Sunday 19 March 2017

Firstborn


I'm a firstborn son. In some European families, that can be a big deal. In fact, I'm the firstborn son of the firstborn son.

So I guess a firstborn son of a firstborn son having a firstborn son is kind of special too. Although, to be honest, it really didn't matter to me if I had a son or a daughter. We didn't know, before the birth, whether it was a boy or a girl that was on the way, and we were okay with that. We were delighted to become parents! I remember vividly the day of David's birth. I was teaching, as was Judy, and had had several interruptions to my class already. So on the fourth intercom call in, I was perhaps a little abrupt. The secretary apologized and said, "There's a Joan on the line, and she's says you'll want to take this call. Do you want me to take a message?" to which I replied "No!" and bolted out of the room to find an actual phone line. When I got there, Joan, our adoption worker, said, "The birth mother has gone into labour. She knew you couldn't be there in person, but she wanted you to know. I'll call you when the baby is delivered." I called Judy to let her know; we laughed and cried at the same time. And now I had to go back to my classroom and try to teach!  Late that evening, Joan called us to say, "Congratulations! You have a son!" Pretty overwhelming. After years of waiting, it was hard to believe the adventure was truly about to begin.

In ancient times, the firstborn son was the heir to his father's estate, regardless of how big or small that estate might be. The Old Testament indicates that the firstborn son received a double portion of the inheritance, in contrast to his brothers who would receive a single portion. A few minutes could make all the difference, as was the case with Jacob and Esau (Genesis 25:24-26). Esau came out first, just before his twin Jacob, so he received the double portion (the "birthright", as it was called) and he valued it so little that he gave it up for some stew, even though his father was very wealthy and favoured him. Despite not being the firstborn, Jacob became the father of the 12 tribes of Israel.

Jacob and his sons and their families moved to the land of Goshen in Egypt during the famine, when Joseph was second-in-command to Pharaoh, arguably the ruler of the civilized world at that time. The people of Israel became numerous and were eventually seen as a potential threat to Egypt, so a new Pharaoh enslaved them. Later, as the book of Exodus tells us, Moses is commissioned by God to lead His people out of slavery to Egypt and into the Promised Land. Pharaoh refuses to listen and the ten plagues, each one representing a "dethroning" of ten key gods of Egypt, are brought on the land and the people of Egypt. The last of the plagues results in the death of the firstborn, both of the herds and of the people, from the lowliest slave right to the palace of Pharaoh.

Having suffered the death of my firstborn, and still journeying through the grieving process, I cannot imagine what that must have been. It was painful enough for me and my family to go through it; we had so many that rallied around us and supported us through that difficult time. But what if everyone you knew was ravaged by the same tragedy? Every neighbour, every colleague, every extended family member was devastated by the identical event. I've read that passage, that account, many times, and never really stopped to consider the extent, the impact, of that final plague.

The only ones exempt were those who obeyed the warning of God and followed His instructions regarding the protection found under the blood. If they took the blood of a perfect, unblemished lamb and sprinkled it on the doorposts and lintel of their home, the Angel of the Lord would pass over them and no death would befall them. In Exodus 12:13 we read God saying, "... when I see the blood, I will pass over you." Why would God do such a thing as kill all the firstborn? Let's not forget that there were nine plagues before this one, nine warnings that God was who He said He was and that He had the power to do what He said He would do. And yet Pharaoh continued to defy God and harden his heart. I have no doubt that some Egyptians were warned by their Israelite slaves of what to do and may have followed the instructions and thus been spared. But it was also intended as a foreshadowing of what was to come.

There was another firstborn who would die, because He would be the ultimate Passover Lamb.

Jesus was, humanly speaking, the firstborn of Mary, but not of Joseph. This was essential for a number of reasons. As the Messiah and future King, He had to be the heir, and heir of a royal line. Joseph, His adopted father as it were, was a descendant of King David, but in his genealogy in Matthew 1, we find Jeconiah (also Jehoiachin), who was cursed so that no descendant of his would ever sit on the throne of David (Jeremiah 22:30). Thus Jesus could not be Joseph's physical descendant, since He would then be under the same curse. Mary was also a descendant of King David, as we see in her genealogy in Luke 3, and this genealogy bypasses the curse of Jeconiah. Thus, Jesus, the Messiah, is the rightful heir to the throne of David.  He is also God's Son, and as such has all authority. Yet He set it all aside to be mistreated, unjustly accused and sentenced to a cruel and humiliating death on a Roman cross, in order that the defiance toward God of all mankind (like Pharaoh) might be paid for, and that His blood, the blood of THE Passover Lamb for all mankind, might be available for us to apply, to protect us from the judgment of God that would result in all our deaths.  Philippians 2:5-8 reads, "... have the same mindset as Christ Jesus, who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to His own advantage; rather He made Himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.  And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to death -- even death on a cross!"

Jesus is the fulfillment of all the Old Testament pictures. The passover lamb was observed for a time; as was Jesus. The passover lamb had to be without blemish; as was Jesus. The passover lamb had to be slain; as was Jesus.

But the lamb could be unblemished, spotless, slain -- and still you could suffer the judgment of God! Why? Because the blood had to be applied! If you didn't apply the blood, it could not be effective to protect you from judgment. And that is true about the ultimate Passover Lamb; regardless of His purity and perfection, regardless of His obedience in going to die on the cross, regardless of His blood flowing to pay for sin ... if you don't apply it, you are still under the judgment of God. But you don't have to be! Today, right where you are, you can ask God for His forgiveness because Jesus, the Passover Lamb, died in your place and paid the penalty that was rightly yours. God the Father gave His firstborn, willingly, knowingly, to be the Lamb that would be slain, so that when God saw the blood of His beloved Son applied to your sin, He would "pass over" you; the judgment had already fallen on His Son in your place.

You just need to apply the blood of the Firstborn, your Passover Lamb.

Friday 3 March 2017

Teaching Teenagers: Greatest Job Ever


I have the greatest job ever.  I get to go to work each day and interact with teenagers.

Some people think I should get my head checked.  Oh, they don't come right out and say it, but I hear the message between the lines.  They say things like, "I wouldn't do your job for anything.  It must be so difficult dealing with all the disrespect, the rudeness, the entitlement, etc. etc.  Don't you find it's much worse today than it was when we were kids?"

No. I don't.

I find that the teens I teach today are much like the teens I taught 27 years ago when I first started this job.  They're trying to figure out what they want to be, and who they want to be. They are often stuck in this in-between universe of no longer being children, but not quite being adults.  They want to be treated like they have value.  They want to know you care, way before they care what you know.

Sometimes my job is unenviable: I have to teach them mathematics, which they sometimes struggle with, which they often do not see a purpose for, and which does not necessarily sit high on their somewhat hormone-driven priority list.  And sometimes there is a history there, which means my first job is to convince them that, this time, if they will trust me and do as I suggest, it can be different from their previous experiences. That's the challenge for me, and I am reasonably successful.

The kids I teach ARE different in some ways.  I think it is WAY harder for them to be teenagers today than it was when I was a teen, and I thought it was tough THEN!  Far more families are broken today than 30 years ago.  There are far more distractions today than there were 30 years ago, cell phones being only one of them (and believe me, their PARENTS are often just as addicted, considering the number of times it's a parent that is texting with my student while they're in class!)  And it is far more complicated navigating the whole "dating, sex and gender" thing today than it was 30 years ago. Teens need our help and support, not our judgement!  And judging by the teens I teach, a great deal of you in the parent role are doing a great job, even if it feels like you don't have a clue what you're doing!

Case in point:  last couple of days have been emotionally difficult, for no real reason.  The sorrow and the tears have been simmering just below the surface, and yesterday was exceptionally challenging.  In my first period class, I got choked up pretty bad.  I decided to just be honest with the kids.  "I'm having a pretty rough day.  I don't want it to be awkward for you.  I just want you to know that I'm trying to push through but it's hard."  They all knew the events of this past January.  I ended up having to let each of my three classes know this, because I was just holding it together.  They were great.  There were some in each class who offered a kind word, a wish for a better afternoon, or a better evening. They demonstrated compassion.


If that doesn't sound like the stereotype you associate with teens, then maybe your stereotype needs an adjustment.  The teens I know are awesome.