8/5/07 The Most Troublesome Disciple of Them All

We are going to stay with the Gospels this morning,

but we’re going to pull out our study of John for one more week

because there is something I have seen recently

about the Twelve Disciples of our Lord

that I want to try to share with you.

Anyone who has even the most limited knowledge of the life of Christ

knows that early in His earthly ministry

He chose 12 men whom He identified in a unique way as His 12 disciples.

From the time of their selection

they became His inner circle,

the ones who always traveled with Him,

the ones who were specially equipped by Him,

first with special teaching,

special knowledge,

and then later with a special working of the Holy Spirit through them

that enabled them to perform miraculous works.

Jesus’ selection of these 12

certainly did not exclude others from following Him,

or from interacting with Him in deeply personal ways,

or from their hearing His teaching

or even receiving certain miraculous gifts of the Spirit.

It wasn’t that the 12 disciples had exclusive access to Him,

or to His love,

or to His deep personal working in their lives.

And yet...

and yet they were certainly, absolutely, uniquely the inner circle.

They were the ones who had not simply chosen to follow Jesus,

but who were in a careful, specific, personal way

chosen by Jesus for Himself.

In His final extended conversation with His men He said,

JOH 15:16 "You did not choose Me but I chose you, and appointed you that you would go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name He may give to you.

I want us to spend our time this morning with these men

because there is one in the group

that I find far more troublesome than all the rest put together,

one whose life with the Master when he was here

and whose ultimate end raises some of the most disturbing questions I’ve ever wrestled with,

questions I’m only recently beginning to find answers too.

But first I want to introduce these 12 men to you.

And perhaps the easiest way for me to do this

is to once again borrow words from my imagined Peter in The Fisherman

as he described that day when Jesus called His 12 to Himself.

And so Peter says,

“Though I could not see it at the time,

the beginning of that second year brought with it

the initiation of a radical new direction in the Master’s strategy.

I continued to cling to the hope

that he would seek to build bridges of reconciliation with our nation’s leadership.

He and they, on the other hand,

knew all too well that no such bridges could ever be built.

They feared him as they had never feared anything or anyone else in their lives.

He was truth clothed in power and compassion, and it terrified them.

They had worked hard to build their power structure,

dancing their intricate dance of corruption and compromise.

They knew it was a dance he would not share.

There was no place for him in their world.

One way or another he would have to be removed.

And so began phase two of the Master’s plan.

Though he continued his public teaching and healing work among the multitudes in the rural areas,

his primary point of focus was quickly redirected

to those whom he once referred to affectionately as his “little flock.”

I think even then each of us knew who we were.

Certainly he knew.

We were the ones who had given ourselves to him.

That doesn’t say it well, but I don’t know how else to put it.

We were the ones who were drawn to him

not because of what he said or because of what we got from him

but simply because of who he was.

We did not understand him,

but we knew, too, that we could not live without him.

The Master’s new strategy became evident to us all

the day he designated the twelve.

I wonder if I can help you understand what that day was like.

It began, as most days did,

with a group of us congregating at the house where Jesus was staying early in the morning.

He was not there when we arrived,

but we had grown accustomed to him slipping out before the sun was up

to find a secluded place to talk with his heavenly Father.

I found out later that this particular time he had been out all night.

By the time he arrived home,

a sizable crowd was waiting for him.

Many of the faces in the group were well known to me.

Andrew, James, and John were there, of course,

as were Philip and Nathanael, who preferred to be called by his family name, Bartholomew.

There were a number of recent additions in the crowd as well, like Matthew.

Until just a few days earlier

he had been the collector of Roman taxes in the region.

It seemed strange to see him there,

standing off to the side by himself.

I had spent most of my adult life

hating the man for his shameless sellout to the Roman Empire

for the sake of increasing the bulge in his wallet.

But I was also standing next to the Master the week before,

when Jesus stepped inside Matthew’s office,

looked into his eyes,

and asked Matthew to follow him.

I saw first the fear,

then the shame,

then the amazement and hope that passed over Matthew’s face

in his encounter with the Master.

I had experienced this inner pilgrimage myself

and had to admit Matthew might now be one of us.

As Andrew, James, John, Philip, Nathanael, and I stood there in our little group,

waiting, watching for the Master’s arrival,

we had no way of knowing the significance of what was about to take place.

The words spoken by the Master this day

would alter the course of our lives, our nation, and eventually our world forever.

Jesus’ appearance brought the same response it always brought:

the crowd surged forward in excitement and anticipation.

As always, everyone there brought with them their own private agendas for the Master.

Some wanted healing,

some had questions they wanted to ask,

some came to attack or discredit him,

and the rest of us just wanted to be where he was.

This day, however, the healing-teaching-discussion pattern with which we were so familiar did not occur.

When Jesus saw the crowd moving toward him,

he stopped, motioned for us to follow,

and then led the curious procession to a grassy hillside outside of town.

He asked us to sit, waited until the commotion quieted down, and then began to speak.

“This day I have chosen twelve men from among you to be with me as my disciples.

When I call your name, I would like you to join me here at the front.”

I had never seen a group of people become so quiet so quickly

as did that crowd who heard Jesus speak those words.

None of us knew what was involved

in being designated as one of Jesus’ disciples.

We did know, however,

that the designation carried with it

an honor unlike anything we had ever known before.

It was one thing for us to have chosen him as our leader—

to follow him where he went,

to listen to his teachings,

to talk and learn and laugh with him each day.

It was altogether different for him to choose us.

As I stood there in the silence,

waiting for him to speak again,

I recalled my foolish antics on that first journey with the Master to the wedding in Cana more than a year ago.

I remembered my frantic efforts to impress this man.

I remembered thinking what a great addition I would make to his team.

I remembered thinking how much he needed someone like me.

The memory made me feel foolish.

So many things had still not yet changed in my life at that point.

But one thing certainly had.

I knew Jesus didn’t need me; I needed him.

To my credit,

Jesus’ announcement of his intention to name twelve disciples

did not fill me with anxiety.

I knew already he would call my name.

How could it be otherwise?

“You are Simon the son of John; you shall be called Peter.”

My future, my life, was bound up in this man.

The first six names he called came as no surprise to me.

“Simon, Andrew, James, John, Nathanael, and Philip, will you join me up here?”

We’d all been with the Master from the beginning.

Our commitment to him and his to us was certain.

The seventh name he spoke, however,

took the crowd by surprise.

“I would also like you, Matthew, to join me.”

No one was more surprised to hear his name than Matthew himself.

He was sitting at the very back of the crowd,

his eyes fixed not on Jesus but on the ground in front of him.

When he heard his name spoken,

he looked up, then looked around him,

apparently curious to see the man who shared his name—

the faithful, obedient, devout Matthew who had just been selected for this great honor.

But when no one else stirred,

Matthew looked at the Master.

To his amazement, Matthew saw that Jesus, and indeed most of the rest of the crowd, was looking at him.

For a moment he just sat there, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

As I watched Matthew stand and then work his way to the front,

I wondered at how such different paths could have led us both to this same spot.

I had spent much of the past year dancing around in front of the Lord,

frantically waving banners and carrying signs declaring, “Peter is your man!”

My boastful flesh assured me

that Jesus had indeed chosen wisely when he selected me,

and he could certainly not do better than to choose others like me.

Matthew, on the other hand, came forward in utter disbelief,

still unable to accept what was taking place.

His fearful flesh,

combined with his sense of shame and failure over his union with the hated Roman Empire,

made him feel as though Jesus was making a mistake.

Even when he finally reached the six of us standing next to Jesus,

he stood a few feet away.

I looked over at him,

saw the amazement and insecurity in his eyes,

and in a rare moment of selfless compassion reached out and placed my hand on his shoulder.

That was the first time I ever saw him smile.

He took a step closer to the group and said,

“I can’t believe this! I can’t believe he chose me.”

Silent tears were streaming down his cheeks.

The next two men named by the Master

brought with them a greater history with Jesus

than that of all the rest of us put together.

They were Jesus’ cousins, James,

whom we called James the Less because he was a full head shorter than anyone else in the group,

and his younger brother, Judas, or Thaddaeus as he preferred to be called

to avoid confusion with the other Judas in the group.

These two men had grown up with the Master,

knowing him more as their older brother than as their cousin.

With the exception of his mother, Mary, of course,

James and Thaddaeus were the first and only members of Jesus’ immediate family

to follow him prior to his resurrection from the dead.

They were a great addition to the group.

James was the most energetic, impish little fellow I’d ever known.

His practical jokes and quick wit kept the rest of us forever on guard.

And his brother, Thaddaeus,

brought with him a remarkable spirit of trust and obedient submission to Jesus.

He was the youngest in the group,

not yet out of his teens,

having known the Master his entire life as his oldest and certainly most significant cousin.

I don’t know when he first began to view Jesus as more than just a good man,

but I have often thought they must have shared experiences throughout his childhood

that made it easier for him to follow now.

The tenth name Jesus called will affect you differently

than it affected those of us who were there that day.

“Judas Iscariot, I would also like you to join me.”

Perhaps it is impossible for you to hear his name now

without feeling a sense of revulsion.

You know he is the one who would one day sell out the Master for a handful of coins.

In your mind you might even picture the crowd sitting on that grassy hillside

wincing in disgust when his name was called.

You could not be further from the truth.

Judas was the one disciple chosen by the Master

who seemed “right” to all of us there that day.

He was a likable, congenial young man,

well known in our community and highly respected.

He brought to the group a sharp mind, initiative, and an uncanny business sense.

In the weeks ahead,

as friends and followers of Jesus contributed money to help meet our needs,

Judas was the unanimous choice for group treasurer.

He had listened closely to the Master’s teachings during the previous several months

and brought with him an unshakable confidence in both the right and the ability of Jesus

to lead the nation of Israel to greatness.

He seemed to possess no reservations

about linking his own personal future

to the future of this miracle worker from Galilee.

The selection process was completed

with Jesus’ call for Thomas and Simon the Zealot to join the group.

It is difficult to imagine a more diverse collection of personalities

than the ones standing next to Jesus that day.

Whereas James the Less was a bouncing, bubbly, enthusiastic explosion of life,

Thomas was serious and introspective, almost to the point of being morbid.

He was a quiet, logical, brooding thinker

who seldom spoke except to point out why some idea was impractical

or why some scheme was destined to fail.

His loyalty to the Master was undeniable,

but his obsession with the negative in every situation

made him a difficult comrade for me to relate to.

The Master’s mosaic of contrasts

was completed with Matthew’s opposite in Simon the Zealot.

While Matthew spent his former life in bed with the Roman enemy,

Simon had invested his efforts in a frantic fight

to free our nation from all Gentile oppression.

Prior to his union with and submission to the Master,

his determination to restore the sovereignty of the nation of Israel by any means, at any cost,

made him one of the most outspoken and contentious members of our community.

We never ceased to enjoy baiting Matthew and Simon into political debates

that always ended with Simon being reduced to an irrational, frustrated, screaming rage.”

OK, that’s the group,

the men whom Jesus chose for His inner circle.

But that isn’t the total picture,

because even within this inner group

there was yet a smaller group chosen by the Lord,

three men from the 12

who were designated by Him for the closest possible union with the Master,

three men who were allowed to be with Him at critical points in His presentation of Himself,

three men who knew Jesus as no one else in the world knew Jesus.

Jesus repeatedly selected these three and only these three

to be with Him at crucial points in His life.

Jesus allowed only these three to be with Him

when He brought a little girl back to life in Mark chapter 5.

It was only these three

who were allowed to witness what took place on the mountain

that day when Jesus talked with Moses and Elijah,

and then heard the voice of God identifying Jesus as His Son.

And when Jesus most needed the kind of comfort that only friendship can give,

as He anticipated His own brutal execution just a few hours away,

it was just these three He wanted with Him as He prayed in the garden.

One of those three, of course, was Peter,

the same Peter who would ultimately become the leader of early Church,

the Peter who would have a part in the writing of the New Testament,

and whose life would be better known and better loved by Christians throughout history than any other.

And a second member of that inner-inner circle was John,

the life-long close friend of Peter,

the same John who wrote the 4^th Gospel, three New Testament letters, and the Book of Revelation.

It would be impossible to overstate the significance

of the impact of his writings on the history of the human race.

But it is the third member of this inner-inner circle that has caused me so much trouble.

It is the third member of the trio

who is without a doubt

by far the most troublesome member of the original band of disciples.

It is this third member who has raised questions for me

that I have only recently begun to find answers to.

The third member of this inner circle was John’s older brother, James.

He was among the first to be called into discipleship by the Master.

Peter, Andrew, James and John...these two sets of brothers

knew the Master from the very beginning.

And along with Peter and John,

James knew Jesus better than anyone else in history would ever know Him.

So what is it that troubles me so much about this man?

It certainly isn’t that he responded to the Lord as he did.

It isn’t that the Lord called him in the first place,

or built His life into him as He did.

What troubles me so much

is that his relationship with the Master,

and especially His being a member of the inner-inner circle

utterly shatters some of the most reasonable, logical pillars of my belief system.

You see, for most of my Christian life

I have assumed that there is always a results ingredient in God’s involvement in our lives.

By that I mean that much of what He does in our lives

He does so that He can than use us to accomplish certain things in the lives of others.

And if I keep James out of the picture it works.

Here is Peter, the head of the church, given a special relationship with the Lord.

Here is John, given a relationship with the Lord

that allows him to understand the true nature of God’s love as no one else in history has understood it

so that he can then share that knowledge with those of us who have followed after.

And how many times in our own lives

do we find ourselves thinking,

“Well, now I understand why God did this or did that in my life -

it was so that I could reach this person or accomplish that task.”

I mean, we just naturally assume

that there must be some results goal or motivation

that justifies what the Lord does and why.

Certainly He loves us,

but He’s also very interested in using us,

and though we don’t dare put it into words,

it seems reasonable to us that there might even be some link between how much He loves us

and how much He’s able to accomplish through us.

When we bring those thoughts out in the open like that

of course we’d reject them,

but I’ll bet there are more than a few of you sitting here this morning

who honestly believe that God must have a special affection for me

because...well...because I’m a preacher

and surly He must like preachers more than He likes people like you.

But then there’s James,

and with James so many of my treasured assumptions collapse.

Because, you see, with James the results thing utterly collapses,

because with James,

one of the three men who knew the Lord better than anyone else would ever know Him,

with James there were no results whatsoever

that justified his presence in the inner-inner circle.

Maybe you’ve been under the mistaken belief

that John’s brother, James, was the author of the New Testament book of James.

He was not.

That book was actually written by one of Jesus’ biological half-brothers

who came to faith in Christ following the resurrection.

The James who was a member of that inner-inner circle

never wrote a book,

he never held a position of great leadership in the early church,

and as far as we know

he never accomplished any great or mighty works prior to His death.

In fact all we know about him following the resurrection

is what we are told in Acts 12:2.

ACT 12:2 And (Herod) had James the brother of John put to death with a sword.

He was the first of the 12 disciples to be put to death for his faith in Christ.

What a waste, huh?

All that knowledge about Christ,

all of that experience with the Master,

so far beyond anything anyone else would ever be able to have,

and what came of it?

And to our minds

it makes no sense whatsoever

because, well, because there are no RESULTS that justify what God did or why.

And that right there is the reason why.

You see, there is no results motivation in the love of God.

He does not love us so that,

He does not bring us to Himself so that He can do things through us,

and there is no productivity link in the value He places on our relationship with Him.

Now certainly

I will boldly affirm that God does work through our lives

to literally change the course history,

and certainly to change the course of the personal histories of those He brings into our lives.

But all of that is simply a by-product of being His children.

And whatever results He chooses to bring about through our lives

is totally up to Him,

and totally out of our control,

and certainly not in any way a justification for what He’s done for us or in us.

I’m making this too complicated.

Let me put it this way.

Do you know why Jesus kept James so close to Him when He was on this earth?

He did it because He loved James

and James loved Him.

Do you know why He wanted James with Him on the Mount of Transfiguration?

Because James was one of the three best friends He had when He was here

and He wanted His best friends with Him.

He wasn’t doing what He was doing so that He could get something out of James in return.

He did it because He found joy in having James next to Him,

with Him,

sharing life beside Him.

And do you know why He does what He does in your life?

It’s for the same reason.

He loves you simply because He loves you,

and it has nothing whatsoever to do with anything He may or may not choose to do through you.

And it’s only when we begin to understand that truth

that we can even begin to see our God as He really is.