Speak Your Hope
1 Peter 3:13-22; Acts 17:22-31; John 14:15-22
“Whenever anyone asks you to speak of your hope, be ready to defend it” (1 Peter 3:15 CEB). Eugene Peterson reads Peter’s words this way: “Be ready to speak up and tell anyone who asks why you’re living the way you are, and always with the utmost courtesy.” Can you do that? Can you explain the hope you have in Jesus Christ?
Here’s an old joke. What do you get when you cross a Presbyterian with a Jehovah’s Witness? Someone who knocks on doors but doesn’t have anything to say. In fairness to Presbyterians, the joke works with almost any old line Protestant denomination (Methodists, Lutherans, Episcopalians). Can you explain your hope in Jesus Christ?
Karen and Bruce Henderson have been telling us about Meriam Yehye Ibrahim, the Sudanese woman who has been sentenced to a 100 lashes for adultery because she married a Christian and to be hung because she refused to recant her declaration that she is a Christian. She is the kind of believer to whom Peter was writing. When Peter’s letter was circulating, Christians were being persecuted by Roman imperial edict. He was addressing real suffering for the faith.
Thankfully, and regretfully, we don’t have to face that oppression. But our lives aren’t completely devoid of persecution. It isn’t physical, but it is verbal. “What do you mean you can’t come on Sunday morning?” “You would rather go to a meeting at church than have me drop by for a visit?” “Why don’t you shop on Sunday? Everyone does.” Speak your hope. Don’t mumble apologies.
Back to our speechless door-knocker joke. What is your hope? You don’t need a dissertation. Fifty or a hundred words ought to do it. Is your hope located in the future? Is it pearly gates, golden streets, multi-roomed mansions the opposite of unmitigated heat and flames and eternal agony? Or is your hope an on-going reality of a right relationship with God and with neighbors made possible through the grace and forgiveness of Jesus Christ?
Our hope starts out very simply. We probably learned the core of it as a child: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” As we grow and mature, we wrestle with that simple statement. What does it really mean? What does it mean to me? We wander around in our thinking. The statement is too simplistic. We don’t understand the Bible. Only parts of It make sense. We latch on to a few verses and try to hang our whole faith on it. That works for a while until something upsets the equilibrium. Perhaps we reach the point where we realize that our hope is not something static or unchanging. God does something that knocks down the security of a narrow or rigid understanding we had grown comfortable with. And we need to re-examine what it is that we believe.
I saw a post on Facebook this past week which said: “Your life is your message to the world. Make sure it is inspiring.” That’s the kind of situation that Peter envisions. The believers he was writing to and for would be persecuted for their faith alone because unbelievers would have no charges to bring against them except to question them on their “hope.”
Unbelievers can see that Christians have something different; only “hope” gives us strength and joy in hardships and persecutions. Unbelievers will ask about it; believers must be ready to tell them. Christians need not worry about what they should say if accused, for they could prepare their defense ahead of time! Even in a hostile situation, believers can witness for Christ; their words might cause an accuser to come to faith. Paul certainly took advantage of every situation, no matter how hostile. Peter says that all Christians can and should be ready and able to give a reasonable defense of their faith. No one expects us to be a theologian like Martin Luther, John Calvin, Julian of Norwich, Theresa of Avila, Karl Barth, Rosemary Radford Reuther, or Martin Luther King, Jr.
But every Christian ought to be able to clearly explain his or her own reasons for being a Christian. Some Christians believe that faith is a personal matter that should be kept to oneself. It is true that we shouldn’t be boisterous or obnoxious in sharing our faith, but we should always be prepared to give an answer, gently and respectfully, when asked about our belief, our lifestyle, or our Christian perspective.
You and I can witness our hope without becoming theological scholars. In preparation we can pray, read the Bible, and review God’s promises every day. We can make praising Christ our daily practice. A focus on his power and glory will fortify us. We are to be ourselves in our witnessing, not imitating anyone else. Find the clues in your life that help explain God’s Good News to others. Plumbers can talk about God’s love like running water. Doctors can portray God’s love as a healing force. Respond with care. Leave melting stony hearts to God. Always listen to your audience. Where are their heads and hearts? What burdens them? Listen long and hard. Frame your witness in the words and at the level your audience will understand. If we aren’t questioned about our faith, is our faith showing? Or have we so buried it in the surrounding culture that there is no apparent difference between the way of the world and the way of Christ.
When Jesus said that he came not to bring peace but to bring a sword, what he was saying was that he was presenting an alternative vision of what life was to be about. He asserted that the kingdom of God – the realm of God’s rule – has come near. It is breaking into the world through the presence and ministry of Christ who was the Word become flesh and blood. Jesus wasn’t a specter of some other reality. He wasn’t an alien. He was one of us in the fullest and most complete sense. But he was counter-cultural because he didn’t blend in. He presented a living vision of what God was intending humanity to be.
Many of his parables express the tension of the now and the not yet. The world lives for the moment and doesn’t think ahead, so some of the wedding attendants run out of oil. The world thinks only the strong should survive, so a father welcomes a lost son while the unimaginative, unresourceful stay-at-home son can’t make head nor tail of it all. A one percenter dines sumptuously, ignores one of the 99% at his gate and learns too late what he and those of his family should have known all along, but didn’t pay attention to.
Christ has called us to join him in living the tension between what is now and what is not yet. That is our hope, our knowledge that God is in charge, even when that leadership is hard to see. Our hope is like what Paul stated to the Romans, that absolutely nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God. That means that the love of God will prevail. That is our hope, however skewed life may be. Our calling is to live towards that reality, to embody the Christ-life which is where everything is ultimately headed according to God’s plan.
Together, you and I – we the church – are to be a preview of the age to come, the age of God’s ultimate glory. Our lives are to be prophetic, that is they are to provide an alternative imagination for the world. Things don’t have to be the way they are. God’s way will upset, unravel, disturb, reinvent life. Our hope, the hope which we present the world, the hope which we are to offer explanation for when asked, is that we are privileged to be part of God’s ongoing redemption of creation.
Peter finishes this section of his reflection and encouragement by reminding his readers that we have been enlisted in this God-work through our baptisms. We have been rescued through the water. Baptism saves us now – not because it removes dirt from our bodies but because it is the mark of a good conscience toward God. It is our celebration of the salvation which Christ’s resurrection has made possible. So every time we pour the water into the font we remind ourselves that God in Christ has claimed us for kingdom work which always grates on a world bent on its own ways.
And every time we gather around this table to break bread and share the cup we the Spirit inspires us with the power of Christ who offered his own body and blood for each and every one of us. Our hope is very real, very personal, very true. Speak that hope with every breath you take, every activity you do, every hand you touch, every wrong you right. God’s hope in you will change the world.
Thanks be to God.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Sunday, May 18, 2014
A Spiritual Temple
A Spiritual Temple
1 Peter 2:2-10; Acts 7:55-60; Psalm 31; John 14:1-14
Do you ever look at decorating magazines like Better Homes and Gardens, House and Garden, or House Beautiful? It is always delightful to see the different colors and kinds of furniture that are used as well as the creative use of space. When you look at those picture spreads do you notice anything? There is never any clutter. There are very few knickknacks. The counters are nearly bare. There is always a lot a open space. You can walk through the rooms and not trip over any thing.
I always wonder who lives in places like that. Does anything ever happen in those homes? They don’t look lived in. They look like museums. “Don’t touch anything, don’t do anything.” I don’t know about you, but I could never live in a place that like. If I did, I would have to have someone following me around picking up things and putting them in their hidden storage places. You hardly ever see a wastebasket. Who of us doesn’t make trash?
Those of you who know me well, know that I am not a neat freak. If there is a flat surface, there is going to be something on it. When the building team was working on this building I dreamed of having a two-room office suite: one room for public use and a private room to live in. Well, that didn’t happen. My piles, my clutter overflow. And I have to work hard to keep it from spreading elsewhere. Anyone can look at my office and wonder if anything happens there. Most of the time I know where I have put things. But if I do too many archaeological digs in the piles, things will get really messed up and I lose track of things. Then I have to start on the bottoms of piles and sort what needs to be thrown out and what needs to be kept.
As messy as I am, I am better off than a hoarder. Have you seen that show on television? People actually have to do interventions to rescue these people from their addictive behavior of keeping everything. These are people whose homes can’t be walked through except at the danger of having piles of things fall on you. A person can be just about certain that nothing can happen in that kind of setting, except for an avalanche..
We build our lives in a variety of ways, including what we keep and what we throw away. Not just physically but also intellectually and spiritually. Here’s an exercise to try some time. If you were a house, what kind would you be? A colonial, a ranch, a split-level, a bungalow, a Cape Cod, a southern plantation, or something out of Frank Lloyd Wright, just to name a few styles.
Some of our lives are like those showplace homes, with nothing out of place and every thing in its place. Does anything really happen in those lives? Other lives are full and modestly cluttered. Some are artsy-crafty, others very refined. Some lives are folksy or homey, and others prim and proper. Some of our lives are so full that they spill over wherever we are, and some of our lives are very Spartan and austere. Some of us rush out and get the latest gadgets. Others of us keep the old ones, repairing them as needed until they can no longer be repaired. It is a cultural divide with each of those folks thinking the other is foolish and ridiculous. People have always been that way.
We build our spiritual lives in much the same way we build our physical lives. They are bare or cluttered, simple or complex, austere or overflowing. However they are built, they have to have a firm foundation. That foundation is Jesus Christ, the way, the truth, and the life.
If you have been downtown recently, you will have noticed that the mechanical shovel has been cleaning up the remains of what used to be the Emmitt House. There was basement under some of the building into which the debris fell as the building burned and later was demolished. The contractor has been busy removing all the soft debris – mostly wood from the cavities. Yesterday I noticed that the space had been filled in with the brick debris and dirt and tamped down by a sheep foot roller to compact the soil in order to provide a solid basis on which to put a new foundation and slab. This is necessary for any potential building that might be put on the space. The ability to support a structure must be uniform throughout. Remember Jesus’s parable of the buildings erected on sand and on rock?
We tend to think in terms of a very personal relationship with Jesus. Much of Jesus’ ministry was one on one: the woman with the ongoing hemorrhage, the invalid at the pool, the military officer who asked Jesus to just say the healing word, the woman at the well, the spiritually poor rich man, to name just a few. Jesus sent out followers in pairs to announce the coming of the good news. He dined with self-proclaimed saints and excluded sinners. He comforted a dying sinner on the cross next to his own. Jesus’ life and ministry directly effected many people beyond the twelve whom he called to travel with him. One by one and two by two Jesus built a kingdom community. The personal relationship is foundational to the spiritual temple which is to be the church.
As Peter matured in his understanding of Christ, particularly through Jesus’ resurrection and the gift of the Holy Spirit, he came to see that the realm of God’s rule was something more than the individual relationship that any one believer has with Jesus. Each believer, unique as each one is, becomes a living stone in the spiritual temple called the church. Peter chooses to use an architectural image, yet he doesn’t talk about building a building. We see that because while he uses the term “spiritual temple,” he counterbalances that with the terms “royal priesthood,” “chosen race,” “holy nation,” “a people.” “You have become this people so that you may speak of the wonderful acts of the one called you out of darkness into his amazing light.”
What Peter is saying to us, is that there is no “I” in church. Church is about being the people of God speaking God’s wonderful acts in Jesus Christ. That you which Peter talks about is not a singular you. It is the plural which is best spoken in the southern dialect, “y’all.” It is we together who make up the church.
Paul catches the same thought when he uses the image of the body of Christ. Not everyone is an ear or a mouth or a foot or hand. We are all cells in the body of Christ. All our cells have the same DNA, but the genes in the DNA call each cell to do special work so that some are hair, some are blood, some are skin, some are muscle, some are bone, etc. We share the same DNA, that saving grace of Christ. The Holy Spirit applies that DNA to us so that we are called to do different things as part of the body of Christ.
If we go back to the architectural image, as the living temple, some of us are load bearing beams, some are windows, some are wiring, some are drywall, etc. To continue with images related to building, a structure needs all the internal parts, often unseen, because they work together to hold the structure as one entire whole. Think of the trusses over your heads right now. It is not just a clever design. Each piece carries a portion of the load to the next piece in such a way that the total weight is distributed eventually to the tops of the columns and then to the foundation.
In our lives as part of the spiritual temple called the church, we are called to work together in such a way so that the weight of the work of being faithful is stressed and carried until it reaches Christ who is the foundation, the cornerstone, the key stone. What that means is that we are responsible for each other. Together we are the joists and studs, the beams and the cladding that make up the spiritual temple of the church. If one of us is not properly installed, if one of us is inferior, if one of us is rotting away, eventually the whole structure will suffer. If the one next to us is weak, we are called to strengthen them. If the one next to us is becoming unattached, we are called to help refasten them. We are responsible to see that each one of us the best living stone, board, nail, sheet rock possible so that together we may fully be God’s people in and for the world.
We are a spiritual temple. And every one of us is absolutely essential. None of us can be done without. “Once you hadn’t received mercy, but ow you have received mercy.”
Thanks be to God.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
1 Peter 2:2-10; Acts 7:55-60; Psalm 31; John 14:1-14
Do you ever look at decorating magazines like Better Homes and Gardens, House and Garden, or House Beautiful? It is always delightful to see the different colors and kinds of furniture that are used as well as the creative use of space. When you look at those picture spreads do you notice anything? There is never any clutter. There are very few knickknacks. The counters are nearly bare. There is always a lot a open space. You can walk through the rooms and not trip over any thing.
I always wonder who lives in places like that. Does anything ever happen in those homes? They don’t look lived in. They look like museums. “Don’t touch anything, don’t do anything.” I don’t know about you, but I could never live in a place that like. If I did, I would have to have someone following me around picking up things and putting them in their hidden storage places. You hardly ever see a wastebasket. Who of us doesn’t make trash?
Those of you who know me well, know that I am not a neat freak. If there is a flat surface, there is going to be something on it. When the building team was working on this building I dreamed of having a two-room office suite: one room for public use and a private room to live in. Well, that didn’t happen. My piles, my clutter overflow. And I have to work hard to keep it from spreading elsewhere. Anyone can look at my office and wonder if anything happens there. Most of the time I know where I have put things. But if I do too many archaeological digs in the piles, things will get really messed up and I lose track of things. Then I have to start on the bottoms of piles and sort what needs to be thrown out and what needs to be kept.
As messy as I am, I am better off than a hoarder. Have you seen that show on television? People actually have to do interventions to rescue these people from their addictive behavior of keeping everything. These are people whose homes can’t be walked through except at the danger of having piles of things fall on you. A person can be just about certain that nothing can happen in that kind of setting, except for an avalanche..
We build our lives in a variety of ways, including what we keep and what we throw away. Not just physically but also intellectually and spiritually. Here’s an exercise to try some time. If you were a house, what kind would you be? A colonial, a ranch, a split-level, a bungalow, a Cape Cod, a southern plantation, or something out of Frank Lloyd Wright, just to name a few styles.
Some of our lives are like those showplace homes, with nothing out of place and every thing in its place. Does anything really happen in those lives? Other lives are full and modestly cluttered. Some are artsy-crafty, others very refined. Some lives are folksy or homey, and others prim and proper. Some of our lives are so full that they spill over wherever we are, and some of our lives are very Spartan and austere. Some of us rush out and get the latest gadgets. Others of us keep the old ones, repairing them as needed until they can no longer be repaired. It is a cultural divide with each of those folks thinking the other is foolish and ridiculous. People have always been that way.
We build our spiritual lives in much the same way we build our physical lives. They are bare or cluttered, simple or complex, austere or overflowing. However they are built, they have to have a firm foundation. That foundation is Jesus Christ, the way, the truth, and the life.
If you have been downtown recently, you will have noticed that the mechanical shovel has been cleaning up the remains of what used to be the Emmitt House. There was basement under some of the building into which the debris fell as the building burned and later was demolished. The contractor has been busy removing all the soft debris – mostly wood from the cavities. Yesterday I noticed that the space had been filled in with the brick debris and dirt and tamped down by a sheep foot roller to compact the soil in order to provide a solid basis on which to put a new foundation and slab. This is necessary for any potential building that might be put on the space. The ability to support a structure must be uniform throughout. Remember Jesus’s parable of the buildings erected on sand and on rock?
We tend to think in terms of a very personal relationship with Jesus. Much of Jesus’ ministry was one on one: the woman with the ongoing hemorrhage, the invalid at the pool, the military officer who asked Jesus to just say the healing word, the woman at the well, the spiritually poor rich man, to name just a few. Jesus sent out followers in pairs to announce the coming of the good news. He dined with self-proclaimed saints and excluded sinners. He comforted a dying sinner on the cross next to his own. Jesus’ life and ministry directly effected many people beyond the twelve whom he called to travel with him. One by one and two by two Jesus built a kingdom community. The personal relationship is foundational to the spiritual temple which is to be the church.
As Peter matured in his understanding of Christ, particularly through Jesus’ resurrection and the gift of the Holy Spirit, he came to see that the realm of God’s rule was something more than the individual relationship that any one believer has with Jesus. Each believer, unique as each one is, becomes a living stone in the spiritual temple called the church. Peter chooses to use an architectural image, yet he doesn’t talk about building a building. We see that because while he uses the term “spiritual temple,” he counterbalances that with the terms “royal priesthood,” “chosen race,” “holy nation,” “a people.” “You have become this people so that you may speak of the wonderful acts of the one called you out of darkness into his amazing light.”
What Peter is saying to us, is that there is no “I” in church. Church is about being the people of God speaking God’s wonderful acts in Jesus Christ. That you which Peter talks about is not a singular you. It is the plural which is best spoken in the southern dialect, “y’all.” It is we together who make up the church.
Paul catches the same thought when he uses the image of the body of Christ. Not everyone is an ear or a mouth or a foot or hand. We are all cells in the body of Christ. All our cells have the same DNA, but the genes in the DNA call each cell to do special work so that some are hair, some are blood, some are skin, some are muscle, some are bone, etc. We share the same DNA, that saving grace of Christ. The Holy Spirit applies that DNA to us so that we are called to do different things as part of the body of Christ.
If we go back to the architectural image, as the living temple, some of us are load bearing beams, some are windows, some are wiring, some are drywall, etc. To continue with images related to building, a structure needs all the internal parts, often unseen, because they work together to hold the structure as one entire whole. Think of the trusses over your heads right now. It is not just a clever design. Each piece carries a portion of the load to the next piece in such a way that the total weight is distributed eventually to the tops of the columns and then to the foundation.
In our lives as part of the spiritual temple called the church, we are called to work together in such a way so that the weight of the work of being faithful is stressed and carried until it reaches Christ who is the foundation, the cornerstone, the key stone. What that means is that we are responsible for each other. Together we are the joists and studs, the beams and the cladding that make up the spiritual temple of the church. If one of us is not properly installed, if one of us is inferior, if one of us is rotting away, eventually the whole structure will suffer. If the one next to us is weak, we are called to strengthen them. If the one next to us is becoming unattached, we are called to help refasten them. We are responsible to see that each one of us the best living stone, board, nail, sheet rock possible so that together we may fully be God’s people in and for the world.
We are a spiritual temple. And every one of us is absolutely essential. None of us can be done without. “Once you hadn’t received mercy, but ow you have received mercy.”
Thanks be to God.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Is Jesus a Stranger?
Is Jesus a Stranger?
John 10:1-10; Acts 2:42-47; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2:19-25
This is “Good Shepherd” Sunday. Each year on the 4th Sunday of Easter, we celebrate Christ as the Good Shepherd. The gospel reading for each of the three years comes from John 10. The other readings coordinate with it and always include Psalm 23, which we will use for our “Sending Out to Witness” at the close of worship.
The shepherd image for Jesus is one of the best loved images for Jesus. It has been the subject of church art glass, frescoes, sculpture, paintings, iconography, and with Psalm 23, church music.
The shepherd image has two sides. Everyone in Jesus’ time knew something about sheep, shepherds, and shepherding, but what that they knew was not always good or appreciated. Shepherds weren’t on people’s lists of BFFs (best Facebook friends). Shepherds were a necessary appendage to society. A ready supply of sheep were needed for religious sacrifices and for festival food. A lot of cloth came from wool. Shepherds were tolerated. Like wet sheep, they were filthy, stinky, matted, weather-worn.
Yet the divine sense of humor kept using the shepherd image. Shepherds got “This just in from Bethlehem” angel-sung bulletin when Jesus was born. The feast-giving householder who got a mess of last minute excuses and “no-shows” sent the houseman out to find people to fill the empty seats. Combing of the back alleys and by-ways probably resulted in soiled shepherds sitting at supper. Jesus was linked with David whose early career training was as a shepherd. The prophets of the exilic times likened the nation’s leaders to shepherds. The references weren’t complimentary.
So for Jesus to take up the shepherd imagery for himself was another parry in the escalating theological feud with the institutional religious leaders, especially the Pharisees.
Jesus’ discourse about shepherding God’s people comes immediately on the end of the story of the man whom Jesus healed of his life-long blindness. The Pharisees protest, “Surely we aren’t blind, are we?” Jesus responds, “If you were blind, you wouldn’t have any sin, but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains”(John 9:41). From there Jesus goes into getting into the sheep pen. Is this the seam of two conversations skillfully put together? Or is this all one piece of theological cloth? Either way, the implication is that the religious leaders are poor shepherds who can’t guard the sheep properly or that they are thieves and outlaws raiding the dignity and sanctity of God’s people.
I regret to say that sheep have earned their bad rap for being sheep. They have their own form of “Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.” They are early addicts of the “if it feels good, let’s do it” philosophy. It doesn’t take much to distract a sheep. Sheep are not physically swift, so they are easy prey.
So who is a thief and outlaw? Jesus often speaks on multiple levels. He may be thinking of a sheep rustler. He may also be thinking of disruptive, sneaky people within the community. If we take the imagery as parable, these are people who have entered the flock—but not through the proper entrance—not through Jesus, who is later pictured as the gate. Judas Iscariot, who was one of the “insiders” – the Twelve – will be called a “thief” in a couple of chapters. Paul advised the Ephesian elders:
The phrase may also refer to people who “pretend” to be part of the flock, but who haven’t entered through the proper “door.” You may remember that in the 1990s federal agents in Arizona and New Mexico “joined” churches and Bible study groups which were supporting sanctuary for Central American refugees. Did John’s church face a similar problem? Were anti-Christian people sneaking into Christian communities? Christianity was an illegal religion in the Roman Empire. Christians were considered “atheists” because they didn’t worship the Roman gods.
Every congregation has had members who join because of the social status it gives them or because of family pressure. Church sociologist Bill Easum thinks that church membership should bring with it obligations rather than privileges. The example he used was parochial schools. Why do churches give members a discount? Why don’t they charge them more, so that children who are unchurched and poor might be able to attend for free or at a reduced rate? (1)
Who are the “thieves and bandits” who sneak into the flock today? If we listen to them, is Jesus a stranger?
Jesus uses a second image in these ten verses. He has been talking about himself as the shepherd or the gatekeeper. Now he shifts to the image of “gate.” Who are thieves and bandits who came before Jesus? Surely they aren’t all the people who came before him. That would include John the Baptist, the prophets, Moses, and Abraham—people who were servants of God and who pointed to Jesus.
The Greek word we translate as “before” doesn’t have to mean “precede.” It can also mean “in front of.” With that sense it could refer to those who opposed Jesus to his face. The thieves and bandits could be contemporaries with Jesus. They are the ones who refuse to come to Jesus so they can have life (John 5:40). They are the ones who are blind to see where Jesus has come from (John 9:29, 41). By refusing to see Jesus as the revelation from God, they are trying to enter the sheepfold by some other means.
These thieves and bandits are contemporaries of Jesus because he tells us, “The sheep didn’t listen to them.” If “sheep” refers to the believers in Christ, they would have had to “not listen to” the thieves and bandits during the ministry of Jesus. The people they did not listen to were those who denied Jesus as the revelation of God. The “sheep” believed that he was. They entered the sheepfold through Jesus. The promise was given to them: They will be saved. They will come in. They will go out. They will find pasture.
When does this happen? Is it our heavenly existence or is it part of our living the abundant life now? Whenever it happens, Jesus is both the way in and the way out. Finding pasture in Psalm 23 happens after going out. Could this imply that coming in and being huddled together in church is not finding pasture? There is safety in coming into the sheepfold, yet we are also promised safety in our going out. Even though the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy, Jesus promises to keep us safe.
In the Greek grammar, the thieves and outlaws will keep on coming in the present tense. Jesus has come once for all time. His abundant life is Spirit driven in us forever. Yet the thieves and outlaws of the world are constantly trying to break in and steal it away. Is Jesus a stranger to us when we fail to listen to him and are conned by religious sounding bafflegab that pilfers his precious gift of grace from us?
Pastor Rich Mayfield thinks that “Jesus was a teller of stories rather than an issuer of edicts. Jesus invited us to use our imagination as we ventured forth on our spiritual journey”(2) He makes a contrast between the factual accuracy of fundamentalism and “hyperbole of the heart,” which he finds in scriptures. An example:
Is Jesus a stranger? Or are you hearing his word?
(1) Cited by Brian Stoffregen, Gospel Notes for Next Week, “John 10:1-10,” Wed, Apr 30, 2014 at 11:30 AM.
(2) Ibid.
(3) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
John 10:1-10; Acts 2:42-47; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2:19-25
This is “Good Shepherd” Sunday. Each year on the 4th Sunday of Easter, we celebrate Christ as the Good Shepherd. The gospel reading for each of the three years comes from John 10. The other readings coordinate with it and always include Psalm 23, which we will use for our “Sending Out to Witness” at the close of worship.
The shepherd image for Jesus is one of the best loved images for Jesus. It has been the subject of church art glass, frescoes, sculpture, paintings, iconography, and with Psalm 23, church music.
The shepherd image has two sides. Everyone in Jesus’ time knew something about sheep, shepherds, and shepherding, but what that they knew was not always good or appreciated. Shepherds weren’t on people’s lists of BFFs (best Facebook friends). Shepherds were a necessary appendage to society. A ready supply of sheep were needed for religious sacrifices and for festival food. A lot of cloth came from wool. Shepherds were tolerated. Like wet sheep, they were filthy, stinky, matted, weather-worn.
Yet the divine sense of humor kept using the shepherd image. Shepherds got “This just in from Bethlehem” angel-sung bulletin when Jesus was born. The feast-giving householder who got a mess of last minute excuses and “no-shows” sent the houseman out to find people to fill the empty seats. Combing of the back alleys and by-ways probably resulted in soiled shepherds sitting at supper. Jesus was linked with David whose early career training was as a shepherd. The prophets of the exilic times likened the nation’s leaders to shepherds. The references weren’t complimentary.
So for Jesus to take up the shepherd imagery for himself was another parry in the escalating theological feud with the institutional religious leaders, especially the Pharisees.
Jesus’ discourse about shepherding God’s people comes immediately on the end of the story of the man whom Jesus healed of his life-long blindness. The Pharisees protest, “Surely we aren’t blind, are we?” Jesus responds, “If you were blind, you wouldn’t have any sin, but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains”(John 9:41). From there Jesus goes into getting into the sheep pen. Is this the seam of two conversations skillfully put together? Or is this all one piece of theological cloth? Either way, the implication is that the religious leaders are poor shepherds who can’t guard the sheep properly or that they are thieves and outlaws raiding the dignity and sanctity of God’s people.
I regret to say that sheep have earned their bad rap for being sheep. They have their own form of “Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.” They are early addicts of the “if it feels good, let’s do it” philosophy. It doesn’t take much to distract a sheep. Sheep are not physically swift, so they are easy prey.
So who is a thief and outlaw? Jesus often speaks on multiple levels. He may be thinking of a sheep rustler. He may also be thinking of disruptive, sneaky people within the community. If we take the imagery as parable, these are people who have entered the flock—but not through the proper entrance—not through Jesus, who is later pictured as the gate. Judas Iscariot, who was one of the “insiders” – the Twelve – will be called a “thief” in a couple of chapters. Paul advised the Ephesian elders:
“Watch yourselves and the whole flock, in which the Holy Spirit has placed you as supervisors, to shepherd God’s church, which he obtained with the death of his own Son. I know that, after my departure, savage wolves will come in among you and won't spare the flock” (In Acts 20:28-29).In a general sense the phrase “thief and outlaw’ may refer to any deceptive leader or people—people with hidden agendas. Sometimes church leaders, ruling elders as well as teaching elders, may not always be up-front, open and transparent about their plans or problems. They may be more concerned for themselves than for the group. Thieves and bandits are people who take for themselves without much thought about what others are losing.
The phrase may also refer to people who “pretend” to be part of the flock, but who haven’t entered through the proper “door.” You may remember that in the 1990s federal agents in Arizona and New Mexico “joined” churches and Bible study groups which were supporting sanctuary for Central American refugees. Did John’s church face a similar problem? Were anti-Christian people sneaking into Christian communities? Christianity was an illegal religion in the Roman Empire. Christians were considered “atheists” because they didn’t worship the Roman gods.
Every congregation has had members who join because of the social status it gives them or because of family pressure. Church sociologist Bill Easum thinks that church membership should bring with it obligations rather than privileges. The example he used was parochial schools. Why do churches give members a discount? Why don’t they charge them more, so that children who are unchurched and poor might be able to attend for free or at a reduced rate? (1)
Who are the “thieves and bandits” who sneak into the flock today? If we listen to them, is Jesus a stranger?
Jesus uses a second image in these ten verses. He has been talking about himself as the shepherd or the gatekeeper. Now he shifts to the image of “gate.” Who are thieves and bandits who came before Jesus? Surely they aren’t all the people who came before him. That would include John the Baptist, the prophets, Moses, and Abraham—people who were servants of God and who pointed to Jesus.
The Greek word we translate as “before” doesn’t have to mean “precede.” It can also mean “in front of.” With that sense it could refer to those who opposed Jesus to his face. The thieves and bandits could be contemporaries with Jesus. They are the ones who refuse to come to Jesus so they can have life (John 5:40). They are the ones who are blind to see where Jesus has come from (John 9:29, 41). By refusing to see Jesus as the revelation from God, they are trying to enter the sheepfold by some other means.
These thieves and bandits are contemporaries of Jesus because he tells us, “The sheep didn’t listen to them.” If “sheep” refers to the believers in Christ, they would have had to “not listen to” the thieves and bandits during the ministry of Jesus. The people they did not listen to were those who denied Jesus as the revelation of God. The “sheep” believed that he was. They entered the sheepfold through Jesus. The promise was given to them: They will be saved. They will come in. They will go out. They will find pasture.
When does this happen? Is it our heavenly existence or is it part of our living the abundant life now? Whenever it happens, Jesus is both the way in and the way out. Finding pasture in Psalm 23 happens after going out. Could this imply that coming in and being huddled together in church is not finding pasture? There is safety in coming into the sheepfold, yet we are also promised safety in our going out. Even though the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy, Jesus promises to keep us safe.
In the Greek grammar, the thieves and outlaws will keep on coming in the present tense. Jesus has come once for all time. His abundant life is Spirit driven in us forever. Yet the thieves and outlaws of the world are constantly trying to break in and steal it away. Is Jesus a stranger to us when we fail to listen to him and are conned by religious sounding bafflegab that pilfers his precious gift of grace from us?
Pastor Rich Mayfield thinks that “Jesus was a teller of stories rather than an issuer of edicts. Jesus invited us to use our imagination as we ventured forth on our spiritual journey”(2) He makes a contrast between the factual accuracy of fundamentalism and “hyperbole of the heart,” which he finds in scriptures. An example:
“A husband looks deeply into the big blue eyes of his wife of many years. He sees the accumulating wrinkles, the sprinkling of gray, the passage of time. And yet still he boldly and truthfully proclaims, ‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world.’ It is the truth. Now, it may not be factually verifiable. She might not actually win the Miss America contest that year. But there is no question in his mind that what he is saying is the truth. What he is doing is offering up a ‘hyperbole of the heart.’ He is sharing what really matters to him. He is confessing his love.”(3)A hyperbole is a figure a speech. It is an exaggeration, but even more so, it is something that is not meant to be taken literally. That is true of our text. Jesus is not a literal shepherd. In today’s world hi might have used the image of a webmaster or an activities director. We are not literal sheep. He isn’t talking about literal thieves and bandits. At the same time, Jesus is speaking the truth. His truth is so big that it can only be communicated figuratively. Some who hear it will be captured by and share in the truth of the figurative speech. Others who hear it will be lost—blind and deaf to his truths.
Is Jesus a stranger? Or are you hearing his word?
(1) Cited by Brian Stoffregen, Gospel Notes for Next Week, “John 10:1-10,” Wed, Apr 30, 2014 at 11:30 AM.
(2) Ibid.
(3) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Burning Hearts or Burned Out?
Burning Hearts or Burned Out?
Luke 24:13-35; Acts 2:14a, 36-41; 1 Peter 1:17-23
Saddleback Church in California is famous for its hospitality; the church welcomes strangers as guests instead of as visitors. “The term ‘visitor’ implies that they’re not here to stay,” writes pastor Rick Warren in his book The Purpose-Driven Church. “The term ‘guest’ implies that this is someone for whom you do everything you can to make them feel comfortable.” For a guest, we do everything. For a visitor, not so much.
Saddleback staffer Erik Rees leads a “guest services team” that’s in charge of first impressions — they’re determined to be good hosts to the strangers who come to them. Traffic attendants are trained to welcome people and point them toward the worship venues, greeters are positioned along walkways to welcome people and answer questions, and ushers are in place in the worship venues so they can respond to people and seat them. The goal is that each guest will receive at least three greetings before sitting down in worship.
These first impressions are critical. Warren believes that guests “are deciding whether or not to come back long before the pastor speaks.”(1)
“Hospitality.” Those of you who were here in the fall of 2001, might remember that the word “hospitality” was used frequently. That was the first key word about our new building. It was what people first sensed from the facility itself. And it was what people needed to sense from those of us who were already here.
As Warren says, we will do anything necessary to make a guest comfortable and at home. Visitors, on the other hand, are often little more than tourists. No slight is intended. And we mean to treat visitors as hospitably as guests. But we know, and you know, that your family members visiting from out of town are happy to join you in worship, but they are here just a few days and will return to their own locations and schedules. Guests may stay around.
The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews admonished his readers, “Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests, because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2 ceb). That would certainly describe the situation with the two travelers on the road to Emmaus that first evening of Easter. Jesus plays multiple roles. He is the unrecognized stranger. He becomes the welcomed guest. And then, offered the honor of starting the meal, he becomes the host, at which point he was recognized. That’s when everything changed.
You will remember that the two people walking to Emmaus placed great hope in the Nazarene whom the religious leaders had handed over to be sentenced to death. And they didn’t know what to make of the story the women told about Jesus being alive or the report that friends had brought that the tomb was empty.
Like the tomb, their lives were now empty. Their hopes, once lifted very high, had been smashed with the hammer blows nailing Jesus to the cross. There was nothing more to do than go and reclaim some pieces of their former lives, endure the ‘I told you so’ taunts of their family and neighbors. Some were headed back to fishing boats, to a tax office, to missed appointments, to abandoned families, and to mercifully deadening routines. That will teach us to dream, they thought to themselves.
The question which had not yet occurred to them is this: For all we have been through, how are we different and what does that mean for the future? It was too early for that. They were spent physically, emotionally, spiritually, and probably financially as well. They were in a stupor when the stranger traveling at a reasonable gait made to pass them, but noticing their blank stares, inquired about what they pondering in such a doleful manner.
The two travelers could have told the stranger to mind his own business. Grief and confusion often erupt that way. We don’t want to admit that we are flummoxed, so we shut others out. Instead the two invite the stranger into their misery, thinking that he hasn’t a clue to what has been going on. The stranger, it turns out, knows more than they do, at least with respect to the background. “You mean that you didn’t believe all that the prophets said about the Christ – Messiah – anointed one – having to suffer before entering glory.”
Because the two were hospitable to the stranger, they got a step-by-step Bible study about Jesus. Today we would have to buy those lessons on compact discs to play through the car audio system on long trips. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the speed of the walkers didn’t pick up a bit as the salvation story was unfolded for them. Anyway, soon the two were at their destination.
They insisted that the stranger stop for a meal with them before continuing. As good hosts they offered the food to the guest first. And as was surely the custom, the guest took the loaf of bread and prayed the grace, “Blessed be the Lord our God who gives grain for bread.” Then he broke it. At that point, the stranger-become-guest became host because the two immediately knew who it was who had traveled with them, illumined their faith, and gave himself for them.
“Weren’t our hearts on fire when he spoke to us along the road and when he explained the scriptures for us?”
For Cleopas and friend, everything had changed. Just as the risen Christ was no longer in the tomb but abroad in the world, so Christ was no longer confined in the tomb of their despair and disappointment. He was abroad in their lives. He disappeared from their sight when he took, blessed, and broke the bread. He had taken up residence in their hearts. His absence is now explained by his presence in them.
Every teacher has had students about whom he or she have wished that they had a USB port that the teacher could plug into and download the information into the student’s brain. In a sense, that is what Jesus did with Cleopas and friend. He gave them a concise history of God’s activity that led up to Christ’s incarnation into the world, his ministry with the world, his crucifixion by the world, and his resurrection for the world.
If you attend a Good Friday worship here, you always get a list of readings for what is called the Great Vigil of Easter. The readings begin with creation. The next ones are Noah’s deliverance by the ark from the flood, Isaac’s near sacrifice and the substitutionary ram, and Israel’s deliverance from Egypt at the Red Sea. Moving on to the prophets, Isaiah offers words of salvation for all, Proverbs personifies wisdom, and Ezekiel promises a new heart, a new spirit, and indeed new life to the valley of dry bones, Zephaniah closes out with the promise that God’s people will be gathered. It is after those nine readings that the liturgy shifts to a gospel announcement of Christ’s resurrection. Every Holy Saturday we have the opportunity relive God’s plan of salvation for humanity and experience it fulfilled in the resurrection of Christ. That salvation story is what Jesus recounted to the Emmaus walkers. And it burned within them until the fuse was ignited with Jesus’ self-disclosure through breaking the bread.
We have been through the events of holy week and Easter morning. Are our hearts burning within us like Cleopas and friend, or did we miss ignition and our hearts, our faith have, gone cold, burned out?
God’s love for us through creation, promise, fulfillment, ministry, crucifixion and resurrection is an unquenchable fire burning within us if properly fanned into flame through the working of the Holy Spirit. Does Easter only visit us and pass on it’s way until another year passes? Or is Easter a guest that we have welcomed, invited in, hosted, and become changed by?
(1) Warren, Rick. The Purpose-Driven Church: Growth without Compromising Your Message & Mission. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1995), 257, 260-61.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Luke 24:13-35; Acts 2:14a, 36-41; 1 Peter 1:17-23
Saddleback Church in California is famous for its hospitality; the church welcomes strangers as guests instead of as visitors. “The term ‘visitor’ implies that they’re not here to stay,” writes pastor Rick Warren in his book The Purpose-Driven Church. “The term ‘guest’ implies that this is someone for whom you do everything you can to make them feel comfortable.” For a guest, we do everything. For a visitor, not so much.
Saddleback staffer Erik Rees leads a “guest services team” that’s in charge of first impressions — they’re determined to be good hosts to the strangers who come to them. Traffic attendants are trained to welcome people and point them toward the worship venues, greeters are positioned along walkways to welcome people and answer questions, and ushers are in place in the worship venues so they can respond to people and seat them. The goal is that each guest will receive at least three greetings before sitting down in worship.
These first impressions are critical. Warren believes that guests “are deciding whether or not to come back long before the pastor speaks.”(1)
“Hospitality.” Those of you who were here in the fall of 2001, might remember that the word “hospitality” was used frequently. That was the first key word about our new building. It was what people first sensed from the facility itself. And it was what people needed to sense from those of us who were already here.
As Warren says, we will do anything necessary to make a guest comfortable and at home. Visitors, on the other hand, are often little more than tourists. No slight is intended. And we mean to treat visitors as hospitably as guests. But we know, and you know, that your family members visiting from out of town are happy to join you in worship, but they are here just a few days and will return to their own locations and schedules. Guests may stay around.
The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews admonished his readers, “Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests, because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2 ceb). That would certainly describe the situation with the two travelers on the road to Emmaus that first evening of Easter. Jesus plays multiple roles. He is the unrecognized stranger. He becomes the welcomed guest. And then, offered the honor of starting the meal, he becomes the host, at which point he was recognized. That’s when everything changed.
You will remember that the two people walking to Emmaus placed great hope in the Nazarene whom the religious leaders had handed over to be sentenced to death. And they didn’t know what to make of the story the women told about Jesus being alive or the report that friends had brought that the tomb was empty.
Like the tomb, their lives were now empty. Their hopes, once lifted very high, had been smashed with the hammer blows nailing Jesus to the cross. There was nothing more to do than go and reclaim some pieces of their former lives, endure the ‘I told you so’ taunts of their family and neighbors. Some were headed back to fishing boats, to a tax office, to missed appointments, to abandoned families, and to mercifully deadening routines. That will teach us to dream, they thought to themselves.
The question which had not yet occurred to them is this: For all we have been through, how are we different and what does that mean for the future? It was too early for that. They were spent physically, emotionally, spiritually, and probably financially as well. They were in a stupor when the stranger traveling at a reasonable gait made to pass them, but noticing their blank stares, inquired about what they pondering in such a doleful manner.
The two travelers could have told the stranger to mind his own business. Grief and confusion often erupt that way. We don’t want to admit that we are flummoxed, so we shut others out. Instead the two invite the stranger into their misery, thinking that he hasn’t a clue to what has been going on. The stranger, it turns out, knows more than they do, at least with respect to the background. “You mean that you didn’t believe all that the prophets said about the Christ – Messiah – anointed one – having to suffer before entering glory.”
Because the two were hospitable to the stranger, they got a step-by-step Bible study about Jesus. Today we would have to buy those lessons on compact discs to play through the car audio system on long trips. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the speed of the walkers didn’t pick up a bit as the salvation story was unfolded for them. Anyway, soon the two were at their destination.
They insisted that the stranger stop for a meal with them before continuing. As good hosts they offered the food to the guest first. And as was surely the custom, the guest took the loaf of bread and prayed the grace, “Blessed be the Lord our God who gives grain for bread.” Then he broke it. At that point, the stranger-become-guest became host because the two immediately knew who it was who had traveled with them, illumined their faith, and gave himself for them.
“Weren’t our hearts on fire when he spoke to us along the road and when he explained the scriptures for us?”
For Cleopas and friend, everything had changed. Just as the risen Christ was no longer in the tomb but abroad in the world, so Christ was no longer confined in the tomb of their despair and disappointment. He was abroad in their lives. He disappeared from their sight when he took, blessed, and broke the bread. He had taken up residence in their hearts. His absence is now explained by his presence in them.
Every teacher has had students about whom he or she have wished that they had a USB port that the teacher could plug into and download the information into the student’s brain. In a sense, that is what Jesus did with Cleopas and friend. He gave them a concise history of God’s activity that led up to Christ’s incarnation into the world, his ministry with the world, his crucifixion by the world, and his resurrection for the world.
If you attend a Good Friday worship here, you always get a list of readings for what is called the Great Vigil of Easter. The readings begin with creation. The next ones are Noah’s deliverance by the ark from the flood, Isaac’s near sacrifice and the substitutionary ram, and Israel’s deliverance from Egypt at the Red Sea. Moving on to the prophets, Isaiah offers words of salvation for all, Proverbs personifies wisdom, and Ezekiel promises a new heart, a new spirit, and indeed new life to the valley of dry bones, Zephaniah closes out with the promise that God’s people will be gathered. It is after those nine readings that the liturgy shifts to a gospel announcement of Christ’s resurrection. Every Holy Saturday we have the opportunity relive God’s plan of salvation for humanity and experience it fulfilled in the resurrection of Christ. That salvation story is what Jesus recounted to the Emmaus walkers. And it burned within them until the fuse was ignited with Jesus’ self-disclosure through breaking the bread.
We have been through the events of holy week and Easter morning. Are our hearts burning within us like Cleopas and friend, or did we miss ignition and our hearts, our faith have, gone cold, burned out?
God’s love for us through creation, promise, fulfillment, ministry, crucifixion and resurrection is an unquenchable fire burning within us if properly fanned into flame through the working of the Holy Spirit. Does Easter only visit us and pass on it’s way until another year passes? Or is Easter a guest that we have welcomed, invited in, hosted, and become changed by?
(1) Warren, Rick. The Purpose-Driven Church: Growth without Compromising Your Message & Mission. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1995), 257, 260-61.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
More Than a Name
More Than a Name
Acts 2:14a, 22-32; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
We Presbyterian Christians have a tendency to keep our faith in our heads. That is, we often are intellectual about our faith, as opposed to being emotional. It is a tension that needs to be balanced. When we come to church, we leave neither our brains nor our hearts at the door. God calls us to be complete people, fully using all the gifts, talents, and capabilities of our being.
A second tendency that we Presbyterian Christians have is to keep our faith private, to ourselves. It is enough that people see us coming to church. Beyond that faith is personal, private, protected, secluded, guarded. We are uncomfortable with the cocktail party approach to faith where someone comes up to us and starts talking about their faith. We don’t do that, and don’t really want someone else to do it to us.
Christian spirituality comes in a wide variety of styles, from the faith that erupts like a volcano to the faith that glows gently within a person. In between are many kinds of faith experiences that are shared more or less publicly.
Our Quaker sisters and brothers have other traditions besides the one of sitting in silence to wait for a word prompted by the Spirit. One of those is a shared accountability for each other’s faith. Several Friends will sit with another who is trying to discern a personal call or to work through an issue of faith. There are several questions which they employ to prompt reflection and prayer. One of those questions is, “When did God become more than a name to you?”
For most of us that isn’t as easy a question as it sounds. Growing up we perhaps heard God’s name in the context of Christmas and Easter, in mealtime or bedtime prayers, in the Pledge of Allegiance. Or perhaps we heard it abused and taken in vain. All that is still pretty head oriented. The question begs, appropriately, “When did the name of God become personal?” When did it become more than a vocabulary word, more than “dog” spelled backwards?
That personal side of the question is even more pointed if we change it to, “When did Jesus become more than a name to you?” In the afterglow of Easter, the question has no intention of going away. We can say with our heads, “Jesus is the Word become flesh.” We can say that intellectually, but the import of the statement is personal, relational. It has to do with flesh and blood and shared communal space, not with symbolic characters printed on paper or pixilated on LCD screens. If the Word became flesh, then there are eyes looking into our eyes, fingers seeking to hold our hands, lips ready to speak peace to our tempest-tossed souls.
When did Jesus become more than a name to you? When did the phrase, “Christ is risen,” become more than a song lyric?
Whether by gradual understanding or by lightning bolt experience somewhere along your spiritual journey your spirit arrived at the realization that “Jesus” was more than the name of someone who lived two thousand years ago.
Indeed, God and Jesus are more than names. Moses pressed God for a name, much as we might be asked for identification at the airport or bank. God was hesitant to give out a name. God didn’t want to be condensed into a small word. God cannot be defined by a few random vowels and consonants. And if God could be so defined, the languages of humanity would even more confuse the issue. Who is God? Elohim, Jehovah, Yahweh, Dieu, Gott, Dios, Deus, God.
And God did not want to use a given name, as all the people who followed pantheons of gods knew their gods by names that often described their function or idiosyncracies. God was bigger than that. God could not be contained by symbols and sounds. At some point God becomes more than all that. God in community, holy in one, becomes personal. God who creates becomes personal, the Spirit who empowers becomes personal, the risen Jesus who saves becomes personal.
The excerpt from Peter’s Pentecost sermon pushes the question. The promised Spirit has arrived in full-force in the midst of the Pentecost Festival. People from the Jewish diaspora have made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They may have had no knowledge of the events which led up to Jesus’ execution and what happened at the garden tomb on the third day. Or they may have heard the stories of Jesus’ death and resurrection and found them unbelievable. To them, Jesus was just a name.
But to Peter, to the ten other original disciples, to Mathias, to Nicodemus, to Simon, to a Samaritan woman at Sychar, to a man born blind who gained his sight, to Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus, to Mary Magdalene and her friends, Jesus was more than a name. They were witnesses.
“All of you listen up!” Peter says. “This Jesus, whom you crucified, is more than just a name. He is more than a prophet and a good man. He is the Messiah, the Holy One proclaimed by David and our other prophets. This is the Savior for whom we have been waiting for generations. Every single one of you is a witness to this truth. Whether you saw Jesus with your own eyes or are now hearing the good news for the very first time, you are a witness to what I am telling you today.”(1)
Peter invites them to know Jesus as more than a name. The phrase that Paul and the early Gentile Church later on used is “God ... gave him a name above all names” (Philippians 2:9). Peter says, “Let Jesus be more than a name. Let Christ be your Savior. Hear with your heart as well as your ears. Then you can proclaim Jesus as Lord and know the joy of Christ’s amazing saving grace.”(2)
It is hard for us to imagine the passion and power of Peter’s Spirit-filled preaching. We have heard it again and again. Yada, yada, yada. But what was it like the first time you heard it? What was it like the first time you heard it with more than your ears, your brain, your intellect? We have no idea how large the crowd was to whom Peter was speaking. All we know is that God brought about 3,000 people into the community that day.
Imagine all of Waverly crowded into the high school football stadium – on the field as well as in the bleachers. Peter tells the Good News of Christ, the truth of his death and resurrection, and 3,000 people – over half the crowd – are convicted with the belief that Jesus is more than a name. Their hearts were pierced, their souls cut to the quick. Regardless of language and culture, these people got the message – Jesus isn’t just a passing news item. He is more than his name. He is Lord and Savior.
Easter is not a one shot deal. Easter is more than one day. Easter is a movement, indeed, a revolution that frees the soul from the oppression of sin and the oblivion that it causes which palls over human life. Easter broke forth in the lives of people who returned to their homelands where they shared it with family and friends, creating little incubators of faith just waiting for Paul, Barnabas, Silas, Timothy and other first generation apostles. There was no earthly way Jesus was going to be put back into the tomb. The resurrection was becoming epidemic.
Is Jesus more than a name to you? Is your Easter faith filled with such an awe that you see the world differently? There are yellow flowers popping up in lawn outside. Tomorrow they will be white puff balls. The world sees them as weeds, but a child sees them as clusters of fairies that we can send dancing on a breeze with a quick puff of air. Is Jesus just a name, like so many other names spoken by newscasters and written about by journalists? Or is Jesus the Savior who has changed your world, your life, your whole being? Every time we hear the Good News of Jesus Christ, it is Pentecost all over again. Are your hearts burning within you?
The question is not simply, “When did Jesus become more than a name to you?” but rather, “How is Jesus more than a name to you right now, in this moment, today, at this time in your life?”
(1) Kathleen Long Bostrom, “Acts 2:141, 22-32: Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) Year A, volume 2, p. 378.
(2) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Acts 2:14a, 22-32; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
We Presbyterian Christians have a tendency to keep our faith in our heads. That is, we often are intellectual about our faith, as opposed to being emotional. It is a tension that needs to be balanced. When we come to church, we leave neither our brains nor our hearts at the door. God calls us to be complete people, fully using all the gifts, talents, and capabilities of our being.
A second tendency that we Presbyterian Christians have is to keep our faith private, to ourselves. It is enough that people see us coming to church. Beyond that faith is personal, private, protected, secluded, guarded. We are uncomfortable with the cocktail party approach to faith where someone comes up to us and starts talking about their faith. We don’t do that, and don’t really want someone else to do it to us.
Christian spirituality comes in a wide variety of styles, from the faith that erupts like a volcano to the faith that glows gently within a person. In between are many kinds of faith experiences that are shared more or less publicly.
Our Quaker sisters and brothers have other traditions besides the one of sitting in silence to wait for a word prompted by the Spirit. One of those is a shared accountability for each other’s faith. Several Friends will sit with another who is trying to discern a personal call or to work through an issue of faith. There are several questions which they employ to prompt reflection and prayer. One of those questions is, “When did God become more than a name to you?”
For most of us that isn’t as easy a question as it sounds. Growing up we perhaps heard God’s name in the context of Christmas and Easter, in mealtime or bedtime prayers, in the Pledge of Allegiance. Or perhaps we heard it abused and taken in vain. All that is still pretty head oriented. The question begs, appropriately, “When did the name of God become personal?” When did it become more than a vocabulary word, more than “dog” spelled backwards?
That personal side of the question is even more pointed if we change it to, “When did Jesus become more than a name to you?” In the afterglow of Easter, the question has no intention of going away. We can say with our heads, “Jesus is the Word become flesh.” We can say that intellectually, but the import of the statement is personal, relational. It has to do with flesh and blood and shared communal space, not with symbolic characters printed on paper or pixilated on LCD screens. If the Word became flesh, then there are eyes looking into our eyes, fingers seeking to hold our hands, lips ready to speak peace to our tempest-tossed souls.
When did Jesus become more than a name to you? When did the phrase, “Christ is risen,” become more than a song lyric?
Whether by gradual understanding or by lightning bolt experience somewhere along your spiritual journey your spirit arrived at the realization that “Jesus” was more than the name of someone who lived two thousand years ago.
Indeed, God and Jesus are more than names. Moses pressed God for a name, much as we might be asked for identification at the airport or bank. God was hesitant to give out a name. God didn’t want to be condensed into a small word. God cannot be defined by a few random vowels and consonants. And if God could be so defined, the languages of humanity would even more confuse the issue. Who is God? Elohim, Jehovah, Yahweh, Dieu, Gott, Dios, Deus, God.
And God did not want to use a given name, as all the people who followed pantheons of gods knew their gods by names that often described their function or idiosyncracies. God was bigger than that. God could not be contained by symbols and sounds. At some point God becomes more than all that. God in community, holy in one, becomes personal. God who creates becomes personal, the Spirit who empowers becomes personal, the risen Jesus who saves becomes personal.
The excerpt from Peter’s Pentecost sermon pushes the question. The promised Spirit has arrived in full-force in the midst of the Pentecost Festival. People from the Jewish diaspora have made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They may have had no knowledge of the events which led up to Jesus’ execution and what happened at the garden tomb on the third day. Or they may have heard the stories of Jesus’ death and resurrection and found them unbelievable. To them, Jesus was just a name.
But to Peter, to the ten other original disciples, to Mathias, to Nicodemus, to Simon, to a Samaritan woman at Sychar, to a man born blind who gained his sight, to Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus, to Mary Magdalene and her friends, Jesus was more than a name. They were witnesses.
“All of you listen up!” Peter says. “This Jesus, whom you crucified, is more than just a name. He is more than a prophet and a good man. He is the Messiah, the Holy One proclaimed by David and our other prophets. This is the Savior for whom we have been waiting for generations. Every single one of you is a witness to this truth. Whether you saw Jesus with your own eyes or are now hearing the good news for the very first time, you are a witness to what I am telling you today.”(1)
Peter invites them to know Jesus as more than a name. The phrase that Paul and the early Gentile Church later on used is “God ... gave him a name above all names” (Philippians 2:9). Peter says, “Let Jesus be more than a name. Let Christ be your Savior. Hear with your heart as well as your ears. Then you can proclaim Jesus as Lord and know the joy of Christ’s amazing saving grace.”(2)
It is hard for us to imagine the passion and power of Peter’s Spirit-filled preaching. We have heard it again and again. Yada, yada, yada. But what was it like the first time you heard it? What was it like the first time you heard it with more than your ears, your brain, your intellect? We have no idea how large the crowd was to whom Peter was speaking. All we know is that God brought about 3,000 people into the community that day.
Imagine all of Waverly crowded into the high school football stadium – on the field as well as in the bleachers. Peter tells the Good News of Christ, the truth of his death and resurrection, and 3,000 people – over half the crowd – are convicted with the belief that Jesus is more than a name. Their hearts were pierced, their souls cut to the quick. Regardless of language and culture, these people got the message – Jesus isn’t just a passing news item. He is more than his name. He is Lord and Savior.
Easter is not a one shot deal. Easter is more than one day. Easter is a movement, indeed, a revolution that frees the soul from the oppression of sin and the oblivion that it causes which palls over human life. Easter broke forth in the lives of people who returned to their homelands where they shared it with family and friends, creating little incubators of faith just waiting for Paul, Barnabas, Silas, Timothy and other first generation apostles. There was no earthly way Jesus was going to be put back into the tomb. The resurrection was becoming epidemic.
Is Jesus more than a name to you? Is your Easter faith filled with such an awe that you see the world differently? There are yellow flowers popping up in lawn outside. Tomorrow they will be white puff balls. The world sees them as weeds, but a child sees them as clusters of fairies that we can send dancing on a breeze with a quick puff of air. Is Jesus just a name, like so many other names spoken by newscasters and written about by journalists? Or is Jesus the Savior who has changed your world, your life, your whole being? Every time we hear the Good News of Jesus Christ, it is Pentecost all over again. Are your hearts burning within you?
The question is not simply, “When did Jesus become more than a name to you?” but rather, “How is Jesus more than a name to you right now, in this moment, today, at this time in your life?”
(1) Kathleen Long Bostrom, “Acts 2:141, 22-32: Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) Year A, volume 2, p. 378.
(2) Ibid.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com.
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Deliverance
Deliverance
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21; John 20:1-18; Romans 3:6-11; Psalm 114
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the new Exodus. It is the ultimate exodus, the exodus to end all exoduses, just as everything Jesus did was the ultimate thing, just as his death on the cross was the ultimate sacrifice for once and for all time to accomplish what all the repeated and periodic sacrifices could not do. Easter is the final exodus for us who believe in the empty tomb and the risen Christ.
Remember that the Israelites – the descendants of Jacob – went to Egypt for a very good reason. There was a famine, they were hungry, and there was food in Egypt. Why was there food in Egypt? Because God had given a dream to Pharaoh and the interpretation of the dream to Jacob’s son Joseph. Why was Joseph in Egypt? Because his ten older brothers despised him and had sold him into slavery, telling their father that he had been killed by an animal. After a number of difficulties Joseph had interpreted several dreams which caused him to be noticed. He was sent for when Pharaoh was tormented by his dream and none of his advisors could interpret it.
Pharaoh’s dream was about seven years of bumper crops and seven years of poor crops. Pharaoh named Joseph to manage the public works program of stockpiling the extra grain for seven years and then disbursing it to meet the needs of people in the next seven years.
Jacob’s family was in need of grain. They went to Egypt to get some. Joseph recognized them and confronted them with his identity. Once they were reconciled, the brothers brought their entire families to Egypt, where they and their descendants prospered long after Joseph’s death.
But the time came when a new Pharaoh knew nothing of Joseph and only knew that the immigrant Hebrews were prospering to the disadvantage of the Egyptians. He caused them to be enslaved in order to make bricks to build palaces, temples, and tombs. It was hard, monotonous work, work that became increasingly harder as the oppression increased. Then God heard the cries of agony of the people and determined to free them.
Our stories are not a whole lot different. We too have lived oppressed lives, enslaved by powers and principalities that weighed heavier and heavier on us. The enslavements were many: addictions of many kinds – life-sapping substances, behaviors that demean others, gambling, even work. We have been slaves to broken relationships, faulty hopes, lost opportunities. Some of the things we have been enslaved by were good and honest activities that drew us in until they warped our understanding of life and wholeness. Those were the times when we desperately needed an exodus.
And we found it. Something happened that turned us around, set us free. It may have been a sudden change in the situation, or a family member or caring friend took us by the hand and guided us out of muck and mire of our life and helped us get reoriented and get a fresh start. We made the crossing of the sea, probably hounded all the way by the terrors that chained us. We thought we would never make it, that the past would catch us and bring us down again. But at the last moment a crucial opening happened and we were free.
But it wasn’t long until the bloom was off the rosiness of our freedom. We didn’t immediately and automatically change into new beings with nothing going wrong. Change wasn’t easy. We had to learn new ways, and it took time, inordinate time. We complained bitterly and railed against anything and everything. The old ways were familiar, the new ways were stressful and uncertain. Sometimes we wanted to go back. It had been bad, but it had been good in an odd way.
Nothing seemed to go the way we wanted it to go. We were thirsty and we cried out for a drink. Then we nearly drowned in the water that came. We were hungry and then food came and we overate thinking that there would never be any more. There was sustenance day in and day out and we got quickly bored with it. We complained about the heat and then the cold. We complained about the gray days and then the never-ending sunshine. There never seemed to be an appealing middle ground, a happy medium. And we all probably couldn’t agree on one anyway.
The promise of a future, of a land flowing with milk and honey seemed so distant, so improbable, so unlikely. We were enslaved in a new way and to a different master.
Once we got to the place we were told we were going to, things didn’t get all that much better. We had to toil to settle in and make our new found home ours. And it was so tempting at times just to fit in, to conform to the community, pal around with the people already there. That’s what they expected. When in Canaan, do as the Canaanites do. It made a lot of sense. Slowly we lost track of the noble ideals and sound practices which had we had been taught over the years by the generations who preceded us through the wilderness. We lost sight of God. We became embroiled in infighting. Surrounding powers overwhelmed us, and a new slavery was thrust upon us. We were uprooted, battered, bruised, beaten down, lost, alone.
Maybe all that sounds a bit melodramatic. But not only is that the story arc of the ancestors of the people out of whom Jesus came, that story arc is also ours. The details may vary. The depths and heights may not be as extreme, but the general flow is the way by which we get to Easter.
All that enslavement to sin and in sin and for sin is the weight that Jesus carried to the cross. The cross and the empty tomb is the exodus from the doomed-to-death old life into the new creation, the true promised land, the eternity which has only been at best a wispy dream.
We still go through the pain and misery of the wilderness. Withdrawal from the old ways, the old habits, is never easy. We say to ourselves:
Like Thomas, we want proof. Ah, wilderness. Will it be another forty years of wilderness?
For some, I am sure it will be. It doesn’t have to be that way. The cross and the empty tomb declare once and for all time: You are delivered. You are set free. The chains of sin are broken. Stop cowering. Stand erect and know that deliverance has happened. Jesus is risen, and so are you..
The empty tomb means that there will never have to be another time of enslavement. Sin and death no longer hold any threat over us. There is no longer any more wilderness of trying to do it on our own or in our own way. The empty tomb, like the Exodus, declare that God’s actions and God’s actions alone bring safety and freedom. We are never the authors of our own salvation, nor are we chosen for God’s gifts of grace because of any greatness in ourselves. We have been spoon-fed on the notion that we can be anything we wish to be; just dig in our heels, grit our teeth, and go for it. But it doesn’t work that way. Moses told the Israelites: “The Lord will fight for you. You just keep still.”
We are still very often chained to getting ahead – our own notion of success – under our own head of steam. Whatever victories we may experience – whatever escapes, exoduses, emancipations, freedom – are finally not a result of our own work at all, but are gifts from the God who desires our freedom, desires our resurrection, desires our ascent into the glorious new life which only a cross and an empty tomb can bring. And not just for any one of us. God’s will for good is for all of God’s children.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21; John 20:1-18; Romans 3:6-11; Psalm 114
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the new Exodus. It is the ultimate exodus, the exodus to end all exoduses, just as everything Jesus did was the ultimate thing, just as his death on the cross was the ultimate sacrifice for once and for all time to accomplish what all the repeated and periodic sacrifices could not do. Easter is the final exodus for us who believe in the empty tomb and the risen Christ.
Remember that the Israelites – the descendants of Jacob – went to Egypt for a very good reason. There was a famine, they were hungry, and there was food in Egypt. Why was there food in Egypt? Because God had given a dream to Pharaoh and the interpretation of the dream to Jacob’s son Joseph. Why was Joseph in Egypt? Because his ten older brothers despised him and had sold him into slavery, telling their father that he had been killed by an animal. After a number of difficulties Joseph had interpreted several dreams which caused him to be noticed. He was sent for when Pharaoh was tormented by his dream and none of his advisors could interpret it.
Pharaoh’s dream was about seven years of bumper crops and seven years of poor crops. Pharaoh named Joseph to manage the public works program of stockpiling the extra grain for seven years and then disbursing it to meet the needs of people in the next seven years.
Jacob’s family was in need of grain. They went to Egypt to get some. Joseph recognized them and confronted them with his identity. Once they were reconciled, the brothers brought their entire families to Egypt, where they and their descendants prospered long after Joseph’s death.
But the time came when a new Pharaoh knew nothing of Joseph and only knew that the immigrant Hebrews were prospering to the disadvantage of the Egyptians. He caused them to be enslaved in order to make bricks to build palaces, temples, and tombs. It was hard, monotonous work, work that became increasingly harder as the oppression increased. Then God heard the cries of agony of the people and determined to free them.
Our stories are not a whole lot different. We too have lived oppressed lives, enslaved by powers and principalities that weighed heavier and heavier on us. The enslavements were many: addictions of many kinds – life-sapping substances, behaviors that demean others, gambling, even work. We have been slaves to broken relationships, faulty hopes, lost opportunities. Some of the things we have been enslaved by were good and honest activities that drew us in until they warped our understanding of life and wholeness. Those were the times when we desperately needed an exodus.
And we found it. Something happened that turned us around, set us free. It may have been a sudden change in the situation, or a family member or caring friend took us by the hand and guided us out of muck and mire of our life and helped us get reoriented and get a fresh start. We made the crossing of the sea, probably hounded all the way by the terrors that chained us. We thought we would never make it, that the past would catch us and bring us down again. But at the last moment a crucial opening happened and we were free.
But it wasn’t long until the bloom was off the rosiness of our freedom. We didn’t immediately and automatically change into new beings with nothing going wrong. Change wasn’t easy. We had to learn new ways, and it took time, inordinate time. We complained bitterly and railed against anything and everything. The old ways were familiar, the new ways were stressful and uncertain. Sometimes we wanted to go back. It had been bad, but it had been good in an odd way.
Nothing seemed to go the way we wanted it to go. We were thirsty and we cried out for a drink. Then we nearly drowned in the water that came. We were hungry and then food came and we overate thinking that there would never be any more. There was sustenance day in and day out and we got quickly bored with it. We complained about the heat and then the cold. We complained about the gray days and then the never-ending sunshine. There never seemed to be an appealing middle ground, a happy medium. And we all probably couldn’t agree on one anyway.
The promise of a future, of a land flowing with milk and honey seemed so distant, so improbable, so unlikely. We were enslaved in a new way and to a different master.
Once we got to the place we were told we were going to, things didn’t get all that much better. We had to toil to settle in and make our new found home ours. And it was so tempting at times just to fit in, to conform to the community, pal around with the people already there. That’s what they expected. When in Canaan, do as the Canaanites do. It made a lot of sense. Slowly we lost track of the noble ideals and sound practices which had we had been taught over the years by the generations who preceded us through the wilderness. We lost sight of God. We became embroiled in infighting. Surrounding powers overwhelmed us, and a new slavery was thrust upon us. We were uprooted, battered, bruised, beaten down, lost, alone.
Maybe all that sounds a bit melodramatic. But not only is that the story arc of the ancestors of the people out of whom Jesus came, that story arc is also ours. The details may vary. The depths and heights may not be as extreme, but the general flow is the way by which we get to Easter.
All that enslavement to sin and in sin and for sin is the weight that Jesus carried to the cross. The cross and the empty tomb is the exodus from the doomed-to-death old life into the new creation, the true promised land, the eternity which has only been at best a wispy dream.
We still go through the pain and misery of the wilderness. Withdrawal from the old ways, the old habits, is never easy. We say to ourselves:
- It must be too good to be true.
- Why would God do that? After all, God must get his jollies condemning people not saving them.
- Why me? I’m not worthy saving.
- Why didn’t God do this sooner rather than later?
- Does salvation include ‘”them”?
- Will this really work? Will it last?
- There must be some fine print somewhere.
- What’s the quid pro quo?
Like Thomas, we want proof. Ah, wilderness. Will it be another forty years of wilderness?
For some, I am sure it will be. It doesn’t have to be that way. The cross and the empty tomb declare once and for all time: You are delivered. You are set free. The chains of sin are broken. Stop cowering. Stand erect and know that deliverance has happened. Jesus is risen, and so are you..
The empty tomb means that there will never have to be another time of enslavement. Sin and death no longer hold any threat over us. There is no longer any more wilderness of trying to do it on our own or in our own way. The empty tomb, like the Exodus, declare that God’s actions and God’s actions alone bring safety and freedom. We are never the authors of our own salvation, nor are we chosen for God’s gifts of grace because of any greatness in ourselves. We have been spoon-fed on the notion that we can be anything we wish to be; just dig in our heels, grit our teeth, and go for it. But it doesn’t work that way. Moses told the Israelites: “The Lord will fight for you. You just keep still.”
We are still very often chained to getting ahead – our own notion of success – under our own head of steam. Whatever victories we may experience – whatever escapes, exoduses, emancipations, freedom – are finally not a result of our own work at all, but are gifts from the God who desires our freedom, desires our resurrection, desires our ascent into the glorious new life which only a cross and an empty tomb can bring. And not just for any one of us. God’s will for good is for all of God’s children.
Sing to the Lord, for an overflowing victory!
Horse and rider he threw into the sea!
Sing to the Lord for a resurrection victory!Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
Sin and death God has banished forever!
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Which Way Is Up?
Which Way Is up?
Psalm 118:1-29; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Matthew 27:11-54
This past week marked the fiftieth anniversary of the well-known Disney song, “It’s a Small World.” We need a sequel: “It’s a short calendar.” Time seems to compress. Why, it was only yesterday.... Except yesterday was really a long time ago.
Speaking of a long time ago, do you remember the thrill as a child of marching into the sanctuary on Palm Sunday, waving the palm branches? How many of you wish you could to that today? After five Sundays of subdued Lenten discipline, we are all ready to break loose. We need a little celebration.
Except that Palm Sunday is not a rehearsal for Easter. So how are we to deal with it? Are we to suppress the joy? Are we supposed to rain on the Palm Sunday parade? After all, we know now the story comes out. It is a typical story line. We meet the characters, there is a conflict, the conflict takes a nasty turn, then the conflict is resolved. We know that, but the crowd that first Palm Sunday, hadn’t a clue what would happen in the next seven days.
The crowd seems to think that their Messiah has arrived – and if, as some scholars speculate, Pilate and his troops could have been entering the city through another gate – you can see how there might be some who were hoping Jesus would meet military force with divine force. Hosanna to the son of David. Hail to the one who comes to liberate the people!(1)
The conflict is set up. But the story doesn’t go according to “plan.” The triumphal entry is a momentary blip of excitement. Jesus doesn’t raise an army. He raises Cain. Jesus engages in several days of teaching and rabble rousing. According to Matthew’s telling of the story Jesus left the parade and immediately went to the Temple where he ran out the hucksters and the payday lenders. He already had a lot of black marks against him, but messing with the economy was the last straw for the people in power. He was betrayed, arrested, put through a sham trial, and executed. The one hailed as Son of David was accorded a place among the enemies of the state who were executed by the powers and principalities – both religious and secular. How does that reflect on the Palm Sunday victory parade? It is hardly more than photo op on Jesus’ journey to the cross.
We human beings are very good at grabbing the Palm Sunday celebrations of life and mistaking them for real victories. The real victories are disguised in surprising ways, ways that set our heads spinning, ways that turn things upside down. The eight days that begin today are a series of head-spinning reversals. By the end of the week we don’t know which way is up, which sets us up for one more massive reversal experienced in a variety of ways by those closest to Jesus. This roller coaster week ends with a transformational event of cataclysmic proportions.
Psalm 118 is about transformation. The psalmist recounts how things had changed for him:
Here’s a brief grammar lesson. A metaphor is a figure of speech which makes an implicit, implied or hidden comparison between two things or objects that are very different from each other but have some characteristics common between them. In other words, a resemblance of two different or contradictory objects is made based on a single characteristic or a set of common characteristics.
The reversal metaphor can be applied to this week we call “Holy.” Cries of “Hosanna” become chants of “Crucify him.” A joyous welcome turns into a jeering rejection. Jesus is transformed from an irksome busybody in the eyes of the religious establishment into a cancer that must be surgically removed to save the patient. Following the raising of Lazarus, high priest Caiaphas said, “It is better for you that one man die for the people rather than the whole nation be destroyed” (John 11:50) Yet reversal and transformation also go from the negative to the positive, for Jesus is transformed from rejected to risen, or more simply, from death to resurrection.
This 118th Psalm anticipates this. That is why it is frequently cited by the New Testament writers, and surely was echoed by many early Christian writers whose work never made into the canon of scripture. Matthew, Mark, Luke, Acts, and 1 Peter all have references the psalm’s verse 22:
The “Hosannas” of the entrance into Jerusalem are not the “Hurrays” that we might use for an Olympic athlete, or a political candidate or office holder, or some glad tiding of great joy. “Hosanna” is actually a prayer. It is the rough transcription of the urgent imperative, pleading Hebrew phrase, “Save us, we beseech you!” Little did the crowd know that that was exactly what Jesus would do, albeit not in the way they might have expected (another great reversal). So it is little wonder that what seemed like “Hurrays” quickly faded into the violent calls for death. The triumphal entry turns into a trial before Pilate. The disciples thoroughly fail Jesus, scattering to the four winds, with the only one plucky enough to stick around denying his relationship to Jesus three times.
We fail him, too. We are reticent to claim him as our Lord. We hesitate to seek the grand entrance into the realm of God’s rule so vividly evoked by the psalmist’s call for the doors of the Temple to be opened wide. Rather than boldly proclaiming Christ and walking confidently into the power of his Spirit that he offers us, we slink into the shadows of creation and deny him if not by words, then by action or lack of action.
The “Hurray” fades from our lips. Surely the more sober prayer, “Save us,” is more appropriate. Save us form our sins. Save us from our indifference. Save us from our own failures to follow Jesus. Turn our worlds upside down and help us welcome the Christ into our lives a little more completely.
Anyone who in heart and mind accompanies Jesus through the week to come will find a world turned upside down. You will see the hand of God in all that follows in the story, and you will join the psalmist in singing at the top of your lungs:
(1) Bob Cornwall, “Gathering Voices, The Thoughtful Christian Blog,” http://blog.thethoughtfulchristian.com/2014/04/triumphal-processions-and-rejected-stones-a-reflection-for-palm-sunday.html? Posted Tuesday, April 08, 2014 at 05:50 AM.
(2) Stephen Farris, “Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 – Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, Volume 2, p. 149.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
Psalm 118:1-29; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Matthew 27:11-54
This past week marked the fiftieth anniversary of the well-known Disney song, “It’s a Small World.” We need a sequel: “It’s a short calendar.” Time seems to compress. Why, it was only yesterday.... Except yesterday was really a long time ago.
Speaking of a long time ago, do you remember the thrill as a child of marching into the sanctuary on Palm Sunday, waving the palm branches? How many of you wish you could to that today? After five Sundays of subdued Lenten discipline, we are all ready to break loose. We need a little celebration.
Except that Palm Sunday is not a rehearsal for Easter. So how are we to deal with it? Are we to suppress the joy? Are we supposed to rain on the Palm Sunday parade? After all, we know now the story comes out. It is a typical story line. We meet the characters, there is a conflict, the conflict takes a nasty turn, then the conflict is resolved. We know that, but the crowd that first Palm Sunday, hadn’t a clue what would happen in the next seven days.
The crowd seems to think that their Messiah has arrived – and if, as some scholars speculate, Pilate and his troops could have been entering the city through another gate – you can see how there might be some who were hoping Jesus would meet military force with divine force. Hosanna to the son of David. Hail to the one who comes to liberate the people!(1)
The conflict is set up. But the story doesn’t go according to “plan.” The triumphal entry is a momentary blip of excitement. Jesus doesn’t raise an army. He raises Cain. Jesus engages in several days of teaching and rabble rousing. According to Matthew’s telling of the story Jesus left the parade and immediately went to the Temple where he ran out the hucksters and the payday lenders. He already had a lot of black marks against him, but messing with the economy was the last straw for the people in power. He was betrayed, arrested, put through a sham trial, and executed. The one hailed as Son of David was accorded a place among the enemies of the state who were executed by the powers and principalities – both religious and secular. How does that reflect on the Palm Sunday victory parade? It is hardly more than photo op on Jesus’ journey to the cross.
We human beings are very good at grabbing the Palm Sunday celebrations of life and mistaking them for real victories. The real victories are disguised in surprising ways, ways that set our heads spinning, ways that turn things upside down. The eight days that begin today are a series of head-spinning reversals. By the end of the week we don’t know which way is up, which sets us up for one more massive reversal experienced in a variety of ways by those closest to Jesus. This roller coaster week ends with a transformational event of cataclysmic proportions.
Psalm 118 is about transformation. The psalmist recounts how things had changed for him:
In tight circumstances, I cried out to the Lord.From that depth of need, the psalmist concludes with a call for praise and thanksgiving:
The Lord answered me with wide open spaces.
Give thanks to the Lord because he is good,The psalmist had experienced a transformation from defeat to victory:
because he faithful love lasts forever.
I thank you because you answered me,When we contrast the words of the psalmist with the details of the last week, indeed the last day, of Jesus’ ministry, the psalm, in the words of Stephen Farris(2), becomes a metaphor for the magnificent reversal that takes place in the passion of Jesus Christ. And so it is also a metaphor for the experience of all those who trust in him.
because you were my saving help.
Here’s a brief grammar lesson. A metaphor is a figure of speech which makes an implicit, implied or hidden comparison between two things or objects that are very different from each other but have some characteristics common between them. In other words, a resemblance of two different or contradictory objects is made based on a single characteristic or a set of common characteristics.
The reversal metaphor can be applied to this week we call “Holy.” Cries of “Hosanna” become chants of “Crucify him.” A joyous welcome turns into a jeering rejection. Jesus is transformed from an irksome busybody in the eyes of the religious establishment into a cancer that must be surgically removed to save the patient. Following the raising of Lazarus, high priest Caiaphas said, “It is better for you that one man die for the people rather than the whole nation be destroyed” (John 11:50) Yet reversal and transformation also go from the negative to the positive, for Jesus is transformed from rejected to risen, or more simply, from death to resurrection.
This 118th Psalm anticipates this. That is why it is frequently cited by the New Testament writers, and surely was echoed by many early Christian writers whose work never made into the canon of scripture. Matthew, Mark, Luke, Acts, and 1 Peter all have references the psalm’s verse 22:
The stone rejected by the buildersThe early church used this image as a metaphor both for the resurrection and for the establishment of the church founded on the life of the one who is both rejected and raised.
is now the main foundation stone!
The “Hosannas” of the entrance into Jerusalem are not the “Hurrays” that we might use for an Olympic athlete, or a political candidate or office holder, or some glad tiding of great joy. “Hosanna” is actually a prayer. It is the rough transcription of the urgent imperative, pleading Hebrew phrase, “Save us, we beseech you!” Little did the crowd know that that was exactly what Jesus would do, albeit not in the way they might have expected (another great reversal). So it is little wonder that what seemed like “Hurrays” quickly faded into the violent calls for death. The triumphal entry turns into a trial before Pilate. The disciples thoroughly fail Jesus, scattering to the four winds, with the only one plucky enough to stick around denying his relationship to Jesus three times.
We fail him, too. We are reticent to claim him as our Lord. We hesitate to seek the grand entrance into the realm of God’s rule so vividly evoked by the psalmist’s call for the doors of the Temple to be opened wide. Rather than boldly proclaiming Christ and walking confidently into the power of his Spirit that he offers us, we slink into the shadows of creation and deny him if not by words, then by action or lack of action.
The “Hurray” fades from our lips. Surely the more sober prayer, “Save us,” is more appropriate. Save us form our sins. Save us from our indifference. Save us from our own failures to follow Jesus. Turn our worlds upside down and help us welcome the Christ into our lives a little more completely.
Anyone who in heart and mind accompanies Jesus through the week to come will find a world turned upside down. You will see the hand of God in all that follows in the story, and you will join the psalmist in singing at the top of your lungs:
Give thanks to the Lord because he is good,
because his faithful love lasts forever.
(1) Bob Cornwall, “Gathering Voices, The Thoughtful Christian Blog,” http://blog.thethoughtfulchristian.com/2014/04/triumphal-processions-and-rejected-stones-a-reflection-for-palm-sunday.html? Posted Tuesday, April 08, 2014 at 05:50 AM.
(2) Stephen Farris, “Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 – Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), Year A, Volume 2, p. 149.
Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright 2014 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.
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