We all (even amid good intentions) have tendency to act hypocritical in life. Maybe on occasion flash our own Pharisee card from time to time. In my life, I have done that more times than I would like to admit.
And honestly who wants to be compared to those guys Jesus so often had to forcefully address throughout his ministry? But deep down, each of us is more like those guys than we'd care to admit.
The Pharisees are mentioned in sermons and classrooms, and even are a source of jokes. The truth of the matter though is that Pharisees still exist today.
The following things are ways I have personally struggled with legalism and being a Pharisee in my own life. While I am less blind and more aware now, I still have a long way to go in the grace and mercy department.
1. Believing showing up for worship every Sunday makes you right with God.
I used to think just "showing up" on Sunday morning meant that I was better holier than other people, especially people like rapists or murderers. Just because I slid my butt in the pew and showed up, I somehow thought the bar for sanctification was less for me. I tried to measure my holiness. Funny thing though all that measuring I was doing, didn't have me in many ways transforming into the image of God.
I was probably as judgmental, selfish, and unloving as the person who wasn't just "showing up" on Sunday.
Just showing up on Sunday is not what makes us right with God.
2. Making every issue black and white.
There are many things the Bible is very clear on, but the Bible is grey on many issues too. I don't think modern-day Pharisees are even remotely comfortable in the world of grey (because I used to be like that). Everything must be black and white. In or out. Yes or no. Sinner or Saved. Up or down.
This is the one I most aligned myself with. I made people and situations black or white. The thing though behind every hot-button religious or cultural issue are people. People whose situations define and shape them in ways only God alone knows. There is really a lot more grey than we think.
I can relate to this concept a lot know because I can humbly admit I used to make the issue of divorce very black and white: "Well, good and righteous Christians don't get divorced. And those that do are creating a grave sin against God." It is really, really humbling (not to mention eye opening) when the tables turn and you find yourself in a situation you previously deemed so awful.
It is dangerous to become the morality police. I know in my own life those are the area's God has humbled me most. When I am willing to stop making assumptions before I listen and allow myself the possibility maybe I don't have it all right.
3. An unrepentant heart...you don't have any "serious" sin to repent of.
I used to think I was a pretty good person because I never had "serious sin" to repent of. Sure I wasn't a rapist, murderer, never had an abortion, or stole millions of dollars. But what about the way I gossiped or judged others? What about lying and selfishness? Or how about self-righteousness?
Modern-day Pharisees think they don't have any sin to repent of. Repentance involves vulnerability and weakness. Repentance is for people who sin "really" bad. Not for them.
See when you start to think as long as there is no "serious sin" in your life, you are just fooling yourself. Because Jesus didn't come to earth and categorize sin. He hated all sin, all things that led us away from Him. So He hates all sin. We all have serious sin that needs to be dealt with. The fact we are all sinners reveals our need for God.
Have you ever found yourself to struggle with any of these in your own life?
Are there others signs you would to the list?
If it happened it matters. That is one of the simplest and most powerful statements on the truth of the resurrection of Jesus Christ I have ever come across in my life.
If it happened, it matters-really matters.
God taking on human flesh, carrying upon His body the weight of all our sins, dying on the cross in our place, rising from the dead to defeat and destroy death forever-if this has happened, then it changes absolutely everything.
And if this hasn't happened, then we are all seriously wasting our time gathering as a community every Sunday. St. Paul wrote to Christians in Corinth not to long after the Resurrection: "If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain. We are even found to misrepresenting God, because we testified about God that He raised Christ, whom He did not raise if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins" (1 Cor 15:14-17).
If Jesus is not alive, then death wins. Then suffering is of no use, has no deeper purpose or meaning. Then life here on this earth is pointless, and has no meaning. Then there is no hope. Then we are forever defined and named by our sins and brokenness.
What an unbelievably sad tragedy to live life in that perspective. What an empty life that is for so many who do not know that Jesus has been raised, that He is alive, that death and sin have been destroyed forever.
But it did happen. And it matters tremendously.
Today changed everything.
The tide has turned forever. Satan lost the battle, and Jesus won back our freedom we foolishly lost in Eden. The power of death and sin can no longer hold us captive in chains. Because it happened it matters. For all of us. It we allow it, this reality has the power to transform and restore our lives.
Whether you realize it or not, today changes everything. And I cannot think of a more hopeful, promising truth we need to cling to as a human race.
Are we living our daily lives as if today, this day changes everything?
Last weekend I was helping at a weekend retreat our church was running for people who are attending Alpha. I joined up with a small group for the videos, discussion, and helped with prayer ministry.
On Sunday before a closing Mass, people had an opportunity to give witness how God worked in them over the weekend. It was beautiful, powerful; the kind that leaves you in awe and speechless of the power of God. As the last person finished sharing, I had a realization: "these people, this church community, they are my family."
I know. That can have hokey, cheesy Hallmark vibes. But it wasn't that way. On a heart level, I suddenly looked differently at people whom on many levels I didn't know other than seeing them in the pew. It just struck me on such a deep chord, that we bring our entire selves to the table on Sunday. And that maybe for the first time in my adult life, I have truly felt like the people I worship with on Sunday are really my family.
We bring our hurt, pain, and brokenness when we come to worship. The Church, Pope Francis writes, is not a museum of saints, but a hospital for sinners. Church (while not just a building) isn't where we come all neat n' tidy, but where we bring our hot-mess-self to find communion and unity with each other and God.
How many people whom we worship with on Sunday are battling alcoholism? Loneliness or depression? A marriage in crisis? Infertility? Divorce? Sexual addiction? Physical or emotional abuse? Probably a lot, more than we could ever know.
It sounds quite odd coming from a person who has grown up going to church her entire life. But while I grew up in church and knew lots of people who frequented those pews, it never felt like family to me. Yes I knew people, but really didn't know them. I only saw their polished, shiny version.
Over the weekend on the Alpha retreat, I really got to know some of the people. They shared and poured out their brokenness, which made me feel brave enough to get vulnerable too. I got to know them on a vulnerable level, that place we often avoid to go because it can be raw, painful, and awkward.
I met and became friends with a beautiful young woman who is walking the same path as me right now; she is not letting the reality of divorce define her. I prayed with and shared tears with people facing different situations in life. I let strangers into my fear and pain, I let them pray and cry with me too.
I realized in that small chapel all those unique, beautiful, and broken people are my people too. We are not different from each other. I belong, they belong. In each of our broken pieces, we belong and find communion with each other and our God.
And for me, this realization is a broken kind of beautiful.
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