Champurrado for Breakfast

As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.
~ Proverbs 26:11

A parable of legal marriage.

Esposita sat at her kitchen table with a small bowl of champurrado. She stared through the steam above it at the grain of the table beneath it. It had pits and marks, but they were only surface scars. The table was thick, heavy, and sturdy. Nomo had built this table. She could jump up and down on top of it and it would be unharmed, unmoved. She glanced around the kitchen and thought of how Nomo had built this house piece by piece. Every part of it was built by his hands or put there by them. How many times had he fixed that sink? Even the dingy yellow light bulb, embarrassed by the white sunlight flooding through the window, had been screwed into the socket by Nomo.

Nomo had been her husband for many years. Nomo was a nickname Normando had borne from his earliest days, after his parents finally named him. Nomo had selected a plot that was the highest spot in their mountaintop village. He cleared the land, dug the foundation, laid the pipes, and built his house. He was now ready to marry, and Esposita was the only girl in the world. She would be proud to have such a husband and live in such a house, which was the crown of the village and meticulously maintained.

Esposita remembered many good years. She had never lacked anything. She had material to make clothes. She had wheat to make bread. She had corn, beans, and rice. She had te de poleo and horchata. What more could a poor girl want? Sometimes Nomo would bring home chickens or goats and they would have delicious meat. She had never been hungry.

Nomo was always the same. She could not remember him ever laughing, though she tried to make him. He did not daydream with her or chat about nothing. Nomo spoke evenly of what was done and what was to be done. When villagers would ask Nomo how he was, he always responded, “Con vida.” If Esposita ever spoke of particularly enjoying anything, he would correct her. “We have life. It is enough.”

Esposita traced her finger around the rim of the bowl. The steam was barely there now. She and Nomo had champurrado their first morning as husband and wife. The smile she had been wearing was losing its fight and the corners of her mouth fell. Though she could not complain about what she received from Nomo, she always fell short of his expectations. She blew the steam and put both hands around the bowl. She had never given Nomo children. This was her greatest fault in Nomo’s eyes. It was a weight affixed between her should blades that made her begin to look like a swayback old burro that had borne too many heavy loads of bread to the market.

When Nomo died she had felt as though an internal knot had been untied. Not a knot, but the knot. The knot that held all the strands of her inner being together. Though her skeletal frame was as it was supposed to be, she felt floppy inside like a limp water hose with no water running through it. Her own death must be soon.

***

Espa, as she was now called, had first met Salvador at the market. All his friends called him Sali. She had set out that morning with no purpose. She would go to the market, but she had no money. She would not beg. She had never begged. She would not steal. She had never stolen. She wasn’t even particularly hungry. She could not explain why she went to the market. Espa would’ve said that she did not go to the market, but was rather brought to the market.

She came around a stall and ran into a mango. Well, she saw the mango first and then the hand that held it. She looked up into a youthful face with kind eyes and a wide smile. “Here, for you.” She did not speak. “I’m Sali. I want you to have this.”

Nothing had changed with Espa. “I … I have no money.”

Sali laughed. “I would not take it if you had it. This is for you.”

Espa took the mango. “Gracias.”

Marriage to Sali was like a dream. He was always happy and she enjoyed life more than she had ever imagined. Sali provided wonderful foods for her to make and she ate as she never had. Sali hired everything done. He hired men to build his house. He bought furniture and decorated their home with bright cheerful colors. He hired a woodworker to carve them a beautiful table that seemed always to have bread and wine on it.

Espa wasn’t sure how or when it happened, but one day she thought of Nomo. She had not thought about Nomo in many years. Thinking about Nomo began to work on her. She started making her own clothes again and left the fancy clothes Sali had bought in the closet untouched. She sought out simpler foods and made them smaller portions. She painted over the bright colors and had her old table brought in to replace the one Sali had hired out to have made. Piece by piece she remade her house until it was as close as possible to the one she had lived in for so many years.

One morning she awoke and Sali was not there. He did not come home until the next day. He would continue to leave and to be gone for longer times. After a while, Espa realized she had not seen Sali in a week, or a month. She couldn’t remember for sure how long it had been. She sat at her table with a bowl of champurrado and realized there were no signs that Sali had ever lived in this house. Everything reminded her of Nomo.

***

A rooster crowed. Espa sat up straight in the bed. It was still dark. The rooster crowed again. Her hair was stuck to her face and she was shivering. Is Sali gone forever? Will I never see him again? Why has he not come home? Why has he not contacted me? The longer she chased those thoughts the more she felt like something was pulling her together from inside her. Her breathing was faster and she had the heart of a rabbit. She ran to the streets calling for Sali. They were mostly empty. After a while, she began seeing people and pleading with them to tell her where Sali was. But they cursed her and pushed her away.

The rooster crowed and a bell rang. Not quite a bell, but a clanging that sounded like a bell. Was Sali at the door? “It’s dawn. It’s time.” She opened her eyes to look through bars at a brown face with a walrus mustache. His name was Severo.

“Where is Salvador?” Espa sat up in the cot.

Severo tilted his head. “Who?”

“Salvador. My husband.” Espa stood up.

“Salvador?” Severo spat on the ground. “There is no Salvador. You were married to Nomo. You killed him three months ago and today is your hanging.” Espa collapsed to the floor, choking and sobbing. “Your grave is ready. You will be buried with Nomo.” Severo set a bowl on the floor inside and closed the barred door. “Here’s your champurrado. I will be back in thirty minutes.”

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

The World’s Trouble: Chapter 12

And it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: - Hebrews 9:27

And it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment:
– Hebrews 9:27

Chapter 12

Chapter 4 began with a brief statement of the case of Adolf Eichmann. He was executed by hanging on June 1, 1962 for the murder of millions of Jews more than twenty years prior. Eichmann was Hilter’s lieutenant and recognized architect of “The Final Solution,” which was a plan to rid Europe of all Jews. In chapter 4 we were primarily concerned with the consequences of sin and how a day of reckoning is coming for us, just as it did for Eichmann, and will come in the future before God in final judgment. Let’s think about Eichmann’s case from a different perspective for a few moments.

Eichmann’s life was taken by the state of Israel for crimes perpetrated against Jewish people. He was responsible for the torture and death of millions of Jews and so his life was forfeit. Few would argue that his death was unjust. He deserved death for what he had done, but was his death equitable? He was responsible in the deaths of millions and he could only die once. Of course, capital punishment is the strongest sentence a human court can give, so there was nothing more that could be done to him. However, did his death really pay the debt he amassed in Jewish blood? Though perhaps there was satisfaction that justice had been done, were the surviving families in any way repaid or restored what they had suffered and lost? Did Eichmann’s death replace the life of even one Jew? No, it did not.

God’s law teaches that righteousness requires payments and restitution of damages that are equitable. These payments represent a sort of exchange designed to set things to rights once again. If one man stole from another, he had to replace what he stole, or pay the fair value of it in money, plus extra. Of course, with God’s law, capital punishment was the highest punishment that could be given. Life for life and blood for blood. All human laws should be just in this way in order to be just at all. But, human laws are limited and all such repayments and restitutions are limited.

Let’s illustrate the limitations. Say you have a car and sell it to someone else. This is an exchange and it can be equitable. You sell the car and the buyer purchases the car by giving you a fair market value for the car in cash. An exchange has taken place that was just and equitable, and everyone is satisfied. Let’s now suppose a different exchange. Say you are driving on the road and an oncoming car is driven by a drunk driver who runs into you. Your car is totaled and you are injured, becoming a quadriplegic and spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair. Charges are filed against the drunk driver. He loses his license and goes to jail. You are awarded damages, receiving millions of dollars. An exchange has taken place to the fullest extent of the law, yet even if your award was billions of dollars and his penalty execution, are you really restored? Has he made a payment that truly satisfies the damage that was done? No he hasn’t and he cannot. A debt has incurred that cannot be repaid with any amount of money or blood.

When we sin, we incur debt against God. God’s wrath is holy and righteous, and is revealed against all sin. The Apostle Paul wrote, “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness” (Romans 1:18). Paul proceeds in the next couple of chapters in Romans to show that all men are sinners and all men are under the just wrath of God. This is the same whether they are Jews trying to keep God’s law or Gentiles living without God’s law (Romans 2:1-3:20). Sin brings the wrath of God that culminates in eternal damnation (Romans 6:23; John 3:36). Our offense against God is so great that nothing short of the full measure of his wrath can satisfy it.

Paul has explained this in the first three chapters of Romans and also explained that keeping the Old Testament law, even if that were possible, is not sufficient to satisfy God’s wrath. How can God’s wrath be satisfied? There is only one answer to that question. Near the end of chapter 3, Paul explains how God’s wrath is satisfied.

Being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus: Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God; to declare, I say, at this time his righteousness: that he might be just and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.
– Romans 3:24-26

Notice the word propitiation. The word is not commonly used today. It comes from a Latin word meaning “made favorable.” The word coveys the idea of appeasing wrath and restoring favor. Let’s follow Paul’s argument. Justified means to be declared righteous, or declared not guilty. Paul writes a man is “justified by faith” (Romans 3:28), and justification is “freely by his [God’s] grace” (Romans 3:24, clarification added). Paul means that a man cannot earn justification. He has earned the wrath of God, but he has no means to satisfy that wrath and be reconciled to God’s favor.

Paul further explains that justification is “through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:24). The word for redemption means a ransom payment. One illustration of this word would be the paying of the ransom to free a slave. If a man was enslaved without any means of obtaining freedom and another would come along and pay for his freedom, that price paid was the ransom price, or the redemption. Paul specifies the ransom price paid for justification is “his blood” (Romans 3:25), meaning the blood shed by Jesus Christ as a sacrifice for sins. His blood is sufficient to purchase the “remission of sins” (Romans 3:25). In legal terms, remission means the cancelling of a debt or charge against someone. The blood of Jesus Christ is sufficient to pay our sin debt in full, and therefore appease the wrath of God against us and reconcile us to God’s favor. In other words, his death is a propitiation for our sins (1 John 2:2).

I have used some examples of sinners, such as Adolf Eichmann and Osama Bin Laden, because their crimes are on such a large scale it’s easy for us to think of them as guilty and deserving punishment. Even if you’re convinced they deserved to pay for their crimes, do you think their deaths were a sufficient payment? We are limited. After we have executed a high criminal, there’s nothing else we can do. One man’s life hardly seems an adequate payment for the deaths of thousands and even millions. Yet, the Bible teaches we are no less guilty than Eichmann and our blood is no more sufficient than his to pay for our sins against God. This is why we need an atonement that propitiates God’s wrath against us. Eichmann’s death is not the end. He will face God in judgment one day and will pay the price for his sin for all eternity along with everyone whose sins are not covered by Jesus’ blood (Revelation 20:11-15).

This is a portion of a book that I have been writing. I have decided to post it here in serial form. It is intended to be evangelistic. If the book has merit, I may seek to publish it in some form. Please feel free to share it and I welcome any feedback.

If you wish to read all the chapters in order you may do so here.

Half the Distance

Rivers of waters run down mine eyes, because they keep not thy law.
~ Psalm 119:136

A modern fable and the interpretation thereof

Theoretical physicist, Grayson Eccles, BS, MS, PhD, solely occupied a table for two at his favorite restaurant. At the late hour he preferred, the dining room was quiet and sparsely populated. He cut a portion from his filet mignon and winced at the clatter of plates and knives and forks, which interrupted his reverie. The diner opposite Eccles had a white-knuckle grip on the circular table in front of him with both hands. Eccles was mentally noting the diner’s pallor when commotion set to.

“We need a doctor!” Lots of people were rushing about and talking at once, but that cry at least was clear. If Eccles had not understood it, it was repeated sufficiently so he could make it out. “Hey!” Eccles turned his head as his waiter nearly perched on his left shoulder. “Aren’t you a doctor?” Eccles sighed. “I am not that kind of doctor.” The waiter moved closer, though Eccles didn’t think that was possible and concluded the waiter must be attempting to resolve the dichotomy paradox.

“I think this guy’s choking! Don’t you know the Heimlich?” Eccles thought about reaching for the glass of wine on his table, but rather drummed his fingers. “Sir, I am in the unbroken line of intellectual investigators traced back to the Copernican Revolution. If you wish to know about Descartes, Newton, Lagrange, or Einstein, I will happily oblige. If you’re trying to work out an understanding of thermodynamics, general or special relativity, or quantum mechanics, you could not apply to a better man for assistance. While Dr. Henry Heimlich was a commendable researcher and accomplished thoracic surgeon, I am not studied in his maneuver.”

A deathly still descended on the room. The waiter looked up at the victim, no longer struggling. EMTs poured through the doors and knew they were too late. They set about their solemn work. Eccles looked at the remains of his steak with pursed lips. He finished off his wine and sat the glass down. He glanced at his bill, mentally calculated 18%, laid down his cash, and left to go home. The waiter, as he later recounted the events of the evening, said Eccles went through door, putting on his hat, and muttering something about “half the distance.”

What meaneth this?

It is natural to be disgusted or angry with the Eccles character. How could he sit nearby, eating and drinking, while a man choked to death? How could he return home in his own cloud of abstract thought without being affected by what had just happened? It’s unthinkable, but do we well to be angry? In Eccles’ defense, he was a brilliant physicist. He was a man engaged daily in the great work of life. He had no medical training—not even a simple class in CPR. Staying consistent with the story, had he stood up and rushed over to the man, he would not have been able to save his life.

You recognize I have a point here. We can hardly fault the man for not saving someone’s life when it was not possible for him to do so. But…But, though he was not able to save the man had he tried, his indifference to the man’s suffering and death are inexcusable. Aside from the interruption from the waiter, his evening went on much the same it would have if the man had not choked. This is reprehensible. How could he simply not care?

Thou art the man

How can so many Christians be coldly indifferent to the condition of their lost family, friends, and neighbors? How can they go on about life while the lost are dying around them? Many Christians are scrupulous concerning abstract points of theology and distinctive doctrinal formulations, but are unmoved by the lost around them. We have all heard the excuses for indifference.

“I can’t save anybody. God does the saving.”
“No use pleading with sinners to come to Christ.”
“God’s going to save his elect regardless of what I do or don’t do.”
“Young man, sit down; when God pleases to convert the heathen, he will do it without your aid or mine.”
“You will be eaten by cannibals!”

It is absolutely true that we cannot save anyone else. We cannot even save ourselves. However, to disobey the commands to evangelize and to be without compassion for the lost is to not follow or be like Jesus. Jesus was moved with compassion for the lost and wept over the lost (Mark 1:41; 6:34; Luke 7:12-13; 19:41-42). Paul was similarly moved concerning his lost kinsman (Romans 9:1-3; 10:1). Paul plead with sinners to be reconciled to God (2 Corinthians 5:20). Even in the Old Testament we find a compassionate call to the lost (Isaiah 55:1-7; 65:2; Jeremiah 31:18-20). God has revealed himself as a God of wrath but also of mercy. Because he is so great in mercy, sinners are bid to come to him (Psalm 51:1; 130:7; 1 Timothy 1:15-16).

Do not blame doctrine for indifference. We could not produce a sounder theologian than Paul, or even Jesus himself, yet they both were moved with compassion toward the lost. Brother pastors and preachers, have we misplaced the emphases in our preaching such that we have lost Gospel-centeredness, and Christ-centeredness, producing a people with calloused indifference toward the lost and dying world? If so, we are actually leading people away from following Jesus and becoming more like Christ. Brothers, we must repent of such disobedience and misleading of God’s sheep and return to knowing nothing but Christ crucified and the preaching that manifests Christ in the sight of all (1 Corinthians 2:2; 2 Corinthians 4:1-6).

May God break our hearts and loose our tears over those who go on in unbelief. Let us never sit coolly by, eating and drinking, while thinking abstractly with people dying around us. And as far as our moral fable is concerned, we have only covered half the distance.

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