A fun and juvenile prank—in which I occasionally partook in college—involved sprinkling a little water into an old, half-full bag of bread, tying the bag in a knot, and hiding it somewhere in an unsuspecting neighbor’s dorm room. We called this pre-9/11 prank a “bread bomb.” I recall finding one bread bomb behind my couch at the end of May while moving out. It was disgusting…rotten, pungent, and no longer recognizable as bread. The bread had transformed into something vile and abhorrent.

Leavened bread changes for the worse far quicker than unleavened bread. The yeast doesn’t slow the process by any means. This is what Jesus has to say about yeast: “Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy” (Luke 12:1). And this is what Paul has to say about it: “Your boasting is not good. Don’t you know that a little yeast leavens the whole batch of dough? Get rid of the old yeast, so that you may be a new unleavened batch—as you really are. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Therefore let us keep the Festival, not with the old bread leavened with malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth” (1 Corinthians 5:6-8).

My life, as of late, has been a giant bag of moist bread. My own hypocrisy and sinfulness seem to be transforming a good loaf into something vile and abhorrent. I’m not proud of how I look and feel at this juncture, and if I don’t do something about it, soon my heart will look quite similar to a bread bomb behind my couch in May.

I’m convinced that the greatest contribution to the yeast—and eventual mold in my life—is my waning relationship with God.

Every week in the Tabernacle, the priests would eat the bread of the presence from the Table in the Holy Place and then bake more bread to replace the consumed bread. There was never any time for the bread to spoil. In eating the bread, and then replacing it, the priests were commemorating the covenant between God and the Israelites—they were formally confirming their close relationship with God (Exodus 24:11). As fully functional representatives for the people of Israel, the priests would repeatedly and consistently feast on God, and then impart that feast (and covenantal relationship) upon the people.

Fortunately, we can now intimately commune with God. We no longer have to rely on a priest to feast on the Bread of Life on our behalf. However, from a different perspective, our spiritual life cannot be rescued or salvaged through the duties and responsibilities of our representative priests. We can’t avoid becoming a bread bomb by indolently watching our priests engage in a dynamic relationship with God. No one else can save us from our own diminishing spirituality. If we avoid feasting on the Bread of Life ourselves—repeatedly and consistently—we will mold.

I know what I have to do. I have to step up to the plate bearing the Bread of Life and dig in. If I don’t feast on the Bread today, someday soon, I’ll pull back the couch of my spirituality and discover a bag full of something abominable and repugnant.

This is my favorite comic strip of all time. There’s just something about it that makes me laugh out loud. Perhaps it’s the judgmental, pretentious attitude of the man in the middle seat. We’ve all sat next to this guy on an airplane—and if you haven’t—you’re the judgmental, pretentious guy. I have to confess, after my last few flights, I’ve started to think that I always have to sit next to the guy with bad breath or bad B.O. So, in a way, there’ve been times when I’m the judgmental, pretentious man on a plane who always has to sit next to the weirdo. I think what makes this comic humorous, is that we see the big picture here…and the man complaining has NO idea what that “big picture” happens to be. We know what it is. We say to ourselves, “Just wait a few seconds dude, and then you’ll experience the true definition of ‘weirdo.’ And guess what? You’ll be sitting right next to him…like always”

So often, we get caught up in minute details, we fear the unknown, we major in minor issues, we focus on the things that are right before our eyes, and we end up missing the big picture.

Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

When I first hear this statement of Jesus, I’m reminded of two scenes from Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth. The first scene illustrates walking in the darkness along with the feelings of loss and insanity that accompany that walk. The second scene describes the light of life that only Christ could portray:

Scene 1: “A terrible cry of anguish burst from me. Upon earth, in the midst of the darkest night, light never abdicates its functions altogether. It is still subtle and diffusive, but whatever little there may be, the eye still catches that little. Here there was not an atom; the total darkness made me totally blind. Then I began to lose my head. I arose with my arms stretched out before me, attempting painfully to feel my way. I began to run wildly, hurrying through the inextricable maze, still descending, still running through the substance of the earth’s thick crust, a struggling denizen of geological ‘faults,’ crying, shouting, yelling, soon bruised by contact with the jagged rock, falling and rising again bleeding, trying to drink the blood which covered my face, and even waiting for some rock to shatter my skull against.”

Scene 2: “By some phenomenon which I am unable to explain, it lighted up all sides of every object equally. Such was its diffusiveness, there being no central point from which the light emanated, that shadows no longer existed. You might have thought yourself under the rays of a vertical sun in a tropical region at noonday and the height of summer. No vapour was visible. The rocks, the distant mountains, a few isolated clumps of forest trees in the distance, presented a weird and wonderful aspect under these totally new conditions of a universal diffusion of light.”

We often interpret Jesus’ claim to be the light of life, in the simplest manner…and Ockham’s razor would suggest that this is the correct approach. Before following Jesus, we live a life in total darkness rendering us totally blind. We begin to lose our heads, stretch out our arms before us as we attempt to painfully feel our way along life’s inextricable mazes. We cry, we run, we shout, we yell, we become bruised by contact with the jagged rocks that only the darkness brings. We fall, we rise again bleeding, and we pray for some hope to release us from the utter darkness.

Then He comes! And by some phenomenon which we have difficulty explaining, He lights us up all sides equally. His light emanates with such diffusiveness, that shadows no longer remain. His Light guides us to Truth and the Presence of God.

What an awesome picture of Christ as the Light of the World. For centuries, the Church symbolized the Light of Christ by lighting candles, lamps, or other luminaries. Talented artists have designed immaculate stained glass windows where the sunlight casts beauty throughout the sanctuary. And, unfortunately, for centuries, wise theologians, writers, and ministry leaders have argued over whether the church should continue to consent to these heartfelt tributes as a way of worshipping the Light of the World. Here are just two ridiculous examples of this within the last century:

October 3, 1913: Queen Mother Alexandra ordered that candles be burned in Sandringham church in London, England. Queen Mary ordered them out. In a valiant compromise, the Archbishop of Canterbury ordered the candlesticks remain, but made sure no one lit the candles.

January, 1950: J.A. Stephens argued in Ministry Magazine that burning candles in church was a pagan ritual, and should be forbidden. Stephens wrote:

“The Church of Rome features not only marriage candles but also baptismal candles and burial candles. If we are to follow their example, we must use only wax candles. Stearine or tallow candles simply will not do. How far are we to go in this candle burning? Marriage and the Sabbath are the two reminders of Edenic purity left in the world today…the adversary of God and God’s people is tireless, and unless constant vigilance is practiced, we will allow his devices to creep into these sacred things. We of the ministry should stand as watchmen to guard our people from these evil trends.”

This stuff cracks me up! I could go on and on citing instances from church history where someone got his undies all up in a wad over meaningless absurdities such as these.

The Golden Lampstand in the Tabernacle tent provided the priests with light in an otherwise dark place. It helped guide the priests toward the far end of the Tabernacle where a veil marked the entryway to the Holy of Holies—the very place where God’s glory rested.

The candle—whether wax, tallow, or LED—helps us envision the big picture, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It helps us understand that there’s more to this picture than just a candle burning in the front of the church. The candle is a reminder that Jesus is Light in dark places. That where we were once sinners with “red on our ledgers” we are now free to walk in the Light and our ledgers are as white as snow. The candle is a reminder that, like the headlights of a car or a flashlight in the wilderness, Jesus guides us to Truth…to our ultimate Destination—to bask in the Light…in the presence of a Holy and Brilliant God.

“Will you go to hell if you commit suicide?” asked Wesley from the back of the class silencing an 8^th grade Bible class gone awry. We were in the midst of reviewing Judas Iscariot’s possible motivations behind his betrayal of Jesus, and I had lost control of my class. “My brother told me that if you commit suicide, you’ll go to hell because you can’t ask God for forgiveness,” finished Wesley. The rest of the class waited in anxious anticipation for my response. I felt compelled to ruminate over his question for several reasons. Primarily because Wesley had asked a serious question; secondly because my class was finally quiet.

Wesley’s brother—like so many other followers of Jesus have done in the past—had taken two very distinct soteriorlogical concepts (justification and sanctification) and mixed them together to where one couldn’t ascertain the forest from the trees. The idea of justification versus that of sanctification quite often becomes muddled together.

When the Israelite worshiper would enter through the gate of the tabernacle courtyard, he would encounter the Bronze Altar and sacrifice an animal for the atonement of his sins. After his sacrifice, the Israelite would be justified (made just or made righteous) before God. Once the Israelite submitted his sacrifice, he was finished; the priests would have to perform further acts of worship on behalf of the people. At this point, the priest would prepare to enter the Holy Place. In order to enter into the very presence of God, the priest would have to wash himself in the “Living Water” of the Bronze Laver. Ritualistically, the laver would “purify” or “sanctify” the priest, setting him apart for worship within the Holy Place. Once inside the Holy Place, the priest would prepare the bread for the Table of Showbread, maintain the light of the Golden Lampstand, and offer incense on behalf of the people. Without his sanctification in the Bronze Laver, the priest could not move any closer toward God’s presence.

According to the Old Testament sacrificial system, the justification one received from God via the Bronze Altar was temporary. Jesus’ sacrifice via the cross made it possible for the Christian believer to be justified permanently through faith. The Apostle Paul writes, “Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory” (Romans 5:1-2).

No matter how you say it, whether it be “justified,” “made righteous,” saved,” or “going to heaven,” our faith in Christ makes it happen instantaneously and permanently regardless of our good or bad works. Nothing we do can merit justification—it is purely a gift from God through faith (Ephesians 2:8-9). It isn’t emphasized as much, but the antithesis is also true. Once we are justified, nothing we do (bar denying the Spirit and rejecting our faith) can merit damnation—even suicide. If it did, only those of us who are “fortunate” enough to know when, where, and how we’re going to meet our demise would be saved. Because honestly, aren’t we all just perpetual sinners? To abuse our justification and continue in sin, however, is to walk all over Jesus as well as insult the Holy Spirit (Hebrews 10:29). Sin affects our relationship with the Father in a negative way. We confess and practice good works, not for justification, but for sanctification—to renew that relationship with the Father…to seek holiness, to conform to the likeness of Jesus Christ, to become a work of the Holy Spirit in God’s Kingdom, and to set ourselves apart in order to bask in the presence of God. Justification is an instantaneous legal action—once and for all. Sanctification is a continual process of becoming
more and more like Christ. Sanctification is a journey through peaks and valleys, triumphs and failures, joys and pains…from the moment we were justified by faith to the day we meet our Creator face to face.

When we are justified by faith, God Pennington decides to show up in His bus only to begin the premier of Extreme Makeover Heart Edition—aka Sanctification. I find it best to conclude with a brilliant quote from C.S. Lewis (who is quoting a parable written by George MacDonald):

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently he starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.

—C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

The first flash of lightning caused concern, the second flash—anxiety, and the third flash followed by a thunderous response instilled woe within my heart, mind, and soul. I was supposed to be camping out at the Dinsdale farm, not swimming and carousing with girls over at Mike’s house. He had an indoor pool and a hot tub. Be honest, you would’ve done the same thing. My parents trusted me and I lied to them. My dad is brilliant, and when the storm started brewin’, I knew it was only a matter of time before the headlights of his truck made their way down Mike’s drive. I changed out of my swimsuit, hung my head as low as it could go, and walked like a death-row inmate up the stairs to wait for the inevitable. Sure enough, before the first raindrop hit Mike’s front awning, my dad’s Ford pickup truck turned into the driveway. The fun was over.

My dad informed some of the other parents of our misdemeanors—the parents he knew at least. Their kids lied and got away with it. How? I have no idea. Either they were incredible liars or their parents were idiots…maybe a little of both. I knew deep down I couldn’t lie to my parents anymore. I purged the truth all over the kitchen table, sacrificed my freedom, and faced the consequences head-on. In the aftermath of those events, my parents punished me by taking away several privileges. My friends escaped repercussions and continued to enjoy their freedom. I, however, held onto something more valuable than my freedom or the opportunity to hang out with my friends. Because of my honesty, my parents forgave me, trusted me, and walked with me into a new level of redemption and new life. My relationship with my parents grew closer and our love deepened.

After entering through the gate and into the courtyard, the first thing the Israelite worshiper encountered was the Bronze Altar. Specifically designed to offer sacrifices for the atonement of their sins and redemption in the presence of God, the Israelites would place flawless animals upon the altar and burn them as an offering. So was it simply the sacrifice of sheep and goats that God desired, or was is something far more than that?

Even after commanding the Israelites to offer sacrifices, God said, “I want you to show love, not offer sacrifices. I want you to know me more than I want burnt offerings” (Hosea 6:6). The sacrifice was a statement and outward demonstration of one’s devotion to God…one’s desire to be in relationship with the Almighty…a path to atonement, redemption, and new life.

I find it fascinating that God instructed Moses to build the Bronze Altar and most of the other Tabernacle furnishings out of acacia wood. The acacia (or tamarisk) bush creeps its thorny existence into several facets of Ancient Near Eastern religion and mythology.

According to Egyptian mythology, the acacia grew around the body of the god Osiris preserving him for a future date when his wife Isis could bring him back to life. Familiar with Egyptian myths, Moses most likely recognized the life-giving acacia bush as God revealed his name as well as Moses’ purpose as Israel’s savior and redeemer from inside the acacia as it blazed in glorious fire yet didn’t burn up. Zealous Jews may have recognized the thorny branches of the acacia when the Roman soldiers twisted them into a crown of thorns and placed it on the head of an itinerant preacher from Nazareth before he was sentenced to be crucified. Some may have even connected the dots between the acacia’s symbolic life-renewing power and the true power of transformation, redemption, and renewal found in one’s faith in Jesus Christ after he rose from the dead.

In the same way my honest repentance led to a better relationship with my parents, when we fall before the cross and purge the truth about our nights at Mike’s house—swimming and carousing with women—God will forgive us, redeem us, and transform us. There will always be repercussions, but true repentance and sacrifice will build trust, increase love, and better our relationship with our God. For us today, this is what sacrifice looks like:

Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.

—Romans 12:1-2

Sacrifice for the young nation of Israel—and for us today—serves the same purpose: it brings about atonement for our sins, redemption, renewal, and a transformed life so that we may have a dynamic relationship with the Creator of the Universe.

Thanks to Jesus, we no longer have to approach the Bronze Altar and shed the blood of innocent animals. Nevertheless, we still need to bring our best before God and live our life as Casting Crowns sings:

Empty hands held high
Such small sacrifice
If not joined with my life
I sing in vain tonight

May the words I say
And the things I do
Make my lifesong sing
Bring a smile to You

           —Lifesong by Casting Crowns

The acacia bush represents life-renewing power.

Jesus IS that power.

 “So let’s go outside, where Jesus is, where the action is—not trying to be privileged insiders, but taking our share in the abuse of Jesus. This “insider world” is not our home. We have our eyes peeled for the City about to come. Let’s take our place outside with Jesus, no longer pouring out the sacrificial blood of animals but pouring out sacrificial praises from our lips to God in Jesus’ name. Make sure you don’t take things for granted and go slack in working for the common good; share what you have with others. God takes particular pleasure in acts of worship—a different kind of “sacrifice”—that take place in kitchen and workplace and on the streets.”

—Hebrews 13:13-16