My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the atoning sacrifice for our sins. - 1 John 2.1

One woman claimed that yes, she was selling food on the street without a permit, but that was all right because her folding table was not a food court. A man admitted that he had parked his car illegally, but argued that everyone else on the street did so as well. One man said he was pretty sure he had not been drinking from an open container in public, although he was drunk and couldn't remember anything that happened that day.

If a New York police officer issues you a citation for various non-criminal offenses, you can appeal it to something called the Office of Administrative Trials and Hearings, or OATH. There is one in each borough of the metropolis. It's a rather intimate process: a judge (sans robe and gavel) meets you face to face across a small table in a tiny room. The judge hears your explanation and either enforces or dismisses the charge. It works just over forty percent of the time, mostly because a lot of the excuses don't wash. Most people don't bring a lawyer. 

Yes, my yard was full of trash, but it wasn't mine. Yes, I was drinking in public, but I had almost finished the beer when the cop came along. Yes, my bodega sold cigarettes to an underage patron, but the cops sent him in there in the first place. 

Innocence is one thing. Excuses are another. 

Scripture makes it clear that we will all face God's version of the OATH. Our Judge will not be informally attired, but swathed in the blood-stained robe of his perfect righteousness. True, he will not hold a gavel; instead, a he clenches a double-edged long sword between his teeth. But it will be intimate: One on one we hear the record read out. We may offer excuses, but cannot justify ourselves. As Adam and Eve learned to their grief, peer-pressure or "the devil made me do it" won't wash. The conviction rate in that court will not be forty, or even ninety-nine, but one hundred percent.

The difference is that our Judge has sworn a different kind of OATH - a promise to cover our transgressions in his perfect innocence. He has done our time, paid our fine, taken the heat. In that court, we can bring a lawyer who works pro bono; moreover, our Judge is also our Lawyer. He will not plead our innocence, but his. He will not ask the court to dismiss the penalty, but will argue that it has already been paid and produce his pierced body as a receipt. He's never lost a case.

Don't make an excuse; repent. Don't plead extenuating circumstances; plead the extended arms of Christ on the cross. 

The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house,

but it did not fall because it had been founded on rock.

- Matthew 7.25

When Hurricane Michael chugged across Mexico Beach on the Florida Gulf Coast, the storm clear-cut the coastal village and left nearly nothing standing; nearly. "The Sand Palace," Russel King's beach house, stood tall. The rain gushed in runnels from the eves. The flood waters never reached the floors. The winds broke a small window.  

Russel King and his nephew, Lebron Lackey, had built for the big one. 

The forty foot pilings held up. The specially chosen screws held on. The reinforced steel held out. By design, the exterior staircase detached like a tearaway football jersey and took none of the stucco with it. King and Lackey knew the storm was coming, and planned accordingly. Their creation exceeded state wind storm standards, and the category-four bluster fell one hundred miles per hour short of its maximum. 

Such security did not come cheap. Charles A. Gaskin, the architect who designed the three-story edifice, said the owners paid roughly double the going rate per square foot.

The rains fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock.

Jesus took life's storms as a given. He allowed no room for speculation: the world will test the life you build; the big one is out there and everyone sits in the center of the bull's eye. The only question is one of preparation. 

Christians often read this famous parable in terms of personal salvation: Only a life anchored on the Rock of Ages has a beach home's chance in Hell of holding up. 

That's a legitimate application, but not the real interpretation. Jesus proposed this parable as the capstone to a sermon that deals with life choices: Whether to pray; how to handle oppression; what to do with one's money. His blueprint exceeds the legal requirements: murder is a cat-four offense, but forgiveness defies the cat-five forces of hatred. If adultery topples purity, plan to hold off lustful thoughts. Public piety looks good but can't withstand the headwinds of harsh reality; private prayer and fenced-in fasting forty feet below the surface of the soul invite the vortex of hard times to do their worst. 

You have heard that it was said to the people long ago. . . .But I tell you. . . .

Kingdom living costs you double what Moses' building code demands, but it stands strong when life gets real. Dallas Willard once asked if it was better to have good insurance on a car with bad brakes, or good brakes on an uninsured vehicle. Jesus prioritizes sound architecture over a prime policy. To mix the metaphor, the Lord isn't selling fire insurance; he's offering an asbestos soul.

Every day, Christians face the same question in the onslaughts of life's inevitable storms: Does Jesus really know what he's talking about? Build your house by the Kingdom code; pay the price our Almighty Architect demands.

For the message about the cross is  foolishness to those who are perishing, 

but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.

- 1 Corinthians 1.18

A new directive in the German state of Bavaria requires that a cross hang above the entrance of every government building. Christian Moser, mayor of the Bavarian village of Deggendorf, doesn't see a problem. "This is about culture, not religion." Bavaria's premier, Markus Soder takes a similar view: "The cross is not a sign of religion." Indeed, the European Court of Human Rights ruled in 2011 the cross is "a passive symbol" with no overtones of indoctrination. Mayor Moser explains that when he hangs a cross in a city office, "It has to be visible, but also discreet." 

It shouldn't surprise anyone that religion is taking a nosedive in Bavaria even as Christian symbols mount a comeback. 

Paul had a different idea about the cross: He cared less about displaying it and more about proclaiming it. He did not think Christians should wear one; he thought they should bear one. Tradition tells us that the Roman Empire once displayed a cross in a public place - when they crucified Peter on one, upside-down. 

In America, when T-shirts, Bible covers, and internet memes drape crosses with the Stars and Stripes, or superimpose Betsy Ross's design over that ancient instrument of death, thoughtful Christians might do well to ask if such actions make the cross more about culture than about Christianity, empty it as a sign of religion, and turn an active offense into a passive symbol. As the cross becomes more visible, it also becomes more discreet.

A sensible cross may comfort, but only an offensive cross can save.

The tempter came and said to him, "If you are the son of God. . ."

- Matthew 4.3

Right field in Yankee stadium is not user-friendly for opposing players.

The wall is only eight feet high and directly abuts the warning track. This gives fans greater access to players than other ballparks where a higher wall and the intervening bullpen provide a buffer. And these aren't just any fans. To begin with, they are New Yorkers, a tribe not known for their civility. And these aren't just any New Yorkers, but the famous "Bleacher Creatures," a mongrel race whose taunts serve as a sort of tenth man in the home team lineup. 

Nor do these right-field rowdies content themselves with the usual insults and profanities: They do their research! In a contest on Mother's Day fans strafed Oakland Athletics right fielder Mark Canha with (in)appropriate season's greetings including insulting his mother's meat balls. Someone found out that Canha is part Italian and knew the taunt would connect. As C. S. Lewis observed, envious people are not above lying, but will tell the truth when possible; it hurts more.

When Jesus invaded the wilderness, he ceded the home-field advantage to the Enemy. In scriptural symbolism, the desert is where the demons dwell. Jesus took his place in deep right field with a low barrier between himself and the tempter. In the bottom of the ninth, things heated up. And the Enemy had done his research: If you are the Son of God. . . . The grammar there indicates a level of doubt: "Let's just say, for the sake of argument, that you really are God incarnate." J. B. Philips renders it, "If you really are the Son of God. . . ." 

A thing like that could make a guy glance away from a towering pop-fly and muff the easy out. Jesus, however, kept his eye on the ball and met Satan's sneers with Scripture. He fielded three straight screamers and retired the side.

Our Lord's example reminds us not to let the opponent get inside our heads. The right field wall may sink low and sit near, but even the devil (or Yankee's fans, take your pick) must abide by the rules. An old legend says that when Saint Antony holed up in the desert a rowdy band of demons gathered outside his cell and bellowed their threats. The saint replied, "If there were some power among you, it would have been enough for only one of you to come. But since the Lord has broken your strength, you attempt to terrify me by any means with the mob."

Pay attention to who's in your head. Don't rent out space to the Devil. Keep your eye on the ball.