Matthew 28:1-10; Acts 10:34-43; Colossians 3:1-4
Our world is filled with signs. There are store signs and billboards. There are utility poles covered with staples where yard sale and lost dog signs once hung. The season of political signs is over, although one or two remain, gloating. There are historical markers for a variety of places and events. Of course there are traffic signs. They come in a variety of colors: brown for attractions, green for directions, orange for construction, blue for medical facilities.
Then there are the informal markers along side the roads. Usually a cross with a name on it and perhaps some artificial flowers. There are lots of these roadside memorials for victims of traffic accidents. The markers not only memorialize the dead loved one, they mark the location where their life ended. While not really legal, most of the time the road crews are careful of the memorials for an considerate amount of time.
There is something about grief that often requires actions like the roadside memorials. Outpourings of grief take tangible form when someone important dies. Impromptu memorials pop up as people, often strangers, express their feelings. Much of the pavement at the main gateway of London’s Buckingham Palace was covered with flowers, stuffed animals, notes, and other things when Princess Diana died in the Paris auto accident twenty years ago this coming August. Daily U. S. Park Service attendants remove, catalogue, and store the items that family, friends, and total strangers leave at the base of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C.
We don’t know if the two Marys were bringing flowers or other things to mark the tomb where Jesus had been interred quickly late Friday afternoon. They could well have been going to finish the burial preparations which Joseph of Arimathea had hurriedly taken begun before the sundown began the Sabbath. All the resurrection stories in the gospel have different details describing the one event on which they all agree: Jesus is not in the tomb. He has been raised.
The responses vary. There is fear. There is disbelief. There is confusion. In Matthew’s account both the angel and risen Jesus himself tell the women, “Don’t be afraid.”
Fear. People who study human psychology tell us that the part of the brain which is the oldest in terms of specie development and individual development is the part which processes fear. Whether the fear is real or imagined, it all happens in split seconds of mental processing. Fight or flee. Faster than it takes to say “fight or flee” adrenaline races through our systems and our heart’s pulse rate revs up considerably.
At a distance of space and time, and having heard the story so many times, we don’t experience what the women and the others who came to the might have felt. The bright music, the colorful flowers, the rest of the commercial Easter goodies might give us a little boost, but nothing like those who first found the tomb empty and heard the news.
The women didn’t know what to think. We don’t either, but that’s because we are trying to dissect the details with our heads. The women were using their hearts, their souls, their spirits to figure out the resurrection. The first fear for them would be that someone had taken Jesus’ body. Matthew notes that tomb had been sealed and guarded.
When the guards reported what had happened, the chief priests told them to lie and cover up the resurrection by saying that the disciples came in night while the guard was sleeping. There was fear that someone was going to try to make something out what Jesus had promised, that he would rise.
No one reports what Pilate might have thought when he heard the news of Jesus’ resurrection. Since Matthew had reported that Pilate’s wife had told him in the midst of the trial to leave Jesus alone, she might have said to him, “I told you so.”
In the midst of all this fear and confusion, the resurrection happened. Adam Erikson says that Jesus resurrection was dangerous.(1) That would add an entirely different kind of fear to the mix. If Jesus was raised, what would happen next?
People kept thinking that Jesus was going to be a military messiah who would lead an armed revolt against Roman occupation. A lot of people kept hoping that he would. While that was a concern of the religious authorities, they observed that the revolt he seemed to lead was one of love and grace and of words and action against the established system of religious expression which they managed. That had been their chief fear.
Now the resurrection came along and it was dangerous because it transformed how people related to each other, particularly enemies. Jesus’ resurrection also transformed our understanding of the divine.
Resurrection was a whole new concept. Yes, there had been miraculous healings from time to time, even before Jesus came along. As the man born blind said about his newly-gained sight, no one has ever healed someone born blind. For the gospel writer John, the final sign of Jesus’ ministry was raising Lazarus. It was a foretaste of what would very soon happen to Jesus.
In a number of ancient mythologies a god dies and then comes back with the purpose of revenge. One such myth is about an Egyptian god named Horus, who is portrayed as a good god that fought against the forces of evil, namely, an evil god named Set, who had killed Horus’s father, a god named Osirus. Fortunately, Horus and his mother were able to resurrect Osirus. But the question remained, what should they to do about Set?
The resurrected Osirus asked Horus a question, “What is the most glorious deed a man can perform?” Horus answered, “To take revenge upon one who has injured his father or mother.” Horus defeated Set in violent battle and was acclaimed to be “lord of all the earth.”(2)
That’s how humans react. Tit for tat, an eye for an eye, a life for a life, or more likely many lives for a few lives. We are good at revenge, but not so good at resurrection. The disciples were afraid that since one had betrayed him and other denied him and the rest abandoned him, a risen Jesus would be after them for revenge.
The resurrection of Jesus is very different. The risen Jesus did not seek revenge against his enemies. The resurrection of Jesus is the Good News that God isn’t out for revenge. Rather, Jesus was raised to reveal God’s radical offer of peace and forgiveness. Remember his parting words to the disciples, as John reported them: “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give you. I give to you not as the world gives. Do not be troubled or afraid” (John 14:27).
The trouble with a risen Jesus is that he is dangerous to our notions of life. We keep wanting to bury him and to put a tombstone over him to keep him from messing with our lives. We are willing one day a year to put up with the idea that Jesus was raised. But then we want him back in the tomb, out of the way.
Jesus will have no tombstone. We are stuck with a tombstone for Mr. Jesus. He doesn’t need it and he doesn’t want it. Where we need to put the tombstone is on violence. Jesus did not answer the ultimate violence with violence. His very presence in the world for three years was a living conquest of sin. His resurrection was a radical but peaceful conquest of death.
When we believe, really believe, in the resurrection of Jesus, when we allow it to change the internal core of our lives, when we allow it to redirect the way we relate to people close to us and to total strangers, immigrants of the world passing through our life moments, when we allow Jesus’ resurrection to alter our thoughts about God, that God loves us rather than merely puts up with us, that God calls each one of us to direct relationship to God through Christ and the Spirit, then we can throw away the tombstone we have reserved for Mr. Jesus. He is not there. He has been raised. He lives, and we can be living proof because he lives in us.
(1) Adam Erickson, “The Resurrection is No Myth, But It Is Dangerous,” www.patheos.com, March 26, 2016.
(2) Told in World Mythology, second edition, edited by Donna Rosenberg, pages 165-168.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Judas Is Our Middle Name
Matthew 26:14-16, 31-38, 45-50; Isaiah 50:4-9a
Throughout the dark night of his soul in the Gethsemane Garden, Jesus begged his disciples to stay up with him, comfort him, pray with him, support him. But they couldn’t do it. On the night that Jesus was arrested, all of his disciples abandoned him. And two of them actively betrayed him.
Judas, the one who betrayed Jesus only once, almost immediately regretted his action. He boldly marched back before the powerful, corrupt officials and proclaimed Jesus’ innocence to their faces, throwing their bribe money back at their feet for good measure. Peter, the other fallen disciple, betrayed Jesus on three separate occasions. He hid in abject fear of the officials and then ran off seeking anonymity and seclusion. Yet that first disciple, Judas, has been named throughout history as the prime example of all that is contemptible, corrupt and deceitful in human nature. (Do you know anyone named Judas?) That second disciple, Peter, is honored as the father of the church and is designated a “saint.” (I suspect you know several Peters. I do.)
How come we treat these two fallen, betraying disciples, so differently? Why is Judas’ betrayal of Jesus taken in such a different direction than Peter’s?
Any competent investigator will tell us that we have to begin with motive. Judas’ treachery seems to have been built on long running conflict of expectations. Jesus wasn’t the militant messiah that many, including Judas, expected. Perhaps Judas thought that if he backed Jesus into a corner with the authorities, Jesus would show the aggressive side of salvation. If Jesus didn’t come out fighting then he would be out of the way for someone else to be the hero people wanted. Judas' plan was premeditated, calculated, even paid for.
Peter’s act of betrayal, on the other hand, was a cowardly, spontaneous burst of emotion that profited him nothing. He was prone to rash actions without thinking which exhibited both a childlike naivete and a cluelessness.
But it isn’t all that simple. Matthew reports the theory breaking fact that Judas returned the blood money, defended Jesus’ innocence before the tribunal, and realized his mistake. All this occurred while Jesus was still alive. In contrast, Peter sneaked back to the disciple's fold as a mourner after the crucifixion frenzy had passed and the tomb was sealed.
The only real difference between these two betrayers – Judas and Peter – was their perception of how Jesus must see them. Judas was overcome with guilt. Although “he repented” (Matthew 27:3), Judas could only envision a wrathful, judgmental Jesus declaring him cursed according to Deuteronomic law (Mt. 26:23-24, Deuteronomy 27:25). In his despair, Judas blocked out Jesus’ forgiving gesture in the garden (Mt. 26:50). Judas could only hear condemnation ringing in his ears, so he cut himself off from the healing capabilities of God’s grace and, in an agonizing fit of self-judgment, hanged himself.
Peter heard other voices. He replayed his three pitiful denials of Jesus over and over again in his head. Matthew says that Peter “cried uncontrollably” after leaving the courtyard (Mt. 26:75). Peter recalled himself strongly promising Jesus that he would never deny him, even if it meant facing death (Mt. 26:35).
Those weren’t the only conversations Peter remembered. There were some stored in his memory that gave him hope on that dark night. Peter was the disciple who had asked Jesus specifically about forgiveness. How many times should we forgive? Peter asked. Jesus declared “Not just seven times, but rather as many as seventy-seven times” (Mt. 18:21-22).
Jesus had singled Peter, asking, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter could recall he had boldly confessed, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt. 16:15-16). Of greater comfort to Peter was the memory of Jesus’ response to that confession: “Happy are you, Simon son of Jonah, because no human has shown this to you.” And then came Jesus’ playful pun, “I tell you that you are Peter. And I’ll build my church on this rock. The gates of the underworld won’t be able to stand against it” (Mt. 16:17-18). What a life-vest that must have been for Peter’s aching heart that night. Jesus had believed in him. Jesus had designated him to be something special in the life of the church. Whatever Peter had done in his past, Jesus had assured him he had a future.
Judas was no different from any of the other disciples and no different from any of us. We have all done it – fallen away from Jesus at some time or another, not for money but for safety, security, or anonymity. But Judas forgot one thing, the thing that makes a huge difference between life and death. Judas forgot that he wasn’t alone. He forgot that he was one person in a long, established, and distinguished tradition of God’s failed faithful. Jacob, Moses, Aaron, David, Elijah, Mary, Thomas, Paul all committed grievous acts of betrayal against God. But each one found their way back to God’s side through the back door of grace.
Judas died believing in his own heart that he was a betrayer. Why? Because he never even tried the door. He hadn’t gotten the message that Jesus had spent three years proclaiming: grace. Judas didn't want a gift of grace. He wanted to be in control of his situation. With those 30 pieces of silver, Judas thought he could buy his way into God’s presence. Judas thought the messianic age could be hurried along by forcing Jesus’ hand by confronting him with the military.
Faced with the consequences of his catastrophic mistake, Judas then tried to buy his way out of his betrayal by throwing that same silver back at the feet of the chief priests. But Judas could not control the tidal wave of events his actions had unleashed. In panic, Judas’ final attempt to control things was to take his own life. He never dared to check that back door of grace that God always leaves unlocked – and even pushes open for us.
Every one of us has seen someone squirming on the viciously barbed hook of some life calamity. And we piously thought, “There but for the grace of God go I.” Would that we never say that. It’s okay to acknowledge the saving nature of grace in your own life, but to deny the possibility of its presence in the lives of others is a “Judas-ism.” It is not “There but for God’s grace go I." Rather we need the redemptive cry of “There am I... with God’s grace” and then the missional cry of “There go I ... for God’s grace.”
L. Alexander Harper makes a remarkable observation about Johann Sebastian Bach’s musical representation of the Passion story in the Saint Matthew Passion: “Judas’ question to Jesus had always been a solo in other cantatas, because Judas is an individual. Not so for Bach. Breaking all tradition, he has the whole chorus instead sing that guilty question, ‘Is it I, Lord?’ The chorus represents you, me, the whole world. Judas is within us all, not 'out there' or 'back in history' somewhere comfortably remote.”(1) Judas is our middle name.
The message of the gospel is that God’s grace is available to all, that the back door to God’s loving presence is always open. Judas is the middle name of each one of us. Judas does not become our first name when we betray and deny Christ himself, but it does when we deny the redemptive power of God’s grace that Christ offers every one of us.
As we move through Holy Week, as our voices one by one give up the “Hosannas” and take up the call to crucify, as the skies darken and the clang of the hammers against nails assault our ears, may we know that “Judas” is our middle name. And may we know that Christ gives us a new name: filled with grace.
General Resource: Homiletics, April 4, 1993.
(1) L. Alexander Harper, “Judas, Our Brother,” St. Luke's Journal of Theology 29 (1986),102.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Throughout the dark night of his soul in the Gethsemane Garden, Jesus begged his disciples to stay up with him, comfort him, pray with him, support him. But they couldn’t do it. On the night that Jesus was arrested, all of his disciples abandoned him. And two of them actively betrayed him.
Judas, the one who betrayed Jesus only once, almost immediately regretted his action. He boldly marched back before the powerful, corrupt officials and proclaimed Jesus’ innocence to their faces, throwing their bribe money back at their feet for good measure. Peter, the other fallen disciple, betrayed Jesus on three separate occasions. He hid in abject fear of the officials and then ran off seeking anonymity and seclusion. Yet that first disciple, Judas, has been named throughout history as the prime example of all that is contemptible, corrupt and deceitful in human nature. (Do you know anyone named Judas?) That second disciple, Peter, is honored as the father of the church and is designated a “saint.” (I suspect you know several Peters. I do.)
How come we treat these two fallen, betraying disciples, so differently? Why is Judas’ betrayal of Jesus taken in such a different direction than Peter’s?
Any competent investigator will tell us that we have to begin with motive. Judas’ treachery seems to have been built on long running conflict of expectations. Jesus wasn’t the militant messiah that many, including Judas, expected. Perhaps Judas thought that if he backed Jesus into a corner with the authorities, Jesus would show the aggressive side of salvation. If Jesus didn’t come out fighting then he would be out of the way for someone else to be the hero people wanted. Judas' plan was premeditated, calculated, even paid for.
Peter’s act of betrayal, on the other hand, was a cowardly, spontaneous burst of emotion that profited him nothing. He was prone to rash actions without thinking which exhibited both a childlike naivete and a cluelessness.
But it isn’t all that simple. Matthew reports the theory breaking fact that Judas returned the blood money, defended Jesus’ innocence before the tribunal, and realized his mistake. All this occurred while Jesus was still alive. In contrast, Peter sneaked back to the disciple's fold as a mourner after the crucifixion frenzy had passed and the tomb was sealed.
The only real difference between these two betrayers – Judas and Peter – was their perception of how Jesus must see them. Judas was overcome with guilt. Although “he repented” (Matthew 27:3), Judas could only envision a wrathful, judgmental Jesus declaring him cursed according to Deuteronomic law (Mt. 26:23-24, Deuteronomy 27:25). In his despair, Judas blocked out Jesus’ forgiving gesture in the garden (Mt. 26:50). Judas could only hear condemnation ringing in his ears, so he cut himself off from the healing capabilities of God’s grace and, in an agonizing fit of self-judgment, hanged himself.
Peter heard other voices. He replayed his three pitiful denials of Jesus over and over again in his head. Matthew says that Peter “cried uncontrollably” after leaving the courtyard (Mt. 26:75). Peter recalled himself strongly promising Jesus that he would never deny him, even if it meant facing death (Mt. 26:35).
Those weren’t the only conversations Peter remembered. There were some stored in his memory that gave him hope on that dark night. Peter was the disciple who had asked Jesus specifically about forgiveness. How many times should we forgive? Peter asked. Jesus declared “Not just seven times, but rather as many as seventy-seven times” (Mt. 18:21-22).
Jesus had singled Peter, asking, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter could recall he had boldly confessed, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt. 16:15-16). Of greater comfort to Peter was the memory of Jesus’ response to that confession: “Happy are you, Simon son of Jonah, because no human has shown this to you.” And then came Jesus’ playful pun, “I tell you that you are Peter. And I’ll build my church on this rock. The gates of the underworld won’t be able to stand against it” (Mt. 16:17-18). What a life-vest that must have been for Peter’s aching heart that night. Jesus had believed in him. Jesus had designated him to be something special in the life of the church. Whatever Peter had done in his past, Jesus had assured him he had a future.
Judas was no different from any of the other disciples and no different from any of us. We have all done it – fallen away from Jesus at some time or another, not for money but for safety, security, or anonymity. But Judas forgot one thing, the thing that makes a huge difference between life and death. Judas forgot that he wasn’t alone. He forgot that he was one person in a long, established, and distinguished tradition of God’s failed faithful. Jacob, Moses, Aaron, David, Elijah, Mary, Thomas, Paul all committed grievous acts of betrayal against God. But each one found their way back to God’s side through the back door of grace.
Judas died believing in his own heart that he was a betrayer. Why? Because he never even tried the door. He hadn’t gotten the message that Jesus had spent three years proclaiming: grace. Judas didn't want a gift of grace. He wanted to be in control of his situation. With those 30 pieces of silver, Judas thought he could buy his way into God’s presence. Judas thought the messianic age could be hurried along by forcing Jesus’ hand by confronting him with the military.
Faced with the consequences of his catastrophic mistake, Judas then tried to buy his way out of his betrayal by throwing that same silver back at the feet of the chief priests. But Judas could not control the tidal wave of events his actions had unleashed. In panic, Judas’ final attempt to control things was to take his own life. He never dared to check that back door of grace that God always leaves unlocked – and even pushes open for us.
Every one of us has seen someone squirming on the viciously barbed hook of some life calamity. And we piously thought, “There but for the grace of God go I.” Would that we never say that. It’s okay to acknowledge the saving nature of grace in your own life, but to deny the possibility of its presence in the lives of others is a “Judas-ism.” It is not “There but for God’s grace go I." Rather we need the redemptive cry of “There am I... with God’s grace” and then the missional cry of “There go I ... for God’s grace.”
L. Alexander Harper makes a remarkable observation about Johann Sebastian Bach’s musical representation of the Passion story in the Saint Matthew Passion: “Judas’ question to Jesus had always been a solo in other cantatas, because Judas is an individual. Not so for Bach. Breaking all tradition, he has the whole chorus instead sing that guilty question, ‘Is it I, Lord?’ The chorus represents you, me, the whole world. Judas is within us all, not 'out there' or 'back in history' somewhere comfortably remote.”(1) Judas is our middle name.
The message of the gospel is that God’s grace is available to all, that the back door to God’s loving presence is always open. Judas is the middle name of each one of us. Judas does not become our first name when we betray and deny Christ himself, but it does when we deny the redemptive power of God’s grace that Christ offers every one of us.
As we move through Holy Week, as our voices one by one give up the “Hosannas” and take up the call to crucify, as the skies darken and the clang of the hammers against nails assault our ears, may we know that “Judas” is our middle name. And may we know that Christ gives us a new name: filled with grace.
General Resource: Homiletics, April 4, 1993.
(1) L. Alexander Harper, “Judas, Our Brother,” St. Luke's Journal of Theology 29 (1986),102.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Zero Sin
Romans 8:6-11; Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:1-45
No. NO. NO! I am sure that there was a time when Drew thought that “No” was the only word that Paula and I knew. That’s not true, but it did get a lot of use.
We have a lot of “No” in our times. No GMOs. No gluten. No trans fats. No running in the halls. No artificial colors. No fat. No MSG. No parking. No waiting. No texting and driving. No cost to upgrade. No deductible. No shirt, no shoes, no service. No down payment. No hidden fees. No in Congress to anything or anyone proposed by the other party. Remember a couple of decades ago when the public mantra was “Just say ‘No’”? I guess that a lot of people took it to heart in all the wrong places for all the wrong reasons.
The problem is that “No” for all its simplicity is complex. Yes, it is negative. But sometimes negative is good. The reason that we sterilize medical utensils is that no germs, bacteria, etc. is good thing. No internet is not good a good thing (witness the commercials from one provider demonstrating how bad that is; get a life, folks).
“No” often means “zero.” Zero can be a bad number. No one wants to get a zero on a test or performance review. We don't want to see a zero balance in our checking account or retirement fund. We don't want to be stuck in traffic going 0 miles per hour.
However, zero can be a good number. Like zero messages in your inbox. Zero payments left on the car loan, student loan, or house mortgage. Zero cancer cells detected. Zero interceptions (if you're a quarterback). Zero time left on the game clock and your team just won by one point. Zero mistakes on a project.
When we talk about negative things in life, zero is a very attractive number. No this or that, nothing, can be celebrated, like the toothpaste commercials from when I was growing up: “No cavities.” Yes, zero can great.
TED talks are 18 minute illustrated talks on “Technology, Entertainment, and Design.” The speakers address a wide range of topics within the research and practice of science and culture, often through storytelling. They present their ideas in the most innovative and engaging ways they can. Retired Microsoft founder, philanthropist, and innovator Bill Gates gave a talk to motivate some of the best and brightest minds in the world to a particular task. He called the talk, “Innovating to Zero.”
On the TED stage that day, Gates shared his dream of finding a way to produce energy for the planet with zero emissions or waste that is harmful to the environment. Reduction, he said, isn’t enough. There are no acceptable, tolerable levels. The goal must be total elimination. We need to innovate to zero, he said.
The “innovating to zero” initiative has spread beyond environmental concerns. The world of innovation has done “zero” work. Small pox was eradicated in 1977. A number of years ago Rotary International set a goal of eradicating polio. Former President Jimmy Carter’s Carter Center is working to eradicate guinea worm disease and river blindness in Africa. The auto industry is taking on accident fatalities. To achieve zero, it is developing cars with automatic braking and self-driving features. Towns and cities are innovating to zero poverty and zero hunger by housing and feeding those in need, and doing it in new and creative ways, such as tiny houses.
Other such projects exist:
• zero people without clean drinking water (Living Waters for the World is one organization working on that);
• zero children without access to education;
• zero domestic violence;
• zero security breaches;
• zero birth defects;
• zero waste;
• zero crime;
• zero bullying.
Just think how different the world would be if we could eliminate those things that cause harm to ourselves and others.
This includes sin. We must innovate to zero sin. “Go and sin no more,” was said by Jesus on a number of occasions.
The apostle Paul doesn’t use Bill Gates’ word, but he says the same thing. We should be working to eliminate sin from our lives. The world doesn’t see it that way. We are taught to manage it. It is as if there is some acceptable, tolerable level of sin allowed within our lives. “We can’t be perfect,” we tell ourselves. “We are only human.” In fact, the word “sin” never shows up in public discourse. A number of euphemisms are used to avoid the “S” word: mistake, misstep, blunder, gaffe, error, etc.
Of course, if we put our theological minds to thinking about the task of eradicating sin, we should quickly realize that we can’t do it.
Let’s not forget that sin is a powerful force that is impossible to control. Sin is not just something we do; it's an active and controlling impulse that is deeply rooted in our hearts. It’s an “attitude that comes from selfishness [and] is hostile to God.... People who are self-centered aren’t able to please God.” Paul talks about “the self” – frequently translated as flesh – our sinful selves. He argues that because of this disposition, we’ll never be able fully and completely to submit to the very high standards expressed in the law of God. We cannot please God on our own.
Anyone in Alcoholics or Narcotics Anonymous knows this very well. The first of the 12 steps is to admit to yourself that you are not in control of your addiction. “We admitted we were powerless over our addiction; that our lives had become unmanageable,” people in recovery say. It takes more than a Wharton MBA to manage addiction or sin. Sin takes over and we are powerless to manage it. Sin seizes our lives like a malware trojan software program seizes our computers and ruins everything.
The second reason we can’t manage sin is that, as the Bible tells us, all sin leads to death. Even if we do not see our sin, it is there doing harm, just like the toxic pollutants in the air that Bill Gates challenged his TED hearers to reduce. It’s an interconnected world. Those who produce the least amount of harmful emissions feel their effects the greatest, while those who produce the most feel them hardly at all.
Sin in our lives also has unintended and destructive consequences. While we may feel the pain directly, others are often deeply affected by our mess-ups: family relationships, professional lives, friends. What we do affects other people. Sin is dangerous. We must innovate to zero sin.
Zero sin seems like a “catch 22.” If we claim that we don’t sin, we are liars. Jesus told his mountainside audience, “Be complete, perfect, whole, as the heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). Without help, there is no way we can be what we are called to be.
The key to zero sin is to break down our lives into small parts, hours, minutes, seconds; paragraphs, sentences, words. Yard by yard life is hard, but inch by inch it’s a cinch. If we can take each moment, each relationship, each situation by itself and work with it to eliminate sin, then we will gain some momentum towards zero sin.
As every recovering addict will tell us, there are setbacks, there are relapses. Recovery from sin is no different. As Paul tells his Roman readers, “If the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you, the one who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your human bodies also, through his Spirit that lives in you.” With Christ and his Spirit our perfect minutes and hours will come more often.
So, the more we can fill ourselves with the Spirit, the less room there is for our self-centered nature, the sin. We don't need to pray for more patience, more love, more joy, or more kindness. We need to pray for more Jesus, for more of the Spirit. It doesn’t happen overnight. Eradication of sin is never finished. It is a work in progress. But with the Spirit of Christ growing in us, we can be assured that the work of the cross and the empty tomb is not wasted. If Christ is in us, the Spirit is our life because of God’s righteousness. And God’s righteousness is zero sin.
Thanks be to God.
General Resource: “Innovating to Zero Sin,” Homiletics, April 2, 2017, 41-43.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
No. NO. NO! I am sure that there was a time when Drew thought that “No” was the only word that Paula and I knew. That’s not true, but it did get a lot of use.
We have a lot of “No” in our times. No GMOs. No gluten. No trans fats. No running in the halls. No artificial colors. No fat. No MSG. No parking. No waiting. No texting and driving. No cost to upgrade. No deductible. No shirt, no shoes, no service. No down payment. No hidden fees. No in Congress to anything or anyone proposed by the other party. Remember a couple of decades ago when the public mantra was “Just say ‘No’”? I guess that a lot of people took it to heart in all the wrong places for all the wrong reasons.
The problem is that “No” for all its simplicity is complex. Yes, it is negative. But sometimes negative is good. The reason that we sterilize medical utensils is that no germs, bacteria, etc. is good thing. No internet is not good a good thing (witness the commercials from one provider demonstrating how bad that is; get a life, folks).
“No” often means “zero.” Zero can be a bad number. No one wants to get a zero on a test or performance review. We don't want to see a zero balance in our checking account or retirement fund. We don't want to be stuck in traffic going 0 miles per hour.
However, zero can be a good number. Like zero messages in your inbox. Zero payments left on the car loan, student loan, or house mortgage. Zero cancer cells detected. Zero interceptions (if you're a quarterback). Zero time left on the game clock and your team just won by one point. Zero mistakes on a project.
When we talk about negative things in life, zero is a very attractive number. No this or that, nothing, can be celebrated, like the toothpaste commercials from when I was growing up: “No cavities.” Yes, zero can great.
TED talks are 18 minute illustrated talks on “Technology, Entertainment, and Design.” The speakers address a wide range of topics within the research and practice of science and culture, often through storytelling. They present their ideas in the most innovative and engaging ways they can. Retired Microsoft founder, philanthropist, and innovator Bill Gates gave a talk to motivate some of the best and brightest minds in the world to a particular task. He called the talk, “Innovating to Zero.”
On the TED stage that day, Gates shared his dream of finding a way to produce energy for the planet with zero emissions or waste that is harmful to the environment. Reduction, he said, isn’t enough. There are no acceptable, tolerable levels. The goal must be total elimination. We need to innovate to zero, he said.
The “innovating to zero” initiative has spread beyond environmental concerns. The world of innovation has done “zero” work. Small pox was eradicated in 1977. A number of years ago Rotary International set a goal of eradicating polio. Former President Jimmy Carter’s Carter Center is working to eradicate guinea worm disease and river blindness in Africa. The auto industry is taking on accident fatalities. To achieve zero, it is developing cars with automatic braking and self-driving features. Towns and cities are innovating to zero poverty and zero hunger by housing and feeding those in need, and doing it in new and creative ways, such as tiny houses.
Other such projects exist:
• zero people without clean drinking water (Living Waters for the World is one organization working on that);
• zero children without access to education;
• zero domestic violence;
• zero security breaches;
• zero birth defects;
• zero waste;
• zero crime;
• zero bullying.
Just think how different the world would be if we could eliminate those things that cause harm to ourselves and others.
This includes sin. We must innovate to zero sin. “Go and sin no more,” was said by Jesus on a number of occasions.
The apostle Paul doesn’t use Bill Gates’ word, but he says the same thing. We should be working to eliminate sin from our lives. The world doesn’t see it that way. We are taught to manage it. It is as if there is some acceptable, tolerable level of sin allowed within our lives. “We can’t be perfect,” we tell ourselves. “We are only human.” In fact, the word “sin” never shows up in public discourse. A number of euphemisms are used to avoid the “S” word: mistake, misstep, blunder, gaffe, error, etc.
Of course, if we put our theological minds to thinking about the task of eradicating sin, we should quickly realize that we can’t do it.
Let’s not forget that sin is a powerful force that is impossible to control. Sin is not just something we do; it's an active and controlling impulse that is deeply rooted in our hearts. It’s an “attitude that comes from selfishness [and] is hostile to God.... People who are self-centered aren’t able to please God.” Paul talks about “the self” – frequently translated as flesh – our sinful selves. He argues that because of this disposition, we’ll never be able fully and completely to submit to the very high standards expressed in the law of God. We cannot please God on our own.
Anyone in Alcoholics or Narcotics Anonymous knows this very well. The first of the 12 steps is to admit to yourself that you are not in control of your addiction. “We admitted we were powerless over our addiction; that our lives had become unmanageable,” people in recovery say. It takes more than a Wharton MBA to manage addiction or sin. Sin takes over and we are powerless to manage it. Sin seizes our lives like a malware trojan software program seizes our computers and ruins everything.
The second reason we can’t manage sin is that, as the Bible tells us, all sin leads to death. Even if we do not see our sin, it is there doing harm, just like the toxic pollutants in the air that Bill Gates challenged his TED hearers to reduce. It’s an interconnected world. Those who produce the least amount of harmful emissions feel their effects the greatest, while those who produce the most feel them hardly at all.
Sin in our lives also has unintended and destructive consequences. While we may feel the pain directly, others are often deeply affected by our mess-ups: family relationships, professional lives, friends. What we do affects other people. Sin is dangerous. We must innovate to zero sin.
Zero sin seems like a “catch 22.” If we claim that we don’t sin, we are liars. Jesus told his mountainside audience, “Be complete, perfect, whole, as the heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). Without help, there is no way we can be what we are called to be.
The key to zero sin is to break down our lives into small parts, hours, minutes, seconds; paragraphs, sentences, words. Yard by yard life is hard, but inch by inch it’s a cinch. If we can take each moment, each relationship, each situation by itself and work with it to eliminate sin, then we will gain some momentum towards zero sin.
As every recovering addict will tell us, there are setbacks, there are relapses. Recovery from sin is no different. As Paul tells his Roman readers, “If the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you, the one who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your human bodies also, through his Spirit that lives in you.” With Christ and his Spirit our perfect minutes and hours will come more often.
So, the more we can fill ourselves with the Spirit, the less room there is for our self-centered nature, the sin. We don't need to pray for more patience, more love, more joy, or more kindness. We need to pray for more Jesus, for more of the Spirit. It doesn’t happen overnight. Eradication of sin is never finished. It is a work in progress. But with the Spirit of Christ growing in us, we can be assured that the work of the cross and the empty tomb is not wasted. If Christ is in us, the Spirit is our life because of God’s righteousness. And God’s righteousness is zero sin.
Thanks be to God.
General Resource: “Innovating to Zero Sin,” Homiletics, April 2, 2017, 41-43.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
God's Light Reveals and Renews
Romans 5:8-14; 1 Samuel 16:1-13; John 9:1-17, 35-41
A book entitled The Benedict Option was recently published. The author, Rod Dreher, is a blogger for the American Conservative. The assertion he makes in his book is that anti-Christian forces and values in America have become victorious to the point that many Christian institutions have ceased living by distinctively Christian values, and those which still do feel relegated to the social margins or even persecuted.
The book’s title comes from St. Benedict (active in the first half of the sixth century C.E.), and his invention of monastic communities, which were places where Christians could be more deliberately and deeply formed by their faith. He and his communities are credited with saving Western civilization during dark times. Dreher is calling for Christians to withdraw from political engagement with the world, become more internally focused on spiritual formation by creating deeply Christian institutions, and then re-engage the world through better and more sophisticated as well as more persuasive strategies.(1)
One of the philosophical points underlying Dreher’s thought process is a dualism that goes back to ancient Greek philosophical dialogues predating Christ, Paul, and the early church and which were prevalent in the century following the Pentecost birthing of the church: light and darkness, good and evil. This dualism is found in the apocalyptic – end times – writings of the inter-testamental period between the last written Old Testament writing (possibly Daniel) and the earliest Christian writing, mostly letters from Paul to the churches in Asia Minor.
This dualism of light and darkness was also prominent in the writings of the Essenes, a cloistered, eclectic sect active when the Ephesian letter author was active. The Essenes considered themselves the elite heirs of an advanced, esoteric knowledge that could flood our inner darkness with the light of awakened consciousness.
The Essenes’ way of engaging the forces of darkness consisted mainly in huddling in secluded safety to translate life’s mysteries into useful knowledge.(2) They pursued their calling far from the centers of public life, living in the wilderness wastelands around the Dead Sea. They are most noted for their preservation of canonical scriptural texts, such as Isaiah, and non-canonical texts such as “The Community Rule” and “The War Scroll.” Since the first discovery in 1946/47, fragments of nearly 1,000 manuscripts have been found hidden in 12 caves, with the most recent just this year.
The problem with the separation approach to faith, in the understanding of theologian Marcus Borg, is that small orthodox communities find it difficult to be faithful, since so many have a history of becoming preoccupied with tribal issues of us-versus-them while ignoring the very heart of Christianity, which is compassion for the least of the brothers and sisters.(3)
Separation from the world was the last thing the writer to the Ephesians was interested in. He calls for his followers to take to the streets in the fight with the minions of darkness. While there can be no doubt that the writer shares the Essenes’ call for separation from the “sons of darkness,” he charges his readers to storm the ramparts of darkness as moral agents in the world: “Don’t participate in the unfruitful actions of darkness. Instead you should reveal the truth about them.”
Revealing the truth about darkness is easier said than done. And it is a thankless task. Crucifixion comes to mind. This Lenten journey which we have been on since leaving the mountain of the transfiguration has descended from the realm of divine glory into the realm of where darkness increasingly smothers light. The omitted verses from the ninth chapter of John highlight the growing boldness and stubbornness of the religious leaders to the teaching and ministry of Jesus. The man healed of his blindness and his parents were subjected to terrorizing interrogation at the hands of the temple leaders.
That’s the reality which our Pauline author comes out swinging against. This passage is bookended with grace. Verse 8 opens the reading with a triumphal declaration: “You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord.” The phrase, “in the Lord,” is an early church watchword for “in the risen Christ.” The author proclaims an awesome fact: in our mystic union with the living Christ we are aglow with Christ’s light. Such a glow is more than inspired intellectual keenness. This light also carries the spiritual energy that can empower us in our struggle with the forces of evil.
If the first half of verse 8 is the prelude of grace for our passage, then verses 13-14 similarly provide a triumphal postlude of God's favor:
The apostle writes, “Light produces fruit that consists of every sort of goodness, justice, and truth.” Since the passage has grace at its beginning and grace at its ending, this phrase tucked into the middle is a clarion call to live out the grace that has been bestowed on us. In the words of Don Wardlaw, emeritus professor of preaching at the Presbyterian McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago, “Grace turns the imperative of what we ought to do into the indicative of what we may do.”(5)
Most of us are all too aware of the formidable powers of darkness. What you and I most need, as bearers of Christ's light, are glimpses of our possibilities for exposing the works of that darkness. We need broad brushstrokes of things that bring to life Christ’s aglow in each of us.
As Jesus said, our activities to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, to visit the sick and imprisoned, to care for widows and widowers, orphans and children in single-parent homes, and immigrants are done not just to and for them, the activities are done to and for Christ.
Your imagination, your relationships, your contexts will help describe and prescribe what it looks and feels like to live in the chemistry of God’s transforming light. That light in us who are in the risen Lord can and will reveal and renew.
(1) Michael Maudlin, senior vice-president and executive editor, HarperOne, “News and Pews,” March 20, 2017; http://www.newsandpews.com/the-borg-option-v-the-benedict-option/
(2) Don Wardlaw, "Ephesians 5:8-14: Homileticial Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, vol. 2, 111-115.
(3) Maudlin, op.cit.
(4) Ibid.
(5) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
A book entitled The Benedict Option was recently published. The author, Rod Dreher, is a blogger for the American Conservative. The assertion he makes in his book is that anti-Christian forces and values in America have become victorious to the point that many Christian institutions have ceased living by distinctively Christian values, and those which still do feel relegated to the social margins or even persecuted.
The book’s title comes from St. Benedict (active in the first half of the sixth century C.E.), and his invention of monastic communities, which were places where Christians could be more deliberately and deeply formed by their faith. He and his communities are credited with saving Western civilization during dark times. Dreher is calling for Christians to withdraw from political engagement with the world, become more internally focused on spiritual formation by creating deeply Christian institutions, and then re-engage the world through better and more sophisticated as well as more persuasive strategies.(1)
One of the philosophical points underlying Dreher’s thought process is a dualism that goes back to ancient Greek philosophical dialogues predating Christ, Paul, and the early church and which were prevalent in the century following the Pentecost birthing of the church: light and darkness, good and evil. This dualism is found in the apocalyptic – end times – writings of the inter-testamental period between the last written Old Testament writing (possibly Daniel) and the earliest Christian writing, mostly letters from Paul to the churches in Asia Minor.
This dualism of light and darkness was also prominent in the writings of the Essenes, a cloistered, eclectic sect active when the Ephesian letter author was active. The Essenes considered themselves the elite heirs of an advanced, esoteric knowledge that could flood our inner darkness with the light of awakened consciousness.
The Essenes’ way of engaging the forces of darkness consisted mainly in huddling in secluded safety to translate life’s mysteries into useful knowledge.(2) They pursued their calling far from the centers of public life, living in the wilderness wastelands around the Dead Sea. They are most noted for their preservation of canonical scriptural texts, such as Isaiah, and non-canonical texts such as “The Community Rule” and “The War Scroll.” Since the first discovery in 1946/47, fragments of nearly 1,000 manuscripts have been found hidden in 12 caves, with the most recent just this year.
The problem with the separation approach to faith, in the understanding of theologian Marcus Borg, is that small orthodox communities find it difficult to be faithful, since so many have a history of becoming preoccupied with tribal issues of us-versus-them while ignoring the very heart of Christianity, which is compassion for the least of the brothers and sisters.(3)
Separation from the world was the last thing the writer to the Ephesians was interested in. He calls for his followers to take to the streets in the fight with the minions of darkness. While there can be no doubt that the writer shares the Essenes’ call for separation from the “sons of darkness,” he charges his readers to storm the ramparts of darkness as moral agents in the world: “Don’t participate in the unfruitful actions of darkness. Instead you should reveal the truth about them.”
Revealing the truth about darkness is easier said than done. And it is a thankless task. Crucifixion comes to mind. This Lenten journey which we have been on since leaving the mountain of the transfiguration has descended from the realm of divine glory into the realm of where darkness increasingly smothers light. The omitted verses from the ninth chapter of John highlight the growing boldness and stubbornness of the religious leaders to the teaching and ministry of Jesus. The man healed of his blindness and his parents were subjected to terrorizing interrogation at the hands of the temple leaders.
They insulted him: “You are his disciple, but we are Moses’ disciples. We know that God spoke to Moses, but we don’t know where this man is from.”
The man answered, “This is incredible! You don’t know where he is from, yet he healed my eyes! We know that God doesn’t listen to sinners. God listens to anyone who is devout and does God’s will. No one has ever heard of a healing of the eyes of someone born blind. If this man wasn’t from God, he couldn’t do this.”
They responded, “You were born completely in sin! How is it that you dare to teach us?” Then they expelled him. (John 9:28-34)With that exchange another nail was crafted for the waiting cross. None of us has the strength of will-power or the gumption to risk everything to halt the smithy crafting those nails. In the midst of our personal struggles and the daily reports of global terrorism, mounting drug deaths, the growing gap between the have-nots and the haves, the resurgence of economic jingoism, racism, and sectarian hatred, and the existence of outright political intransigence, there is nothing to contradict the reality that we humans, in spite of our professed ethics and ideals, consistently lack the moral muscle to hold back, much less overcome, the forces of evil.
That’s the reality which our Pauline author comes out swinging against. This passage is bookended with grace. Verse 8 opens the reading with a triumphal declaration: “You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord.” The phrase, “in the Lord,” is an early church watchword for “in the risen Christ.” The author proclaims an awesome fact: in our mystic union with the living Christ we are aglow with Christ’s light. Such a glow is more than inspired intellectual keenness. This light also carries the spiritual energy that can empower us in our struggle with the forces of evil.
If the first half of verse 8 is the prelude of grace for our passage, then verses 13-14 similarly provide a triumphal postlude of God's favor:
Everything exposed to the light is revealed by the light. Everything that is revealed by the light is light. Therefore it says, ‘Wake up, sleeper! Get up from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.'Here the writer gives a trumpet fanfare to the fact that God’s light both reveals and renews, exposing what is in the dark, while also changing into light what it exposes. The “Wake up, sleeper” citation is very likely part of a hymn from an early church baptismal ritual. It caps the passage with a celebratory declaration that locates the light in Christ. This light, which both reveals and renews, is in fact the risen Christ. We awake and rise up from spiritual death, as if emerging from baptismal waters, to stand renewed by and pervaded with Christ’s light.(4)
The apostle writes, “Light produces fruit that consists of every sort of goodness, justice, and truth.” Since the passage has grace at its beginning and grace at its ending, this phrase tucked into the middle is a clarion call to live out the grace that has been bestowed on us. In the words of Don Wardlaw, emeritus professor of preaching at the Presbyterian McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago, “Grace turns the imperative of what we ought to do into the indicative of what we may do.”(5)
Most of us are all too aware of the formidable powers of darkness. What you and I most need, as bearers of Christ's light, are glimpses of our possibilities for exposing the works of that darkness. We need broad brushstrokes of things that bring to life Christ’s aglow in each of us.
- Perhaps that is writing letters to our senators and congressman by hand (the staff actually has to read them) about issues where light is being obscured by darkness, where human dignity is abused rather than uplifted.
- Perhaps we can shine Christ’s light by calling out a person for a racial or ethnic slur.
- Another possible revealing and renewing light is shed when we write letters to the editors of newspapers pointing out inaccuracies in public perceptions of individuals or groups of people tossed to the margins or about mistaken understandings of faith.
- We can also shine Christ’s light by standing with and for people caught in the cogs of dehumanizing social systems by being advocates or sponsors or simply friends.
As Jesus said, our activities to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, to visit the sick and imprisoned, to care for widows and widowers, orphans and children in single-parent homes, and immigrants are done not just to and for them, the activities are done to and for Christ.
Your imagination, your relationships, your contexts will help describe and prescribe what it looks and feels like to live in the chemistry of God’s transforming light. That light in us who are in the risen Lord can and will reveal and renew.
(1) Michael Maudlin, senior vice-president and executive editor, HarperOne, “News and Pews,” March 20, 2017; http://www.newsandpews.com/the-borg-option-v-the-benedict-option/
(2) Don Wardlaw, "Ephesians 5:8-14: Homileticial Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, vol. 2, 111-115.
(3) Maudlin, op.cit.
(4) Ibid.
(5) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, March 19, 2017
Not Enough Containers
Romans 5:1-11; Exodus 17:1-7; John 4:5-42
2017 marks the 500th anniversary of German reformer Martin Luther nailing his 95 theses to the door of the Wittenberg church, provoking the protracted and heavy-handed response of the Church of Rome which resulted in the development of Lutheran, Reformed (Presbyterian), and Anabaptist theologies and churches. Luther’s theses – talking points – were based on his in-depth study of Paul’s Letter to the Romans in general and chapter 5 in particular. This chapter of Romans was also of particular interest to John and Charles Wesley, the evangelical preaching and hymn-writing ancestors of our Methodist brothers and sisters in faith. Every major great awakening and revival can trace its roots to Paul’s words.
The power and meaning of Paul’s writing to the Romans was of interest to believers from the time of the earliest circulation of Paul’s letters. The pre-eminent and forthright presentation of the Gospel in the Letter to the Romans may well be the reason it leads the folder of correspondence Paul’s dictation contained in our New Testament canon.
Paul is absolutely certain that there is not one whit of anything that we human beings can add to the work of Christ in order to bring upon us the peace which is lavished so generously upon believers by the Holy Spirit. Origen, a theologian and ascetic active in the first half of the 3rd century CE, in his Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, writes that it was obvious that Paul “is inviting everyone who has understood that he is justified by faith and not by works to that peace that passes all understanding, in which the height of perfection consists.”(1)
Origen writes that peace reigns when nobody complains. That sounds like an inane statement, but when we realize that before Christ came along we were enemies of God, people who followed the greatest enemy and tyrant — the devil — then it becomes clear that the one most likely to complain, and rightfully so – is God. Because of the work of Christ, God has no reason to complain about us. God not only doesn’t complain, God accepts what Christ has done for us and calls a truce to the hostilities which would otherwise exist between fallen humanity and perfect divinity. Christ has covered over, wiped out, expiated the past heritage and the future legacy of our sin.
Peace doesn’t mean that everything is hunky-dory, that life’s storm clouds will never impinge on our happiness, our physical wholeness, or our spiritual well-being. Having peace with God doesn’t rule out suffering. But, because we are at peace inside ourselves through Christ, we are equipped to deal with, in fact to do battle with, the external forces of evil that have not given up the fight to possess us. Faith in Christ brings us nearer to God and gives us a greater share in God’s glory. It is this increasing nearness that produces the hope that what God has begun in us will indeed be completed at the end of the age.
Our new relationship with God is established through our faith in Christ. Salvation is the main benefit, which in turn is accompanied by many other blessings. These come to us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the gift of the Holy Spirit. Eugene Peterson paraphrases Paul’s words this way: “We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we would stand — out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.”
At this point, Paul explains the way grace progresses in our lives: “trouble produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” What comes next, in Peterson’s understanding of Paul’s words, “in alert expectancy [hope] such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary — we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!”
The picture that comes to my mind when I hear the imagery that Peterson uses for God’s grace is a leaky roof of some ramshackle shack. There are pots and pans and buckets everywhere there is a leak dripping. As offbeat as the image is, I think that it nearly perfect. Our life without Christ is like a leaky, ramshackle shack that offers little or no protection. We may think it does, but when suffering — rains — pours in and the winds whistle through the chinks in the clapboards, we are unprotected. Life without Christ ultimately has no protection. We huddle inside it, we rearrange the pots, and we try to stuff the cracks in the walls. And all to no avail. We are unprotected from the rains of life.
The Serendipity Singers did a song in the 1960s by Ed E. Miller and Ersel Hickey. The chorus goes this way:
“Oh, no, don’t let the rain come down,
Oh, no, don’t let the rain come down,
Oh, no, don’t let the rain come down;
My roof’s got a hole in it and I might drown.
Oh, yes, my roof’s got a hole in it and I might drown.”(2)
It was a cute song, as many folk songs of that era were. Think about the image, however. If our life without Christ is a broken down, unprotecting shack, not only are we not protected from suffering, we are also unable to fend off the grace of God. We can think of the rain as God’s grace pouring over us so torrentially that we can’t round up enough containers to hold it. We could be, in fact are, drowning in God’s grace. We can’t get away from it. The roofs of our lives without Christ are so riddled with holes that we are soaking wet, we are drowning in God’s love for us.
Isn’t that what baptism is all about? We are sprinkled, we are drenched, we are so immersed in God’s love that we in effect drown in it in order to receive the new life which Christ offers us.
That’s what happened to the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well. She no longer had to sheepishly and on the sly get water from the physical well because the well of life, the source of living water had entered her life. She became all wet with the grace of Christ’s love for her. It didn’t matter that she was apparently the town outcast or that for whatever reason had had multiple husbands. Christ got her all wet with his grace. Her water jar wasn’t enough to contain it all. She had to run back to town and, in spite of her status, interrupt her neighbors’ avoidance of her to proclaim the news that the true Messiah of God had come to her and blessed her, that his grace had changed her life.
Paul’s message to the Roman believers is a great counsel as we journey with Jesus towards Jerusalem and the cross. It is a pilgrimage of hope. The trouble of disciples not getting his message and the trouble of religious people getting it terribly wrong increased Jesus’ endurance and only solidified his resolve to be the Human One, the Son of Man, the anointed Christ all the way along until the desperate crying out of death was overcome with the hope that burst the bonds of the tomb. Hope comes because before us is the cross, the sign both of the suffering of Christ and of the triumph over death that God made possible for him and for us. The cross before us, like the north star, draws us forward along this pilgrim way from suffering into endurance and character on our way to hope.
The closing verses of this portion of Paul’s Romans letter take us back through the case for justification. They reiterate what twentieth century Swiss theologian Karl Barth calls the basic and wonderful paradox of justification: by justification we are what we are not. What God confers upon us, what God pours generously on us, makes us children of God, justified by faith and thus able with God’s help to move through all the sufferings and troubles of life, coming to terms with patience so that we may endure and persevere, to the point at which we become the blessed creations God has had in mind for us long before we ever came to be.
As Paul wrote, “If we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son while we were still enemies, now that we have been reconciled, how much more certain is it that we will be saved by his life? And not only that: we even take pride in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, the one through whom we now have a restored relationship with God.”
There are not enough containers around to hold everything God generously pours into our lives. But thanks be to God, we need no other container than the faith God’s grace evokes in us, the container that is labeled, “Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior.”
(1) Cited in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, New Testament: Romans, Gerald Bray, ed. (Downer’s Grove IL: InterVarsity Press, 1988), vol. VI, p.126.
(2) Ed E. Miller and Ersel Hickey. © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
2017 marks the 500th anniversary of German reformer Martin Luther nailing his 95 theses to the door of the Wittenberg church, provoking the protracted and heavy-handed response of the Church of Rome which resulted in the development of Lutheran, Reformed (Presbyterian), and Anabaptist theologies and churches. Luther’s theses – talking points – were based on his in-depth study of Paul’s Letter to the Romans in general and chapter 5 in particular. This chapter of Romans was also of particular interest to John and Charles Wesley, the evangelical preaching and hymn-writing ancestors of our Methodist brothers and sisters in faith. Every major great awakening and revival can trace its roots to Paul’s words.
The power and meaning of Paul’s writing to the Romans was of interest to believers from the time of the earliest circulation of Paul’s letters. The pre-eminent and forthright presentation of the Gospel in the Letter to the Romans may well be the reason it leads the folder of correspondence Paul’s dictation contained in our New Testament canon.
Paul is absolutely certain that there is not one whit of anything that we human beings can add to the work of Christ in order to bring upon us the peace which is lavished so generously upon believers by the Holy Spirit. Origen, a theologian and ascetic active in the first half of the 3rd century CE, in his Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, writes that it was obvious that Paul “is inviting everyone who has understood that he is justified by faith and not by works to that peace that passes all understanding, in which the height of perfection consists.”(1)
Origen writes that peace reigns when nobody complains. That sounds like an inane statement, but when we realize that before Christ came along we were enemies of God, people who followed the greatest enemy and tyrant — the devil — then it becomes clear that the one most likely to complain, and rightfully so – is God. Because of the work of Christ, God has no reason to complain about us. God not only doesn’t complain, God accepts what Christ has done for us and calls a truce to the hostilities which would otherwise exist between fallen humanity and perfect divinity. Christ has covered over, wiped out, expiated the past heritage and the future legacy of our sin.
Peace doesn’t mean that everything is hunky-dory, that life’s storm clouds will never impinge on our happiness, our physical wholeness, or our spiritual well-being. Having peace with God doesn’t rule out suffering. But, because we are at peace inside ourselves through Christ, we are equipped to deal with, in fact to do battle with, the external forces of evil that have not given up the fight to possess us. Faith in Christ brings us nearer to God and gives us a greater share in God’s glory. It is this increasing nearness that produces the hope that what God has begun in us will indeed be completed at the end of the age.
Our new relationship with God is established through our faith in Christ. Salvation is the main benefit, which in turn is accompanied by many other blessings. These come to us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the gift of the Holy Spirit. Eugene Peterson paraphrases Paul’s words this way: “We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we would stand — out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.”
At this point, Paul explains the way grace progresses in our lives: “trouble produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” What comes next, in Peterson’s understanding of Paul’s words, “in alert expectancy [hope] such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary — we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!”
The picture that comes to my mind when I hear the imagery that Peterson uses for God’s grace is a leaky roof of some ramshackle shack. There are pots and pans and buckets everywhere there is a leak dripping. As offbeat as the image is, I think that it nearly perfect. Our life without Christ is like a leaky, ramshackle shack that offers little or no protection. We may think it does, but when suffering — rains — pours in and the winds whistle through the chinks in the clapboards, we are unprotected. Life without Christ ultimately has no protection. We huddle inside it, we rearrange the pots, and we try to stuff the cracks in the walls. And all to no avail. We are unprotected from the rains of life.
The Serendipity Singers did a song in the 1960s by Ed E. Miller and Ersel Hickey. The chorus goes this way:
“Oh, no, don’t let the rain come down,
Oh, no, don’t let the rain come down,
Oh, no, don’t let the rain come down;
My roof’s got a hole in it and I might drown.
Oh, yes, my roof’s got a hole in it and I might drown.”(2)
It was a cute song, as many folk songs of that era were. Think about the image, however. If our life without Christ is a broken down, unprotecting shack, not only are we not protected from suffering, we are also unable to fend off the grace of God. We can think of the rain as God’s grace pouring over us so torrentially that we can’t round up enough containers to hold it. We could be, in fact are, drowning in God’s grace. We can’t get away from it. The roofs of our lives without Christ are so riddled with holes that we are soaking wet, we are drowning in God’s love for us.
Isn’t that what baptism is all about? We are sprinkled, we are drenched, we are so immersed in God’s love that we in effect drown in it in order to receive the new life which Christ offers us.
That’s what happened to the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well. She no longer had to sheepishly and on the sly get water from the physical well because the well of life, the source of living water had entered her life. She became all wet with the grace of Christ’s love for her. It didn’t matter that she was apparently the town outcast or that for whatever reason had had multiple husbands. Christ got her all wet with his grace. Her water jar wasn’t enough to contain it all. She had to run back to town and, in spite of her status, interrupt her neighbors’ avoidance of her to proclaim the news that the true Messiah of God had come to her and blessed her, that his grace had changed her life.
Paul’s message to the Roman believers is a great counsel as we journey with Jesus towards Jerusalem and the cross. It is a pilgrimage of hope. The trouble of disciples not getting his message and the trouble of religious people getting it terribly wrong increased Jesus’ endurance and only solidified his resolve to be the Human One, the Son of Man, the anointed Christ all the way along until the desperate crying out of death was overcome with the hope that burst the bonds of the tomb. Hope comes because before us is the cross, the sign both of the suffering of Christ and of the triumph over death that God made possible for him and for us. The cross before us, like the north star, draws us forward along this pilgrim way from suffering into endurance and character on our way to hope.
The closing verses of this portion of Paul’s Romans letter take us back through the case for justification. They reiterate what twentieth century Swiss theologian Karl Barth calls the basic and wonderful paradox of justification: by justification we are what we are not. What God confers upon us, what God pours generously on us, makes us children of God, justified by faith and thus able with God’s help to move through all the sufferings and troubles of life, coming to terms with patience so that we may endure and persevere, to the point at which we become the blessed creations God has had in mind for us long before we ever came to be.
As Paul wrote, “If we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son while we were still enemies, now that we have been reconciled, how much more certain is it that we will be saved by his life? And not only that: we even take pride in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, the one through whom we now have a restored relationship with God.”
There are not enough containers around to hold everything God generously pours into our lives. But thanks be to God, we need no other container than the faith God’s grace evokes in us, the container that is labeled, “Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior.”
(1) Cited in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, New Testament: Romans, Gerald Bray, ed. (Downer’s Grove IL: InterVarsity Press, 1988), vol. VI, p.126.
(2) Ed E. Miller and Ersel Hickey. © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
The Lord Will Keep You
Psalm 121; Genesis 12:1-4a; Romans 4:1-5; John 3:1-17
There is a big difference between having and keeping. I have lots of books, in the office here at the church, in the Presbytery office, at home, and on my Kindle and Nook computer apps. I don’t have to have all these books. I will be shedding many of them in the months ahead. The physical books are heavy and take up a lot of space. I also have books on loan from the library and I have them for two or four weeks and then I take them back so that I no longer have them.
Keeping is something different. People keep pets. Paula and I keep a number of cats. I am sure that the cats think that we don’t keep them at the level they want to become accustomed to. After all, people don’t own cats, people are indentured servants for cats. We are responsible for the cats, feeding them, attempting to brush and pedicure them, cleaning their litter boxes, trying to amuse them when they are bored, and not disturbing them when they are resting.
I may possess the books for a time, but we keep the cats. They are dear to us, even when they are bad. We watch over them not just for our sakes, but for the sakes of their little furry selves. As independent as they are, they are dependent on us. We watch over them because if they suffer, we suffer.
Similarly, God does not merely have us, God keeps us. We are God’s beloved creation. Like any parent, God holds us very close to the heart. We are more than possessions for the Lord to take off a shelf for a time and then put back. If we suffer, God suffers. Psalm 121 celebrates the fact that Lord is our keeper.
This eight-verse psalm — short by psalm standards — uses one or another form of the Hebrew word shamar six times in the course of the psalm. The meanings of the shamar variations have to do with “keeping” in one way or another. English language translations vary in their word choice. The translators of the Contemporary English Bible that we use here have chosen to use the words “protect” and “protector” for the Hebrew. The New Revised Standard Version uses the words “keep” and “keeper.” Eugene Peterson’s The Message uses the verb “guard” and describes God as a “guardian." The New International Version and the New Living Translation use the language of “watching over” as well as of “keeping.” The King James Version uses the words “keep” and “preserve.” You get the idea: taking care of, maintaining, being responsible for, protecting, keeping.
The eight verses are in four couplets. Verses 1 and 2 affirm that as God’s people we receive our help from the Lord. The hills may refer to the hills of the Temple mount, or they may be a metaphor for lifting our gaze away from ourselves (navel gazing; regret for the past and despondency about the present) and looking at the horizon, the future which God alone involves us in divine outcomes.
Verses 3 and 4 speak of the constancy of God. God is steadfast, sure, faithful, and dependable, even when we can’t see it or can make heads nor tails of God’s merciful activity in the world. Both God’s constancy and God’s mercy have to be experienced and recognized by faithful people. John Calvin says that God has invisible constancy. From our human perspective, it takes faith and hope to sense God’s constancy.
Faith and hope are entirely personal and subjective. The psalmist points out that God is the firm ground on which we stand (“God won’t let your foot slip”) and that God is the one who watches over and protects us. Constancy is not just a feature of God’s nature; it is also the reason for God’s vigilance. This constancy has both spatial and temporal manifestations. God is not only the ground of our being, theologian Paul Tillich’s phrase; God is also the guardian, preserver of our hope.
Verses 5-6 affirm that God is also a keeper. Israel needs a keeper. That’s the nature of things. The very sun that gives light by day can be dangerous (and the psalmist didn’t know anything about ultraviolet rays and skin cancer). The moon that gives light by night can be perilous as it waxes and wanes, as it hides behind clouds or fully illumines darkest night. Nature isn’t going to take care of the Israelites. The presence of God assures Israel that they shall not be smitten by sun or moon. There’s a conspiracy theory for you: Nature is out to get the Israelites. Don’t believe it. God rules day and night as well as humanity. The demons of the day or the nemesis of the night are fended off by God's presence.
Verses 7-8 tell us that God also preserves. God’s protection doesn’t just deal with the known perils and dangers, it extends into the realm of what can’t be known by people, the realm of evil. God’s work of preserving is for both body and soul. The connection between the menace of evil and the endangerment of the soul is clear. Theologically speaking, the protection that God provides is portable. God the preserver pays attention both to our going out and our coming in. And it has nothing to do with the clock or calendar. The psalmist declares that God's protection will follow him “from now until forever from now.”
Our twenty-first century western culture encourages individualism and self-sufficiency. Unfortunately each of us comes to the point where reality sets in. We cannot be our own gods. Try as we might, life will remind us that it’s not going to happen. We have to ask for help. We have to look to the hills.
When is God close to us? For some people it is in the midst of good times. Then they hit the wall with challenges. For others, God becomes close in the dark and challenging times. They let their protective guard down because they have no other option than to admit how their relationship to God plays out. There are finite limits to human power.
The point at which we become aware of our powerlessness is the point we can receive God’s keeping, guarding, caring, protecting blessing. These are not moments of increased powerlessness, but moments when it dawns on us just how little power we possess at any time. Naked before God, we are blessed to suffer the reality, uncomfortable as it is, that we need help beyond ourselves. With our spiritual feet not slipping, we can openly and sincerely cry to God.
Many commentators think that the psalm was used by pilgrims approaching Jerusalem for some occasion. It could have been a celebration of one of the feasts or at a time of crisis. A faith crisis, a time of needing to admit powerlessness, can happen as easily to a community of believers as to an individual. Congregations as well as individual believers are not immune from forgetting the power dynamics they have with God. Individuals may gather to form a church, but it is really God’s activity working in them, God providing the keeping authority to build a community. And communities can become despondent when events take them out of their zones of comfort, out of their complacent unreality of living without change, of being in a comfortable groove of stability. As crisis or change settles in, they lower their collective heads and gaze longingly in the past of memory rather than lifting their eyes to the horizon of future faithful possibility that the care-taking, preserving, guarding, watching, protecting God is providing and will continue to provide.
It takes two to keep and be kept. For all that we gain, we have to give ourselves to the one who offers the protection. Surrendering our little bit of control is difficult. Think again about caring for pets. We do not have them, but we keep them. We take care of them because of the love we feel for them.
It is as hard to accept that the Lord is my keeper as it is to accept that the Lord loves me. You can’t split the two ideas apart. The key to understanding is that the what, God’s care, and the why, God’s love, go together. God’s love is the very foundation of God’s trustworthiness. God loves us, and therefore the Lord will keeps us.
General Resources: Robert W. Fisher, “Psalm 121 – Pastoral Perspective,” and James H. Evans, Jr., “Psalm 121 – Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, vol. 1, 56-60.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
There is a big difference between having and keeping. I have lots of books, in the office here at the church, in the Presbytery office, at home, and on my Kindle and Nook computer apps. I don’t have to have all these books. I will be shedding many of them in the months ahead. The physical books are heavy and take up a lot of space. I also have books on loan from the library and I have them for two or four weeks and then I take them back so that I no longer have them.
Keeping is something different. People keep pets. Paula and I keep a number of cats. I am sure that the cats think that we don’t keep them at the level they want to become accustomed to. After all, people don’t own cats, people are indentured servants for cats. We are responsible for the cats, feeding them, attempting to brush and pedicure them, cleaning their litter boxes, trying to amuse them when they are bored, and not disturbing them when they are resting.
I may possess the books for a time, but we keep the cats. They are dear to us, even when they are bad. We watch over them not just for our sakes, but for the sakes of their little furry selves. As independent as they are, they are dependent on us. We watch over them because if they suffer, we suffer.
Similarly, God does not merely have us, God keeps us. We are God’s beloved creation. Like any parent, God holds us very close to the heart. We are more than possessions for the Lord to take off a shelf for a time and then put back. If we suffer, God suffers. Psalm 121 celebrates the fact that Lord is our keeper.
This eight-verse psalm — short by psalm standards — uses one or another form of the Hebrew word shamar six times in the course of the psalm. The meanings of the shamar variations have to do with “keeping” in one way or another. English language translations vary in their word choice. The translators of the Contemporary English Bible that we use here have chosen to use the words “protect” and “protector” for the Hebrew. The New Revised Standard Version uses the words “keep” and “keeper.” Eugene Peterson’s The Message uses the verb “guard” and describes God as a “guardian." The New International Version and the New Living Translation use the language of “watching over” as well as of “keeping.” The King James Version uses the words “keep” and “preserve.” You get the idea: taking care of, maintaining, being responsible for, protecting, keeping.
The eight verses are in four couplets. Verses 1 and 2 affirm that as God’s people we receive our help from the Lord. The hills may refer to the hills of the Temple mount, or they may be a metaphor for lifting our gaze away from ourselves (navel gazing; regret for the past and despondency about the present) and looking at the horizon, the future which God alone involves us in divine outcomes.
Verses 3 and 4 speak of the constancy of God. God is steadfast, sure, faithful, and dependable, even when we can’t see it or can make heads nor tails of God’s merciful activity in the world. Both God’s constancy and God’s mercy have to be experienced and recognized by faithful people. John Calvin says that God has invisible constancy. From our human perspective, it takes faith and hope to sense God’s constancy.
Faith and hope are entirely personal and subjective. The psalmist points out that God is the firm ground on which we stand (“God won’t let your foot slip”) and that God is the one who watches over and protects us. Constancy is not just a feature of God’s nature; it is also the reason for God’s vigilance. This constancy has both spatial and temporal manifestations. God is not only the ground of our being, theologian Paul Tillich’s phrase; God is also the guardian, preserver of our hope.
Verses 5-6 affirm that God is also a keeper. Israel needs a keeper. That’s the nature of things. The very sun that gives light by day can be dangerous (and the psalmist didn’t know anything about ultraviolet rays and skin cancer). The moon that gives light by night can be perilous as it waxes and wanes, as it hides behind clouds or fully illumines darkest night. Nature isn’t going to take care of the Israelites. The presence of God assures Israel that they shall not be smitten by sun or moon. There’s a conspiracy theory for you: Nature is out to get the Israelites. Don’t believe it. God rules day and night as well as humanity. The demons of the day or the nemesis of the night are fended off by God's presence.
Verses 7-8 tell us that God also preserves. God’s protection doesn’t just deal with the known perils and dangers, it extends into the realm of what can’t be known by people, the realm of evil. God’s work of preserving is for both body and soul. The connection between the menace of evil and the endangerment of the soul is clear. Theologically speaking, the protection that God provides is portable. God the preserver pays attention both to our going out and our coming in. And it has nothing to do with the clock or calendar. The psalmist declares that God's protection will follow him “from now until forever from now.”
Our twenty-first century western culture encourages individualism and self-sufficiency. Unfortunately each of us comes to the point where reality sets in. We cannot be our own gods. Try as we might, life will remind us that it’s not going to happen. We have to ask for help. We have to look to the hills.
When is God close to us? For some people it is in the midst of good times. Then they hit the wall with challenges. For others, God becomes close in the dark and challenging times. They let their protective guard down because they have no other option than to admit how their relationship to God plays out. There are finite limits to human power.
The point at which we become aware of our powerlessness is the point we can receive God’s keeping, guarding, caring, protecting blessing. These are not moments of increased powerlessness, but moments when it dawns on us just how little power we possess at any time. Naked before God, we are blessed to suffer the reality, uncomfortable as it is, that we need help beyond ourselves. With our spiritual feet not slipping, we can openly and sincerely cry to God.
Many commentators think that the psalm was used by pilgrims approaching Jerusalem for some occasion. It could have been a celebration of one of the feasts or at a time of crisis. A faith crisis, a time of needing to admit powerlessness, can happen as easily to a community of believers as to an individual. Congregations as well as individual believers are not immune from forgetting the power dynamics they have with God. Individuals may gather to form a church, but it is really God’s activity working in them, God providing the keeping authority to build a community. And communities can become despondent when events take them out of their zones of comfort, out of their complacent unreality of living without change, of being in a comfortable groove of stability. As crisis or change settles in, they lower their collective heads and gaze longingly in the past of memory rather than lifting their eyes to the horizon of future faithful possibility that the care-taking, preserving, guarding, watching, protecting God is providing and will continue to provide.
It takes two to keep and be kept. For all that we gain, we have to give ourselves to the one who offers the protection. Surrendering our little bit of control is difficult. Think again about caring for pets. We do not have them, but we keep them. We take care of them because of the love we feel for them.
It is as hard to accept that the Lord is my keeper as it is to accept that the Lord loves me. You can’t split the two ideas apart. The key to understanding is that the what, God’s care, and the why, God’s love, go together. God’s love is the very foundation of God’s trustworthiness. God loves us, and therefore the Lord will keeps us.
General Resources: Robert W. Fisher, “Psalm 121 – Pastoral Perspective,” and James H. Evans, Jr., “Psalm 121 – Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, vol. 1, 56-60.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Recovering Sinners
Psalm 32; Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7; Romans 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11
So often Jesus said to the people who came to him, “Your sins are forgiven.” They hadn’t asked for forgiveness. They asked to be healed of some physical, emotional, or spiritual ailment. And more often than not, the religious leaders of the community cried, “Foul!” They asserted that only God could forgive. Then Jesus would refute their assertion by telling the supplicant to walk, see, speak, be clean, or be free of the demon that oppressed them.
The underlying notion of disbelieving religionists was that forgiveness had to be earned. The proper rituals had to be performed, the right sacrifices made, the correct words spoken. The word of forgiveness which Jesus spoke was summed up in his affirmation that the kingdom of God had come near, had interposed itself between the rituals and the reality. Jesus – the Son of God, the anointed one, the Messiah – was present at the behest of God to be living forgiveness for all who needed it. And everyone did need it.
Human repentance does not evoke divine forgiveness. Divine forgiveness creates the response of human repentance.
The psalmist in Psalm 32 begins at that point:
Psalm 32 has a penitential tone to it. It is an appropriate psalm for the first Sunday in Lent. As we move down the mountain from the heights of God’s affirmation, we run up against the reality of the world. The temptation scenes with Jesus in the wilderness remind us where we are. Who of us wouldn’t want to do something and feed the world? Who of us wouldn’t want to be able to do something so spectacular in the name of Jesus that every believer would be affirmed and strengthened in their faith and every unbeliever would cry out, “I want Jesus to be my Savior!”? Who of us wouldn’t want to be able to have the power to direct everything towards God’s rule?
As Jesus quickly realized, as good as these aspirations are, the methods do not justify the outcomes. Yes, God wants everyone to have food security and a sufficient life, God wants people to know and worship the divine being, and God wants the world to fully directed towards the divine purpose of worship and service. However, Satan’s methods are corrupted, divisive, counter-productive, and contrary to God’s will that all should call on God’s name, not in fear and subservience, but in joy and thanksgiving.
The psalmist starts with that joy and then moves on to remembering everything that went on in his life while he was under the sway of sin.
Today we know that illness is brought on by germs, bacteria, microbes that require the body’s immune system to go into action. We also know that allergies, genetics, and the absorbing of certain chemicals through breathing, touch, or ingestion will also create life-threatening illnesses. These maladies are often beyond our control or knowledge. The only way we can blame illness on sin is if we engage in risky behaviors.
One message of the Lenten journey with Christ is that sin is a disabling force in our lives. Unchecked, sin can indeed eat away at our souls, leaving us feeling weak and deformed, less than our true selves. The reality of the descent from the mountain of the transfiguration is that the farther down we go the more noxious the sin gets. It is like cresting a mountain pass and entering a valley where the smog of a thermal inversion with a dangerously high air quality index grows worse the farther down we travel. It oppresses, it chokes, it kills.
Sin confuses our minds and darkens our hearts. Sin can have physical consequences; one example is substance abuse, an addiction to drugs or alcohol that poisons the body along with the soul.
The dynamics of addiction provides one way to understand the power of sin in our lives. Some forms of addiction begin as healthy desires. But then they are taken to extremes. An addiction to money or success may begin with the honest desire to provide for one’s family. An addiction to power or fame may begin with the desire to share one’s gifts and talents to make a difference in the world. A natural longing for love and intimacy may mutate into a propensity for unhealthy sexual behavior or inappropriate relationships. A desire to be rid of chronic pain can become a enslavement to opiates.
Addiction results from a lack of temperance and moderation. Too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing. Will power takes a hit and the quest for more of what the addiction makes possible further weakens internal restraints. We become trapped in patterns of denial and justification. Escape gets harder and harder. It becomes all too easy to keep silent, as the psalmist says, and to learn to live with the consequences.
Psalm 32 suggests that sin operates like an addiction and is just as enslaving. That’s nothing new. The biblical narrative tells us the same thing. Paul said it best in his Letter to the Romans: “I don’t know what I am doing, because I don’t do what I want to do. Instead I do the thing I hate....But now I’m not the one doing it anymore. Instead it’s sin that lives in me” (Rom. 7:15, 17).
The psalmist could very easily have gotten into a deep despondency about his sin. But he doesn’t.
The psalmist ends,
The good news is that Lent is the time to embrace the joy of forgiveness and to be painfully aware of the power of sin. Jesus went from the affirmation of being God’s beloved to condemnation by the sin-filled world as its greatest nemesis. May we follow him in recognizing not only the depth of our addictive sinfulness but also the height of his recovering forgiveness. May our journey of Lent be a journey of self-reflection, confession, and, ultimately, joyful redemption.
General Resource: John D. Rohrs, “Psalm 32 Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) Year A, Vol. 2, 33-37.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
So often Jesus said to the people who came to him, “Your sins are forgiven.” They hadn’t asked for forgiveness. They asked to be healed of some physical, emotional, or spiritual ailment. And more often than not, the religious leaders of the community cried, “Foul!” They asserted that only God could forgive. Then Jesus would refute their assertion by telling the supplicant to walk, see, speak, be clean, or be free of the demon that oppressed them.
The underlying notion of disbelieving religionists was that forgiveness had to be earned. The proper rituals had to be performed, the right sacrifices made, the correct words spoken. The word of forgiveness which Jesus spoke was summed up in his affirmation that the kingdom of God had come near, had interposed itself between the rituals and the reality. Jesus – the Son of God, the anointed one, the Messiah – was present at the behest of God to be living forgiveness for all who needed it. And everyone did need it.
Human repentance does not evoke divine forgiveness. Divine forgiveness creates the response of human repentance.
The psalmist in Psalm 32 begins at that point:
The one whose wrongdoing is forgiven,whose sin is covered over, is truly happy!The one the Lord doesn’t consider guilty—in whose spirit there is no dishonesty—that one is truly happy!The psalmist had experienced this for himself. God had vacated the judgment against him. The psalmist’s spirit was renewed and its strengthening would allow him to keep on living at a higher level of faithful service than previously. The psalmist is human. We know that he will fall into sin’s trap many more times before his days come to an end. But because God’s forgiveness is always there, the psalmist can pick himself up, dust himself off, and start afresh.
Psalm 32 has a penitential tone to it. It is an appropriate psalm for the first Sunday in Lent. As we move down the mountain from the heights of God’s affirmation, we run up against the reality of the world. The temptation scenes with Jesus in the wilderness remind us where we are. Who of us wouldn’t want to do something and feed the world? Who of us wouldn’t want to be able to do something so spectacular in the name of Jesus that every believer would be affirmed and strengthened in their faith and every unbeliever would cry out, “I want Jesus to be my Savior!”? Who of us wouldn’t want to be able to have the power to direct everything towards God’s rule?
As Jesus quickly realized, as good as these aspirations are, the methods do not justify the outcomes. Yes, God wants everyone to have food security and a sufficient life, God wants people to know and worship the divine being, and God wants the world to fully directed towards the divine purpose of worship and service. However, Satan’s methods are corrupted, divisive, counter-productive, and contrary to God’s will that all should call on God’s name, not in fear and subservience, but in joy and thanksgiving.
The psalmist starts with that joy and then moves on to remembering everything that went on in his life while he was under the sway of sin.
When I kept quiet, my bones wore out;I was groaning all day long—every day, every night!—because your hand was heavy upon me.My energy was sapped as if in a summer drought.The psalmist gives an aching description of the physical and emotional turmoil he endured before finally confessing his sin and seeking God’s forgiveness. He says that his body was wasting away under the constant weight of sin. He felt its consequences in everything he tried to do. The writer may have had some debilitating illness that he believed was divine punishment for whatever he had done wrong. Medical science is aware of the reality of psychosomatic illnesses brought on by mental distress which could be the inner torment of sin.
Today we know that illness is brought on by germs, bacteria, microbes that require the body’s immune system to go into action. We also know that allergies, genetics, and the absorbing of certain chemicals through breathing, touch, or ingestion will also create life-threatening illnesses. These maladies are often beyond our control or knowledge. The only way we can blame illness on sin is if we engage in risky behaviors.
One message of the Lenten journey with Christ is that sin is a disabling force in our lives. Unchecked, sin can indeed eat away at our souls, leaving us feeling weak and deformed, less than our true selves. The reality of the descent from the mountain of the transfiguration is that the farther down we go the more noxious the sin gets. It is like cresting a mountain pass and entering a valley where the smog of a thermal inversion with a dangerously high air quality index grows worse the farther down we travel. It oppresses, it chokes, it kills.
Sin confuses our minds and darkens our hearts. Sin can have physical consequences; one example is substance abuse, an addiction to drugs or alcohol that poisons the body along with the soul.
The dynamics of addiction provides one way to understand the power of sin in our lives. Some forms of addiction begin as healthy desires. But then they are taken to extremes. An addiction to money or success may begin with the honest desire to provide for one’s family. An addiction to power or fame may begin with the desire to share one’s gifts and talents to make a difference in the world. A natural longing for love and intimacy may mutate into a propensity for unhealthy sexual behavior or inappropriate relationships. A desire to be rid of chronic pain can become a enslavement to opiates.
Addiction results from a lack of temperance and moderation. Too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing. Will power takes a hit and the quest for more of what the addiction makes possible further weakens internal restraints. We become trapped in patterns of denial and justification. Escape gets harder and harder. It becomes all too easy to keep silent, as the psalmist says, and to learn to live with the consequences.
Psalm 32 suggests that sin operates like an addiction and is just as enslaving. That’s nothing new. The biblical narrative tells us the same thing. Paul said it best in his Letter to the Romans: “I don’t know what I am doing, because I don’t do what I want to do. Instead I do the thing I hate....But now I’m not the one doing it anymore. Instead it’s sin that lives in me” (Rom. 7:15, 17).
The psalmist could very easily have gotten into a deep despondency about his sin. But he doesn’t.
So I admitted my sin to you;I didn’t conceal my guilt.“I’ll confess my sins to the Lord,” is what I said.Then you removed the guilt of my sin.It’s the guilt that immobilizes us to the effects of sin. Guilt so addles our thinking that we can’t see straight about stepping away from the sin that enslaves us. Guilt is like the security chain on a door that keeps it from being opened more than a crack. The opening is not big enough for us to reach through to grasp the forgiveness that is on the other side. In Revelation, John reports Jesus saying to the Laodiceans, “Look, I am standing at the door and knocking. If any hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to be with them” (Revelation 3:20). Guilt bars the door and keeps grace out. Forgiveness is there for the taking if we can break the chain of guilt.
The psalmist ends,
The pain of the wicked is severe,but faithful love surrounds the one who trusts the Lord.You who are righteous, rejoice in the Lord and be glad!All you whose hearts are right, sing out in joy!We are never completely done with sin; we still have moments of weakness, and we are always surrounded by temptations. Overcoming sin is a lifelong effort. To paraphrase Martin Luther in this 500th anniversary year of his Wittenberg 95 Theses, at one and the same time we are saved by God’s grace and still subject to sin. In the language of addiction, we are always recovering sinners.
The good news is that Lent is the time to embrace the joy of forgiveness and to be painfully aware of the power of sin. Jesus went from the affirmation of being God’s beloved to condemnation by the sin-filled world as its greatest nemesis. May we follow him in recognizing not only the depth of our addictive sinfulness but also the height of his recovering forgiveness. May our journey of Lent be a journey of self-reflection, confession, and, ultimately, joyful redemption.
General Resource: John D. Rohrs, “Psalm 32 Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) Year A, Vol. 2, 33-37.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright © 2017 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
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