Aghast, they watched the horror show unfold before them. It was disgusting. Disgraceful. Disrespectful. Those men completely bypassed the washing station. The entire lot of Jesus’ disciples paraded straight into the dining room and comfortably seated themselves at the table. Their hands were still covered in both visible and invisible grains of dirt and dust. Germs nestled there from multiple handshakes. Undesirables snuggled under their nails. It was cringeworthy. It was also noteworthy. A little check in the “probably not God” column of their scorecards. The coming Messiah wouldn’t allow His followers to eat without first washing their hands. He’d follow all the customs and traditions of their day. That meant this Man, the Son of Joseph the carpenter from Galilee, wasn’t the Messiah. According to their calculations, He couldn’t be. And the Pharisees were glad.
They didn’t want this unwashed individual to be the promised One. He didn’t fit their ideals. Didn’t mesh with their plans. Didn’t follow their customs. He didn’t do anything the Messiah they expected would do. Their Messiah would look so much differently. He wouldn’t be meek and mild, using words and parables to teach lessons. He wouldn’t have time for the aged and infirm, the tiny tots and bedraggled mommas, the rugged fishermen or the dirty prostitutes. He wouldn’t be distracted by every illness, turn aside to every person possessed, or concern himself with feeding a bunch of guys too lazy to pack their own lunch. No. He’d be a leader from the start. In every way. Meticulously adhering to their traditions and laws, and forcing his men to do the same. Worried more about the important things than some inconsequential kid’s boo-boo. And He’d surround himself with intelligent, aristocratic, well-mannered men. Men like them. Not men who were too stupid to even wash their hands before lunch.
Hoping to reveal the truth of His identity, they probed Him on the error. They had questions. Why didn’t He make His men follow the revered traditions of their elders? Why didn’t they wash their hands before they ate? Why didn’t they scrub meticulously, catching every crease and callous until no grain of sand could possibly remain? If He was who He seemed to believe He was, why didn’t He follow the rules and regulations and traditions the religious leaders and elders had put in place? Where did He get off thinking He didn’t have to?
If the Pharisees thought the answer was going to be a stuttering, caught-in-the-act, guilty response, they were in for a surprise. Instead of offering some elaborate excuse of an answer to their question, Jesus responded with a pointed question of His own. One that got right down in the muck of where they lived and called them out. Why were they so busy straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel? Why did they believe their ability to use their traditions to skirt God’s commands would gain them eternal life? Why did they think lip service and outward actions of good behavior would save their souls? At what point had the scales so massively shifted as to present the idea that human rules trumped God’s laws? (Matthew 23:24; Ephesians 2:8-9)
By the end of Jesus’ discourse, a crowd was starting to form. In an effort to nip the issue in the bud and answer everyone’s questions, Jesus called them to gather around. They needed to hear His words. They needed to mark this down. It needed to be indelibly written on their hearts and etched in their minds. What they put in their mouths could never, would never defile their souls. The fish they had for lunch was fine. The sufganiyot they ate that morning was perfect. The rack of lamb currently roasting for dinner was absolutely acceptable. Even if they forgot to wash their hands, if water wasn’t readily available, or if they simply didn’t feel like doing so. Why? Because physical food feeds only your body. It quiets only the grumbling of your empty stomach. It does nothing to assuage the cries of your empty soul. Nourishment for your soul must come from Christ alone. Time spent in His Word. Hours seeking His will. Moments lived in His presence. A lifetime dedicated to being holy as He called you to be. (I Peter 1:15-17)
Appalled at the obvious set down and deeply offended by Jesus’ words, the Pharisees slunk off to lick their wounds. Their exit didn’t go unnoticed. Neither did their offense. The disciples saw their retreat and accurately identified the issue. Approaching Jesus as the last of the crowd finally meandered away, the disciples asked if He realized how offensive His words had been to the Pharisees. It must have come as a shock when He answered in the affirmative. Jesus knew the Pharisees were offended. He knew they didn’t like His words. But He hadn’t come to tickle ears and rubber stamp their ideals. He came to give life. Eternal life. The only way to do that was to correct the inaccuracies in their teachings. They didn’t have to like it. They could choose to reject it. But they could never say they hadn’t heard. The ball of obedience was in their court.
Unfortunately, the disciples were running a little obtuse that day. They were still confused. About handwashing. About eating. About being defiled. About what Jesus was really saying. Regularly the one to speak up, Peter, his brow furrowed in puzzlement, asked for an explanation. Could they get some clarification on the parable? Could it be simplified? Was there another way to say it that would highlight the main points and eliminate their bewilderment? There absolutely was.
Sucking in a deep breath and pushing it out in a controlled sigh, Jesus answered in understandable sentences built with small words and simple ideas. Reiterations of what He’d just said to the crowd a short time ago. Things they’d already heard but were struggling to separate new truths from old traditions. What you put in your mouth never touches your soul. It can’t. Go lick the sand, if it makes you happy. Eat a few blades of unwashed grass. Drink a handful of lake water. Your stomach may wish you hadn’t. You may cast it up immediately. You may suffer an elimination situation a few hours later. It may stand as an indictment of your ability to make intelligent choices, but it won’t affect your soul. At all. (Matthew 15:1-20; Mark 7:18-20)
It can’t. The things that affect your soul don’t go into your mouth. They come out of it. Words erupting from thoughts, feelings, and ideas. Reactions flowing from the inedible things that seep into your heart through exposures, experiences, and the natural bent toward sin in every person. Festering anger. Deep-rooted bitterness. Jealousy. Arrogance. Selfishness. If you allow them to take root, grow, and envelop your heart, they will spill out of your mouth and into your actions through depravity, corruption, immorality and hate. The state of your heart has nothing to do with what you eat, and everything to do with what you hold dear. (Luke 6:45; Matthew 12:34; Proverbs 4:23; Jeremiah 17:9-10; Proverbs 27:19)
See, you really aren’t what you eat. What you put in your mouth isn’t what defiles your soul. It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t derail your eternity. So eat the donut. Drink the coffee. Have the steak. Unless God has specifically asked you to lay that thing aside, choosing to do so in order to honor the tradition of Lent is simply following a man-made tradition in an attempt to please a sovereign God. And it isn’t the spirit of Lent. Lent is about editing out the things in our lives that fail to please God and writing in the things that do. Lent is about more. More time with God in prayer. More time in His Word. More time in silent contemplation. More careful listening to hear Him speak. (Romans 14:14)
Lest misunderstanding occurs, know this. I love the traditions of the church. The Liturgy. The sacraments. Their significance. I stand by them. Encourage them. So long as they are humbly done to honor God. What doesn’t honor Him is when these things are done out of a belief that participating in these actions alone brings the righteousness that leads to eternal life. It doesn’t. It can’t. When they are done with no commitment to holiness, no attempt at spiritual renewal, no desire to change or increase their relationship with God, these things mean nothing. You can skip a week of meals, forgo caffeine, eliminate wine, make Lent your own diet program, but unless you purposefully add in moments of honest conversation with God, you’ve wasted your time. Your diet means nothing. Because you aren’t what you physically consume. You are what you spiritually devour. (Romans 3:28; Galatians 2:16)
So. Get the donut. The one with cream filling, chocolate icing, and multi-colored sprinkles, if you’d like. Eat it while you read your Bible. Sip your coffee while you contemplate the words you read. And pray. Every day. All day. Don’t stop. Turn off the television. Silence your cell phone. Tell your friends you aren’t available for an hour. Find a place to be silent and hear God’s voice as He speaks to you. Draw as close as you can to Jesus. Stay there. Nourish your soul with the Bread of Life. Quench your spiritual thirst at the Spring of Living Water. Take time to shore up your edges, clean out your clutter, straighten the shelves of your heart, leave no room between your soul and your Savior. You can sacrifice your steak, your chocolate, your crisps, but since you aren’t actually what you eat, it means nothing. Instead, rend your heart. Search your soul. Make edits that bring forth fruits declaring you have been redeemed. You may not be what you physically eat, but you are what you spiritually consume. (I Chronicles 16:11; Luke 18:1; Ephesians 6:18; Romans 12:2; Matthew 6:6; John 6:35; John 7:37-39; Matthew 3:8)
Wonderful Naomi! Love this!!