More Than a Name
Acts 2:14a, 22-32; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
We Presbyterian Christians have a tendency to keep our faith in our heads. That is, we often are intellectual about our faith, as opposed to being emotional. It is a tension that needs to be balanced. When we come to church, we leave neither our brains nor our hearts at the door. God calls us to be complete people, fully using all the gifts, talents, and capabilities of our being.
A second tendency that we Presbyterian Christians have is to keep our faith private, to ourselves. It is enough that people see us coming to church. Beyond that faith is personal, private, protected, secluded, guarded. We are uncomfortable with the cocktail party approach to faith where someone comes up to us and starts talking about their faith. We don’t do that, and don’t really want someone else to do it to us.
Christian spirituality comes in a wide variety of styles, from the faith that erupts like a volcano to the faith that glows gently within a person. In between are many kinds of faith experiences that are shared more or less publicly.
Our Quaker sisters and brothers have other traditions besides the one of sitting in silence to wait for a word prompted by the Spirit. One of those is a shared accountability for each other’s faith. Several Friends will sit with another who is trying to discern a personal call or to work through an issue of faith. There are several questions which they employ to prompt reflection and prayer. One of those questions is, “When did God become more than a name to you?”
For most of us that isn’t as easy a question as it sounds. Growing up we perhaps heard God’s name in the context of Christmas and Easter, in mealtime or bedtime prayers, in the Pledge of Allegiance. Or perhaps we heard it abused and taken in vain. All that is still pretty head oriented. The question begs, appropriately, “When did the name of God become personal?” When did it become more than a vocabulary word, more than “dog” spelled backwards?
That personal side of the question is even more pointed if we change it to, “When did Jesus become more than a name to you?” In the afterglow of Easter, the question has no intention of going away. We can say with our heads, “Jesus is the Word become flesh.” We can say that intellectually, but the import of the statement is personal, relational. It has to do with flesh and blood and shared communal space, not with symbolic characters printed on paper or pixilated on LCD screens. If the Word became flesh, then there are eyes looking into our eyes, fingers seeking to hold our hands, lips ready to speak peace to our tempest-tossed souls.
When did Jesus become more than a name to you? When did the phrase, “Christ is risen,” become more than a song lyric?
Whether by gradual understanding or by lightning bolt experience somewhere along your spiritual journey your spirit arrived at the realization that “Jesus” was more than the name of someone who lived two thousand years ago.
Indeed, God and Jesus are more than names. Moses pressed God for a name, much as we might be asked for identification at the airport or bank. God was hesitant to give out a name. God didn’t want to be condensed into a small word. God cannot be defined by a few random vowels and consonants. And if God could be so defined, the languages of humanity would even more confuse the issue. Who is God? Elohim, Jehovah, Yahweh, Dieu, Gott, Dios, Deus, God.
And God did not want to use a given name, as all the people who followed pantheons of gods knew their gods by names that often described their function or idiosyncracies. God was bigger than that. God could not be contained by symbols and sounds. At some point God becomes more than all that. God in community, holy in one, becomes personal. God who creates becomes personal, the Spirit who empowers becomes personal, the risen Jesus who saves becomes personal.
The excerpt from Peter’s Pentecost sermon pushes the question. The promised Spirit has arrived in full-force in the midst of the Pentecost Festival. People from the Jewish diaspora have made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They may have had no knowledge of the events which led up to Jesus’ execution and what happened at the garden tomb on the third day. Or they may have heard the stories of Jesus’ death and resurrection and found them unbelievable. To them, Jesus was just a name.
But to Peter, to the ten other original disciples, to Mathias, to Nicodemus, to Simon, to a Samaritan woman at Sychar, to a man born blind who gained his sight, to Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus, to Mary Magdalene and her friends, Jesus was more than a name. They were witnesses.
“All of you listen up!” Peter says. “This Jesus, whom you crucified, is more than just a name. He is more than a prophet and a good man. He is the Messiah, the Holy One proclaimed by David and our other prophets. This is the Savior for whom we have been waiting for generations. Every single one of you is a witness to this truth. Whether you saw Jesus with your own eyes or are now hearing the good news for the very first time, you are a witness to what I am telling you today.”(1)
Peter invites them to know Jesus as more than a name. The phrase that Paul and the early Gentile Church later on used is “God ... gave him a name above all names” (Philippians 2:9). Peter says, “Let Jesus be more than a name. Let Christ be your Savior. Hear with your heart as well as your ears. Then you can proclaim Jesus as Lord and know the joy of Christ’s amazing saving grace.”(2)
It is hard for us to imagine the passion and power of Peter’s Spirit-filled preaching. We have heard it again and again. Yada, yada, yada. But what was it like the first time you heard it? What was it like the first time you heard it with more than your ears, your brain, your intellect? We have no idea how large the crowd was to whom Peter was speaking. All we know is that God brought about 3,000 people into the community that day.
Imagine all of Waverly crowded into the high school football stadium – on the field as well as in the bleachers. Peter tells the Good News of Christ, the truth of his death and resurrection, and 3,000 people – over half the crowd – are convicted with the belief that Jesus is more than a name. Their hearts were pierced, their souls cut to the quick. Regardless of language and culture, these people got the message – Jesus isn’t just a passing news item. He is more than his name. He is Lord and Savior.
Easter is not a one shot deal. Easter is more than one day. Easter is a movement, indeed, a revolution that frees the soul from the oppression of sin and the oblivion that it causes which palls over human life. Easter broke forth in the lives of people who returned to their homelands where they shared it with family and friends, creating little incubators of faith just waiting for Paul, Barnabas, Silas, Timothy and other first generation apostles. There was no earthly way Jesus was going to be put back into the tomb. The resurrection was becoming epidemic.
Is Jesus more than a name to you? Is your Easter faith filled with such an awe that you see the world differently? There are yellow flowers popping up in lawn outside. Tomorrow they will be white puff balls. The world sees them as weeds, but a child sees them as clusters of fairies that we can send dancing on a breeze with a quick puff of air. Is Jesus just a name, like so many other names spoken by newscasters and written about by journalists? Or is Jesus the Savior who has changed your world, your life, your whole being? Every time we hear the Good News of Jesus Christ, it is Pentecost all over again. Are your hearts burning within you?
The question is not simply, “When did Jesus become more than a name to you?” but rather, “How is Jesus more than a name to you right now, in this moment, today, at this time in your life?”
(1) Kathleen Long Bostrom, “Acts 2:141, 22-32: Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) Year A, volume 2, p. 378.
(2) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Deliverance
Deliverance
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21; John 20:1-18; Romans 3:6-11; Psalm 114
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the new Exodus. It is the ultimate exodus, the exodus to end all exoduses, just as everything Jesus did was the ultimate thing, just as his death on the cross was the ultimate sacrifice for once and for all time to accomplish what all the repeated and periodic sacrifices could not do. Easter is the final exodus for us who believe in the empty tomb and the risen Christ.
Remember that the Israelites – the descendants of Jacob – went to Egypt for a very good reason. There was a famine, they were hungry, and there was food in Egypt. Why was there food in Egypt? Because God had given a dream to Pharaoh and the interpretation of the dream to Jacob’s son Joseph. Why was Joseph in Egypt? Because his ten older brothers despised him and had sold him into slavery, telling their father that he had been killed by an animal. After a number of difficulties Joseph had interpreted several dreams which caused him to be noticed. He was sent for when Pharaoh was tormented by his dream and none of his advisors could interpret it.
Pharaoh’s dream was about seven years of bumper crops and seven years of poor crops. Pharaoh named Joseph to manage the public works program of stockpiling the extra grain for seven years and then disbursing it to meet the needs of people in the next seven years.
Jacob’s family was in need of grain. They went to Egypt to get some. Joseph recognized them and confronted them with his identity. Once they were reconciled, the brothers brought their entire families to Egypt, where they and their descendants prospered long after Joseph’s death.
But the time came when a new Pharaoh knew nothing of Joseph and only knew that the immigrant Hebrews were prospering to the disadvantage of the Egyptians. He caused them to be enslaved in order to make bricks to build palaces, temples, and tombs. It was hard, monotonous work, work that became increasingly harder as the oppression increased. Then God heard the cries of agony of the people and determined to free them.
Our stories are not a whole lot different. We too have lived oppressed lives, enslaved by powers and principalities that weighed heavier and heavier on us. The enslavements were many: addictions of many kinds – life-sapping substances, behaviors that demean others, gambling, even work. We have been slaves to broken relationships, faulty hopes, lost opportunities. Some of the things we have been enslaved by were good and honest activities that drew us in until they warped our understanding of life and wholeness. Those were the times when we desperately needed an exodus.
And we found it. Something happened that turned us around, set us free. It may have been a sudden change in the situation, or a family member or caring friend took us by the hand and guided us out of muck and mire of our life and helped us get reoriented and get a fresh start. We made the crossing of the sea, probably hounded all the way by the terrors that chained us. We thought we would never make it, that the past would catch us and bring us down again. But at the last moment a crucial opening happened and we were free.
But it wasn’t long until the bloom was off the rosiness of our freedom. We didn’t immediately and automatically change into new beings with nothing going wrong. Change wasn’t easy. We had to learn new ways, and it took time, inordinate time. We complained bitterly and railed against anything and everything. The old ways were familiar, the new ways were stressful and uncertain. Sometimes we wanted to go back. It had been bad, but it had been good in an odd way.
Nothing seemed to go the way we wanted it to go. We were thirsty and we cried out for a drink. Then we nearly drowned in the water that came. We were hungry and then food came and we overate thinking that there would never be any more. There was sustenance day in and day out and we got quickly bored with it. We complained about the heat and then the cold. We complained about the gray days and then the never-ending sunshine. There never seemed to be an appealing middle ground, a happy medium. And we all probably couldn’t agree on one anyway.
The promise of a future, of a land flowing with milk and honey seemed so distant, so improbable, so unlikely. We were enslaved in a new way and to a different master.
Once we got to the place we were told we were going to, things didn’t get all that much better. We had to toil to settle in and make our new found home ours. And it was so tempting at times just to fit in, to conform to the community, pal around with the people already there. That’s what they expected. When in Canaan, do as the Canaanites do. It made a lot of sense. Slowly we lost track of the noble ideals and sound practices which had we had been taught over the years by the generations who preceded us through the wilderness. We lost sight of God. We became embroiled in infighting. Surrounding powers overwhelmed us, and a new slavery was thrust upon us. We were uprooted, battered, bruised, beaten down, lost, alone.
Maybe all that sounds a bit melodramatic. But not only is that the story arc of the ancestors of the people out of whom Jesus came, that story arc is also ours. The details may vary. The depths and heights may not be as extreme, but the general flow is the way by which we get to Easter.
All that enslavement to sin and in sin and for sin is the weight that Jesus carried to the cross. The cross and the empty tomb is the exodus from the doomed-to-death old life into the new creation, the true promised land, the eternity which has only been at best a wispy dream.
We still go through the pain and misery of the wilderness. Withdrawal from the old ways, the old habits, is never easy. We say to ourselves:
Like Thomas, we want proof. Ah, wilderness. Will it be another forty years of wilderness?
For some, I am sure it will be. It doesn’t have to be that way. The cross and the empty tomb declare once and for all time: You are delivered. You are set free. The chains of sin are broken. Stop cowering. Stand erect and know that deliverance has happened. Jesus is risen, and so are you..
The empty tomb means that there will never have to be another time of enslavement. Sin and death no longer hold any threat over us. There is no longer any more wilderness of trying to do it on our own or in our own way. The empty tomb, like the Exodus, declare that God’s actions and God’s actions alone bring safety and freedom. We are never the authors of our own salvation, nor are we chosen for God’s gifts of grace because of any greatness in ourselves. We have been spoon-fed on the notion that we can be anything we wish to be; just dig in our heels, grit our teeth, and go for it. But it doesn’t work that way. Moses told the Israelites: “The Lord will fight for you. You just keep still.”
We are still very often chained to getting ahead – our own notion of success – under our own head of steam. Whatever victories we may experience – whatever escapes, exoduses, emancipations, freedom – are finally not a result of our own work at all, but are gifts from the God who desires our freedom, desires our resurrection, desires our ascent into the glorious new life which only a cross and an empty tomb can bring. And not just for any one of us. God’s will for good is for all of God’s children.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21; John 20:1-18; Romans 3:6-11; Psalm 114
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the new Exodus. It is the ultimate exodus, the exodus to end all exoduses, just as everything Jesus did was the ultimate thing, just as his death on the cross was the ultimate sacrifice for once and for all time to accomplish what all the repeated and periodic sacrifices could not do. Easter is the final exodus for us who believe in the empty tomb and the risen Christ.
Remember that the Israelites – the descendants of Jacob – went to Egypt for a very good reason. There was a famine, they were hungry, and there was food in Egypt. Why was there food in Egypt? Because God had given a dream to Pharaoh and the interpretation of the dream to Jacob’s son Joseph. Why was Joseph in Egypt? Because his ten older brothers despised him and had sold him into slavery, telling their father that he had been killed by an animal. After a number of difficulties Joseph had interpreted several dreams which caused him to be noticed. He was sent for when Pharaoh was tormented by his dream and none of his advisors could interpret it.
Pharaoh’s dream was about seven years of bumper crops and seven years of poor crops. Pharaoh named Joseph to manage the public works program of stockpiling the extra grain for seven years and then disbursing it to meet the needs of people in the next seven years.
Jacob’s family was in need of grain. They went to Egypt to get some. Joseph recognized them and confronted them with his identity. Once they were reconciled, the brothers brought their entire families to Egypt, where they and their descendants prospered long after Joseph’s death.
But the time came when a new Pharaoh knew nothing of Joseph and only knew that the immigrant Hebrews were prospering to the disadvantage of the Egyptians. He caused them to be enslaved in order to make bricks to build palaces, temples, and tombs. It was hard, monotonous work, work that became increasingly harder as the oppression increased. Then God heard the cries of agony of the people and determined to free them.
Our stories are not a whole lot different. We too have lived oppressed lives, enslaved by powers and principalities that weighed heavier and heavier on us. The enslavements were many: addictions of many kinds – life-sapping substances, behaviors that demean others, gambling, even work. We have been slaves to broken relationships, faulty hopes, lost opportunities. Some of the things we have been enslaved by were good and honest activities that drew us in until they warped our understanding of life and wholeness. Those were the times when we desperately needed an exodus.
And we found it. Something happened that turned us around, set us free. It may have been a sudden change in the situation, or a family member or caring friend took us by the hand and guided us out of muck and mire of our life and helped us get reoriented and get a fresh start. We made the crossing of the sea, probably hounded all the way by the terrors that chained us. We thought we would never make it, that the past would catch us and bring us down again. But at the last moment a crucial opening happened and we were free.
But it wasn’t long until the bloom was off the rosiness of our freedom. We didn’t immediately and automatically change into new beings with nothing going wrong. Change wasn’t easy. We had to learn new ways, and it took time, inordinate time. We complained bitterly and railed against anything and everything. The old ways were familiar, the new ways were stressful and uncertain. Sometimes we wanted to go back. It had been bad, but it had been good in an odd way.
Nothing seemed to go the way we wanted it to go. We were thirsty and we cried out for a drink. Then we nearly drowned in the water that came. We were hungry and then food came and we overate thinking that there would never be any more. There was sustenance day in and day out and we got quickly bored with it. We complained about the heat and then the cold. We complained about the gray days and then the never-ending sunshine. There never seemed to be an appealing middle ground, a happy medium. And we all probably couldn’t agree on one anyway.
The promise of a future, of a land flowing with milk and honey seemed so distant, so improbable, so unlikely. We were enslaved in a new way and to a different master.
Once we got to the place we were told we were going to, things didn’t get all that much better. We had to toil to settle in and make our new found home ours. And it was so tempting at times just to fit in, to conform to the community, pal around with the people already there. That’s what they expected. When in Canaan, do as the Canaanites do. It made a lot of sense. Slowly we lost track of the noble ideals and sound practices which had we had been taught over the years by the generations who preceded us through the wilderness. We lost sight of God. We became embroiled in infighting. Surrounding powers overwhelmed us, and a new slavery was thrust upon us. We were uprooted, battered, bruised, beaten down, lost, alone.
Maybe all that sounds a bit melodramatic. But not only is that the story arc of the ancestors of the people out of whom Jesus came, that story arc is also ours. The details may vary. The depths and heights may not be as extreme, but the general flow is the way by which we get to Easter.
All that enslavement to sin and in sin and for sin is the weight that Jesus carried to the cross. The cross and the empty tomb is the exodus from the doomed-to-death old life into the new creation, the true promised land, the eternity which has only been at best a wispy dream.
We still go through the pain and misery of the wilderness. Withdrawal from the old ways, the old habits, is never easy. We say to ourselves:
- It must be too good to be true.
- Why would God do that? After all, God must get his jollies condemning people not saving them.
- Why me? I’m not worthy saving.
- Why didn’t God do this sooner rather than later?
- Does salvation include ‘”them”?
- Will this really work? Will it last?
- There must be some fine print somewhere.
- What’s the quid pro quo?
Like Thomas, we want proof. Ah, wilderness. Will it be another forty years of wilderness?
For some, I am sure it will be. It doesn’t have to be that way. The cross and the empty tomb declare once and for all time: You are delivered. You are set free. The chains of sin are broken. Stop cowering. Stand erect and know that deliverance has happened. Jesus is risen, and so are you..
The empty tomb means that there will never have to be another time of enslavement. Sin and death no longer hold any threat over us. There is no longer any more wilderness of trying to do it on our own or in our own way. The empty tomb, like the Exodus, declare that God’s actions and God’s actions alone bring safety and freedom. We are never the authors of our own salvation, nor are we chosen for God’s gifts of grace because of any greatness in ourselves. We have been spoon-fed on the notion that we can be anything we wish to be; just dig in our heels, grit our teeth, and go for it. But it doesn’t work that way. Moses told the Israelites: “The Lord will fight for you. You just keep still.”
We are still very often chained to getting ahead – our own notion of success – under our own head of steam. Whatever victories we may experience – whatever escapes, exoduses, emancipations, freedom – are finally not a result of our own work at all, but are gifts from the God who desires our freedom, desires our resurrection, desires our ascent into the glorious new life which only a cross and an empty tomb can bring. And not just for any one of us. God’s will for good is for all of God’s children.
Sing to the Lord, for an overflowing victory!
Horse and rider he threw into the sea!
Sing to the Lord for a resurrection victory!Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
Sin and death God has banished forever!
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Which Way Is Up?
Which Way Is up?
Psalm 118:1-29; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Matthew 27:11-54
This past week marked the fiftieth anniversary of the well-known Disney song, “It’s a Small World.” We need a sequel: “It’s a short calendar.” Time seems to compress. Why, it was only yesterday.... Except yesterday was really a long time ago.
Speaking of a long time ago, do you remember the thrill as a child of marching into the sanctuary on Palm Sunday, waving the palm branches? How many of you wish you could to that today? After five Sundays of subdued Lenten discipline, we are all ready to break loose. We need a little celebration.
Except that Palm Sunday is not a rehearsal for Easter. So how are we to deal with it? Are we to suppress the joy? Are we supposed to rain on the Palm Sunday parade? After all, we know now the story comes out. It is a typical story line. We meet the characters, there is a conflict, the conflict takes a nasty turn, then the conflict is resolved. We know that, but the crowd that first Palm Sunday, hadn’t a clue what would happen in the next seven days.
The crowd seems to think that their Messiah has arrived – and if, as some scholars speculate, Pilate and his troops could have been entering the city through another gate – you can see how there might be some who were hoping Jesus would meet military force with divine force. Hosanna to the son of David. Hail to the one who comes to liberate the people!(1)
The conflict is set up. But the story doesn’t go according to “plan.” The triumphal entry is a momentary blip of excitement. Jesus doesn’t raise an army. He raises Cain. Jesus engages in several days of teaching and rabble rousing. According to Matthew’s telling of the story Jesus left the parade and immediately went to the Temple where he ran out the hucksters and the payday lenders. He already had a lot of black marks against him, but messing with the economy was the last straw for the people in power. He was betrayed, arrested, put through a sham trial, and executed. The one hailed as Son of David was accorded a place among the enemies of the state who were executed by the powers and principalities – both religious and secular. How does that reflect on the Palm Sunday victory parade? It is hardly more than photo op on Jesus’ journey to the cross.
We human beings are very good at grabbing the Palm Sunday celebrations of life and mistaking them for real victories. The real victories are disguised in surprising ways, ways that set our heads spinning, ways that turn things upside down. The eight days that begin today are a series of head-spinning reversals. By the end of the week we don’t know which way is up, which sets us up for one more massive reversal experienced in a variety of ways by those closest to Jesus. This roller coaster week ends with a transformational event of cataclysmic proportions.
Psalm 118 is about transformation. The psalmist recounts how things had changed for him:
Here’s a brief grammar lesson. A metaphor is a figure of speech which makes an implicit, implied or hidden comparison between two things or objects that are very different from each other but have some characteristics common between them. In other words, a resemblance of two different or contradictory objects is made based on a single characteristic or a set of common characteristics.
The reversal metaphor can be applied to this week we call “Holy.” Cries of “Hosanna” become chants of “Crucify him.” A joyous welcome turns into a jeering rejection. Jesus is transformed from an irksome busybody in the eyes of the religious establishment into a cancer that must be surgically removed to save the patient. Following the raising of Lazarus, high priest Caiaphas said, “It is better for you that one man die for the people rather than the whole nation be destroyed” (John 11:50) Yet reversal and transformation also go from the negative to the positive, for Jesus is transformed from rejected to risen, or more simply, from death to resurrection.
This 118th Psalm anticipates this. That is why it is frequently cited by the New Testament writers, and surely was echoed by many early Christian writers whose work never made into the canon of scripture. Matthew, Mark, Luke, Acts, and 1 Peter all have references the psalm’s verse 22:
The “Hosannas” of the entrance into Jerusalem are not the “Hurrays” that we might use for an Olympic athlete, or a political candidate or office holder, or some glad tiding of great joy. “Hosanna” is actually a prayer. It is the rough transcription of the urgent imperative, pleading Hebrew phrase, “Save us, we beseech you!” Little did the crowd know that that was exactly what Jesus would do, albeit not in the way they might have expected (another great reversal). So it is little wonder that what seemed like “Hurrays” quickly faded into the violent calls for death. The triumphal entry turns into a trial before Pilate. The disciples thoroughly fail Jesus, scattering to the four winds, with the only one plucky enough to stick around denying his relationship to Jesus three times.
We fail him, too. We are reticent to claim him as our Lord. We hesitate to seek the grand entrance into the realm of God’s rule so vividly evoked by the psalmist’s call for the doors of the Temple to be opened wide. Rather than boldly proclaiming Christ and walking confidently into the power of his Spirit that he offers us, we slink into the shadows of creation and deny him if not by words, then by action or lack of action.
The “Hurray” fades from our lips. Surely the more sober prayer, “Save us,” is more appropriate. Save us form our sins. Save us from our indifference. Save us from our own failures to follow Jesus. Turn our worlds upside down and help us welcome the Christ into our lives a little more completely.
Anyone who in heart and mind accompanies Jesus through the week to come will find a world turned upside down. You will see the hand of God in all that follows in the story, and you will join the psalmist in singing at the top of your lungs:
(1) Bob Cornwall, “Gathering Voices, The Thoughtful Christian Blog,” http://blog.thethoughtfulchristian.com/2014/04/triumphal-processions-and-rejected-stones-a-reflection-for-palm-sunday.html? Posted Tuesday, April 08, 2014 at 05:50 AM.
(2) Stephen Farris, “Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 – Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, Volume 2, p. 149.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Psalm 118:1-29; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Matthew 27:11-54
This past week marked the fiftieth anniversary of the well-known Disney song, “It’s a Small World.” We need a sequel: “It’s a short calendar.” Time seems to compress. Why, it was only yesterday.... Except yesterday was really a long time ago.
Speaking of a long time ago, do you remember the thrill as a child of marching into the sanctuary on Palm Sunday, waving the palm branches? How many of you wish you could to that today? After five Sundays of subdued Lenten discipline, we are all ready to break loose. We need a little celebration.
Except that Palm Sunday is not a rehearsal for Easter. So how are we to deal with it? Are we to suppress the joy? Are we supposed to rain on the Palm Sunday parade? After all, we know now the story comes out. It is a typical story line. We meet the characters, there is a conflict, the conflict takes a nasty turn, then the conflict is resolved. We know that, but the crowd that first Palm Sunday, hadn’t a clue what would happen in the next seven days.
The crowd seems to think that their Messiah has arrived – and if, as some scholars speculate, Pilate and his troops could have been entering the city through another gate – you can see how there might be some who were hoping Jesus would meet military force with divine force. Hosanna to the son of David. Hail to the one who comes to liberate the people!(1)
The conflict is set up. But the story doesn’t go according to “plan.” The triumphal entry is a momentary blip of excitement. Jesus doesn’t raise an army. He raises Cain. Jesus engages in several days of teaching and rabble rousing. According to Matthew’s telling of the story Jesus left the parade and immediately went to the Temple where he ran out the hucksters and the payday lenders. He already had a lot of black marks against him, but messing with the economy was the last straw for the people in power. He was betrayed, arrested, put through a sham trial, and executed. The one hailed as Son of David was accorded a place among the enemies of the state who were executed by the powers and principalities – both religious and secular. How does that reflect on the Palm Sunday victory parade? It is hardly more than photo op on Jesus’ journey to the cross.
We human beings are very good at grabbing the Palm Sunday celebrations of life and mistaking them for real victories. The real victories are disguised in surprising ways, ways that set our heads spinning, ways that turn things upside down. The eight days that begin today are a series of head-spinning reversals. By the end of the week we don’t know which way is up, which sets us up for one more massive reversal experienced in a variety of ways by those closest to Jesus. This roller coaster week ends with a transformational event of cataclysmic proportions.
Psalm 118 is about transformation. The psalmist recounts how things had changed for him:
In tight circumstances, I cried out to the Lord.From that depth of need, the psalmist concludes with a call for praise and thanksgiving:
The Lord answered me with wide open spaces.
Give thanks to the Lord because he is good,The psalmist had experienced a transformation from defeat to victory:
because he faithful love lasts forever.
I thank you because you answered me,When we contrast the words of the psalmist with the details of the last week, indeed the last day, of Jesus’ ministry, the psalm, in the words of Stephen Farris(2), becomes a metaphor for the magnificent reversal that takes place in the passion of Jesus Christ. And so it is also a metaphor for the experience of all those who trust in him.
because you were my saving help.
Here’s a brief grammar lesson. A metaphor is a figure of speech which makes an implicit, implied or hidden comparison between two things or objects that are very different from each other but have some characteristics common between them. In other words, a resemblance of two different or contradictory objects is made based on a single characteristic or a set of common characteristics.
The reversal metaphor can be applied to this week we call “Holy.” Cries of “Hosanna” become chants of “Crucify him.” A joyous welcome turns into a jeering rejection. Jesus is transformed from an irksome busybody in the eyes of the religious establishment into a cancer that must be surgically removed to save the patient. Following the raising of Lazarus, high priest Caiaphas said, “It is better for you that one man die for the people rather than the whole nation be destroyed” (John 11:50) Yet reversal and transformation also go from the negative to the positive, for Jesus is transformed from rejected to risen, or more simply, from death to resurrection.
This 118th Psalm anticipates this. That is why it is frequently cited by the New Testament writers, and surely was echoed by many early Christian writers whose work never made into the canon of scripture. Matthew, Mark, Luke, Acts, and 1 Peter all have references the psalm’s verse 22:
The stone rejected by the buildersThe early church used this image as a metaphor both for the resurrection and for the establishment of the church founded on the life of the one who is both rejected and raised.
is now the main foundation stone!
The “Hosannas” of the entrance into Jerusalem are not the “Hurrays” that we might use for an Olympic athlete, or a political candidate or office holder, or some glad tiding of great joy. “Hosanna” is actually a prayer. It is the rough transcription of the urgent imperative, pleading Hebrew phrase, “Save us, we beseech you!” Little did the crowd know that that was exactly what Jesus would do, albeit not in the way they might have expected (another great reversal). So it is little wonder that what seemed like “Hurrays” quickly faded into the violent calls for death. The triumphal entry turns into a trial before Pilate. The disciples thoroughly fail Jesus, scattering to the four winds, with the only one plucky enough to stick around denying his relationship to Jesus three times.
We fail him, too. We are reticent to claim him as our Lord. We hesitate to seek the grand entrance into the realm of God’s rule so vividly evoked by the psalmist’s call for the doors of the Temple to be opened wide. Rather than boldly proclaiming Christ and walking confidently into the power of his Spirit that he offers us, we slink into the shadows of creation and deny him if not by words, then by action or lack of action.
The “Hurray” fades from our lips. Surely the more sober prayer, “Save us,” is more appropriate. Save us form our sins. Save us from our indifference. Save us from our own failures to follow Jesus. Turn our worlds upside down and help us welcome the Christ into our lives a little more completely.
Anyone who in heart and mind accompanies Jesus through the week to come will find a world turned upside down. You will see the hand of God in all that follows in the story, and you will join the psalmist in singing at the top of your lungs:
Give thanks to the Lord because he is good,
because his faithful love lasts forever.
(1) Bob Cornwall, “Gathering Voices, The Thoughtful Christian Blog,” http://blog.thethoughtfulchristian.com/2014/04/triumphal-processions-and-rejected-stones-a-reflection-for-palm-sunday.html? Posted Tuesday, April 08, 2014 at 05:50 AM.
(2) Stephen Farris, “Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 – Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, Volume 2, p. 149.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Beyond Our Power
Beyond Our Power
Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:1-45
Today’s readings are among the most vivid and dramatic of all Scripture. Both remind us that God gives life, that God restores life, that life is God’s ultimate objective, not death. Death will not have the last word, even when every last vestige of life seems to have been taken away. Even when the tomb is sealed.
Both passages happen on multiple levels. In the raising of Lazarus, we glimpse the convergence of both the human Jesus and the divine Jesus. We also have a foretaste of what awaits believers in a very short time. It is actually the new life of Lazarus which seals the death warrant for Jesus.
In the reading from Ezekiel, as have catastrophic image of Israel following the destruction of Israel by the army of Babylon. Do the dry bones represent the nation as a political entity or the people as a people set apart for God’s affection and service? Or are the dry bones the desiccated remains of the relationship which once existed between God and the people called by God’s name?
Ezekiel’s visit to the valley of bones was not a brief tourist stop on a busy itinerary. He didn’t skirt the edge of the valley. He was plopped down in the middle of it and was led around through them in an apparently intentional and thorough fashion. That is how he realized the immensity of the setting. There were great many bones and they were very dry. These were not recent bones. They were parched and dried by the sun and heat. Death is real; there can be no illusion otherwise.
If the raising of Lazarus is a premonition of what Jesus will be doing very soon, if it is a foretaste of what God’s purpose holds for believers in some future time and space dimension, then Ezekiel is past and present focused. There are allusions to the Exodus. Ezekiel is led out and set down, just as Israel was led out of Egypt and set down, ultimately in the promised land. Unlike the promised land being a destination, the valley however is a passage, much as the wilderness was a passage. The valley of bones is both opportunity and challenge. “Can these bones live again?”
Lent is the same kind of challenge and opportunity. How quickly we forget our Lord. How quickly we wander from God’s paths. How quickly we begin to breathe spirits other than the Spirit of the Lord. And it’s only been a year since we went through this discipline. On Ash Wednesday we started afresh, marked with ashes, reminding us that we come from the earth, that we share much in common with all of creation for we share the atoms and molecules of the elements God brought into being with a massive “Let it be!” and then sorted out and arranged and rearranged into all of the creation we know which currently exists, used to exist, and may yet come to exist. Lent begins, in the beginning.
But then we know what happened after that. The constraints of the garden were not enough to keep headstrong humanity from trying to do its own thing. After that came death, Babel, the Flood, and then the promise of people set aside for God-service. All that was accompanied by interpersonal highs and lows in that ever growing family until envy and greed set the stage for God to intervene in a new way through emigration, subjugation, and finally exodus. But the post-exodus experience was more like house-arrest than freedom. And parole was broken so much that a whole generation of people had to pass away before the next steps could be taken.
The land of milk and honey was both promising and pathetic. The moving in and settling down was poorly done. There were high points of leadership mixed with considerable low points. Then finally the kingdoms imploded and the powers of the world overran them, first the Northern Kingdom, Israel, and lastly Judah.
Dead, sere, strewn. Can these bones live? Can we live? Can we rise from the dry and barren times in our lives? That is the Lenten question? What can we learn from the periods in our lives which are filled with hopelessness, depression, fear, and heightened anxiety? When we feel as disconnected and brittle as the bones of Ezekiel’s valley?
Rather than trying to hurry past the dryness and get to the new life, perhaps we need to really wander around in it with our eyes wide open, as Ezekiel did. What can our spiritual dry bones teach us? What can we learn about ourselves and our relationship with the world through this spiritual aridness?
Ponder these words by Dempsy R. Calhoun:
Bone lay scattered and artifactual
Wind-rowed like dead branches
Whose tree bodies repeat the desiccation
All hope bleached and lost
Living moisture evaporated
Calcified memories of what was
Or seeds of what could be
Wandering shards and vessels
That once thrummed with pure energy
Where honor and dishonor wrestled
Stripped of living water to walk the hills
Needing only gravity to line the valley
It was never about the bones anyway
Rather a glimpse of pure power
A reminder of who’s in charge of restoration
Real hope lies in the Source.(1)
A key word in the Ezekiel vision is breath – ruach in Hebrew. “I will put breath in you, and you will live again.” The vision doesn’t stop there. Life might have been good enough for the bones, but it isn’t good enough for God. The vision goes another step and the breath grafts life to the knowledge of God. We aren’t talking 98.6 degrees body temperature, 72 heart beats a minute, 122/68 blood pressure and cholesterol readings to put all of us to shame. No. We are talking about life lived in the fullness of God.
What can we learn from our spiritual dry bones? Would a spiritual anthropologist be able to tell that we lived a spiritual diet deficient in prayer, sabbath, meditation? Would our dry bones give any evidence of the vitaminic nurture of the gifts of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? Can these bones live? God is willing to breathe into us and fill us once more with the transformation that beckons, orders us, to come out of the tombs of death. Will this Lent be a time of bringing bones back to life?
Just as the baptismal waters poured over us, just as the Spirit of Christ poured over us, so the Spirit of true life can pour over us once more and more so than ever before. It has happened. The bones of a crucified man did live. We can live in him, with him, through him, and for him. Life is beyond our power, but not beyond the power of God. Can these bones live? The power beyond us says, “Yes, most certainly.” Will you say “Yes,” too?
(1) Unpublished. Cited by Katherine E. Amos, “Ezekiel 37:1-14 – Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, Volume 2, p. 124.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:1-45
Today’s readings are among the most vivid and dramatic of all Scripture. Both remind us that God gives life, that God restores life, that life is God’s ultimate objective, not death. Death will not have the last word, even when every last vestige of life seems to have been taken away. Even when the tomb is sealed.
Both passages happen on multiple levels. In the raising of Lazarus, we glimpse the convergence of both the human Jesus and the divine Jesus. We also have a foretaste of what awaits believers in a very short time. It is actually the new life of Lazarus which seals the death warrant for Jesus.
In the reading from Ezekiel, as have catastrophic image of Israel following the destruction of Israel by the army of Babylon. Do the dry bones represent the nation as a political entity or the people as a people set apart for God’s affection and service? Or are the dry bones the desiccated remains of the relationship which once existed between God and the people called by God’s name?
Ezekiel’s visit to the valley of bones was not a brief tourist stop on a busy itinerary. He didn’t skirt the edge of the valley. He was plopped down in the middle of it and was led around through them in an apparently intentional and thorough fashion. That is how he realized the immensity of the setting. There were great many bones and they were very dry. These were not recent bones. They were parched and dried by the sun and heat. Death is real; there can be no illusion otherwise.
If the raising of Lazarus is a premonition of what Jesus will be doing very soon, if it is a foretaste of what God’s purpose holds for believers in some future time and space dimension, then Ezekiel is past and present focused. There are allusions to the Exodus. Ezekiel is led out and set down, just as Israel was led out of Egypt and set down, ultimately in the promised land. Unlike the promised land being a destination, the valley however is a passage, much as the wilderness was a passage. The valley of bones is both opportunity and challenge. “Can these bones live again?”
Lent is the same kind of challenge and opportunity. How quickly we forget our Lord. How quickly we wander from God’s paths. How quickly we begin to breathe spirits other than the Spirit of the Lord. And it’s only been a year since we went through this discipline. On Ash Wednesday we started afresh, marked with ashes, reminding us that we come from the earth, that we share much in common with all of creation for we share the atoms and molecules of the elements God brought into being with a massive “Let it be!” and then sorted out and arranged and rearranged into all of the creation we know which currently exists, used to exist, and may yet come to exist. Lent begins, in the beginning.
But then we know what happened after that. The constraints of the garden were not enough to keep headstrong humanity from trying to do its own thing. After that came death, Babel, the Flood, and then the promise of people set aside for God-service. All that was accompanied by interpersonal highs and lows in that ever growing family until envy and greed set the stage for God to intervene in a new way through emigration, subjugation, and finally exodus. But the post-exodus experience was more like house-arrest than freedom. And parole was broken so much that a whole generation of people had to pass away before the next steps could be taken.
The land of milk and honey was both promising and pathetic. The moving in and settling down was poorly done. There were high points of leadership mixed with considerable low points. Then finally the kingdoms imploded and the powers of the world overran them, first the Northern Kingdom, Israel, and lastly Judah.
Dead, sere, strewn. Can these bones live? Can we live? Can we rise from the dry and barren times in our lives? That is the Lenten question? What can we learn from the periods in our lives which are filled with hopelessness, depression, fear, and heightened anxiety? When we feel as disconnected and brittle as the bones of Ezekiel’s valley?
Rather than trying to hurry past the dryness and get to the new life, perhaps we need to really wander around in it with our eyes wide open, as Ezekiel did. What can our spiritual dry bones teach us? What can we learn about ourselves and our relationship with the world through this spiritual aridness?
Ponder these words by Dempsy R. Calhoun:
Bone lay scattered and artifactual
Wind-rowed like dead branches
Whose tree bodies repeat the desiccation
All hope bleached and lost
Living moisture evaporated
Calcified memories of what was
Or seeds of what could be
Wandering shards and vessels
That once thrummed with pure energy
Where honor and dishonor wrestled
Stripped of living water to walk the hills
Needing only gravity to line the valley
It was never about the bones anyway
Rather a glimpse of pure power
A reminder of who’s in charge of restoration
Real hope lies in the Source.(1)
A key word in the Ezekiel vision is breath – ruach in Hebrew. “I will put breath in you, and you will live again.” The vision doesn’t stop there. Life might have been good enough for the bones, but it isn’t good enough for God. The vision goes another step and the breath grafts life to the knowledge of God. We aren’t talking 98.6 degrees body temperature, 72 heart beats a minute, 122/68 blood pressure and cholesterol readings to put all of us to shame. No. We are talking about life lived in the fullness of God.
What can we learn from our spiritual dry bones? Would a spiritual anthropologist be able to tell that we lived a spiritual diet deficient in prayer, sabbath, meditation? Would our dry bones give any evidence of the vitaminic nurture of the gifts of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? Can these bones live? God is willing to breathe into us and fill us once more with the transformation that beckons, orders us, to come out of the tombs of death. Will this Lent be a time of bringing bones back to life?
Just as the baptismal waters poured over us, just as the Spirit of Christ poured over us, so the Spirit of true life can pour over us once more and more so than ever before. It has happened. The bones of a crucified man did live. We can live in him, with him, through him, and for him. Life is beyond our power, but not beyond the power of God. Can these bones live? The power beyond us says, “Yes, most certainly.” Will you say “Yes,” too?
(1) Unpublished. Cited by Katherine E. Amos, “Ezekiel 37:1-14 – Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, Volume 2, p. 124.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
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