Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44;
The house lights have gone down. There is the whirr of the curtain being drawn back. A spotlight grows in intensity at center stage revealing a prophet. He begins to sing of a mountain, and of nations streaming to it willing to hear holy instruction and be judged by it, willing also to make peace with each other. These are the first words of Advent. As the song ends another sound rises. It is the first sound of Advent --- that of a blacksmith working at the forge hammering swords into plow blades and spears in to pruning tools.
How exhilarating, how noble, how hopeful, how dream-like, how improbable, how impossible.
If only it were to be. What world does the prophet live in? What hallucinogenic drug is he tripping on?
As the spotlight fades out on the prophet and he leaves the stage, an image is projected on the scrim at stage rear. The animation shows a barren level plain. Then the center of the plain begins to rise toward the sky and before you know it, there are hordes of people moving in mass towards the top of the now looming mountain. They are people of all ethnicities and races, the murmurs are in a multitude of languages. Except for the mountain, the crowd could have been Chicagoans celebrating the Cubs' long-awaited World Series victory. No one is pushing or shoving. Everyone is moving in an orderly fashion, ready to receive the instruction that will soon emanate from the holy place at the top of the mountain. Oh, how they long for this teaching. Some encourage others to get closer. Some help those for whom the travel is difficult. The excitement is building the closer to the mountain top the people get.
The people receive more than instruction, more than soft words meant to soothe, more than honeyed words meant lull long-deferred hopes. There are times of listening. Arguments are settled, disputes are ironed out, wrongs are adjudicated, and righteousness is displayed for all to see. All this will happen between individuals and nations - the extended tribal families with long histories of debilitating disputes. These are the only verbs with God as the subject. "God will judge" and God will "settle." All the other activity is seen with the people hearing and answering the call to come to the mountain and then what they do after hearing God's words and seeing God's word in action.
What are the people doing? They are making peace. How can this be? The only way they can make peace is because God has given the people justice. There can be no peace without justice. True justice can only come from God. Only when inequity is done away with can violence be taken out of the life equation.
Our world - near and far - teems with violence. A truck runs into a camper in Cynthiana. Two policemen are separately ambushed and killed in a Des Moines, Iowa, suburb. The long, unsolved disappearance of Jon Benet Ramsey is brought up in a docudrama. A football player is suspended for domestic violence.
All this justice and peace that the prophet proclaims just isn't going to happen. It will take more than the Cubs winning the World Series.
The prophet doesn't back down. He proclaims one result from the activity of the nations - peoples - accepting God's instruction and arbitrating judgment. That result is out and out disarmament. This new reality leads the a significantly greater capacity for all peoples to care for the land and care for each other. Since the reasons for envy, greed, resentment, retribution, and fear have been abolished, weapons are irrelevant. Since aggressions have been rendered absurd, resources once consumed for battle are available now for the provision of health, life, and communal growth. The image which the prophet presents text proposes a literal, material conversion of armaments. Instruments of taking life are converted to implements for sustaining life. The economy is converted. The world's curriculum is converted from learning war to learning the ways of God.
Some years ago, when Liberia was wracked with warfare, Christian youth gathered spent shell casings and fashioned them into crosses to remind them and the world that Christ turns death into life.
The indigenous culture of our geographical area tends to focus on this future horizon experience. Many African American spirituals also look to that day when the believer would be removed from the trials and tribulations of the present world. There is a depressing feeling that suffering cannot be avoided, that it must be lived through in order to receive the ultimate benefits of Christ, which cannot be participated in until people cross over into the realm of God's rule.
Isaiah doesn't go down that road. He is quite clear that the future does not begin next week, next month, next year, next decade, next century. God's future begins right now.
Come, house of Jacob,
let's walk by the Lord's light.
Whatever peaceable future there is to be, those who hear the promise are tasked with one responsibility: to walk toward the future, to walk "in the light of God," to walk "by" the light of God, to walk to "the light of God."
I know that you are all well-behaved. I didn't hear any titters, I didn't see any smirks. But didn't you want to do something like that when I read Isaiah's words - improbably words, impossible words? Given that we have been around a while and have experienced a lot in our years, and given all that we have had to put up with for the last number of months, we are hard-pressed not to break out in a full-throated guffaw at what the prophet envisions. Peace! Extinction of weapons! That's more far-fetched than the pie-in-the-sky promises of politicians: free college tuition, universal, single-payer health care, deportation of the illegal aliens who willingly accept a minimum wage pittance to do the jobs our neighbors are not willing to do, or a chicken in every pot or a Cadillac in every garage.
There's a new word coinage which has come on the scene lately - "alt-right." Depending on your viewpoint it denotes either a natural evolution in conservative politics or a particularly vile re-emergence of fascist white supremacy and all the evils and fears associated with it. We Christians need to deal with that. Unfortunately, faithful, followers of Christ, who carefully read scripture and who genuinely understand what they read, align themselves across the entire secular political spectrum. Each of us will need to stop talking with and listening to those who think like we do and start talking with and listening to those who think differently from us so that our conversations can be meaningful in contributing to the common weal of creation and to the greater glory of God.
These times are tense, because we are living smack dab in the middle of them. But they are not unique. Israel and Judah in the time of Isaiah and Judah in the time of Jesus were caught in a similar anxiety-ridden clash of philosophies and theologies. What Isaiah proposes, what Isaiah prophesies is another form of alt-worldview. For us as Christians today, Advent offers an alternative view of the reality in which we seem to live.
Advent is an alternative that says that power as we know it has no lasting strength; that the voices of politicians will be silenced by the songs of the angels; that our true Savior is a baby born in a smelly stable; that our brokenness will be healed by God's tender grace.
Advent is the time for alt-hope. Not hope that is based on power and threats, not hope which relies on how many weapons one has stockpiled or how many boots one can put on the ground; but hope which takes the hands of little children who fear their parents will be deported; hope which says we will be the safe places for people who are different in any way from us.
Advent is the time for alt-faith. Not faith that is grounded in some sort of 'Golden Age' romantically misremembered from the past, but faith which looks over the heads of the fearmongers to see God's grace erupting in our midst.
Advent is the time for alt-joy. Not joy that our side has won, not joy that is grounded in skin tone or wealth; but joy which is found in the confession that our God is doing something new in our midst. Advent is the time to journey into poverty, not our personal poverty as we overspend on extravagant gifts, but the poverty, the brokenness, the doubts of our world to find the places where God's joy is being birthed.
Advent is the time for alt-peace. Not the gritted teeth, pasted-on, pinched smile of "I'll tolerate you in public but I'll hate your guts and denounce you in private." Alt-peace is the humble recognition that whoever you are, wherever you came from, however old you are, whatever you have or haven't achieved in your life, 99% of our genes and chromosomes are the same and we are sisters and brothers.
Advent is time for alt-trust. Not trust in those who would bully us into doing things their way; but trust that is grounded in the promises made so long ago to prophets and psalmists, to teenage girls and grizzled shepherds, to children who were ignored by their society and to power-brokers who were weaker than their spreadsheets ever indicated.
Advent is about to break open our lives with its skewed way of looking at the future. That's God's vision, the true alternative vision. That's the impossibility of Advent. And it happens in us starting now.
Come, Advent, come!
The discussion of Advent as an alternative to present reality is based on "alt-Advent," posted by Thom M. Shuman, Sun, Nov 20, 2016 at 3:38 PM to midrash@joinhands.com.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Sunday, November 20, 2016
For the Glory of God
Luke 23:33-43; Jeremiah 23:1-6; Colossians 1:11-20
One of the great mysteries of Jesus’ crucifixion is his forgiveness of his accusers and those who carried out the death sentence. “Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they're doing.” The soldiers were following orders. Pilate was trying to keep the crowd under control. Herod was happy to pass Jesus back to Pilate and keep his puppet kingship in tact. The religious leadership were afraid of what could happen to their persons, their positions, their country, their faith if Jesus were to live. They believed they were acting for the glory of God and did what had to be done.
The onlookers goaded Jesus to anger. He responded with forgiveness. The authorities mocked him as the “King of the Jews.” Jesus showed that he was the king of all people. Jesus was taunted to save himself. He saved the criminal who hung next to him. Jesus turned evil into good. He lived as the Christ of God for the true glory of God.
Last year, Islamic State terrorists in Libya executed 21 Coptic Christians on a beach and videoed it for the world to see. Coptic Christians are the largest Christian community in the Middle East and one of the oldest in the world. They trace their church back to Saint Mark, who introduced Christianity in Alexandria, Egypt, a few years after Christ’s death and resurrection.
These Coptic Christians were taken hostage and executed because of their faith in Jesus Christ. The ISIS video of the killings was entitled, “A Message Signed with Blood to the Nations of the Cross” It was a message to Christians around the world.
Like the people involved in Jesus’ crucifixion, the ISIS soldiers did not know what they were doing. Instead of weakening the Christian faith, they strengthened it.
The 21 murdered men were construction tradesmen. All were Egyptians except for one. He appeared to have been a young African man, perhaps from Chad or Ghana.
Greek Orthodox bishop Demetrios of Mokissos reported that the executioners demanded that each hostage identify his religion. Under threat of death, they could have denied that they were Christians. But instead, each of the Egyptian Copts declared their trust in Jesus. Maintaining their faith in the face of evil, each man was beheaded.
Bishop Demetrios described this crime as “a grotesque example of the violence which Christians face daily in Libya, Iraq, Syria and anywhere ISIS prosecutes its murderous campaign against anyone it deems an infidel.” But as horrible as these executions were, the story has an unexpected and inspirational ending.
The African worker who was with the Egyptians was not a Christian when he was captured. But when the ISIS terrorists challenged him to declare his faith, he replied: “Their God is my God.”(1)
What a statement! “Their God is my God.”
After hearing those words, the terrorists killed him. But in that moment, the young man became a Christian and Jesus said to him, as he said to the man on the next cross, “I assure you that today you will be with me in paradise.”
Bishop Demetrios concluded, “The ISIS murderers seek to demoralize Christians with acts like the slaughter on a Libyan beach. Instead they stir our wonder at the courage and devotion inspired by God's love.”
“Their God is my God.”
Are we living our Christian faith in such a way that people look at us and say, “Their God is my God”?
I came of age in the midst of the Vietnam War. At the time I was in the early stages of discovering faith. I believed in God and had join the church when I was 12. When I went to college I had embarked on a spiritual journey to discover what I actually meant when I said that. Freshman year I needed to choose between ROTC and Physical Education for a required course. I chose ROTC. Among the things we learned in that course was how to strip, clean, and reassemble an M1 rifle. That was neat from a mechanical standpoint. The PE or ROTC requirement was dropped for my sophomore year, but I signed up for ROTC as an elective because the book work was going to be military history. When I found out that the practical work was going to be learning to shoot the M1, I dropped ROTC.
As the Vietnam War continued and upheavals happened on many campuses – not mine, thankfully – I fantasized going to the chapel on Sunday morning and finding it barricaded with armed troops. The gnawing question – imaginary and improbable as it was – was what would I do? Would I just turn away or would I attempt to cross the armed line and enter the chapel for worship?
When the draft lottery was instituted I dreaded getting a low number and then having to decide to enlist, wait for the draft notice, refuse to go and go to jail, or try to become a conscientious objector. Had I gotten a low lottery number, would I have denied Jesus and meekly submitted to those who did not know what they were doing? Or would I have stood firm with a few others and said, “My God is their God”? My birth date drew an exceedingly safe number, so that question was never answered.
On this Reign of Christ Sunday the world is confronted by a king who dies on a cross. Jesus doesn’t save himself, he saves others. Rather than crying out in anger, he forgives the people who kill him. Then and now, Jesus brings good out of evil.
Even if Christ is hanging on a cross, he is the people’s king, to be seen by everyone. The criminal next to Jesus did this when he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” The young African man on the Libyan beach did this when he pointed to the Coptic Christians and said, “Their God is my God.”
Both the criminal and the young African man saw Christ as king. They grasped his power and trusted him to save them. In the face of death, they put their complete faith in a crucified Lord.
In telling my story earlier, it was not my intention to imply that my faith crisis was on the same level as that of the African man. But you and I know that we have faith crises. We face small spiritual deaths or triumphs frequently. Time and again we are left with the question: Are we living our Christian faith in such a way that people will look to us and say, “Their God is my God”?
The challenge for us is to speak in ways that reveal authentic faith and act in ways that show real courage and devotion. Only when people are inspired by what Christians say and do will they be willing to accept Christ as their king. Would we support and embrace a neighbor whom everyone else shuns because they aren’t “one of us,” physically, mentally, racially, academically, or some other difference? Or would we quietly acquiesce to the majority? Would we speak out to decry a majority held, obviously false, slanderous slur? Or we hold our tongue and keep our faith to ourselves? Whose God is our God?
Mzee Abdu of Kyambogo, Uganda, avoided Christians in his rural village. He and his wife were practicing Muslims and steered clear of the local church. But with a meager income, Abdu and his wife struggled to take care of their grandchildren. They sometimes went without meals, and they couldn’t fix their leaky grass-thatched roof hut.
The church noticed Abdu’s family and stopped in to offer them support. Abdu’s reservations toward Christians soon began to melt away. “This is a very special day to me,” he said. “It has been long since anyone has come to our home.”
After the visit, the pastor and other church leaders discussed how they could use resources in their community to help Abdu's family. They rallied the community to construct a new semi-permanent house with an sheet metal roof to keep the family warm and dry during the rainy season. Meanwhile, they helped Abdu’s grandchildren with scholarships to attend the church’s school.
During a follow-up visit, Mzee Abdu and his wife asked if Pastor Patrick could lead them to receiving Christ as their personal Savior. “We want to accept your God. He has loved us so much! Our lives have totally changed since the day you came here. We had lost hope.”(2)
Rodger Nishioka is a Christian educator, former seminary professor, and now Director of Adult Educational Ministries at the Village Presbyterian Church outside Kansas City, Kansas. He is convinced that actions speak louder than words, and that Christian service provides new ways of knowing Jesus today. “Words are lovely,” he says, “but in the 21st century, when we have rhetoric everywhere, maybe people are paying attention to how you and I live, to what we do. Come on, church," he concludes, “maybe in the 21st century, folks are looking for believers who act for the glory of God.”(3)
People are looking for believers like the Coptic Christians on the Libyan beach and like the men and women of the Ugandan church. People who act not for themselves, but for the glory of God. Not for themselves, but for Jesus.
All of us are challenged to take actions that will cause people to look at us and say, “Their God is my God.” May we act with strength and integrity of when we are challenged, because the challenge is for Christ the king and for the glory of God.
(1) Demetrios of Mokissos. "ISIS is guilty of anti-Christian genocide." The Wall Street Journal, February 12, 2016, wsj.com.
(2) Adapted from “Actions speak louder than words: Hope in Uganda,” Bright Hope, May 24, 2016, www.brighthope.org.
(3) Nishioka, Rodger. "New ways of knowing." Westminster Presbyterian Church, Greenville, South Carolina, March 18, 2015, www.plus.google.com.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
One of the great mysteries of Jesus’ crucifixion is his forgiveness of his accusers and those who carried out the death sentence. “Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they're doing.” The soldiers were following orders. Pilate was trying to keep the crowd under control. Herod was happy to pass Jesus back to Pilate and keep his puppet kingship in tact. The religious leadership were afraid of what could happen to their persons, their positions, their country, their faith if Jesus were to live. They believed they were acting for the glory of God and did what had to be done.
The onlookers goaded Jesus to anger. He responded with forgiveness. The authorities mocked him as the “King of the Jews.” Jesus showed that he was the king of all people. Jesus was taunted to save himself. He saved the criminal who hung next to him. Jesus turned evil into good. He lived as the Christ of God for the true glory of God.
Last year, Islamic State terrorists in Libya executed 21 Coptic Christians on a beach and videoed it for the world to see. Coptic Christians are the largest Christian community in the Middle East and one of the oldest in the world. They trace their church back to Saint Mark, who introduced Christianity in Alexandria, Egypt, a few years after Christ’s death and resurrection.
These Coptic Christians were taken hostage and executed because of their faith in Jesus Christ. The ISIS video of the killings was entitled, “A Message Signed with Blood to the Nations of the Cross” It was a message to Christians around the world.
Like the people involved in Jesus’ crucifixion, the ISIS soldiers did not know what they were doing. Instead of weakening the Christian faith, they strengthened it.
The 21 murdered men were construction tradesmen. All were Egyptians except for one. He appeared to have been a young African man, perhaps from Chad or Ghana.
Greek Orthodox bishop Demetrios of Mokissos reported that the executioners demanded that each hostage identify his religion. Under threat of death, they could have denied that they were Christians. But instead, each of the Egyptian Copts declared their trust in Jesus. Maintaining their faith in the face of evil, each man was beheaded.
Bishop Demetrios described this crime as “a grotesque example of the violence which Christians face daily in Libya, Iraq, Syria and anywhere ISIS prosecutes its murderous campaign against anyone it deems an infidel.” But as horrible as these executions were, the story has an unexpected and inspirational ending.
The African worker who was with the Egyptians was not a Christian when he was captured. But when the ISIS terrorists challenged him to declare his faith, he replied: “Their God is my God.”(1)
What a statement! “Their God is my God.”
After hearing those words, the terrorists killed him. But in that moment, the young man became a Christian and Jesus said to him, as he said to the man on the next cross, “I assure you that today you will be with me in paradise.”
Bishop Demetrios concluded, “The ISIS murderers seek to demoralize Christians with acts like the slaughter on a Libyan beach. Instead they stir our wonder at the courage and devotion inspired by God's love.”
“Their God is my God.”
Are we living our Christian faith in such a way that people look at us and say, “Their God is my God”?
I came of age in the midst of the Vietnam War. At the time I was in the early stages of discovering faith. I believed in God and had join the church when I was 12. When I went to college I had embarked on a spiritual journey to discover what I actually meant when I said that. Freshman year I needed to choose between ROTC and Physical Education for a required course. I chose ROTC. Among the things we learned in that course was how to strip, clean, and reassemble an M1 rifle. That was neat from a mechanical standpoint. The PE or ROTC requirement was dropped for my sophomore year, but I signed up for ROTC as an elective because the book work was going to be military history. When I found out that the practical work was going to be learning to shoot the M1, I dropped ROTC.
As the Vietnam War continued and upheavals happened on many campuses – not mine, thankfully – I fantasized going to the chapel on Sunday morning and finding it barricaded with armed troops. The gnawing question – imaginary and improbable as it was – was what would I do? Would I just turn away or would I attempt to cross the armed line and enter the chapel for worship?
When the draft lottery was instituted I dreaded getting a low number and then having to decide to enlist, wait for the draft notice, refuse to go and go to jail, or try to become a conscientious objector. Had I gotten a low lottery number, would I have denied Jesus and meekly submitted to those who did not know what they were doing? Or would I have stood firm with a few others and said, “My God is their God”? My birth date drew an exceedingly safe number, so that question was never answered.
On this Reign of Christ Sunday the world is confronted by a king who dies on a cross. Jesus doesn’t save himself, he saves others. Rather than crying out in anger, he forgives the people who kill him. Then and now, Jesus brings good out of evil.
Even if Christ is hanging on a cross, he is the people’s king, to be seen by everyone. The criminal next to Jesus did this when he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” The young African man on the Libyan beach did this when he pointed to the Coptic Christians and said, “Their God is my God.”
Both the criminal and the young African man saw Christ as king. They grasped his power and trusted him to save them. In the face of death, they put their complete faith in a crucified Lord.
In telling my story earlier, it was not my intention to imply that my faith crisis was on the same level as that of the African man. But you and I know that we have faith crises. We face small spiritual deaths or triumphs frequently. Time and again we are left with the question: Are we living our Christian faith in such a way that people will look to us and say, “Their God is my God”?
The challenge for us is to speak in ways that reveal authentic faith and act in ways that show real courage and devotion. Only when people are inspired by what Christians say and do will they be willing to accept Christ as their king. Would we support and embrace a neighbor whom everyone else shuns because they aren’t “one of us,” physically, mentally, racially, academically, or some other difference? Or would we quietly acquiesce to the majority? Would we speak out to decry a majority held, obviously false, slanderous slur? Or we hold our tongue and keep our faith to ourselves? Whose God is our God?
Mzee Abdu of Kyambogo, Uganda, avoided Christians in his rural village. He and his wife were practicing Muslims and steered clear of the local church. But with a meager income, Abdu and his wife struggled to take care of their grandchildren. They sometimes went without meals, and they couldn’t fix their leaky grass-thatched roof hut.
The church noticed Abdu’s family and stopped in to offer them support. Abdu’s reservations toward Christians soon began to melt away. “This is a very special day to me,” he said. “It has been long since anyone has come to our home.”
After the visit, the pastor and other church leaders discussed how they could use resources in their community to help Abdu's family. They rallied the community to construct a new semi-permanent house with an sheet metal roof to keep the family warm and dry during the rainy season. Meanwhile, they helped Abdu’s grandchildren with scholarships to attend the church’s school.
During a follow-up visit, Mzee Abdu and his wife asked if Pastor Patrick could lead them to receiving Christ as their personal Savior. “We want to accept your God. He has loved us so much! Our lives have totally changed since the day you came here. We had lost hope.”(2)
Rodger Nishioka is a Christian educator, former seminary professor, and now Director of Adult Educational Ministries at the Village Presbyterian Church outside Kansas City, Kansas. He is convinced that actions speak louder than words, and that Christian service provides new ways of knowing Jesus today. “Words are lovely,” he says, “but in the 21st century, when we have rhetoric everywhere, maybe people are paying attention to how you and I live, to what we do. Come on, church," he concludes, “maybe in the 21st century, folks are looking for believers who act for the glory of God.”(3)
People are looking for believers like the Coptic Christians on the Libyan beach and like the men and women of the Ugandan church. People who act not for themselves, but for the glory of God. Not for themselves, but for Jesus.
All of us are challenged to take actions that will cause people to look at us and say, “Their God is my God.” May we act with strength and integrity of when we are challenged, because the challenge is for Christ the king and for the glory of God.
(1) Demetrios of Mokissos. "ISIS is guilty of anti-Christian genocide." The Wall Street Journal, February 12, 2016, wsj.com.
(2) Adapted from “Actions speak louder than words: Hope in Uganda,” Bright Hope, May 24, 2016, www.brighthope.org.
(3) Nishioka, Rodger. "New ways of knowing." Westminster Presbyterian Church, Greenville, South Carolina, March 18, 2015, www.plus.google.com.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Share!
2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17
Step away from the calendar. You heard me. Close the calendar app on your phone. Zip up the Day-Timer. Turn the wall calendar to face the wall. Put out of your mind that the election ordeal will be over in three days and that the apocalypse will -begin (whichever Armageddon you are expecting – and it probably won’t be as bad as your think it will be). Let us forsake temporal time for a few moments. Let us repose in church time.
Church time follows a consistent cycle. We begin with Advent, a time for waiting on the coming of the King, both as a baby born in the manger and as the eternal King of Glory. Advent is followed by Christmas and Epiphany, during which we celebrate the physical arrival of the King as flesh and blood and watch as his luminance grows in the expanding revelation of his nature and ministry.
At the apex of that divine revelation the world begins to realize that the persona Jesus projects is in radical conflict with the cozy ways of the world. From that point Lent spirals down to the what is supposed to be the world’s crushing blow against all that Jesus represents. But with a swift appellate court decision, God overturns the verdict of the world with the Easter resurrection of the Lord and Savior. For seven weeks Christ tutors his followers in knowledge and faith until the wildfire driven Holy Spirit races through Jerusalem inflaming the Pentecost Church.
We celebrated that six months ago, but these days are part of the season after Pentecost, a time when we learn what it means to be a Christian in this world. The story arc of Pentecost rises with all the great stories of Jesus. About halfway through, around the beginning of September, as fall’s wispy hints start to appear, there is a shift. The focus begins to move from the here and now to the future and beyond, to the culmination of the great creation which started when God breathed, “in the beginning.”
As the season of Pentecost winds down, these last weeks look forward to the day when we will no longer be in this world. The readings talk about the end of the ages and will conclude in a couple of weeks celebrating the enthronement of Christ in never-ending glory. While Advent uses similar readings to face the promise, the final readings of the church year look the frightening uncertainty of the end of days squarely in the face.
Paul’s second letter to the Thessalonians addresses that time. Most of us would rather not discuss the end times; the language of eschatology (last things) is difficult even for theologians. Which images are literal, which are figurative? When should we be concerned about the prophecies? Were the warnings written for our generation or some future generation, or has it all happened when no one was paying attention? Who is the lawless person? Was this a character in the days of Paul or someone yet to come? (Remember, we are in church time; no fair dropping out and going to your favorite political commentator.)
Another question rises. Will the coming of Christ be a physical return or spiritual? Some people insist they have the answer. There are perfectly acceptable arguments from many different points of view. People argue about what is true. They argue about what they think is true. They argue for what they want to be true. And they argue about details in order to camouflage fear, anxiety, ignorance, insecurity. No wonder most Christians would rather not discuss these things.
That doesn’t stop Paul. He writes to the Thessalonian believers the message that really matters: God loves you and God chose you to be fruit, sanctified by the Holy Spirit and called by the Gospel to obtain the glory of Christ. Paul also reminds his readers (aren’t we fortunate to get copied on his letter?) that while God is the one who chooses, sanctifies and calls, we, who are the recipients of God’s choice, sanctification, and call, are called to faith. It is up to us to believe. No one can believe for us, not even Jesus himself. The scriptures are clear: our eternal life is not dependent on anything we do in this world, but on the grace and mercy of God lived out in Jesus Christ.
If we imagine that after crossing paths with Jesus our life can continue on as if nothing happened, we missed something. We didn’t just miss the fine print, we missed the bold print. Eternal life is completely different from temporal life. (No, we aren’t ready to go back to our calendars yet.)
Let’s hear again something that Paul says:
Not only do we get to possess – obtain – the honor and glory of Christ through faith, we get immersed in it, we get to share it.
The take-away on this is that Jesus is not a penny-pinching miserly savior who begrudges just enough grace to clear our names. Jesus is lavish, profligate with his grace. He throws open the doors of the kingdom, runs to the end of the drive and says, “You and you, come on in!” He grabs us by the arm and ushers us through the entryway, goes to the first hospitality station and grabs a plate full of grace and a goblet full of mercy. He says, “This is for you. Partake. Go back for seconds. What is mine is yours.”
No more begging. No more eking out an existence. This is life in its fullest. And it is ours. We get to share in it, to claim it, to wallow in it. That’s Christ’s earnest desire. He doesn’t want to be alone in the kingdom. He wants to share it with all his best friends.
Share. That’s what it’s all about. And that’s why we take time this first Sunday in November to remember people who have shared the faith of Christ, shared his love and mercy, shared his righteousness and justice with us and with countless others through their lives. We have been so blessed to have been sisters and brothers in faith with these people. They are part of the living legacy of faithfulness that links us with Christ and the first believers and which we in turn will transmit to generations after us.
Our lives have been lived on the shoulders, the legacies – known and unknown – of generations who lived long before us. Our legacies will be laid down on top of theirs. We will never know the legacy that those after us have received from us. What we will know is what it is like to stand in the presence of God, to stand on holy ground, to hear God’s voice with our own ears and see the eternal glory.
So today we give thanks for those who have gone before us in the last year, those who have left something of God and something of themselves in our lives. Nadia Bolz-Weber writes that we all are accidental saints. She says:
Jeanne Barron
Max L. Russell
Betty. L. Jenkins
Louise Netzley
Marlene Voorhes
Helen Heinmiller
Let us pray.
For those who walked with us, this is a prayer.
For those who have gone ahead, this is a blessing.
For those who touched and tended us,
who lingered with us while they lived,
this is a thanksgiving.
For those who journey still with us
in the shadows of awareness,
in the crevices of memory,
in the landscape of our dreams,
this is a benediction. (Jan Richardson)
God of the ages:
We praise you for all your servants who have done justice, loved mercy and walked humbly with you.
We praise you for apostles and martyrs and saints of every time and place, who in life and death have witnessed to your truth and love.
We praise you, O God, for all those who answered your call to preach the Good News of the Gospel and to administer your Sacraments of grace and love, and for those who devoted their lives to teaching your Word.
We praise you, O God, for those who showed compassion to the least, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger and offering mercy and forgiveness to those who have gone astray.
We praise you, O God, and we especially honor the memory of those individuals of this congregation who have lived among us and shared their faith in personal ways, who have finished the race and now live eternally in your presence.
We honor the memory of those who have graced our lives at other times and in other ways – those whose names we lift up before you in the silence of our hearts.
Hear our prayers, O God.
For all the saints who from their labors rest, we praise you, O God.
We praise you and we thank you in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
(1) Cited by Christina Berry in a sermon, “Accidental Saints,” delivered October 30, 2016, at First Presbyterian Church, Sterling, Illinois. Posted on www.midrash.com, 10/29/16, 3:44 p.m. CDT.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Step away from the calendar. You heard me. Close the calendar app on your phone. Zip up the Day-Timer. Turn the wall calendar to face the wall. Put out of your mind that the election ordeal will be over in three days and that the apocalypse will -begin (whichever Armageddon you are expecting – and it probably won’t be as bad as your think it will be). Let us forsake temporal time for a few moments. Let us repose in church time.
Church time follows a consistent cycle. We begin with Advent, a time for waiting on the coming of the King, both as a baby born in the manger and as the eternal King of Glory. Advent is followed by Christmas and Epiphany, during which we celebrate the physical arrival of the King as flesh and blood and watch as his luminance grows in the expanding revelation of his nature and ministry.
At the apex of that divine revelation the world begins to realize that the persona Jesus projects is in radical conflict with the cozy ways of the world. From that point Lent spirals down to the what is supposed to be the world’s crushing blow against all that Jesus represents. But with a swift appellate court decision, God overturns the verdict of the world with the Easter resurrection of the Lord and Savior. For seven weeks Christ tutors his followers in knowledge and faith until the wildfire driven Holy Spirit races through Jerusalem inflaming the Pentecost Church.
We celebrated that six months ago, but these days are part of the season after Pentecost, a time when we learn what it means to be a Christian in this world. The story arc of Pentecost rises with all the great stories of Jesus. About halfway through, around the beginning of September, as fall’s wispy hints start to appear, there is a shift. The focus begins to move from the here and now to the future and beyond, to the culmination of the great creation which started when God breathed, “in the beginning.”
As the season of Pentecost winds down, these last weeks look forward to the day when we will no longer be in this world. The readings talk about the end of the ages and will conclude in a couple of weeks celebrating the enthronement of Christ in never-ending glory. While Advent uses similar readings to face the promise, the final readings of the church year look the frightening uncertainty of the end of days squarely in the face.
Paul’s second letter to the Thessalonians addresses that time. Most of us would rather not discuss the end times; the language of eschatology (last things) is difficult even for theologians. Which images are literal, which are figurative? When should we be concerned about the prophecies? Were the warnings written for our generation or some future generation, or has it all happened when no one was paying attention? Who is the lawless person? Was this a character in the days of Paul or someone yet to come? (Remember, we are in church time; no fair dropping out and going to your favorite political commentator.)
Another question rises. Will the coming of Christ be a physical return or spiritual? Some people insist they have the answer. There are perfectly acceptable arguments from many different points of view. People argue about what is true. They argue about what they think is true. They argue for what they want to be true. And they argue about details in order to camouflage fear, anxiety, ignorance, insecurity. No wonder most Christians would rather not discuss these things.
That doesn’t stop Paul. He writes to the Thessalonian believers the message that really matters: God loves you and God chose you to be fruit, sanctified by the Holy Spirit and called by the Gospel to obtain the glory of Christ. Paul also reminds his readers (aren’t we fortunate to get copied on his letter?) that while God is the one who chooses, sanctifies and calls, we, who are the recipients of God’s choice, sanctification, and call, are called to faith. It is up to us to believe. No one can believe for us, not even Jesus himself. The scriptures are clear: our eternal life is not dependent on anything we do in this world, but on the grace and mercy of God lived out in Jesus Christ.
If we imagine that after crossing paths with Jesus our life can continue on as if nothing happened, we missed something. We didn’t just miss the fine print, we missed the bold print. Eternal life is completely different from temporal life. (No, we aren’t ready to go back to our calendars yet.)
Let’s hear again something that Paul says:
God called all of you through our good news so you could possess the honor of our Lord Jesus Christ. (2 Thess. 2:14)We are a materialist people, so that verb ‘possess’ resonates with us. And Paul wants it to. What does it mean? Let’s look at several other translations.
- New Revised Standard Version: “For this purpose he called you through our proclamation of the good news, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.
- The Message: This is the life of the Spirit he invited you to through the Message we delivered, in which you get in on the glory of our Master, Jesus Christ.
- New Living Translation: He called you to salvation when we told you the Good News; now you can share in the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Not only do we get to possess – obtain – the honor and glory of Christ through faith, we get immersed in it, we get to share it.
The take-away on this is that Jesus is not a penny-pinching miserly savior who begrudges just enough grace to clear our names. Jesus is lavish, profligate with his grace. He throws open the doors of the kingdom, runs to the end of the drive and says, “You and you, come on in!” He grabs us by the arm and ushers us through the entryway, goes to the first hospitality station and grabs a plate full of grace and a goblet full of mercy. He says, “This is for you. Partake. Go back for seconds. What is mine is yours.”
No more begging. No more eking out an existence. This is life in its fullest. And it is ours. We get to share in it, to claim it, to wallow in it. That’s Christ’s earnest desire. He doesn’t want to be alone in the kingdom. He wants to share it with all his best friends.
Share. That’s what it’s all about. And that’s why we take time this first Sunday in November to remember people who have shared the faith of Christ, shared his love and mercy, shared his righteousness and justice with us and with countless others through their lives. We have been so blessed to have been sisters and brothers in faith with these people. They are part of the living legacy of faithfulness that links us with Christ and the first believers and which we in turn will transmit to generations after us.
Our lives have been lived on the shoulders, the legacies – known and unknown – of generations who lived long before us. Our legacies will be laid down on top of theirs. We will never know the legacy that those after us have received from us. What we will know is what it is like to stand in the presence of God, to stand on holy ground, to hear God’s voice with our own ears and see the eternal glory.
So today we give thanks for those who have gone before us in the last year, those who have left something of God and something of themselves in our lives. Nadia Bolz-Weber writes that we all are accidental saints. She says:
“Without higher-quality material to work with, God resorts to working through us for others and upon us through others. Those are some weirdly restorative, disconcerting shenanigans to be caught up in: God forcing God’s people to see themselves as God sees them, to do stuff they know they are incapable of doing, so that God might make use of them, and make them to be both humble recipients and generous givers of grace, so that they may be part of God’s big project on earth, so that they themselves might find unexpected joy through surprising situations.”(1)Let us now remember these people whom God has used to bless us and bless the Christ’s church:
Jeanne Barron
Max L. Russell
Betty. L. Jenkins
Louise Netzley
Marlene Voorhes
Helen Heinmiller
Let us pray.
For those who walked with us, this is a prayer.
For those who have gone ahead, this is a blessing.
For those who touched and tended us,
who lingered with us while they lived,
this is a thanksgiving.
For those who journey still with us
in the shadows of awareness,
in the crevices of memory,
in the landscape of our dreams,
this is a benediction. (Jan Richardson)
God of the ages:
We praise you for all your servants who have done justice, loved mercy and walked humbly with you.
We praise you for apostles and martyrs and saints of every time and place, who in life and death have witnessed to your truth and love.
We praise you, O God, for all those who answered your call to preach the Good News of the Gospel and to administer your Sacraments of grace and love, and for those who devoted their lives to teaching your Word.
We praise you, O God, for those who showed compassion to the least, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger and offering mercy and forgiveness to those who have gone astray.
We praise you, O God, and we especially honor the memory of those individuals of this congregation who have lived among us and shared their faith in personal ways, who have finished the race and now live eternally in your presence.
We honor the memory of those who have graced our lives at other times and in other ways – those whose names we lift up before you in the silence of our hearts.
Hear our prayers, O God.
For all the saints who from their labors rest, we praise you, O God.
We praise you and we thank you in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
(1) Cited by Christina Berry in a sermon, “Accidental Saints,” delivered October 30, 2016, at First Presbyterian Church, Sterling, Illinois. Posted on www.midrash.com, 10/29/16, 3:44 p.m. CDT.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Widening the Field of View
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4; 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12; Luke 19:1-10
“This is Cinerama” was full-length film which came out in 1952. The film began in black-and-white in the standard 4:3 aspect ratio. Newscaster Lowell Thomas appeared on screen to discuss the evolution of motion picture entertainment, from the earliest cave paintings which suggested movement up to the kinetoscope and the later introduction of sound and color. At the conclusion of the 12-minute lecture, Thomas said, “This is Cinerama,” and the screen expanded into the full Cinerama aspect ratio of three side-by-side screens and multiple sound tracks.
The film included scenes of a roller coaster, the temple dance from Aida, views of Niagara Falls, the Vienna Boys’ Choir, the canals of Venice, a military tattoo at Edinburgh Castle, a bullfight, a stereo sound demonstration, scenes from Cypress Gardens, and the singing of “America the Beautiful” by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir backed-up with scenic views from the nose of a low flying B-25.(1)
The cinerama technique seems pretty tame compared to today’s IMAX, surround sound, and 3D movie formats. But it was as thrilling as Al Jolson breaking into song in “The Jazz Singer” or black-and-white Kansan Dorothy waking up in full-color Munchkinland.
Panoramic art was not a new idea. Artists in the 19th century conceived of a 360-degree visual scale. It was called a “cyclorama” and visitors to these now-rare paintings are still wowed by the scale, detail and experience of being immersed in a 360-degree scene.
One of the most famous in the world is the “Panorama Mesdag,” housed in The Mesdag Museum in the Netherlands. The painting, a mind-boggling 14½ meters high and 114½ meters long, depicts life in the Dutch maritime village of Scheveningen in 1881. The scenes of coastal life were each produced first as sketches, transferred to canvas, and then painted to bring out the vivid and realistic panoramic view. The viewer stands in the middle of the surrounding panorama, mounted in a cylindrical building, and is captivated by the visual feast.
The recently restored Gettysburg Cyclorama has been welcoming visitors for more than 100 years. It depicts the full scope of the three day battle. Another famous cyclorama is at the Atlanta Civil War Museum. It depicts the battle of Atlanta and Sherman’s march to the sea.
Movies work on the principle that humans tend to be focused on what’s right in front of them, which would seem to be a product of the physiological fact that we don’t have eyes in the back of our heads (unless you’re a mother or a teacher). As a result, we’re easily enticed to focus on one image at a time which is quickly replaced by another. Unlike a panorama which invites lingering and taking in the whole scope of a work of art, film limits what we imagine and seeks to wrap up life with a neat conclusion in about two hours. We lose something when we can’t slow down enough to recognize and immerse ourselves in a panoramic vision of life — the kind of vision with which God sees the world.
The book of the prophet Habakkuk is like a section of a larger painting. The prophet and the people of Judah focus on what’s immediately in front of them: the invasion of the Babylonians. God’s response to the prophet’s lament reveals a more panoramic view of history and God’s purposes.
Habakkuk asks, “Lord, how long will I call for help and you not listen?” This is a recurring question throughout the prophetic literature and much of the Old Testament. It is asked so often that it must have been as obnoxious in God’s ears as the children’s long-drive refrain, “Are we there yet?” The prophet’s myopic vision sees only “injustice” and “anguish.” “Devastation and violence” seem to be the only themes revealed in his narrow line of sight. The unnamed wicked have “warped justice.” That most likely refers to the pre-exile worsening of the state of affairs of Judah during the reigns of Jehoiakim and his son Jehoiachin.
God does not provide a pretty picture of the coming invasion by the Babylonian army. God says that they will be his agents for punishing Judah for its apostasy. The images rival the terrible combat images of the Gettysburg and Atlanta Cycloramas or the film footage from the wars of the last 100 years. The Babylonian invasion was more than a battle; the future existence of God’s people was at stake.
In spite of the prophet’s narrow view, he is asking a broader underlying question: How can God visit punishment on his own people by using a pagan empire? Unfortunately the prophet asks a narrow question. He is confused by God’s seemingly unfair judgment. He asks, “Why would you look at the treacherous or keep silent when the wicked swallows one who is more righteous?”
As chapter two starts, the prophet goes up on the wall to look out on the wider horizon of reality. God’s reply to Habakkuk’s questioning puts the previous scenes of distress into a 360-degree context. Where prophet and people see only a section, a fleeting image of destruction, God, the master designer of past, present, and future, sees this scene as part of the all-encompassing canvas of his plan for the people of Judah and, indeed, for all creation. God reminds the prophet that “there is still a vision for the appointed time” and that if prophet and people will “wait for it; for it surely will come, it will not be late.” Only God knows how the whole picture will look when it is finished. Until then the righteous will live by faith.
In chapter three, Habakkuk prays to God:
Lord, I have heard your reputation.
I have seen your work.
Over time, revive it.
Over time, make it known.
Though angry, remember compassion. (Hab. 3:2)
As the prophet allows his vision to widen, he is more able to rest in the Lord, and to believe that God really does know what God is doing.
We are all victims of narrow vision, of over-focusing on small pieces of a larger whole that God has under control. This election cycle is an excellent example. We focus on one issue and ignore many others of equal importance. And in the various narrow focuses we take, we worry. We worry about a grandchild trying to find a job. We worry about what the stock market will do following next week’s election. We worry about the next doctor’s visit. We worry about all those threatened side-effects from some drug touted on television. We worry about Christians focusing on beliefs different from ours and about disciples being more interested in doing faith rather than sitting in pews being harangued or coddled by preachers. Add your own worries to this list.
In his Sermon on the Mount Jesus told his listeners to “stop worrying about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself” (Matthew 6:34).
Worry is the narrow vision which only sees a minuscule slice of the whole of God’s reality. Habakkuk reminds us of the grander vision of God’s purposes. We see this in the canvas of God’s kingdom. More importantly we see it depicted and proclaimed in the suffering Jesus, whose death and resurrection prove that God is willing to enter the picture of our human predicament. “Father, into your hands I entrust my life” (Luke 23:46).
Sometimes it is not years of experience that allows us to see the larger picture God has created. Sometimes it only takes wide-eyed wonder and heartfelt compassion to know that God is at work far beyond our understanding.
You will remember the startling picture in the news of a young Syrian child refugee, Omran, strapped in seat in a emergency squad. Several weeks ago, President Obama told about receiving a letter from 6-year-old Alex from Scarsdale, New York.
Habakkuk invites us to join Alex in seeing that God has 360-degree vision for all that God has created from forever ago to forever from now. We will never be able to see the whole 360-degree work of God at once. Our human vision is limited. Nevertheless God invites us to trust that somehow, God will make all things good for those who trust in his panoramic vision of our lives. The risen and reigning Christ is the start of our widening vision.
General Resource: “The Panoramic Vision of God,” Homiletics, October 31, 2010.
(1) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Is_Cinerama, accessed October 6, 2016, 15:00 GMT.
(2) www.CNN.com, September 22, 2016.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
“This is Cinerama” was full-length film which came out in 1952. The film began in black-and-white in the standard 4:3 aspect ratio. Newscaster Lowell Thomas appeared on screen to discuss the evolution of motion picture entertainment, from the earliest cave paintings which suggested movement up to the kinetoscope and the later introduction of sound and color. At the conclusion of the 12-minute lecture, Thomas said, “This is Cinerama,” and the screen expanded into the full Cinerama aspect ratio of three side-by-side screens and multiple sound tracks.
The film included scenes of a roller coaster, the temple dance from Aida, views of Niagara Falls, the Vienna Boys’ Choir, the canals of Venice, a military tattoo at Edinburgh Castle, a bullfight, a stereo sound demonstration, scenes from Cypress Gardens, and the singing of “America the Beautiful” by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir backed-up with scenic views from the nose of a low flying B-25.(1)
The cinerama technique seems pretty tame compared to today’s IMAX, surround sound, and 3D movie formats. But it was as thrilling as Al Jolson breaking into song in “The Jazz Singer” or black-and-white Kansan Dorothy waking up in full-color Munchkinland.
Panoramic art was not a new idea. Artists in the 19th century conceived of a 360-degree visual scale. It was called a “cyclorama” and visitors to these now-rare paintings are still wowed by the scale, detail and experience of being immersed in a 360-degree scene.
One of the most famous in the world is the “Panorama Mesdag,” housed in The Mesdag Museum in the Netherlands. The painting, a mind-boggling 14½ meters high and 114½ meters long, depicts life in the Dutch maritime village of Scheveningen in 1881. The scenes of coastal life were each produced first as sketches, transferred to canvas, and then painted to bring out the vivid and realistic panoramic view. The viewer stands in the middle of the surrounding panorama, mounted in a cylindrical building, and is captivated by the visual feast.
The recently restored Gettysburg Cyclorama has been welcoming visitors for more than 100 years. It depicts the full scope of the three day battle. Another famous cyclorama is at the Atlanta Civil War Museum. It depicts the battle of Atlanta and Sherman’s march to the sea.
Movies work on the principle that humans tend to be focused on what’s right in front of them, which would seem to be a product of the physiological fact that we don’t have eyes in the back of our heads (unless you’re a mother or a teacher). As a result, we’re easily enticed to focus on one image at a time which is quickly replaced by another. Unlike a panorama which invites lingering and taking in the whole scope of a work of art, film limits what we imagine and seeks to wrap up life with a neat conclusion in about two hours. We lose something when we can’t slow down enough to recognize and immerse ourselves in a panoramic vision of life — the kind of vision with which God sees the world.
The book of the prophet Habakkuk is like a section of a larger painting. The prophet and the people of Judah focus on what’s immediately in front of them: the invasion of the Babylonians. God’s response to the prophet’s lament reveals a more panoramic view of history and God’s purposes.
Habakkuk asks, “Lord, how long will I call for help and you not listen?” This is a recurring question throughout the prophetic literature and much of the Old Testament. It is asked so often that it must have been as obnoxious in God’s ears as the children’s long-drive refrain, “Are we there yet?” The prophet’s myopic vision sees only “injustice” and “anguish.” “Devastation and violence” seem to be the only themes revealed in his narrow line of sight. The unnamed wicked have “warped justice.” That most likely refers to the pre-exile worsening of the state of affairs of Judah during the reigns of Jehoiakim and his son Jehoiachin.
God does not provide a pretty picture of the coming invasion by the Babylonian army. God says that they will be his agents for punishing Judah for its apostasy. The images rival the terrible combat images of the Gettysburg and Atlanta Cycloramas or the film footage from the wars of the last 100 years. The Babylonian invasion was more than a battle; the future existence of God’s people was at stake.
In spite of the prophet’s narrow view, he is asking a broader underlying question: How can God visit punishment on his own people by using a pagan empire? Unfortunately the prophet asks a narrow question. He is confused by God’s seemingly unfair judgment. He asks, “Why would you look at the treacherous or keep silent when the wicked swallows one who is more righteous?”
As chapter two starts, the prophet goes up on the wall to look out on the wider horizon of reality. God’s reply to Habakkuk’s questioning puts the previous scenes of distress into a 360-degree context. Where prophet and people see only a section, a fleeting image of destruction, God, the master designer of past, present, and future, sees this scene as part of the all-encompassing canvas of his plan for the people of Judah and, indeed, for all creation. God reminds the prophet that “there is still a vision for the appointed time” and that if prophet and people will “wait for it; for it surely will come, it will not be late.” Only God knows how the whole picture will look when it is finished. Until then the righteous will live by faith.
In chapter three, Habakkuk prays to God:
Lord, I have heard your reputation.
I have seen your work.
Over time, revive it.
Over time, make it known.
Though angry, remember compassion. (Hab. 3:2)
As the prophet allows his vision to widen, he is more able to rest in the Lord, and to believe that God really does know what God is doing.
We are all victims of narrow vision, of over-focusing on small pieces of a larger whole that God has under control. This election cycle is an excellent example. We focus on one issue and ignore many others of equal importance. And in the various narrow focuses we take, we worry. We worry about a grandchild trying to find a job. We worry about what the stock market will do following next week’s election. We worry about the next doctor’s visit. We worry about all those threatened side-effects from some drug touted on television. We worry about Christians focusing on beliefs different from ours and about disciples being more interested in doing faith rather than sitting in pews being harangued or coddled by preachers. Add your own worries to this list.
In his Sermon on the Mount Jesus told his listeners to “stop worrying about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself” (Matthew 6:34).
Worry is the narrow vision which only sees a minuscule slice of the whole of God’s reality. Habakkuk reminds us of the grander vision of God’s purposes. We see this in the canvas of God’s kingdom. More importantly we see it depicted and proclaimed in the suffering Jesus, whose death and resurrection prove that God is willing to enter the picture of our human predicament. “Father, into your hands I entrust my life” (Luke 23:46).
Sometimes it is not years of experience that allows us to see the larger picture God has created. Sometimes it only takes wide-eyed wonder and heartfelt compassion to know that God is at work far beyond our understanding.
You will remember the startling picture in the news of a young Syrian child refugee, Omran, strapped in seat in a emergency squad. Several weeks ago, President Obama told about receiving a letter from 6-year-old Alex from Scarsdale, New York.
“Alex told me that he wanted Omran to come live with him and his family. He wanted to share his bike, and teach him how to ride. He said his little sister would collect butterflies for him. ‘We can all play together,’ he wrote. ‘We will give him a family and he will be our brother.’ Those are the words of a six-year-old boy – a young child who has not learned to be cynical or suspicious or fearful of other people because of where they come from, how they look, or how they pray. We should all be more like Alex. Imagine what the world would look like if we were. Imagine the suffering we could ease and the lives we could save.”(2)Alex wasn’t locked into a narrow momentary vision of the world which God has created.
Habakkuk invites us to join Alex in seeing that God has 360-degree vision for all that God has created from forever ago to forever from now. We will never be able to see the whole 360-degree work of God at once. Our human vision is limited. Nevertheless God invites us to trust that somehow, God will make all things good for those who trust in his panoramic vision of our lives. The risen and reigning Christ is the start of our widening vision.
General Resource: “The Panoramic Vision of God,” Homiletics, October 31, 2010.
(1) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Is_Cinerama, accessed October 6, 2016, 15:00 GMT.
(2) www.CNN.com, September 22, 2016.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Nothing in My Hand I Bring
Luke 18:9-14; Psalm 65; 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18
The first time we read this parable of Jesus, we are comforted. We know who should be wearing the white hat and who should be wearing the black hat. Then we get to Jesus’ comment at the end and our certainty begins to crumble. If we read the parable three or four more times, we it becomes unsettling.
This parable, found only in Luke’s memory, doesn’t go where we think it ought to go. Jesus frequently upends the commonly accepted notions about relationships with God, like he upended the tables of the temple merchants and bankers. This parable upends virtually everything we think we know about faith, everything we organize our faith around. We are left with nothing.
Friends, that is exactly where Jesus wants us. Empty-handed.
Before we pile on the Pharisee with our disdain, we need to step back and think about Pharisees. Believe it or not, they were a reforming sect within the Judaism of Jesus’ time. They grew out of the Babylonian exile. They sought to ease up the onus of temple sacrifice which had grown up after Solomon built the first temple, which was renewed with the remodeling of the temple and renewing of worship traditions during King Josiah’s reign two decades before the Temple’s Babylonian destruction, and the post-exile rebuilding under Ezra and Nehemiah.
The Temple-less exile helped create the synagogue, a local representation of the Temple without all the sacrificial rituals. The Pharisees shifted the center of faith from the Jerusalem Temple to local congregations and to individual homes. They promoted the idea of the “priesthood of all believers.” The worship of God was not something distant on a mountain in Jerusalem or reserved to a priestly class, but something intimate which could be done in community and home.
The Pharisees developed the rabbinic tradition. By the time of Jesus, they had become the leading exponents of Judaism. The Sadducees and Essenes were smaller Jewish sects overshadowed by and often in contention with the Pharisees.
After the Romans destroyed the temple in 70 CE, the Pharisees took control of the Jewish religious tradition in the Jewish homeland and in the Diaspora – the scattering of Jews throughout the Roman Empire’s geography. The Pharisees finalized the canon of Hebrew scriptures about 60 years after Jesus’ resurrection. They began the long process of interpreting the Torah which ultimately became known as the Mishnah and the Talmud. This was going on during the time that Luke was putting his gospel into writing, some 10-15 years after the destruction of Jerusalem.
In spite of all the controversy between the Pharisees and Jesus, the Pharisees aren’t the totally evil religionists they are portrayed to be.
According to Luke, Jesus tells this parable to confront people “who had convinced themselves that they were righteous and who looked on everyone else with disgust.” Karl Barth, in his massive Church Dogmatics, identified pride as the chief sin of the religious person, because it was fundamentally idolatrous: it confuses Creator and creation, Giver and gift.
Luke supports this viewpoint. As he describes the praying Pharisee, it is obvious that those who are contemptuous of others have come to consider justice a characteristic of themselves, rather than a characteristic that rightly belongs only to God. In fact, two stories later in Luke’s gospel Jesus flatly states, “No one is good except the one God” (Luke 18:19). Even though the Pharisee in the parable thanks God for his righteousness rather than claiming credit for himself, he goes on to remind God how fortunate God is to have such a wonderful worshiper. That undercuts any humility his prayer otherwise demonstrates.
Tax collectors were not paragons of society. They were political operatives in charge of certain regions, call them census tracts, wards, legislative districts, whatever. The Romans set a required tax revenue amount for each district and the tax collecting franchisee was responsible for raising it, by whatever means it took. Anything over the required amount was the tax collector’s profit, which many worked hard to maximize. Often tax regions were subdivided with local tax collectors collecting, taking a cut, and paying a surcharge to the chief tax collector. Pyramid schemes have been around for a long time.
We always notice the body language of the two pray-ers. But we also need to notice their positions. The Pharisee stands by himself, so as to avoid being contaminated by any riffraff that also might be in the temple at the same time. The Pharisee is isolated in attitude and in location. He’s got a special spot where he can scan the crowd and see who else is praying.
The tax collector stood at a distance. As someone universally recognized as a lowlife and ritually unclean, he might have been hesitant to enter any farther than the entryway. Another possibility is that he wasn’t even Jewish. Sometimes they were foreign mercenaries, illegal aliens of the day, hired to the do the empire’s dirty work. If that was the case, he couldn’t go any further than the doorway to the Holy Place. He could only look in, like an African-American looking in the window of a “whites only” restaurant in our grandparents’ time.
As Jesus so often reminded his hearers – and he reminds us here – things are not always as they appear. It is the repentant tax collector, not the pious Pharisee, who returned home “justified.” Pharisee had fallen into the sin of arrogance and pride. He exalted himself above others, even God. He gave thanks to God that he was better than the robbers, adulterers, or the tax collector he saw out of the corner of his eye. Because of all his religious acts, he confidently justified himself.
The tax collector, on the other hand, was humiliated before God and others. He honestly recognized his misdeeds, and his brokenness was evident in his behavior.
Although Barth understood the shame of both to be the result of their comparison to the holiness of God, John Calvin understood that their fallenness was the result of the original sin committed by Adam and Eve in Eden. The doctrine of original sin is the theological view that the sin of Adam was imputed to all humanity, a mutation which was embedded in their spiritual DNA. Calvin put it this way: “[Adam] consigned his race to ruin by his rebellion when he perverted the whole order of nature.”
Paul described human depravity in this manner: “Many people were made sinners through the disobedience of one person” (Romans 5:19). Reformed theologians like Calvin and Barth understand Scripture to teach that the entire person is subject to sin, leaving no one immune to Adam’s original sin. This doctrine is most often referred to as total depravity. What this means is that a human being cannot not sin. In other words, we are doomed to sin.(1)
That’s where Jesus stepped in with the tax collector. The man was “justified.” The parable invites us to acknowledge that we are all subject to original sin and completely sinful in our innermost being. If we do that, we concede two things: (1) we are unable to save ourselves because we are steeped in sin; and (2) we are totally and utterly dependent on God for salvation.
That’s the piece which was missing for the Pharisee. He justified himself before God by trying to exalt himself. He came to the throne of God with his hands filled with “who he was,” “what he had done,” and “what he had not done.” He had a multi-page resume, a lengthy Who’s Who entry in his hands. Holding all that out to God, the Pharisee expected to put himself in good standing. After all, in his mind he deserved to be there.
On the other hand, the tax collector humbled himself, genuinely acknowledging that his life was rife with sin and that he did not deserve God’s forgiveness. But he asked in faith knowing that God is merciful.
Luke Timothy Johnson says that prayer is a theme in Luke-Acts.
Augustus Toplady’s lyrics ring out:
"Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to the cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress,
helpless look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.”
(That’s the third stanza of “Rock of Ages.”)
The Pharisee’s hands are full of himself. He is unable to receive God’s forgiveness and mercy. The tax collector has nothing in his hands. He is poised to receive the blessings of God.
“Nothing in my hand I bring;
simply to the cross I cling.”
(1) Robert Leach, “Luke 18:9-14 – Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) Year C, vol 4, 214.
(2) Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke (Sacred Pagina) (Wilmington, Delaware: Michael Glazer, 2006), 473.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
The first time we read this parable of Jesus, we are comforted. We know who should be wearing the white hat and who should be wearing the black hat. Then we get to Jesus’ comment at the end and our certainty begins to crumble. If we read the parable three or four more times, we it becomes unsettling.
This parable, found only in Luke’s memory, doesn’t go where we think it ought to go. Jesus frequently upends the commonly accepted notions about relationships with God, like he upended the tables of the temple merchants and bankers. This parable upends virtually everything we think we know about faith, everything we organize our faith around. We are left with nothing.
Friends, that is exactly where Jesus wants us. Empty-handed.
Before we pile on the Pharisee with our disdain, we need to step back and think about Pharisees. Believe it or not, they were a reforming sect within the Judaism of Jesus’ time. They grew out of the Babylonian exile. They sought to ease up the onus of temple sacrifice which had grown up after Solomon built the first temple, which was renewed with the remodeling of the temple and renewing of worship traditions during King Josiah’s reign two decades before the Temple’s Babylonian destruction, and the post-exile rebuilding under Ezra and Nehemiah.
The Temple-less exile helped create the synagogue, a local representation of the Temple without all the sacrificial rituals. The Pharisees shifted the center of faith from the Jerusalem Temple to local congregations and to individual homes. They promoted the idea of the “priesthood of all believers.” The worship of God was not something distant on a mountain in Jerusalem or reserved to a priestly class, but something intimate which could be done in community and home.
The Pharisees developed the rabbinic tradition. By the time of Jesus, they had become the leading exponents of Judaism. The Sadducees and Essenes were smaller Jewish sects overshadowed by and often in contention with the Pharisees.
After the Romans destroyed the temple in 70 CE, the Pharisees took control of the Jewish religious tradition in the Jewish homeland and in the Diaspora – the scattering of Jews throughout the Roman Empire’s geography. The Pharisees finalized the canon of Hebrew scriptures about 60 years after Jesus’ resurrection. They began the long process of interpreting the Torah which ultimately became known as the Mishnah and the Talmud. This was going on during the time that Luke was putting his gospel into writing, some 10-15 years after the destruction of Jerusalem.
In spite of all the controversy between the Pharisees and Jesus, the Pharisees aren’t the totally evil religionists they are portrayed to be.
According to Luke, Jesus tells this parable to confront people “who had convinced themselves that they were righteous and who looked on everyone else with disgust.” Karl Barth, in his massive Church Dogmatics, identified pride as the chief sin of the religious person, because it was fundamentally idolatrous: it confuses Creator and creation, Giver and gift.
Luke supports this viewpoint. As he describes the praying Pharisee, it is obvious that those who are contemptuous of others have come to consider justice a characteristic of themselves, rather than a characteristic that rightly belongs only to God. In fact, two stories later in Luke’s gospel Jesus flatly states, “No one is good except the one God” (Luke 18:19). Even though the Pharisee in the parable thanks God for his righteousness rather than claiming credit for himself, he goes on to remind God how fortunate God is to have such a wonderful worshiper. That undercuts any humility his prayer otherwise demonstrates.
Tax collectors were not paragons of society. They were political operatives in charge of certain regions, call them census tracts, wards, legislative districts, whatever. The Romans set a required tax revenue amount for each district and the tax collecting franchisee was responsible for raising it, by whatever means it took. Anything over the required amount was the tax collector’s profit, which many worked hard to maximize. Often tax regions were subdivided with local tax collectors collecting, taking a cut, and paying a surcharge to the chief tax collector. Pyramid schemes have been around for a long time.
We always notice the body language of the two pray-ers. But we also need to notice their positions. The Pharisee stands by himself, so as to avoid being contaminated by any riffraff that also might be in the temple at the same time. The Pharisee is isolated in attitude and in location. He’s got a special spot where he can scan the crowd and see who else is praying.
The tax collector stood at a distance. As someone universally recognized as a lowlife and ritually unclean, he might have been hesitant to enter any farther than the entryway. Another possibility is that he wasn’t even Jewish. Sometimes they were foreign mercenaries, illegal aliens of the day, hired to the do the empire’s dirty work. If that was the case, he couldn’t go any further than the doorway to the Holy Place. He could only look in, like an African-American looking in the window of a “whites only” restaurant in our grandparents’ time.
As Jesus so often reminded his hearers – and he reminds us here – things are not always as they appear. It is the repentant tax collector, not the pious Pharisee, who returned home “justified.” Pharisee had fallen into the sin of arrogance and pride. He exalted himself above others, even God. He gave thanks to God that he was better than the robbers, adulterers, or the tax collector he saw out of the corner of his eye. Because of all his religious acts, he confidently justified himself.
The tax collector, on the other hand, was humiliated before God and others. He honestly recognized his misdeeds, and his brokenness was evident in his behavior.
Although Barth understood the shame of both to be the result of their comparison to the holiness of God, John Calvin understood that their fallenness was the result of the original sin committed by Adam and Eve in Eden. The doctrine of original sin is the theological view that the sin of Adam was imputed to all humanity, a mutation which was embedded in their spiritual DNA. Calvin put it this way: “[Adam] consigned his race to ruin by his rebellion when he perverted the whole order of nature.”
Paul described human depravity in this manner: “Many people were made sinners through the disobedience of one person” (Romans 5:19). Reformed theologians like Calvin and Barth understand Scripture to teach that the entire person is subject to sin, leaving no one immune to Adam’s original sin. This doctrine is most often referred to as total depravity. What this means is that a human being cannot not sin. In other words, we are doomed to sin.(1)
That’s where Jesus stepped in with the tax collector. The man was “justified.” The parable invites us to acknowledge that we are all subject to original sin and completely sinful in our innermost being. If we do that, we concede two things: (1) we are unable to save ourselves because we are steeped in sin; and (2) we are totally and utterly dependent on God for salvation.
That’s the piece which was missing for the Pharisee. He justified himself before God by trying to exalt himself. He came to the throne of God with his hands filled with “who he was,” “what he had done,” and “what he had not done.” He had a multi-page resume, a lengthy Who’s Who entry in his hands. Holding all that out to God, the Pharisee expected to put himself in good standing. After all, in his mind he deserved to be there.
On the other hand, the tax collector humbled himself, genuinely acknowledging that his life was rife with sin and that he did not deserve God’s forgiveness. But he asked in faith knowing that God is merciful.
Luke Timothy Johnson says that prayer is a theme in Luke-Acts.
“For Luke, prayer is faith in action. Prayer is not an optional exercise in piety, carried out to demonstrate one’s relationship with God. It is that relationship with God. The way one prays therefore reveals that relationship. If the disciples do not ‘cry out day and night’ to the Lord, then they in fact do not have faith, for that is what faith does. Similarly, if prayer is self-assertion before God, then it cannot be answered by God’s gift of righteousness; possession and gift cancel each other.”(2)Alan Redpath writes, “Faith is two empty hands held open to receive all of the Lord.”
Augustus Toplady’s lyrics ring out:
"Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to the cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress,
helpless look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.”
(That’s the third stanza of “Rock of Ages.”)
The Pharisee’s hands are full of himself. He is unable to receive God’s forgiveness and mercy. The tax collector has nothing in his hands. He is poised to receive the blessings of God.
“Nothing in my hand I bring;
simply to the cross I cling.”
(1) Robert Leach, “Luke 18:9-14 – Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) Year C, vol 4, 214.
(2) Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke (Sacred Pagina) (Wilmington, Delaware: Michael Glazer, 2006), 473.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, October 9, 2016
Gratitude Leads to Faith
Luke 17:11-19; Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7; 2 Timothy 2:8-15
Karl Barth, a leading Reformed theologian of the mid-twentieth century, was fond of saying that the basic human response to God is gratitude — not fear and trembling, not guilt and dread, but thanksgiving. “What else can we say to what God gives us but stammer praise?”
C. S. Lewis, as he explored his newfound faith, observed that the Bible, particularly the Book of Psalms, insisted that we praise and thank God. He also observed the connection between gratitude and personal well-being. “I noticed how the humblest and at the same time most balanced minds praised most: while the cranks, misfits, and malcontents praised least. Praise almost seems to be inner health made audible.”(1)
Luke tells a wonderful story. It always takes my breath away. Luke alone remembers it and shares it. Perhaps that is because it features an outsider, a despised minority, a Samaritan, and Jesus touching someone. Those are important thematic components for Luke.
We find Jesus out of bounds, so to speak. He and his followers are walking through Samaritan territory. That’s never an issue for him. Strictly observant Jews in his day avoided any contact with the residents of Samaria, living far into the future a centuries-old hatred.
We can imagine that the relationship between Jews and Samaritans must be something like the animosity of the orange Protestants and the green Catholics of Northern Ireland which festered on and off for a century. Presbyterian Church (USA) mission co-worker Doug Baker has spent most of his ministry working to bring peace to that country. May the current lack of enmity be true and not just the quiet before another storm.
Of course another current religious conflict of larger proportions is the conflict between the Sunni and Shia branches of Islam in the Middle East. That confrontation has been going on for generations and promises to continue for many more. The extremists of Al Qaeda and ISIS in the Middle East and Boko Haram in Western Africa add fuel to those fires. As Kareem Abdul Jabbar posted on Facebook recently, “ISIS is to Islam as the Westboro Baptism Church is to Christianity.” That’s not a compliment.
We American Christians haven’t been immune to internecine fighting, but most of the artillery has been words, not bombs. Think about the issues we have fought over in the last centuries: abolition of slavery, prohibition of alcohol, child labor laws, women’s suffrage, ordination of women, voting rights, women’s reproductive rights, human sexuality in general.
Jesus and his entourage were walking through Samaritan territory. As they neared a town they were met by a group of ten lepers. In those days a leper couldn’t hang out with anyone other than another leper. As was the custom, the lepers didn’t approach very near. They called out from an appropriate distance, “Jesus, Master, show us mercy!” They could have been begging for something to eat or for shelter for the night. But if you gave them a coin, no one would receive the coin from them for a loaf of bread, a fish, or some fruit. Or if you gave them a room, the room or whole house would become unclean.
The men were desperate for healing. Being a leper was like being a Syrian refugee today or an undocumented alien. No one wants you. And there was no recourse, unless what you had was not leprosy (Hansen’s Disease in today’s medical parlance). You could have had a bad case of psoriasis, poison ivy, small pox, chicken pox, measles, the teenage bane of acne, or – heaven forbid – shingles. Some of these might clear up in time, and then you could go through the proper rites for ritual cleansing and be allowed back in the community and to life. But if they didn’t....
Jesus desired to have mercy, so he said to them, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” A leper was supposed to be clean before going to the priest. Only a priest could determine whether a person was clean or not. I wonder how even handed that was. I can imagine discussions such as baseball managers often have with umpires about a variety of calls. “I’m clean.” “No, you’re not.” “Yes, I am.” “No, you’re not.”
The instruction was unusual, but they did what Jesus asked. As they left, they were cleansed. All ten of them. Luke affirms that, Apparently nine of the ten were Jews and in the misery of their leprous ostracism even a Samaritan fellow traveler was okay. As they were going off, the Jewish lepers went to find their nearest priest. The Samaritan had to go find a priest of his own. Perhaps it was when they were splitting up that the Samaritan, now on his own, had enough time to realize that he had been healed. And healed by a Jew at that. That’s when he reversed his steps and sought out Jesus, whom he knew to be a Jew.
Something is going on here, something wonderful and mysterious and tingling with the healing power of God. Leper No. 10, the Samaritan, raced back to Jesus, praising God with a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him profusely. Jesus knew his power. He knew that all ten lepers had been cleansed, made ritually pure, made whole again.
The Jewish lepers were intent on doing exactly what Jesus had told them to do, follow the steps of the law. They were excited about being united with family gain. The Samaritan saw a larger picture. Jesus has had mercy on him – as a leper, as a Samaritan, as a human being.
One in ten. A ten percent thanksgiving ratio. That’s not saying much. Didn’t the Jewish mothers teach their children better than that? The nine did what they were told. The tenth knew that there had to be an intermediate step. That step is gratitude. Gratitude and thanksgiving move us beyond the standard, the acceptable, the ordinary. A gracious attitude and lifestyle make a person extraordinary, unusual, blessed, a cut above the rest. The Samaritan, normally on the bottom of the social heap, had risen to the top like precious cream.
The Bible uses the concepts of wellness, wholeness, and salvation nearly interchangeably. “Your faith has healed you/made you well/made you whole/saved you.” Being grateful and saying thank you are absolutely at the heart of God’s hope for the human race and God’s intent for each of us.
Medical studies have shown that gratitude does tend towards a better level of health and disposition. It may be that grateful people take better care of themselves, but there is evidence that gratitude itself is a stress reducer, that grateful people are more hopeful, and that there are links between gratitude and the immune system. So your mother was right when she made you call your grandmother and thank her for the Christmas sweater or birthday card.
Jesus knew what he was talking about. “Your faith has healed you,” says Jesus. He gave him a fist bump and a high five not so much for the faith that asked for healing, but for the faith that returned to give thanks. After all, it’s a grateful faith — not a gimme faith — that saves us.
The basic Christian response to God is gratitude: gratitude for the gift of life, gratitude for the world, gratitude for the dear people God has given us who enrich and grace our lives. The basic Christian experience is gratitude to God for God’s love in Jesus Christ and the gift of hopeful confidence, wholeness and wellness that comes with it, regardless of the worldly circumstances in which we find ourselves.
Writer Anne Lamott says her two favorite prayers are, in the morning, “Help me, help me, help me,” and at bedtime, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
If you are having trouble with faith, perhaps you have a underlying problem with gratitude. The question then has to be asked, what is the leprosy/malady/wrong thinking that you need to be healed from so that you can be grateful? Where are you ostracized (in your perception of the world or in reality)? If prayers of thanks are part of the soul’s healing and deliverance and flourish, the physical circumstances of the pray-er become less important. It is the thanking that saves the grateful leper, and such thankfulness is available to all of us in every circumstance.
Kimberly Bracken Long writes,
“To practice gratitude intentionally changes an individual life, to be sure. It also changes the character of a congregation. When Christians practice gratitude, they come to worship not just to ‘get something out of it,’ but to give thanks and praise to God. Stewardship is transformed from fund-raising to the glad gratitude of joyful givers. The mission of the church changes from ethical duty to the work of grateful hands and hearts.”(2)
Friends, if you want to grow your faith, begin by growing your gratitude. The formerly leprous Samaritan did. It made all the difference in his life. Gratitude will change your life, too.
General Resource: “Leper No. 10,” Homiletics, November 27, 2003.
(1) Cited by John M. Buchanan, “Luke 17:11-19 - Homiletics Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, vol. 4, 165
(2) Kimberly Bracken Long, “Luke 17:11-19 - Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, vol. 4, 168
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Karl Barth, a leading Reformed theologian of the mid-twentieth century, was fond of saying that the basic human response to God is gratitude — not fear and trembling, not guilt and dread, but thanksgiving. “What else can we say to what God gives us but stammer praise?”
C. S. Lewis, as he explored his newfound faith, observed that the Bible, particularly the Book of Psalms, insisted that we praise and thank God. He also observed the connection between gratitude and personal well-being. “I noticed how the humblest and at the same time most balanced minds praised most: while the cranks, misfits, and malcontents praised least. Praise almost seems to be inner health made audible.”(1)
Luke tells a wonderful story. It always takes my breath away. Luke alone remembers it and shares it. Perhaps that is because it features an outsider, a despised minority, a Samaritan, and Jesus touching someone. Those are important thematic components for Luke.
We find Jesus out of bounds, so to speak. He and his followers are walking through Samaritan territory. That’s never an issue for him. Strictly observant Jews in his day avoided any contact with the residents of Samaria, living far into the future a centuries-old hatred.
We can imagine that the relationship between Jews and Samaritans must be something like the animosity of the orange Protestants and the green Catholics of Northern Ireland which festered on and off for a century. Presbyterian Church (USA) mission co-worker Doug Baker has spent most of his ministry working to bring peace to that country. May the current lack of enmity be true and not just the quiet before another storm.
Of course another current religious conflict of larger proportions is the conflict between the Sunni and Shia branches of Islam in the Middle East. That confrontation has been going on for generations and promises to continue for many more. The extremists of Al Qaeda and ISIS in the Middle East and Boko Haram in Western Africa add fuel to those fires. As Kareem Abdul Jabbar posted on Facebook recently, “ISIS is to Islam as the Westboro Baptism Church is to Christianity.” That’s not a compliment.
We American Christians haven’t been immune to internecine fighting, but most of the artillery has been words, not bombs. Think about the issues we have fought over in the last centuries: abolition of slavery, prohibition of alcohol, child labor laws, women’s suffrage, ordination of women, voting rights, women’s reproductive rights, human sexuality in general.
Jesus and his entourage were walking through Samaritan territory. As they neared a town they were met by a group of ten lepers. In those days a leper couldn’t hang out with anyone other than another leper. As was the custom, the lepers didn’t approach very near. They called out from an appropriate distance, “Jesus, Master, show us mercy!” They could have been begging for something to eat or for shelter for the night. But if you gave them a coin, no one would receive the coin from them for a loaf of bread, a fish, or some fruit. Or if you gave them a room, the room or whole house would become unclean.
The men were desperate for healing. Being a leper was like being a Syrian refugee today or an undocumented alien. No one wants you. And there was no recourse, unless what you had was not leprosy (Hansen’s Disease in today’s medical parlance). You could have had a bad case of psoriasis, poison ivy, small pox, chicken pox, measles, the teenage bane of acne, or – heaven forbid – shingles. Some of these might clear up in time, and then you could go through the proper rites for ritual cleansing and be allowed back in the community and to life. But if they didn’t....
Jesus desired to have mercy, so he said to them, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” A leper was supposed to be clean before going to the priest. Only a priest could determine whether a person was clean or not. I wonder how even handed that was. I can imagine discussions such as baseball managers often have with umpires about a variety of calls. “I’m clean.” “No, you’re not.” “Yes, I am.” “No, you’re not.”
The instruction was unusual, but they did what Jesus asked. As they left, they were cleansed. All ten of them. Luke affirms that, Apparently nine of the ten were Jews and in the misery of their leprous ostracism even a Samaritan fellow traveler was okay. As they were going off, the Jewish lepers went to find their nearest priest. The Samaritan had to go find a priest of his own. Perhaps it was when they were splitting up that the Samaritan, now on his own, had enough time to realize that he had been healed. And healed by a Jew at that. That’s when he reversed his steps and sought out Jesus, whom he knew to be a Jew.
Something is going on here, something wonderful and mysterious and tingling with the healing power of God. Leper No. 10, the Samaritan, raced back to Jesus, praising God with a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him profusely. Jesus knew his power. He knew that all ten lepers had been cleansed, made ritually pure, made whole again.
The Jewish lepers were intent on doing exactly what Jesus had told them to do, follow the steps of the law. They were excited about being united with family gain. The Samaritan saw a larger picture. Jesus has had mercy on him – as a leper, as a Samaritan, as a human being.
One in ten. A ten percent thanksgiving ratio. That’s not saying much. Didn’t the Jewish mothers teach their children better than that? The nine did what they were told. The tenth knew that there had to be an intermediate step. That step is gratitude. Gratitude and thanksgiving move us beyond the standard, the acceptable, the ordinary. A gracious attitude and lifestyle make a person extraordinary, unusual, blessed, a cut above the rest. The Samaritan, normally on the bottom of the social heap, had risen to the top like precious cream.
The Bible uses the concepts of wellness, wholeness, and salvation nearly interchangeably. “Your faith has healed you/made you well/made you whole/saved you.” Being grateful and saying thank you are absolutely at the heart of God’s hope for the human race and God’s intent for each of us.
Medical studies have shown that gratitude does tend towards a better level of health and disposition. It may be that grateful people take better care of themselves, but there is evidence that gratitude itself is a stress reducer, that grateful people are more hopeful, and that there are links between gratitude and the immune system. So your mother was right when she made you call your grandmother and thank her for the Christmas sweater or birthday card.
Jesus knew what he was talking about. “Your faith has healed you,” says Jesus. He gave him a fist bump and a high five not so much for the faith that asked for healing, but for the faith that returned to give thanks. After all, it’s a grateful faith — not a gimme faith — that saves us.
The basic Christian response to God is gratitude: gratitude for the gift of life, gratitude for the world, gratitude for the dear people God has given us who enrich and grace our lives. The basic Christian experience is gratitude to God for God’s love in Jesus Christ and the gift of hopeful confidence, wholeness and wellness that comes with it, regardless of the worldly circumstances in which we find ourselves.
Writer Anne Lamott says her two favorite prayers are, in the morning, “Help me, help me, help me,” and at bedtime, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
If you are having trouble with faith, perhaps you have a underlying problem with gratitude. The question then has to be asked, what is the leprosy/malady/wrong thinking that you need to be healed from so that you can be grateful? Where are you ostracized (in your perception of the world or in reality)? If prayers of thanks are part of the soul’s healing and deliverance and flourish, the physical circumstances of the pray-er become less important. It is the thanking that saves the grateful leper, and such thankfulness is available to all of us in every circumstance.
Kimberly Bracken Long writes,
“To practice gratitude intentionally changes an individual life, to be sure. It also changes the character of a congregation. When Christians practice gratitude, they come to worship not just to ‘get something out of it,’ but to give thanks and praise to God. Stewardship is transformed from fund-raising to the glad gratitude of joyful givers. The mission of the church changes from ethical duty to the work of grateful hands and hearts.”(2)
Friends, if you want to grow your faith, begin by growing your gratitude. The formerly leprous Samaritan did. It made all the difference in his life. Gratitude will change your life, too.
General Resource: “Leper No. 10,” Homiletics, November 27, 2003.
(1) Cited by John M. Buchanan, “Luke 17:11-19 - Homiletics Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, vol. 4, 165
(2) Kimberly Bracken Long, “Luke 17:11-19 - Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, vol. 4, 168
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, October 2, 2016
We Farm Faithfulness
Psalm 37:1-9; Lamentations 1:1-6; Luke 17:5-10
Two long-time church members were discussing the present state of the church. The woman lamented that for more than sixty years she had been going to church and she couldn’t remember one sermon from any one of a dozen ministers who had preached during that time. The church was in a sorry state she said. She wasn’t even sure why she still attended.
The other parishioner, a man of similar age, commented. “You know,” he said, “Charlotte and I have been married for nearly sixty years. I haven’t done the math, but that should amount to a huge number of meals she has fixed for me over the years. I confess that I don’t remember any one of them in particular. But here I am, still healthy. Every meal has fed me and kept me alive all that time. For that I am truly thankful. Maybe all those sermons over the years have done the same for you.”
I don’t think anyone has ever satisfactorily explained the human tendency to see the negative more quickly than the positive. Optimists see the glass half full. Pessimists see the glass half empty. Engineers and theologians say that what we need is a different glass, a smaller glass to be fuller, a bigger glass to be emptier, or a larger glass so that half is more.
The Book of Psalms is just such a glass. It is a remarkable ancient collection of songs of praise, lament, petition, wisdom, intercession, and thanksgiving. That should cover just about any kind of glass in a bartender’s collection. Yet, so often we only think of a few psalms that are familiar enough to be ingrained in our memories (23, 84, 98, 121, 150 to name a few). The rest are vague. We don’t know them by heart, like our ancestors did generations ago. The medieval monks knew them in Latin by their opening words. Our Scots ancestors knew them by the tunes associated with them. The Psalms were music, they were liturgical resources, they were prayers. They are not scripture like the Books of Moses, the writings of the major prophets, the gospels, or the epistles. Yet the Psalms are the largest book in the Bible, and they make up the most diverse collection of writings to and about God. They reflect every human emotion.
Psalm 37 wrestles with a very basic question, “Is God in charge or not?” It is not directly addressed to God. It is more of a meditation to the author’s self as he or she tries to sort out what is going on in the world around the psalmist and where is God in it all. By itself it psalm would be hard to identify it as a liturgical text. The poem consists of kindly advice to a fellow traveler on the way. For all its ancientness, the psalm has a surprising contemporary ring to it. The psalmist climbs a steep hill with the opening nine verses of imperatives imploring the righteous to remain righteous while faced with injustice and surrounded by the seductive lures of ill-gained prosperity. I would encourage you to go home and reread these nine verses and then continue for the remaining thirty-one verses to get the whole drift of the psalmist’s theological wrestling.
Throughout the psalm, the psalmist argues for what is true over what is apparent. If seeing is believing, then it is obvious that the world is a screwed up place where the guilty get away scot-free, where violence succeeds, where greed is the reigning core value, where untruth said often enough becomes truth, where good is to be stamped out like a campfire lest it ignites a whole forest.
The psalmist repeatedly insists that the eternal truth is that God is sovereign and just. What is temporarily apparent is that the wicked succeed and the unjust prosper. Just as we can only see so far until the curvature of the earth makes seeing impossible, so our vision over the curvature of God’s time limits our ability to see all that God sees.
The psalm’s readers are challenged to “enjoy the Lord” (v. 4), even when life is neither enjoyable nor fair. That’s the same message that the prophet Isaiah wrote to beleaguered exiles, “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will fly on wings like eagles, they will run and not be tired, they will walk and not be weary” (Isaiah 40:31).
In a world where things are not as clear cut as we would like, in a world where people do get weary and where they plod rather than run, the psalmist provides a picture which sharply contrasts those who do life well with those who do well in life. To do well in this life nearly always requires a compromise of values. Doing well by earthly standards is always short-lived. The grass and leafy green vegetables only grow for a season until they die off or the frost does them in.
The psalmist believes that the wicked someday will rot away atop their polluted lifestyle. “Evildoers will be eliminated” the psalmist asserts in verse 9. All their gains will evaporate. A more terrifying warning is the psalmist’s insistence that they will be cut off from God. For an Israelite, such banishment was a fate worse than death. In Jewish theology, heaven is not a location but a condition in which one enjoys the full presence of God. Hell is to be cut off from God. That will be the fate of all who seek to thrive by relying on worldly, wicked routes to power.(1)
Three times in these first nine verses the psalmist counsels us, “don’t be upset.” That is perhaps a weak rendering of the underlying Hebrew. Other translations counsel, “Don’t worry,” “Don’t bother your head,” “Don’t fret.” None of those translations reaches the depth of the anguish and violence which the Hebrew suggests.
The Hebrew charah refers to anger or jealousy that is so strong one goes up in flames because of it. This is not your garden variety of being upset, like a parent fretting about a child’s messy room. It refers to an older notion of fretting as a torment that slowly devours one’s heart and soul.
The Hebrew charah does not refer to an action that occurs subtly, but comes on in a way that is fiery, violent, and all-consuming. In other words, it is hell. It is a life cut off from God. When we fret because evil people succeed through nefarious ways, we suffer the same fate that they do. Our road to hell may be less immediately obvious, but it will happen all the same. We end up no better off than they are, in a burned-out existence estranged from God.(2)
Instead of winding up like that, the psalmist invites listeners – believers – to “trust the Lord and do good; live in the land and farm faithfulness” (v. 3). Our psalmist is not a purveyor of doom and judgment. Rather the poet seeks to grow hope. Hope is always a fragile commodity. That reality makes this psalm especially powerful in our community and society today. We are quick to see the evil all around us. We jump on every conspiracy bandwagon that comes along. (Who doesn’t love a parade?) We have drawn up sides in the political machinations of the current electoral furor and earnestly believe that the other candidate is the devil incarnate.
The psalmist would say, “Not so fast.” Yes, each candidate is a sinner. Then again, so are each of us, and as Jesus so vividly demonstrated in John 8 when he asked for the one without sin to cast the first stone, the crowd dissolved one by one until there was no one left to condemn the victim.
Evil is in each of us, a on-going battle as strenuous as trying to overcome an addiction of any kind.
Thankfully, Jesus was aware of the agony of suffering helplessly in the midst of what seemed like irreversible evil. He gathered his closest associates around a table spread with the good gifts of life done well. “Be encouraged! I have conquered the world” (John 16:33).
So we should be encouraged as well. When we abandon our fretting, envy, jealousy, anger, and wrath, we not only enjoy a better life personally, but we glorify God. Our life and the way we live it from Monday to Saturday are a fundamental part of our worship of God on Sunday. Life, done well, is worship.
As the psalmist admonished, “Farm faithfulness.” On the land, we farm in order to eat. In our homes, we eat in order to live. In our daily activities, we live in order to be faithful. In the midst of a world where political, economic, and religious systems seem to be falling apart, where personal sureties fade from sight, this psalm calls for a spirituality of confident trust in God, who seeks justice for all people. “Those who hope in the Lord — they will possess the land.” We will trust in the Lord. We will farm faithfulness.
General Resource:
Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminister John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, Volume 4, “Theological, Pastoral, Exegetical, and Homiletical Perspectives.”:
(1) Rebecca Blair Young, “Psalm 37:1-9 - Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, vol. 4 (WORDsearch edition).
(2) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Two long-time church members were discussing the present state of the church. The woman lamented that for more than sixty years she had been going to church and she couldn’t remember one sermon from any one of a dozen ministers who had preached during that time. The church was in a sorry state she said. She wasn’t even sure why she still attended.
The other parishioner, a man of similar age, commented. “You know,” he said, “Charlotte and I have been married for nearly sixty years. I haven’t done the math, but that should amount to a huge number of meals she has fixed for me over the years. I confess that I don’t remember any one of them in particular. But here I am, still healthy. Every meal has fed me and kept me alive all that time. For that I am truly thankful. Maybe all those sermons over the years have done the same for you.”
I don’t think anyone has ever satisfactorily explained the human tendency to see the negative more quickly than the positive. Optimists see the glass half full. Pessimists see the glass half empty. Engineers and theologians say that what we need is a different glass, a smaller glass to be fuller, a bigger glass to be emptier, or a larger glass so that half is more.
The Book of Psalms is just such a glass. It is a remarkable ancient collection of songs of praise, lament, petition, wisdom, intercession, and thanksgiving. That should cover just about any kind of glass in a bartender’s collection. Yet, so often we only think of a few psalms that are familiar enough to be ingrained in our memories (23, 84, 98, 121, 150 to name a few). The rest are vague. We don’t know them by heart, like our ancestors did generations ago. The medieval monks knew them in Latin by their opening words. Our Scots ancestors knew them by the tunes associated with them. The Psalms were music, they were liturgical resources, they were prayers. They are not scripture like the Books of Moses, the writings of the major prophets, the gospels, or the epistles. Yet the Psalms are the largest book in the Bible, and they make up the most diverse collection of writings to and about God. They reflect every human emotion.
Psalm 37 wrestles with a very basic question, “Is God in charge or not?” It is not directly addressed to God. It is more of a meditation to the author’s self as he or she tries to sort out what is going on in the world around the psalmist and where is God in it all. By itself it psalm would be hard to identify it as a liturgical text. The poem consists of kindly advice to a fellow traveler on the way. For all its ancientness, the psalm has a surprising contemporary ring to it. The psalmist climbs a steep hill with the opening nine verses of imperatives imploring the righteous to remain righteous while faced with injustice and surrounded by the seductive lures of ill-gained prosperity. I would encourage you to go home and reread these nine verses and then continue for the remaining thirty-one verses to get the whole drift of the psalmist’s theological wrestling.
Throughout the psalm, the psalmist argues for what is true over what is apparent. If seeing is believing, then it is obvious that the world is a screwed up place where the guilty get away scot-free, where violence succeeds, where greed is the reigning core value, where untruth said often enough becomes truth, where good is to be stamped out like a campfire lest it ignites a whole forest.
The psalmist repeatedly insists that the eternal truth is that God is sovereign and just. What is temporarily apparent is that the wicked succeed and the unjust prosper. Just as we can only see so far until the curvature of the earth makes seeing impossible, so our vision over the curvature of God’s time limits our ability to see all that God sees.
The psalm’s readers are challenged to “enjoy the Lord” (v. 4), even when life is neither enjoyable nor fair. That’s the same message that the prophet Isaiah wrote to beleaguered exiles, “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will fly on wings like eagles, they will run and not be tired, they will walk and not be weary” (Isaiah 40:31).
In a world where things are not as clear cut as we would like, in a world where people do get weary and where they plod rather than run, the psalmist provides a picture which sharply contrasts those who do life well with those who do well in life. To do well in this life nearly always requires a compromise of values. Doing well by earthly standards is always short-lived. The grass and leafy green vegetables only grow for a season until they die off or the frost does them in.
The psalmist believes that the wicked someday will rot away atop their polluted lifestyle. “Evildoers will be eliminated” the psalmist asserts in verse 9. All their gains will evaporate. A more terrifying warning is the psalmist’s insistence that they will be cut off from God. For an Israelite, such banishment was a fate worse than death. In Jewish theology, heaven is not a location but a condition in which one enjoys the full presence of God. Hell is to be cut off from God. That will be the fate of all who seek to thrive by relying on worldly, wicked routes to power.(1)
Three times in these first nine verses the psalmist counsels us, “don’t be upset.” That is perhaps a weak rendering of the underlying Hebrew. Other translations counsel, “Don’t worry,” “Don’t bother your head,” “Don’t fret.” None of those translations reaches the depth of the anguish and violence which the Hebrew suggests.
The Hebrew charah refers to anger or jealousy that is so strong one goes up in flames because of it. This is not your garden variety of being upset, like a parent fretting about a child’s messy room. It refers to an older notion of fretting as a torment that slowly devours one’s heart and soul.
The Hebrew charah does not refer to an action that occurs subtly, but comes on in a way that is fiery, violent, and all-consuming. In other words, it is hell. It is a life cut off from God. When we fret because evil people succeed through nefarious ways, we suffer the same fate that they do. Our road to hell may be less immediately obvious, but it will happen all the same. We end up no better off than they are, in a burned-out existence estranged from God.(2)
Instead of winding up like that, the psalmist invites listeners – believers – to “trust the Lord and do good; live in the land and farm faithfulness” (v. 3). Our psalmist is not a purveyor of doom and judgment. Rather the poet seeks to grow hope. Hope is always a fragile commodity. That reality makes this psalm especially powerful in our community and society today. We are quick to see the evil all around us. We jump on every conspiracy bandwagon that comes along. (Who doesn’t love a parade?) We have drawn up sides in the political machinations of the current electoral furor and earnestly believe that the other candidate is the devil incarnate.
The psalmist would say, “Not so fast.” Yes, each candidate is a sinner. Then again, so are each of us, and as Jesus so vividly demonstrated in John 8 when he asked for the one without sin to cast the first stone, the crowd dissolved one by one until there was no one left to condemn the victim.
Evil is in each of us, a on-going battle as strenuous as trying to overcome an addiction of any kind.
Thankfully, Jesus was aware of the agony of suffering helplessly in the midst of what seemed like irreversible evil. He gathered his closest associates around a table spread with the good gifts of life done well. “Be encouraged! I have conquered the world” (John 16:33).
So we should be encouraged as well. When we abandon our fretting, envy, jealousy, anger, and wrath, we not only enjoy a better life personally, but we glorify God. Our life and the way we live it from Monday to Saturday are a fundamental part of our worship of God on Sunday. Life, done well, is worship.
As the psalmist admonished, “Farm faithfulness.” On the land, we farm in order to eat. In our homes, we eat in order to live. In our daily activities, we live in order to be faithful. In the midst of a world where political, economic, and religious systems seem to be falling apart, where personal sureties fade from sight, this psalm calls for a spirituality of confident trust in God, who seeks justice for all people. “Those who hope in the Lord — they will possess the land.” We will trust in the Lord. We will farm faithfulness.
General Resource:
Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminister John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, Volume 4, “Theological, Pastoral, Exegetical, and Homiletical Perspectives.”:
(1) Rebecca Blair Young, “Psalm 37:1-9 - Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year C, vol. 4 (WORDsearch edition).
(2) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2016 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
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