To what shall I compare this generation?
It is like children who sit in marketplaces and call to one another,
‘We played the flute for you, but you did not dance,
we sang a dirge but you did not mourn.’
Surprisingly, this generation was not only unwilling to mourn but also unwilling to celebrate. It was the generation of the lukewarm, about whom the Lord warned in Revelation, that he would spit them from his mouth (see Revelation 3:15-17). Yet this is exactly what we saw in those who refused to recognize the Messiah or his forerunner. The Pharisees went out to see John, but did not bear fruit worthy of repentance. They brushed against the desert experience, the mourning involved in leaving behind a past of sin, but refused to truly enter it. And then, in turn, they saw Jesus eating and drinking with sinners and tax collectors, a banquet that welcomed all who would turn to him for forgiveness, the banquet of the Father's lost sheep, but they refused to enter or partake in that joy.
For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they said,
‘He is possessed by a demon.’
The Son of Man came eating and drinking and they said,
‘Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard,
a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’
To mourn or to rejoice, either of these would have represented the Pharisees in some way letting go of sovereignty over themselves. It would mean becoming vulnerable and allowing the message of John or Jesus to begin to reach into their hearts of stone and turn them into hearts of flesh. The Pharisees, no doubt, rejoiced on their own terms, and even mourned on their own terms. All of this was safe, controlled, and did not present a real risk. But they refused to listen to a higher music than that which they themselves composed, even if that music came from God himself.
We too tend to mourn and rejoice for worldly reasons. We tend to fear the world and exercise human courage to fight for temporary benefits. The celebratory parties the world throws are given for the deserving and the glamorous and we delight to be numbered among those invited. The parties thrown by Jesus himself consist of tax collectors and sinners, of children, of those with no particular merit of their own. There is no red carpet coverage for the parties of God, no announcers speaking of how great are the celebrities who enter. But if we learn to get past our desire for validation we discover that the joy that is possible in this environment where we no longer need to compete, no have anything to prove, is beyond anything that can be found elsewhere. The joy of this celebration is what ultimately makes it worthwhile to mourn when and why God directs us. Rather than wasting our time on worldly sorrow that just empties us out and leads to despair we can allow the sorrow associated with genuine transformation and renewal. It is the death of self-image that lets us enter into the feast where the last have become the first.
Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death (see Second Corinthians 7:10)
Isaiah tells us to hearken to the commandments, to let them be the music that guides us. That music will open us to be responsive to God himself, so that we fast and feast in time with the heavenly music that will ensure a harmonious dance, and ultimately a celebration beyond compare.
If you would hearken to my commandments,
your prosperity would be like a river,
and your vindication like the waves of the sea;
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