day – give me Jesus.
When I am alone – give me Jesus.
When my heart aches and I have no more tears left – give me Jesus.
When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh – give me Jesus.
When I listen to the news and and I can feel my soul drain through the bottom of my feet – give me Jesus.
When my courage shrinks in the freezing grip of fear – give me Jesus.
When I no longer know what a human being looks like for all the wolves in my life – give me Jesus.
When the face of God is nothing to me but a faded photograph from my childhood – give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus; this one is all I need. Good as bread. One loaf for the life of the world. The Word of God in flesh and blood.

Audio of this post

Vine Street Worship Forum I

mission explorers

We are in the planning stages of a new project. With Tallu being in Nicaragua for a year, working in several community development programs (thanks to Church World Service and Week of Compassion), we want to explore possibilities of an ongoing relationship between Vine Street and Tallu's partners in Nicaragua.

After Christmas, we will send a group of approximately seven women and men (youth and adult) to meet some of the people Tallu has been working with, to listen, look, and learn.

I can't tell you how excited I am about this project and its promise.

Ponyo