Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 1:18-25; John 2:13-22

It seems that everyone these days is starting a Wisdom School.  I know people, in my small circle, who’ve gone to two different ones, and there are many more on the Web.  Apparently it’s not just the Greeks who want wisdom; or maybe it’s the Greek within all of us.

I haven’t been to a Wisdom School.  I’ve read some of what is read and taught at some of them.  And I have to say, it’s not my path.  My path is foolishness.  My path is Christ crucified.

Long ago I taught university and I wrote books.  I don’t know if I was wise, but I was pretty darn intelligent and educated.  My thought was pretty subtle, sometimes insightful.  But I had in me an inner fool who was trying to save my life by another path.  When I followed that fool Jesus out of academia, many friends and some family members thought I was nuts.  Years later some of them can see that I’m a better, happier person, but they can’t sign on to Christianity.  It’s too foolish.

I confess to being a boring, run of the mill Christian.  Not exactly orthodox, but not exactly anything else.  Not wise, not strong.  Fortunately, Jesus didn’t come for the wise and the strong.  I don’t believe Jesus came for the initiates alone.  I believe Jesus came to love us into life, into our lives.  Jesus came and acted like a fool, pouring himself out for people who don't deserve it.  

But it’s true: God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom.  Jesus looked like a fool to those who are perishing, but he was not a fool.  He was wise, he is wise.

I guess my problem with wisdom schools is the “human wisdom” part.  Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to use my little humanity to grasp what humanity can’t get.  I love the mystery of Christ, the point where I have to love rather than understand.  Trying to make sense of Jesus, becoming wise about God, feels like a loss rather than a gain to me.

How do you approach God?  Are you on a wisdom path?  Or do you, like the “Jews” that Paul contrasts to the wise “Greeks,” look for signs and wonders?  If you do, where do you find this wisdom or these signs?  And what do you do when nothing around you looks like you expect it to, and nothing seems to make it right?

Our Lenten transformation may in fact have less to do with deeper insight and more to do with letting go of the need for insight.  As Jesus moves toward Jerusalem and the cross, we may walk with him as fools, not knowing the end or the meaning of the story.  All I know today is that I’d rather be clueless with Jesus than brilliant without him.  How about you?