Breaking Fatalism

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel was known to have said, “When I was young I admired cleverness. Now that I am old I find I admire kindness more.”

I awoke this morning in heaviness of heart; as a shepherd this happens often. At times it is difficult to shut the theological mind off as I read posts or listen to conversations; attentive to the underlying theological issues influencing a particular conclusion, or course of action. I found myself praying about what I might term perspectival fatalism, which appears to be creeping into people’s biblical theology. While it is beyond the scope of this blurb to define philosophical fatalism properly, it is a perspective that resigns itself to fate, or the fates, if you will: an outcome is predetermined, and therefore, it is unavoidable.

The apostle Paul wrote, “My eager expectation and hope is that in no way will I be put to shame, but that with complete boldness Messiah will even now, as always, be exalted in my body – whether through life or through death. For to me, to live is Messiah and to die is gain. But if to live on in the body means fruit from my work, what shall I choose? I do not know. I am torn between the two – having a desire to leave and be with Messiah, which is far better; yet for your sake, to remain in the body is more necessary” (Phil. 1:20-24).

Some have come to an almost “oh well” attitude concerning situations we presently face, even suffering and death. People are exhausted, overburdened, over-extended, worried, mourning, fearful, angry, etc. Yet, Paul is not given to a fatalistic attitude, as noted above. He is not surrendering to “fate,” rather, he is surrendering to the sovereign will of God in Messiah. He remains, even while in prison, missional in disposition.

Yes, absent the body sets him with the Lord – which is gain; but to remain, even with the pressure he faces, is necessary for the maturing of those in his care concerning the Gospel.

What breaks a fatalistic attitude? Kindness; specifically biblical loving-kindness.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, kindness, first translated by Myles Coverdale as “loving-kindness” into English, which I explain as covenant faithfulness, is derived from חֶסֶד/hessed. What is hessed? Simply: love expressed as deed. Hessed is a gift of ourselves to the human other. It reorients the perspectives of those giving it, and those receiving it. I’ve heard it explained that God’s hessed humanizes fatalism, by transforming what some thought inevitable with a simple act of loving-kindness. When destined by “fate,” the reach of God saved the soul.

In Matthew 25:31-46, Messiah gives a startling illustration of the separating of His sheep from goats. The sheep, to whom He says, “Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me,” (v. 40) are sent to the right, where He is. To the goats, however, Messiah says, “Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me,” (v. 45) and they are sent to the left, representing everlasting judgment (v. 46).

The actions are surprisingly simple: give to the hungry, give to the thirsty, take in the stranger, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the imprisoned (v.35-36). Uncomplicated. What was the difference between the actions of the sheep, and those of the goats? In a word, loving-kindness. Hessed is an outward demonstration of the inward love for the Lord, and the human other (cf. Deut. 6:5; Lev. 19:18). As Paul expressed above, his love for and desire to be with the Lord was paralleled with the love he had for the human other as well. Profound.

In an age where argument is viewed as strength and boldness, the needed redirect is to kindness, which, contrary to mounting opinion, is not weakness, but this: sureness with whom you walk. As the prophet writes:

“He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy (loving-kindness), and to walk humbly with your God?” (Mic. 6:8).

Further:

“For I desire mercy (kindness) and not sacrifice, and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings” (Hos. 6:6).

In faith we bring the theoretical, perhaps even the abstract, to life by faithfully outreaching to those trampled over by life in the name of the Lord.

Can fatalism be caught up in the life of faith? Only when we turn our eyes from the Messiah. Fatalism and faith are simply incompatible.

As we find in the Great Commission, and again in Acts 1:8, those in Christ remain on His mission, regardless of circumstance, history, or political atmosphere. Therefore, our perspective cannot be fatalistic, but missional. As Paul writes regarding putting off the old man with his abundant wickedness, and the putting on of the new man, we do so with “tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; bearing with one another, and forgiving one another” (Col. 3:12-13; cf. Gal. 5:22-23).

We are all enduring something, somethings more tragic than others; but when we reach out our hand in loving-kindness, we are caught up in His grace – and all it encompasses. Hessed changes the perspective of both recipient and actor. A simple act, lost in the myriad acts of a day, week or year may not change your life, or be a moment remembered; but it may give hope to and radically change the life touched.

Loving-kindness is the power of God manifest as a glass of water to a thirsty, hurting soul.

Be well. Shalom.

The Grace of Hospitality

וַיֹּאמַר:  אֲדֹנָי, אִם-נָא מָצָאתִי חֵן בְּעֵינֶיךָ–אַל-נָא תַעֲבֹר, מֵעַל עַבְדֶּךָ

“And he, Abraham, said, “My Lord, if I have found grace in your eyes, please do not pass by your servant” (Gen. 18:3).

The rabbis tell us a trait shared by the descendants of Abraham is hospitality; a manner or disposition that is hospitable to both guest and stranger alike.

This derives from the opening verses of Genesis 18; as Abraham lay at the door of his tent on the third day after his circumcision. The Lord appears to him, and as Abraham lifts his eyes, there before him are three men. From the unfolding narrative it is easy to determine that this is a theophany.

As Abraham says, speaking in the singular to a plural party, “My Lord, if I have found grace in your eyes … “ he welcomes them to settle in the shade of a tree, showing the kindness of hospitality.

Our English word hospitality is derived from the Latin hospes, which means guest, stranger, even host. It appears to be a word of relationship between otherwise disconnected parties. Hospes shares its root with another English word, hostile; in biblical faith one should meditate on the conditions that bring us to hospitality or hostility.

In ancient times, travelers meandering on their journey had two choices: 1) rely on their own skills to make suitable accommodations, or 2) rely on the kindness of a local host; as the Holiday Inn Express was not yet a thing.

In our text above, Abraham does not wait for the Lord to seek his kindness; no, Abraham opens his doors as evidence of the grace he has received – by His presence.

Time and again the Torah instructs us to welcome, and care for the stranger; because we have been the stranger, the newcomer, the unknown other. It is a disposition rooted in grace itself, as Abraham notes.

The Torah commands us to “love our neighbor as ourself” (Lev. 19:18) only once; but it commands us to love the stranger thirty-six times. Strange, but not. We are inclined to love those known, familiar or similar to us. This familiarity would naturally stir hospitality; where unfamiliarity might stir up hostility. The two, as noted above, are very close.

Yet, by faith in Messiah we are new creations; and unfamiliar, as it were, to everyone, except those of like Spirit. Still more, that new Spirit of God, now in us, causes us to seek the lost, the unfamiliar, or the stranger to heavens door: Messiah.

All too often we give in to our fearful, unregenerate disposition, informed not by the Word of God, but media manipulation.

Paul directs us, “Therefore receive one another, just as Christ also received us, to the glory of God” (Ro. 15:7).

“Receive one another,” means: take to yourself the other. This we find in Messiah, who took us to Himself by grace. We share in this grace when we take the other to ourself following His example. Abraham, in Genesis 18, took the Lord to himself. He welcomed the Lord in, ministered to Him by shelter, comfort, and food; and the Lord shared the long awaited good news: the promised child is coming.

What good do we receive as we welcome, or open our hearts to the stranger before us? The promised Son meets us once again in the eyes of a stranger.

And if you are in Messiah, as Paul writes, you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to promise (Gal. 3:29). In Messiah, not only do we live as strangers and sojourners to this world, but we welcome others along the way as well.

Hospitality does not improve our standing in heaven, it glorifies God on earth in a time when it is a dangerous thing to be a stranger. To Him be the glory. Amen.

Be well. Shalom.

In the Bottomlands

The prophet Zechariah spoke, “Therefore say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord of hosts: “Return to Me,” says the Lord of hosts, “and I will return to you” (Zach. 1:3).

I don’t know if you have ever been in the bottomlands, the marshland between the mountains. It can be difficult to get around, and then when you believe you have found a way out, you sink in the mire once again.

You get wet, dirty, and caught up in the smell. There are dead things down in the deep; and sometimes, critters hiding: but you must go on.

You can see the sunlight dancing on top of the surrounding mountains: if only you were up there. Put that aside; up there, on top of the mountain has its own troubles. You are in the bottomlands, in the shady place sinking, struggling, and that is trouble enough.

What to do?

We are in an age of pressuring: tribulation. No, not the “great tribulation,” but tribulation nonetheless. Look closely at what Zechariah said in the name of the Lord: “Return to Me,” … “and I will return to you.”

שׁוּבוּ אֵלַי, translated another way, “Turn to me.” The Lord is saying, “Turn away from the way that brought you into this bottomland, to Me.” This is, by definition, repentance: turning away from, to.

Bottomland experiences, whether hiking, in life, or in the spiritual life, are unavoidable. There is life down in that place, and it’s the life that builds endurance to climb.

When we find ourselves down in the bottomlands, it is easy to become entirely too focused on that circumstance. But remember: turn…

Turing to the Lord doesn’t get you out of the bottomlands, turning to God will bring Him down into the bottomlands with you.

Messiah said, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20), and that includes the bottomlands as well. You are never alone, or forsaken, even in the most dire circumstance.

Be well. Shabbat shalom.