Yesterday, I expended some heartbeats. Playing soccer with some of the more athletically minded (and “bodied”?) among the family members who had gathered in town to celebrate my father’s attaining octogenarian status. That included assorted nephews, brother, and a cousin’s wife, congregating in Exall Park across from my home to kick—mindlessly, in my opinion—a round, inflated object for no apparent purpose.
Yes, I played soccer. For those of you who are reaching for your nitroglycerin tablets, or—if you were consuming something while reading this—performing Heimlich maneuvers on yourselves, let me hasten to add an emendation: I kicked the ball two (TWO) times.
It was, I must confess, two times too many. After those mighty and complex feats of physical exertion that included, among other delicate gymnastic stratagems, tripping over the ball and falling flat on my face (that was when I touched the ball the second time—I rue the day!), I nearly died! Huffing and puffing, heaving, panting, wheezing, gasping, I lay where I’d firmly and with a resounding thud contacted terra firma (Lo! How the mighty are fallen!). That was the end of my contribution to the impromptu soccer game.
But I was quick to rise up and look briskly soccer-minded when the photographer (a cousin) arrived on the scene to document for posterity the day’s vigors. When, in the annals of the weekend’s activities, a soccer game is referred to, I wanted honorable mention. I posed for the picture, looking sharp and spiffy, with no hint of the torture I had just been subjected to (namely, the inordinate expenditure of energy attempting to navigate said round, inflated object, across a field against vile and virile opposition).
In one word, I was what they call a poseur (one who adopts a particular character, attitude, or manner, to impress others). Yup, that was me alright. Kicked the ball but twice—cluelessly both times—but displayed myself in the photograph as one deeply involved in the current manifestation of the harrowing torment that constitutes a soccer game. Poseur.
One of my students preached that Markan “sandwich story” (11:12–21) focusing on that same species of charlatans and humbugs—poseurs, whose shining externals, not matching their internal reality, produce no fruit.
A fruitless fig tree is cursed and a fruitless ritual is challenged.
Poseurs pretending. Mountebanks masquerading. The consequences are not light; Jesus said …
Yes, I played soccer. For those of you who are reaching for your nitroglycerin tablets, or—if you were consuming something while reading this—performing Heimlich maneuvers on yourselves, let me hasten to add an emendation: I kicked the ball two (TWO) times.
It was, I must confess, two times too many. After those mighty and complex feats of physical exertion that included, among other delicate gymnastic stratagems, tripping over the ball and falling flat on my face (that was when I touched the ball the second time—I rue the day!), I nearly died! Huffing and puffing, heaving, panting, wheezing, gasping, I lay where I’d firmly and with a resounding thud contacted terra firma (Lo! How the mighty are fallen!). That was the end of my contribution to the impromptu soccer game.
But I was quick to rise up and look briskly soccer-minded when the photographer (a cousin) arrived on the scene to document for posterity the day’s vigors. When, in the annals of the weekend’s activities, a soccer game is referred to, I wanted honorable mention. I posed for the picture, looking sharp and spiffy, with no hint of the torture I had just been subjected to (namely, the inordinate expenditure of energy attempting to navigate said round, inflated object, across a field against vile and virile opposition).
In one word, I was what they call a poseur (one who adopts a particular character, attitude, or manner, to impress others). Yup, that was me alright. Kicked the ball but twice—cluelessly both times—but displayed myself in the photograph as one deeply involved in the current manifestation of the harrowing torment that constitutes a soccer game. Poseur.
One of my students preached that Markan “sandwich story” (11:12–21) focusing on that same species of charlatans and humbugs—poseurs, whose shining externals, not matching their internal reality, produce no fruit.
A fruitless fig tree is cursed and a fruitless ritual is challenged.
And He [Jesus] entered the temple
and began to drive out
those who were buying
and selling in the temple,
and overturned
the tables of the money changers
and the seats of those
who were selling doves ….
And He began to teach
and say to them,
“Is it not written,
‘My house shall be called
a house of prayer
for all the nations’?
But you have made it
a robbers’ den.”
and began to drive out
those who were buying
and selling in the temple,
and overturned
the tables of the money changers
and the seats of those
who were selling doves ….
And He began to teach
and say to them,
“Is it not written,
‘My house shall be called
a house of prayer
for all the nations’?
But you have made it
a robbers’ den.”
Mark 11:15–17
Poseurs pretending. Mountebanks masquerading. The consequences are not light; Jesus said …
“Every branch in Me
that does not bear fruit,
He [the Father] takes away….”
that does not bear fruit,
He [the Father] takes away….”
John 15:2
He came down hard on poseurs, hypocrites.
“You hypocrites, rightly did
Isaiah prophesy of you:
‘This people honors me
with their lips, but
their heart is far away from me’.”
Isaiah prophesy of you:
‘This people honors me
with their lips, but
their heart is far away from me’.”
Matthew 15:7–8
God desires of His children that they bear fruit. The disciple bears fruit.
“My Father is glorified by this,
that you bear much fruit,
and so prove to be My disciples.”
that you bear much fruit,
and so prove to be My disciples.”
John 15:8
Therefore, Paul intercedes …
We have not ceased to pray
for you and to ask …
that you will walk in a
manner worthy of the Lord,
to please Him in all respects,
bearing fruit
in every good work
and increasing in
the knowledge of God.
for you and to ask …
that you will walk in a
manner worthy of the Lord,
to please Him in all respects,
bearing fruit
in every good work
and increasing in
the knowledge of God.
Colossians 1:9–10
May we!
Posts
2 comments:
Makes me think of all the times that I have been more of a poseur than a faithful servant. May we all ask daily that we are the latter.
With all due respect to the importance of your message, I must exclaim with concern...your exertions might have shaved two years off of your expected lifespan. Oh me, oh my. I'm sure the camaraderie and fun was worth it. Happy birthday to your father.
Post a Comment