Jesus prays at Gethsemane, in 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘸.

Matthew 26.26-46.

The synoptic gospels all tell of Jesus praying in Gethsemane, a privately-owned olive garden on Mt. Olivet. Its name in Syriac is ܓ݁ܶܕ݁ܣܺܡܰܢ/Gad Smáni, which likely comes from the Hebrew גַּת שֶׁמֶן/gat šemén, “oil press.” John says they liked to hang out there, Jn 18.2 and Luke says it’s where they usually went. Lk 22.39 I already wrote of the Mark version of the story; now for the Matthew version.

Matthew 26.36-46 KWL

36Then Jesus comes with his students

to a private property called Gad Smáni/“oil press.”

He tells the students, “Sit here while I go there and pray.”

37Taking Simon Peter and Zebedee’s two sons,

Jesus begins to be distressed and troubled.

38Jesus tells his students, “My soul is intensely sad,

to the point of death.

Stay here and stay awake with me.”

39Going a little further,

Jesus falls on his face,

praying and saying, “My Father!

If it’s possible, make this cup pass by me!

Only not what I will,

but what you¹ will.”

40Jesus comes to the students

and finds them sleeping.

He tells Peter, “So you’re² not strong enough

to be awake one hour with me.

41Stay awake and pray!—

lest you² come to temptation.

You have a truly eager spirit—

and weak flesh.”

42Going away again a second time,

Jesus prays, saying, “My Father!

If this {cup} can’t pass by {me} unless I drink it—

your¹ will be done.”

43Coming back again, Jesus finds his students sleeping,

for their eyes are very heavy.

44Leaving the students again, going away,

Jesus prays a third time,

saying the same word again.

45Then Jesus comes to the students

and tells them, “Sleep the rest of the time.

Get your² rest.

…Look, the hour came near,

and the Son of Man is betrayed into sinners’ hands.

46Get up; we should go.

Look, my betrayer came near.”

Mark also says Jesus went off by himself to pray thrice—saying the same thing each time Mk 14.39 —but lest you get the idea Jesus is praying the exact same prayer each time, Matthew records two of the prayers. Both prayers have the very same theme—I don’t wanna, but your will be done—but they’re not the very same words. Same theme, different words. And when Matthew says Jesus prayed the same thing the third time, he notably says Jesus is saying the same λόγον/lóyon, “word,” again. Not “words,” as the KJV translates it; it’s singular, because it means message, not literally word. Same idea. Same prayer.

And same as Mark, the kids had fallen asleep while Jesus prayed. Preachers like to joke somebody must’ve stayed awake to recall what Jesus said… and if that’s so, y’notice they don’t record Jesus’s third prayer, because all of them were dead asleep by then. But no, nobody had to stay awake to take dictation. At some point later, one of the kids probably asked Jesus, “So what’d you pray in the garden?” and he told them. Jesus was more than capable of filling in the blanks in his own story, y’know.

God’s kingdom is justice, peace, and joy. Not food.

Romans 14.14-18

There’s an American saying, “Don’t major in the minors,” which is actually not about baseball: It’s about how we mustn’t make a big deal out of irrelevant things. Minor issues shouldn’t take up the majority of our time and brainpower.

But all too often, they do. Happens in politics all the time. There’s an art form to it: Get everybody riled up about something which doesn’t actually matter, but really triggers people’s prejudices, and they won’t notice the more important problems which you’re not dealing with—or worse, causing.

In Romans 14 the particular issue is vegetarians versus omnivores. Ro 14.2 The issue wasn’t meat per se, but animals that had been ritually sacrificed to pagan gods, and their meat sold at discount, which helped fund the pagan temples. Certain Christians figured this meant the meat was now cursed, and they didn’t want their money going to support pagan worship, so they’d rather be vegetarian. Other Christians figured pagan gods aren’t real gods, 1Co 8.4 and if you bless God when you eat that meat, it’s all good.

People are still easily outraged by other people’s diets. I’ve known vegans who were offended by the existence of meat-eaters, and hunters who were offended by the existence of vegans. Not their bad behavior (and both groups can be mighty ill-behaved), their existence. They don’t want them to exist. They want everyone to be exactly like them, and if they refuse to conform, they must die. Well, not die; be force-fed nothing but meat, or nothing but vegetables. Make ’em violate their consciences in exactly the way Paul of Tarsus told the Romans not to. Ro 14.22-23

In today’s passage, Paul admits he’s in the omnivore camp. He has no problem with eating such meat. A steak is a steak; it’s all steak, so it’s all good. But—if you’re eating it to antagonize the vegetarians of your church, and show off your freedom of conscience and “freedom in Christ,” you’re being evil.

Likewise the vegetarians who get rid of all the meat in the dinner, and force the omnivores among them to eat like they do. Forcing others to be like you, instead of encouraging others to be like Jesus, is not Christian, no matter how Christian you might claim to be.

Romans 14.14-18 KWL

14I knew,

and was convinced by the Master Jesus,

that nothing is inherently unclean

unless someone reckons something to be unclean—

then it’s only unclean to that person.

15For if your¹ fellow Christian

is bothered by food,

you’re¹ no longer walking in love.

Don’t destroy that person over your¹ food!

Christ Jesus dies for them.¹

16So people mustn’t slander

your² good deeds,

17for God’s kingdom isn’t food and drink,

but justice and peace,

and joy in the Holy Spirit;

18for one who serves Christ Jesus in these things

is pleasing to God

and appreciated by people.

In either case, focusing on food, and what our fellow Christians should and shouldn’t be eating—especially during fast times, like Daniel fasts or Lent—is once again majoring in the minors. Our religious practices are not what’s important in Christianity. Our moral practices are.

God’s kingdom is exemplified by justice, peace, and joy. Which are best exhibited when we love one another. And love neighbors, enemies, pagans, heretics, and even antichrists. When we function as Jesus to them on his behalf. When we promote the kingdom through that behavior—not our condemnation, which is something Jesus himself refuses to practice. Jn 3.17

Stations of the cross: Remembering Christ’s suffering.

In Jerusalem, Israel, Christians remember Jesus’s death by actually going down the same route he traveled the day he died. It’s called the Way of Jesus, the Way of Sorrows (Latin, Via Dolorosa), or the Way of the Cross (Via Cručis). When I visited Jerusalem, it’s part of the tour package: Loads of us Christians go this route every single day, observing all the places Jesus is said to have suffered. Really solemn, moving stuff.

But most of us Christians don’t live in or near Jerusalem, and some of us can’t possibly go there. For this reason St. Francis of Assisi invented “the stations of the cross.” In his church building, he set up seven different dioramas. Each represented an event which happened as Jesus was led to his death. The people of his church would go to each diorama—each station—and meditate on what Jesus did for us all.

Yeah, this is a Catholic thing, ’cause Francis was Roman Catholic. But it’s not exclusively Catholic: Many Lutherans, Anglicans, and Methodists use stations of the cross too. My church has ’em in our prayer garden. Be fair: If a Protestant invented it, you’d find Protestants doing it everywhere. ’Cause it’s a really useful idea.

It’s why I bring it up here. The stations of the cross are a clever, more tangible way to think about Jesus’s death, what he went through, and what that means. It’s why lots of Catholic churches—and a growing number of Protestant churches—keep the stations up year-round. Could take the form of paintings, sculptures, or stained-glass windows. Christians can “travel the Way of Jesus” any time we wanna contemplate his death, and what he did for us.

If you’ve ever seen Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, he made sure to include all the traditional stations in his movie. As do Catholic passion plays, reenactments of Jesus’s death. Protestant passion plays often include ’em too, though we tend to skip many of the events we don’t find in the gospels. As you’ll notice, some of Francis’s stations came from the popular culture of early 1200s Italy. Not bible.

Ash Wednesday: Lent begins.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of the Lenten fast. It gets its name from the western custom of putting ashes on our heads. What’s with the ashes? It comes from bible: Ashes were used to ritually purify sinners. Nu 19.9 So it’s to repeat that custom.

Varoius Christians figure it also comes from the ancient middle eastern custom of putting ashes on one’s head when grieving. 2Sa 13.19, Jb 2.8 What’re we grieving? Well, Easter comes after Holy Week, when Jesus died, so they’re kinda grieving Jesus’s death. Even though he’s alive now, their emphasis is his horrible suffering and death, and they mourn that. Lent is one of the ways they mourn that. So, ashes.

Thing is… in his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us when we’re fasting not to broadcast it.

Matthew 6.16-18 NRSVue

16“And whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

In many churches ashes are ritually sprinkled on one’s head, but in English-speaking countries the custom is to use the ashes to draw a cross on Christians’ foreheads. I don’t know how pleased Jesus is with those of us who wear these crosses on our foreheads all day. I think he’d much rather we show off our devotion by being fruity.

But over the past decade, mainline Christians have started to use the forehead-cross thingy as an outreach tool. Instead of only doing the ritual in their church buildings, their pastors go to public places with ashes, and draw crosses on anyone who asks.

• Sometimes they’re Christians who go, “Oh I forgot it’s Ash Wednesday; I’m gotta go get my ashes!”
• Sometimes they’re Christians who didn’t grow up with this ritual: “Ash Wednesday? What’s that? Well I’m Christian, so I’m gonna get a cross too.”
• Sometimes they’re Christian jerks: “Oh that’s a Catholic thing; that’s as good as paganism or sorcery; I’m not doing that.”
• And sometimes they’re pagans who think they’re Christian, or pagans who wanna try something “spiritual.”

Regardless, the mainliners’ goal is to get more people to think about Jesus than usual. It does do that.

Lenten fasting. (It’s optional, you know.)

Lent is the English term for the 40-day period before Easter in which Christians fast, abstain, and otherwise practice self-control. (Assuming we practice such things at all.) In Latin it’s called quadragesima and in Greek it’s σαρακοστή/sarakostí, short for τεσσαρκοστή/tessarkostí—both of which mean “fortieth,” ’cause 40 days.

It starts Ash Wednesday, which isn’t 40 precise days before Easter; it’s 46. That’s because the six Sundays before Easter aren’t included. You don’t fast on feast days, and the sabbath day, on whatever day you observe it (and Christians usually do Sundays), is a feast day; it’s when we take a weekly break from our Lenten fasts. Many Christians don’t realize this, and wind up fasting Sundays too—since they’ve got that abstention momentum going anyway.

As for eastern Christians, Lent begins the week before Ash Wednesday, on Clean Monday. Partly because they don’t skip Sundays, and fast that day too; and partly ’cause their Lenten fast consists of the 40 days before Holy Week. Then they have a whole seperate fast for that week.

But no matter how you arrange it, all the fasting is finished by Easter.

Just as Jesus went without food 40 days in the wilderness, we go without… well, something. The first Christians who practiced Lent likely went all hardcore, and went without food and water. And after this practice gravely injured or killed enough of ’em, the early Christians decided maybe it’s wiser to stick to bread and water, or a vegan diet. Or, as American Catholics practice it nowadays, go without meat on Friday and Saturday. (Though for various iffy reasons, fish is considered an exception.)

Protestant custom is usually to cut back to two meals a day, then give up one extra something. Abstaining from the one thing has leaked back into popular culture and Catholicism, so now most pagans and many Christians think Lent only consists of giving up the one thing. Preferably something difficult: Giving up coffee or alcohol, chocolate or carbs, watching sports or playing video games, or anything we originally tried to give up for the New Year and failed at.

Whenever I’m asked what I’m doing without for Lent, I tend to joke, “I’m giving up fruits and vegetables. Nothing but cheeseburgers, coffee, and Cheez-Its till Easter.” The kids like to joke, “I’ll give up smoking,” since they already don’t smoke. (They might vape though.)

But all joking aside, abstaining from one thing isn’t a bad custom. And we’re not giving it up for Lent; properly we’re giving it up for Jesus.

So once we recognize this, we need to ask ourselves: Exactly how does this benefit Jesus? How will it grow our relationship with him? Does it grow our relationship with him?—are we abstaining because this is something we want, or he wants? Didja bother to ask him what he actually wants us to do without?

That’s most of the reason Christians pick something difficult to abstain from. It’s a reminder Jesus is infinitely more important than our favorite things. Really he should be our favorite thing, and during Lent that’s what he oughta become, in a far more obvious way than usual. And after Lent, oughta remain.

For this reason we shouldn’t just pick something we oughta give up anyway. If you figure, “I really oughta give up adultery for Lent”: Well duh. And you oughta give up adultery period. Don’t figure you’ll quit shoplifting, or verbally abusing people, or smacking your kids around… but only till Easter. Don’t save obeying God till Lent. Nor start sinning again once it’s Easter! Just stop.

Put some wisdom into your choice. The first time I abstained for Lent, I picked coffee. I love coffee. Makes sense to pick something which might have enough of a hold on me to tempt me. Problem is, when I have my coffee right after I wake up, the first words out of my mouth are, “Thank you Jesus for coffee”—I’m in a thanksgiving mood. From there, I can go on to prayer, devotions, and other ways of honoring him. But when I don’t have that coffee, it takes longer to get into that mood. No, I’m not saying I need coffee to worship Jesus; that’s stupid. But dropping coffee doesn’t help me any. (And lest you’re worried about my caffeine addiction, I usually drink decaf. Not just for Lent.)

Don’t pick a Lenten fast which’ll irritate others, or cause them hardship. I unthinkingly did this myself one year: I went without meat. In itself it’s not a bad thing… but I attended a party, was given the duty of ordering pizza, and selfishly only thought of my fast: I ordered nothing but vegetable and cheese pizzas. The other folks in the party of course wanted meat. They didn’t appreciate how I’d convenienced myself but inconvenienced them: I was behaving exactly like one of those self-righteous vegans who inflict their consciences upon everyone else. Lots of fasting Christians do likewise: If the friends wanna go out to eat, they respond, “Not that restaurant; I’m fasting,” and demand all their friends accommodate their devotion. That’s actually selfishness disguised as devotion. Don’t do that.

My students used to joke, “I’ll give up bathing.” (Of course. They’re kids.) But they smelled enough like foot cheese as it was; they really, really needed to bathe. And lest you get any ideas, don’t you give up bathing. Fasting is supposed to be invisible. Mt 6.16-18 Plus it’s common courtesy to not outrage our neighbors’ noses for no good reason.

Each individual Christian answers to God.

Romans 14.10-13, Isaiah 45.18-25.

One of the many things about the ancients—and therefore the bible, ‘cause it’s ancient—which confuses Christians, especially kids, is the idea of collective guilt, collective responsibility, and collective punishment. Because it’s not how our culture works anymore. You don’t punish a whole family, a whole city, a whole state, a whole religion, a whole country, a whole ethnicity, for the acts of one person, or a few people. Isn’t that in fact a crime against humanity? A war crime? Doesn’t it violate the Geneva Convention?

You may not be aware the reason moderns think this way, is because Paul set the precedent right here in Romans 14: The idea God doesn’t judge entire people-groups, but individuals. The idea we individually stand before God, and have to individually answer for our sins and trespasses, and get individually rewarded or penalized for them. This idea is hinted at many times in the scriptures, but it’s spelled out pretty explicitly in today’s passage.

Thing is, the other idea—that you and I are part of a society, part of a collective, part of a tribe or nation or commonwealth, and if one of us sins we can bring down the whole—is all over the bible too. So much so, Christians will even claim it’s a biblical principle, and use it as the basis for some of their nationalist beliefs. And okay yes, it’s found in the bible… because it’s how the ancients thought. Doesn’t mean it’s how God thinks.

True, there are Old Testament passages where God punishes all Israel because the vast majority of the population is sinning themselves sticky. Yeah, sometimes he orders Israel or its judges to wipe out an entire Amorite city, including any children who might grow up and feel duty-bound to avenge their wicked forebears, because the city’s sins are just so vile. Collective guilt and punishment is found all over the bible. But those who are quick to condemn this behavior when they think God’s committing it, forget God frequently made exceptions to these genocidal-sounding orders. Like sparing Noah and his family when he flooded the land. Like sparing Rahab and her family when Israel wiped out Jericho. Like sparing Lot and his family when God poured burning sulfur upon Sodom. Repentant people got to live—in total violation of the “biblical principle” of collective guilt. Pagan kings would’ve spared no one. God spares lots of people.

Paul saw God’s tendency to judge individuals, not the collective, in the scriptures. Which is why he could confidently say the following when he corrected Roman Christians about criticizing one another, especially the weak in faith.

Romans 14.10-13 KWL

10You:¹ Why do you judge your¹ fellow Christian?

Or you¹ too: Why do you look down on your¹ fellow Christian?

For all of us will present ourselves before God’s judgment seat,

11for this was written:

“The Master says this: ‘I live.

Everyone will bend the knee to me.

Every tongue will confess God.’ ” Is 45.23

12Therefore each of us, by ourselves,

will give a word to God,

13so we should no longer judge one another.

Instead, judge this all the more:

Don’t place an obstacle before a fellow Christian,

nor something to trip them up.

’Cause you do realize some of the reason Christians are so adamant about condemning and penalizing every single misdeed, is this irrational, unjustified fear God’s gonna condemn the whole. I’ve heard so many Christian nationalists insist unless we ban this or that sin from the United States, God’s gonna smite our nation with the worst plagues and famines and natural disasters we’ve ever seen. (And that’s saying something, considering the Great Recession, the Covid pandemic, and the wreckage of the last 20 years of hurricanes.) But what’re they basing these worries on? Well, loopy End Times interpretations, plus the misbegotten belief God has some special covenant with the United States when he has no such thing. He only has a covenant with its Christians—and, as this passage plainly states, it’s with individual Christians.

Therefore neither the nationalists nor us have any basis for persecuting Christians who sin differently than we do. They individually answer to God. As do you. As do I. He knows whether we’ve been following Jesus, whether we’ve been listening to the Holy Spirit, whether we’ve behaved consistently with Jesus’s teachings and our consciences, and how much of it was earnest and how much was hypocrisy. He’s an absolutely fair judge; we are not, which is precisely why it’s not for us to judge. Work on yourself. And don’t trip others up.

The Dinner Party Story.

Luke 14.15-24.

Jesus has two very similar parables in the gospels: The Wedding Party Story in Matthew, and the Dinner Party Story in Luke. Christians tend to lump ’em together, iron out the differences, and claim they’re about precisely the same thing. They’re actually not. The differences are big enough to where we gotta look at the variant parables individually, not together.

In the Wedding Party Story, Jesus compares his kingdom to a king holding a wedding for his son. That’s not a mere social function; it’s political. People’s response to that wedding was a political statement; it wasn’t merely some friends revealing how they’re not really friends. Whereas what we see in the Dinner Party Story is an act of hospitality, generosity, and love on the homeowner’s part… and the invitees blow him off because they’d rather do anything than spend time with him. The rebellion and sedition we detect in the Wedding Party Story isn’t in this story. These are just people being dicks to a guy who just wants their company.

God just wants to love his people, and give us his kingdom. And his people would honestly rather do anything else.

Luke 14.15-24 KWL

15Someone reclining at dinner with Jesus,

hearing this, tells him, “How awesome

for whoever will eat bread in God’s kingdom!”

16Jesus tells him, “Some person is having a large dinner,

and is inviting many.

17He’s sending his slave at the dinner hour

to tell the invited, ‘Come! It’s ready now!’

18And every one of them

is beginning to excuse themselves.

The first is telling him, ‘I’m buying a field.

I seriously need to go out and see it.

I pray you, have me excused.’

19Another is saying, ‘I’m buying five teams of oxen.

I have to try them out.

I pray you, have me excused.’

20 Another is saying, ‘I’m marrying a woman.

This is why I can’t come.’

21Coming back, the slave is reporting

these things to his master.

Then the enraged homeowner is telling his slave,

‘Go out quickly to the city’s squares and alleys,

and the poor, maimed, blind, and disabled:

Bring them here!’

22The slave is saying, ‘Master, I did as you ordered,

and there’s still room.’

23The master is telling the slave,

‘Go out of the city to the roads and property lines,

and make people come,

so my house can be full!

24For I tell you none of those invited men

will taste my dinner.’ ”

Now y’notice the consequences of rejecting the dinner party are way less extreme than we see in the Wedding Party Story. In Matthew the king who throws the wedding party burns down a few cities, then has an underdressed guest hogtied and thrown out. Whereas in Luke the homeowner who throws the dinner party simply says, “None of those invited men will taste my dinner.” They’re not gonna be dead, nor cast into outer darkness where “there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Mt 22.13 They’re only gonna miss out on a really nice meal.