The Wrath of the Lamb

Throughout scripture, the word “wrath” connotes destruction and punishment. For example: Deuteronomy 29:23 ”All its land is brimstone and salt, a burning waste, unsown and unproductive, and no grass grows in it, like the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboiim, which the LORD overthrew in His anger and in His wrath.” The New Testament also uses this word to denote annihilation: Ephesians 5:6 “Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of these things the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience.” There are, however, two occurrences of its use which throw an interesting curve into this mix of anger, wrath, destruction and mayhem. The first is in Matthew. John the Baptist has sprung up out of the wilderness of Judea, warning the people to repent, “For the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Seeing the hypocrites, he says to them “Who has warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” and a little later, 1 "His winnowing fork is in His hand, and He will thoroughly clear His threshing floor; and He will gather His wheat into the barn, but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire." (Matthew 3:1-12) Another intriguing text is Revelation 6:16 “and they said to the mountains and to the rocks, "Fall on us and hide us from the presence of Him who sits on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb…” John the Baptist warned of the wrath to come. This Wrath was none other than Jesus Himself. Whether John read into the mission of Jesus the coming of the physical kingdom—the ousting of the Romans and the setting up of David’s throne-we don’t know. But when Jesus came, He was gentle, meek and mild. Children and women flocked to Him. He raised no army, inspired no rebellion, ignited no riots. Those in power turned against Him because He did not meet their expectations of victory over the hated Roman occupation of Israel. They desired an earthily kingdom; He ushered in the heavenly, spiritual kingdom. They hated Him for this and killed Him, at least partially because of it. Jesus’ wrath was not a physical violence, but a spiritual one. He was warring on a completely different plane than expected. He destroyed that which causes violence between humans, the greed and lust for power and supremacy, that which takes rather than gives. Make no mistake: He came to destroy, to uproot, to overthrow. But it was the rebellious heart of men and women which He came to destroy, replacing the old stony heart with a heart of flesh-soft, yielding, giving. In the Revelation text, we have the image of a crowd fleeing an unknown terror. Perhaps, we, walking down a dusty road, hear behind us the cries of fear of a mob of people. Bursting over a hilltop, they shout “Flee! Run for your life! He is coming!” Becoming worried ourselves, we corner one of the mob long enough to ask “Who is coming?” The answer shocks us: “The Lamb is coming! Run for your life!” It’s a rather incongruous sight: thousands of grown men and women fleeing from a lamb. That lamb, elsewhere in Revelation is described as a slain lamb. If you’ve ever seen a lamb gamboling around its mother, you can imagine nothing less fearful. Add to that the image of a dead lamb, and there is nothing threatening or fearful at all. Nothing is weaker; nothing less frightening. But here the whole world is fleeing the wrath of the Lamb. Most theologies make this scene to be one at the end of time in which Jesus, coming in power and great glory, scares the hell out of everyone. They’d rather die than face Him. But let me suggest another scenario, one which matches more closely the image of a lamb. Is it possible that here, again, the scene is one in which those who fear are terrified of losing what they consider their identity—their comfortable self? Are we not so protective of our natural self that we will fight or flee to protect it? In one of C. S. Lewis’s books, (I believe it is The Voyage of the Dawn Treader), he describes one of the children becoming a dragon and finally recognizing what he truly is, endures the excruciatingly painful process of having his dragon nature removed. Paul describes it in Romans 7 as: “Who will deliver me from this body of death?” In Chapter 6 he says: 3 “Or do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus have been baptized into His death? 4 Therefore we have been buried with Him through baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. 5 For if we have become united with Him in the likeness of His death, certainly we shall also be in the likeness of His resurrection, 6 knowing this, that our old self was crucified with Him, in order that our body of sin might be done away with, so that we would no longer be slaves to sin; 7 for he who has died is freed from sin.” Death is never pleasant; it is an unnatural event. We all know this by instinct and fight against it with every power and all the resources at our disposal. Billions of dollars are spent each year to stave off its advances, yet we all, sooner or later, succumb. It is no less of a struggle in the spiritual realm. Every resource available to us will be brought to bear to resist the death on His cross of our self. Perhaps, then, when we read of God’s wrath, we might consider that the destruction is meant to us as a remedy, like a surgeon’s cut-a healing wound rather than as a god who has lost his temper. This sets all those outbursts of god against Israel and all the bloody Psalms and bloodier events of the Old Testament into a new context. He is surgically cutting away that which will destroy mankind if left to grow unchecked. He is aiming at a higher goal than mere physical conquest; He is battling for our spirit, not our body. We, the targets of this gentle, loving wrath, resist. He will do all in His limitless power to win us to His side. It is a bloody battle, but one which He will ultimately gloriously win over all of us. Think what a world of people might be like, all of whom were truly and irredeemably conquered by the wrath of the Lamb. What a place and what a time that will be! 07/27/13

Carnivore

Recently, due to dietary issues, I broke my lifelong vegetarianism. It has been no easy task. To think of eating blood, muscle tissue and skin along with blood vessels and other parts of animals was an aesthetic challenge I wasn’t sure I could tackle. Desperation drove me over the edge, however, and, slowly, very slowly, I’m acclimatizing. Starting with chicken nuggets, well done in a George Foreman grill, I’ve tried Jimmy Dean sausage patties (so, so, but lots of fat); sliced roast beef in a sandwich; hot dogs (not my cup of tea); barbecue chicken legs (yuck); buffalo (one of the best); deep-fried alligator (what isn’t good when it’s deep fried?); turkey bacon (it won’t hurt my feelings if I don’t have it again); real bacon (pretty good except having to dispose of all the fat). I know there’s a whole world of other meats, cuts and ways to fix meat which I will eventually explore (well, maybe not sea food like lobsters, crabs and crustaceans-there is still boundary). My vegetarianism began as a religious tenet. I debated issues such as: “If I were starving to death in a desert and a pig happened to stand still in front of me long enough for me to kill it, would I eat it?” This question was posed as a salvation issue as my then-denomination condemned eating pork, shellfish, buzzards and other things Moses laws prohibited. Later, it became a health issue as vegetarianism became recognized as the healthier diet. The first time I ate ham, I was a first-time guest in a home where a small home church group met. The gracious hostess served a delicious split-pea soup with diced ham in it. She, free from the law, gave it to me unknowingly. I ate it purposefully, violating my tradition and showing my rejection of living under the law. It was a moment of triumph for me. Later, when I mentioned it in the group, my hostess was embarrassed, thinking that I had eaten it out of respect for her, which, though true, was the lesser of my reasons. But an even more surprising revelation has come to me. Native Americans, along with many other cultures, give thanks to the spirit of the animal they slay for food, giving thanks for the gift of life they believe the animal has given them. Though I’m not an animist, a strong sense of the life of one being sacrificed for me. A vegetable has no fear of death; no pain in its cutting. An animal suffers. I am in its debt. I find myself thanking the Giver more for my food, recognizing a larger, more painful gift from Him who feels all pain. And, even deeper, an increased recognition of that sacrifice of all sacrifices, the one that absorbed all pains and losses into itself; that encompasses all sin, all sorrow, all suffering and returns peace to us in forgiveness and reconciliation. And the dietary issue? Much better, thanks to the sacrifice of cow and pig and chicken. Perhaps, someday, I may even learn to enjoy that which you have given. 7/26/13

Gift and Giver

It is only in giving thanks, in acknowledging that what is is a gift from the hand that both created and sustains, that we connect with the Divine. A request, granted, may be attributed to coincidence; a demand met may be ascribed to circumstances, but thanks acknowledges the Giver accepting, in faith, that the gift is from the One whose gifts are always the best gift. Intellect may comprehend a truth, but thanks acknowledges the Truth, the True One. Reason may puzzle out a series of cause and effect, but thanks makes it real. It is in giving thanks that we demonstrate that only requirement of salvation which is faith in the one who promises.