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Printer Friendly VersionJerusalem. That name again! Rich with meaning for those traveling
with Jesus and listening to his teaching! Jerusalem was not only where God
was – in the Holy of Holies; Jerusalem was where God would bring salvation
(Isaiah 2:2-4). Hence the question: “Lord, will only a few be saved?”
They sensed that they were standing on the edge of something great.
Jesus also had Jerusalem in the forefront of his mind. He too
knew he was standing on the edge of something great. But his expectations
were vastly different from those of his hearers. His insight told him that
disaster lay ahead – both for himself and for Jerusalem.
We have here, then, a study in contrasts: blithe, bland optimism
on the one hand; and heavy pessimism – no, realism – on the other.
The passage divides into two parts: Jesus’ piercing, trenchant analysis
of a shallow, misplaced optimism; and his grim exposition of his own expectations
of what Jerusalem would mean for him – and for Jerusalem.
The first part of the passage (verses 22-30) consists of an
examination of spiritual blindness. The setting is that of purblind self-confidence.
“Will only a few be saved?” No fear lies behind the question. They
were quite confident that they would be saved. It was a superficial inquiry
as to how many (if any) of the lesser breeds would be saved. Jesus replies
with a devastating exposé of their spiritual blindness.
For one thing he points to their blindness to the urgency of
the time. Entry into the Kingdom of God requires moral effort, facing spiritual
realities. “Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell
you, will try to enter and will not be able” (24). The master of the
house will close the door when the banquet begins, and there will be no late
admissions. Time is not to be taken lightly. Even the pagan Brutus in Shakespeare’s
Julius Caesar knew that.
“There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.”
It is not different in the life of the spirit. Time can be counted,
but it cannot be counted on. The only time we can count on is now. Moreover,
all time is not the same. Receptiveness and sensitivity to the Spirit change.
Interests change. Powers and capacities change. Hence Paul’s insistent
warning to the Corinthians: “See, now is the acceptable time; see now
is the day of salvation.” (2 Corinthians 6:2).
Not only does Jesus point to their blindness to the urgency
of the time; he also points to their blindness to the moral demands of the
Kingdom. When they found the door closed to them they were shocked. Were they
not the offspring of Abraham? Had they not socialized in the company of Jesus?
To which the owner of the house replies: “I do not know where you came
from: go away from me all you evildoers!”(27). In a word, they were blind
to the meaning of sin. At the root of their attitude was the idea that salvation
is deserved. They thought it was theirs by virtue of who they were.
The second part of the passage (verses 31-35) consists of an
exposition of spiritual reality. Here Jesus is not only the teacher; he is
the topic. Spiritual reality is defined from his perspective: not only as
he sees it, but as he engages with it, embraces it, and, indeed, embodies
it. At its heart lies self-surrender. In response to the warning that Herod
is seeking his life, he replies: “Today, and tomorrow, and the next day
I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside
of Jerusalem” (33). What this amounts to is that there is no coming of
the Kingdom of God without the cross. Kingdom values: poverty of spirit, mourning
over sin, purity of heart, hunger for righteousness, are not those cherished
by unredeemed human nature. These are rather the opposites of those: self-assertion,
ignoring of sin, the hunger for position. Only at the cross can these be confronted,
exposed for what they are, atoned for, and broken. That was the heart of Jesus’
mission.
At the same time he knew that Jerusalem would not accept him.
Her past had shown that, and her heart had not changed. Hence her doom was
sealed by her own self-sufficiency. “See, your house is left to you”
– probably a reference to the Temple. She wanted to be her own God. She
would get her wish: but at a terrible cost. She refused to receive Jesus as
her Savior. By that refusal, she had decided she would receive him as her
judge at the end of the age: “I tell you, you will not see me until the
time comes when you say: ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of
the Lord’” (35).
But the words of judgment are not spoken of in tones of gloating
and revenge. Rather, they are spoken in tones of grief and unrequited love.
“How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers
her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”(34). Judgment is
not what God intends. It is what we unleash upon ourselves when we refuse
his redeeming love.
So we watch Jesus and his company as they travel on to Jerusalem. Embodied in them are stark opposites: blank spiritual blindness with its facile optimism on the one hand; and sharp spiritual insight with its heavy pessimism on the other. And we face the question: which is the truth?