Peter Paul Reubens, "The Adoration of the Magi"

I am grateful that we have not one, but four accounts of the life of Jesus. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are magnificent works that tell us about Jesus’s teachings and actions.

I’ve often wondered why we have four. Wouldn’t one be enough? In fact, that’s what many of us think. Sometimes we think the goal is to take the four gospels, harmonize them, and compress them into one unified account.

For example, we might read the accounts of Jesus’ birth in Matthew and Luke. Matthew tells us some wise men came bearing gifts. Luke tells us there were some shepherds that came to see Jesus.

We then think the goal is to form one complete account, where wise men and shepherds came to visit Jesus. Just take a look at most nativity scenes to see this. (Nevermind that Jesus was not really a baby anymore when these visitors came).

But that’s not the point of the gospels. We’re not trying to peel them back to reconstruct one sequence of events. That would make the four gospels convenient resources but redundant at best and unnecessary at worst. God could certainly have produced one single history book sort of account if he’d wanted to.

But instead, we have four rich accounts, each with distinct styles and goals. Matthew is careful to tell us about the wise men because Matthew wants his gospel to highlight Jesus as King and Messiah. Luke, on the other hand, wants to remind readers about the shepherds, emphasizing the lowly place of Jesus and the importance of others who find themselves on the margins (women, the poor, “tax collectors and sinners,” etc.)

I encourage you to study the gospels on their own terms, looking for ways Matthew emphasizes certain things over Luke, and vice versa.

With the gospels, we’re not on a scavenger hunt, getting bits of one story from one gospel and other bits of the same story from another gospel. Rather, we find ourselves surrounded by four great, inspired witnesses of Jesus Christ, each with their own story to tell. Make it yours.

Tonight I got out the guitar and played Dylan’s “Simple Twist of Fate” for Mariah’s lullabye. It brought back good memories of playing this song for the first time eleven years ago with my good buddy Cody Pruitt (we played under the name “Joker & Thief”). Thanks, Cody, for all the great music I love because of you.

Here, for your listening pleasure, is Joker & Thief’s rendition of Simple Twist of Fate, from the Wilson House in Wichita Falls, May 12, 2000.

Here’s a third way we do this: In the story of the exodus, the small nation of Israel is delivered from the oppressive hands of the Egyptians and their pharaoh. God brings them through the waters, crushing the Egyptian army and giving his people freedom.

Americans read this story and identify with the people of Israel. (To be clear, I believe the church is indeed the new Israel, but we go beyond this sometimes in our interpretation.) We see God delivering us from tough times and so God’s words to Israel ring true to us.

But what if the text is also trying to get us to examine ways in which we are like Egypt? What if we are the oppressors? (And indeed, if “we” = America, then we have literally enslaved people, and still do, in more subtle ways.)

What if we’re Pharaoh, and not Moses?

On this day of internal revenue
some of us are paid up,
some of us owe,
some of us await a refund,
some of us have no income to tax.

But all of us are taxed,
by war,
by violence,
by anxiety,
by deathliness.

And Caesar never gives any deep tax relief.

We render to Caesar . . .
to some it feels like a grab,
to some it is clearly a war tax,
to some – some few –
it is a way to contribute to the common good.

In any case we are haunted
by what we render to Caesar,
by what we might render to you,
by the way we invest our wealth and our lives,
when what you ask is an “easy yoke”:
to do justice
to love mercy
to walk humbly with you.

Give us courage for your easy burden, so to live untaxed lives.

Walter Brueggemann, Prayers for a Privileged People (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2008), 131-132.

We see the images of the father running to his wayward son and think, “Boy, how great that God will run to get me when I come to my senses and turn back to him.”

Let’s remember the context for Luke 15, where Jesus tells these three stories of lost things.

The chapter begins this way:

“Now the tax collectors and ‘sinners’ were all gathering around to hear him. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them’” (Luke 15:1-2).

Everything Jesus is about to say is in response to this charge. The Pharisees are offended that Jesus would associate with these “lost” people.

So Jesus tells a story about a lost sheep (15:3-7). The shepherd leaves the ninety-nine safe sheep to go look after the one who is lost, because lost things are important.

He tells a second story about a lost coin (15:8-10). The woman leaves her ten safe coins to fine the one that is lost, because lost things are important!

He tells a third story about a lost son (15:11-32). A father has two sons, a safe one and a lost one. The lost one goes away, spends away his inheritance and lives a bawdy lifestyle, and then returns home. The father is ecstatic and runs to greet him. But the safe, older brother is mad, thinking the father’s welcome embrace is unfair. But the safe brother is wrong! Lost things are important!

Jesus tells the first two stories with his audience quietly nodding in approval. But when he ends his third story, his message is clear: You (Pharisees) are the older brother! Quit worrying about me eating with tax collectors and sinners! Lost things are important!”

This parable in Luke 15 is not about a God who runs to greet his wayward children. It’s about God’s people who get mad when God shows attention, love, and compassion to “lost” people – in this particular instance, tax collectors and sinners.

So when we read the story of Jonah in the Bible, we naturally see ourselves as Jonah, struggling to obey God. We also see God as the “God of second chances,” willing to be patient with Jonah as Jonah tries to figure out how to follow God’s will.

But Jonah isn’t about the “God of second chances.” It’s about a stubborn follower of Yahweh who refuses to believe that Yahweh might show grace and mercy to anyone outside of Israel. The word “Jonah” means “dove,” the national symbol for the nation of Israel in ancient times. Jonah is a stand-in for Israel, adamantly refusing to see God at work outside of the chosen few.

After four short chapters, the book of Jonah ends with Jonah as the villain and Nineveh as the hero. If I read myself as Jonah, the story doesn’t have a happy ending, because the story ends with Jonah angry at God.

Jonah is not really about God being patient with his people. It’s about his people limiting him and the scope of his compassion.