Sharing Power

It seems that God has always been about sharing power.

The first thing he said to the freshly-created Adam & Eve was sharing power: “Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” [Genesis 1] That’s sharing power.

Even earlier, as he was thinking about it, he was already clear: “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness; let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” [also Genesis 1] That’s sharing power.

He reminds us of it later: “The heaven, even the heavens, are the LORD's; But the earth He has given to the children of men.” [Psalm 115]

God is about sharing power, at least on this planet. But this planet is (for now) the only place we live, so that’s not much of a practical limitation.

God has always been about sharing power with us. Or call it sharing authority. For the moment, the difference isn’t significant here.

That triggers some ugly stuff in my religious history. For a while in my history, I lived among believers who seemed to think that it was up to them to do things, and if God wasn’t busy, maybe he’d help out a little. And then I spent a whole bunch of years among a “God is all-powerful and I’m only a worm” crowd.

But the idea of God sharing power with us shoots both of those down pretty well, doesn’t it?

Do you remember the parable of the minas [Luke 19]? It’s a picture of his reward system, and the biggest reward? “Well done, good servant; because you were faithful in a very little, have authority over ten cities.”

He’s sharing power again: authority over cities.

For a few years, I’ve been working on the belief that God doesn’t want to relate to us as a master and slaves. He’s a Father, for Heaven’s sake, he wants to relate to us as children, and since he’s a good Father, he wants mature children. Mature daughters and sons who can co-reign with him.

It’s been right there in black and white since the very first page of the Book. He never made a secret of it.

OK, that’s pretty well established. Today, we went off into the weeds a little:

If God is sharing power (on Earth), how much of his power does he share, and how much does he keep for himself?

I get that it’s reasonable to assume that everything that we do as his sons and daughters, well he’s in us, so he’s doing that work, not us. Stop it! That’s religious double-talk. He NEVER said, “We’ll let them think they have authority over creation, but we’ll keep it all for ourselves and just let them pretend to be kings and priests.”

That’s a pretty ugly accusation against a loving Father. I should know; I thought that way for quite a while.

For the moment, let’s assume that when God says, “...he earth He has given to the children of men,” that he meant it.

The question I’m pondering right now is more about how much: How much of the authority on this planet does he keep for himself and how much is he delegating to the human species (that would be you and me, you understand)?

• Some have argued that he started the machine running, but nowadays, it’s largely up to us. (“The earth He has given to the children of men,” remember?)

• Some propose that we don’t have any authority of our own, but we just get to hold his hand while he does kingly stuff sometimes. (“In him we live and move and have our being.” [Acts 17:28])

• I’m thinking that sharing means sharing. He has some, we have some, but mostly, we both have our hand in the pot. If we’re smart, we’ll invite him to come with us when we lead and we’ll go with him where he’s leading.

How do you figure that works out? How do you see it? 

Balaam’s Presumption

I’ve been reflecting on Baalam son of Beor recently (Numbers 22 – 24, I believe).
Balaam was known as a prophet whose words carried power (“...For I know that whoever you bless is blessed, and whoever you curse is cursed.”).

A local king (Balak, king of Moab) saw the horde of people on their way from Egypt, heading to the Promised Land, and he was afraid for his life. He had reason to be. This mob of former slaves had just wiped out the neighboring kingdom (21:25).

So he decides to hire the local prophet, and here is where things get interesting. This is what stuck out to me this morning:

• Balak tries to hire Balaam to curse the invading army (22:6). Balaam answers, “I’ll check with God.” (22:8)

• God tells Balaam “Do not go with them.” Balaam tells the recruiters, “Go back to your own country, for the LORD has refused to let me go with you.” (22:13)

So far so good.

• But Balak is determined. He offers more cash, more status. Balaam knows God has already said no. That should have been the end of it. But he goes back to check with God again.

It occurs to me that an awful lot of prophets I know (NOT all of them!) have some measure of insecurity in them, and with reason. People who speak for God are not often welcome into polite society: prophets encounter rejection more than some folks. This seems to be a tender spot for Balaam.

• And this is where things go haywire. God defers to Balaam’s free will, lets him go with them, but says, “...but do only what I tell you.”

• Balaam saddles up his donkey and heads to Moab with the royal recruiters.

• And along the way, an angel tries to kill him three times. His talking donkey saved his life. (22:28)

Interpreting this Old Covenant story through the newer, more complete revelation (Hebrews 1:3), it’s clear that it’s not God trying to kill the rebellious prophet. I suspect that rather his rebellion against God’s clear instruction (22:13) gave fallen angels (or demons) the right to go after him. A digression.

That’s what sin does, of course: it gives hell permission to beat on us. God says, “Be holy” for a reason. (Leviticus 11:44,45; 19:2, & 1Peter 1:16) (Fortunately, his command to be holy also releases his power for us to choose holiness successfully.)

I come away from this thinking that free will really is a big deal. Our free will is so powerful, it will let us defy the will of God. Of course, there are some formidable consequences to that choice, but it is still a choice.

It’s not that hard to talk yourself into doing what God said not to do. And God will let us do it. There have been times that I’ve asked him not to, but free will seems to be a big deal to him: he generally insists that we make our own choices.

Note that in the end, Balaam did attempt to curse Israel, but God turned it into a blessing (Deuteronomy 23:5), but he ended badly (2Peter 2:15 & Revelation 2:14).

I don’t want to be like Balaam. His words carried power. His prophecies all came to pass. But he was damned fool about it: he disappointed God and nearly got killed by an angel. (But he got to hear a donkey talk! That’s kind of cool. An ass talking to an ass, I guess.)

Let There Be Light, and Other Divine Commands

Think with me for a minute.

It’s pretty clear that when God gave commands in Genesis 1, those things happened.

“Let there be light!” and Bam! There’s light.

And God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear.” And it was so.

There’s a principle illustrated here: When God gives a command, power is released in that command to accomplish what is commanded.

For years, I misunderstood this. I heard (for I had been taught) “Be holy as I am holy” as instruction for how I needed to direct my own efforts.

“God says to be holy, so you need to follow all these holy rules in order to accomplish holiness. The best you can.”

“God says, ‘Go and sin no more,’ so you need to know all the Do’s and Don’ts and make sure you follow every one carefully for the rest of your life.”

I’ve since learned that this is complete hogwash. And it’s an insult to God.

God gives me a gift, “Be holy, son; and here is the ability (and the desire) to be holy!” But I had ignored his gift and tried to come up with the same “holy” result through my own legalistic efforts.

What a nightmare.

But once I quit focusing on the list of Do’s and Don’ts and just focused on my Father, once I gave my heart freedom (gasp!) to love him, my desire for sin left, and with it, my choice to sin.

I began to experience holiness. In my life. Mine! My own!

I’ve been reflecting on this process (with substantial thanksgiving!) recently, and then in this context, “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Romans 12:2) came to mind.

“Transformed” means changed, in structure, in appearance, even in genetics. Literally.

So how would I even recognize it when that transforming happens to me?

“Think about Easter, Son. Where was Jesus before dawn on that first Easter?”

Jesus was in the grave. He might have been preaching in hell, but he was between death and resurrection. (Around here, we call that “dead.” As in, “Jesus was dead.”)

But Jesus went into the grave as one kind of a man, one kind of flesh-and-blood, and came out another. If nothing else, he could walk through walls, afterwards. I’ll bet there were other changes, too.

He had been transformed, after. So right then, in the grave at that first Easter weekend, Jesus was being transformed.

At that point, my mind was spinning with religious thoughts like “dying to self,” and “being hidden away, cocooned,” and “renewing my mind,” in order to “be transformed.”

Father interrupted my thoughts. “What makes you think I’m not transforming you right now, right here as we talk? As we walk together every day? This isn’t something you do, Son. This is something I do.

“And if I can transform Jesus, even while he was dead, don’t you think I can transform you while you’re not even dead? “Trust me, Son.”

I’m a grateful son. I’m thankful.

And then it hit me: that’s the secret. The sentence continues: “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

Choosing to be thankful, even excited, for who he is and what he’s done and well… maybe just living thankfully, that’s the key that he works through. Or at least one of them.