The Question Within the Question
Rev. James Hawley 7/25/2010
Luke 11:1-13
Which of you, when asked one question, listen for another?
It happens often with children. They ask many questions, questions like “what happens when a meteor comes through the roof?” Or, “If an alligator came into the dining room could we keep it?” Or maybe they wonder what happens if the sun fails to rise one day or how far it is to McCook if you have to walk. Whatever the case may be, often we are asked questions that have answers, but the answer is not really the point. The alligator question might just be natural curiosity, or it may reflect a yearning for a pet of some kind. The meteor question is easy to answer, but the real issue may be a sense of insecurity around the forces of nature. The question about McCook may have something to do with the loud crash you heard a short time ago. Whatever it is, however, the immediate question is seldom at the heart of the matter. What is really at issue is the question within the question.
The disciples watched Jesus pray. Watching Jesus pray must be like watching Phil Mickelson play golf or Arthur Rubinstein play the piano. The Carly Simon song comes to mind. Nobody Does it Better. So the disciples are understandably in awe of Jesus and his relationship with God. The text does not tell us—was Jesus praying aloud? If so, were the disciples in earshot? Or was he in silent prayer? An interesting question, I think, which the scripture does not answer. But the fact that the disciples then asked Jesus to “teach them to pray” as John taught his disciples suggests that they were not able simply to mimic Jesus’ prayers. They wanted lessons. Advice. And Jesus answers their request directly.
The “Lord’s Prayer”, as tradition has termed it, can be found in two places in the Bible. Here and as part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in Matthew. The text is different in each of these places and neither is the text that we commonly recite in church. Matthew is the closest, in the Revised Standard Version, but it lacks the doxology—“for Thine is the Kingdom and the Power of the Glory forever.” Luke’s version is a bit more spare.
There are essentially five petitions in Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer and, in keeping with Luke’s interest in linking both the former and the newer covenants together, the prayer can be understood as a distillation of the Ten Commandments. The five petitions are: 1) The holiness of God’s name. 2) the primacy of God’s kingdom. 3) The dependency of the creation on the creator 4) the necessity of forgiveness 5) the necessity of recognizing evil and steering clear of it. The first three petitions bring to mind the first four commandments and their emphasis on the absoluteness of God and the need to not have other gods or to take the Lord’s name in vain. The remaining petitions invoke the various “thou shalt nots” of the commandments. Essentially, forgiveness is the foundation of the community and the various “evils” which are itemized in the Old Testament are here lumped together as “Temptation” and “evil” which God shall help us to avoid. As Jesus’ followers were all Jews, at this point in the story, we may safely assume that there is nothing new here. No ground breaking insight. The prayer simply reiterates to Jesus’ followers the Jewish law in which they have been living all along.
But most of this Lukan text is not concerned with the prayer itself. It is concerned with the extended story about the neighbors. Therefore, we may conclude that Jesus’ principle interest is not in the words of the prayer itself, but in the question within the question that the disciples ask. This is a common practice for Jesus in Luke as we have seen. Jesus’ stories are not generally designed to introduce a new idea into people’s heads. Jesus’ stories draw out of people the things they already know to be true but may have conveniently forgotten. The young ruler knows the greatest commandment. The Pharisee is able to identify who was neighbor to the beaten man. Simon the Pharisee understands which debtor would be more loving. So perhaps the disciples already know how to pray, if by that we mean they can open their mouths and words will come out. What they may not know is whether their prayers are worth anything. They know how to pray, but they do not know what prayers work. What, they ultimately want to know, must they do to get God’s attention? I imagine a scene in which the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray, he answers with this prayer, and then goes back to his book or whatever he is doing. I see the disciples standing around, looking each other, kicking the dirt. “Jesus,” they say. “So…that’s it then? That will do it?” They are asking Jesus how to pray because they are afraid that their prayers are not any good. They are afraid that God does not hear their prayers. They are afraid of what will happen to them if they pray poorly. Under it all, the disciples are afraid that God may not actually care about them.
So Jesus tells them a story about a grumpy old man who has gone to bed and does not want to be bothered. With this character I can totally relate. But he is bothered—he is bothered by a neighbor who needs some food. The neighbor does not exactly say I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down, but he does persist. And so, just to get rid of him, the neighbor gets out of bed and gives the man what he is asking for.
As Amy Jo talked about two weeks ago with the story of the Good Samaritan, it was quite popular in the early centuries of the Church to allegorize Jesus’ stories. An allegory is a story within which the characters and events have a one to one relationship with real life counterparts. Have you read “Pilgrim’s Progress” by John Bunyan? This story was written in 1678 and is an allegory of the Christian’s life (The main character is named “Christian”) through hardship and peril to end finally at eternity. Perhaps the most famous allegory is one that the Greek philosopher Plato tells in his dialogue The Republic. It is called the allegory of the cave. Plato tells the story of persons chained in a cave unable to see anything but shadows of things passing by behind them. A light casts the shadows. As the people in the cave know no better, they presume the shadows are real when they are, of course, just shadows. Plato uses this story as an allegory to make the point that the people of Athens also confuse their knowledge (shadows) with what is real (Truth and Philosophy and things Plato likes). Now you don’t need to understand any of that I hope to see what allegory is. An allegory is story in which the characters and events are intended to represent actual real world people or events.
And Jesus did tell an allegory or two. At least the evangelists treat some of his stories as allegories. But mostly Jesus told parables, and parables are different from allegories. A parable is more slippery. In a parable, unlike an allegory, the target seems to be always moving. They are hard to pin down, hard to exhaust. Parables certainly are meant to illustrate ideas, ethics, morals. But they are often open ended, inviting us to enter into them in many ways and at different times. The story of the Prodigal Son is a common example. Sometimes when we hear that story we think we are like the father, other times the younger son, and other times the behavior of the older brother reminds us of our own feelings. Or the story of the Good Samaritan. There are times when we relate to the priest or Levite. Other times we feel like the victim on the road. Heaven forbid we not relate to the robbers, and at our best we resonate with the Samaritan. The point is this: with a parable there can never be a direct one to one relationship between the story and the world because the story and the world are too ambiguous to permit that.
The reason I descended into that discussion was to point out the risk of making an allegory out of this story. For if we do, we will understand God to be a grouchy old man who answers prayer to get rid of us. Now that is not what Jesus had in mind. Jesus’ story works instead by contrasting two things. Two things which are not at all alike. His point, ultimately is this: If grumpy old men get out of bed and give the neighbor what he is asking for---then how can you doubt that God---who is the opposite of the grumpy old man—will not care for you?
In a couple of weeks the lectionary has scheduled a passage wherein Jesus tells his disciples and others not to worry. Fear not, little flock, for it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Let us transport that text into our own this day for it is important to see the continuity of expression on this subject. Time and time again Jesus comforts his followers with the assurance that God’s love is a given. It is part and parcel to the Kingdom of God. I am a little miffed at Jesus for saying that I, who am evil, know what good things to give my children. But I am willing to take the high road on this one. For the larger point is this---we must stop worrying about God’s love, either for us or our neighbor. The heart of the Kingdom of God is love. And love is reflected in forgiveness. And forgiveness opens the way to pursue the goals of God’s Kingdom. Which is pretty much the Lord’s Prayer. It is also at the heart of a lot of questions our children ask us---or others. The questions that have, at their heart, do you love me? Am I safe? Can I trust? Dare I risk? Jesus says yes. And yes. And yes. Love, forgive, pray, and live. Ask, knock and receive. Receive the Holy Spirit which your Father is every ready to give.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Good Samaritan
Although I am not preaching this week, I was ruminating about the lectionary reading which is the familiar story of the Good Samaritan. Like many of Luke's stories, the Good Samaritan has transcended its biblical roots to become part of the common vernacular of the people. Those who do something nice for another are often called "good Samaritans" even by people who have no idea that the term comes from the Bible or who a Samaritan is.
As with many stories of Jesus, as told by Luke, the Good Samaritan does not simply fall from the sky. Jesus does not stop random passers-by and say "hear this story". The story is prompted by an exchange with a "lawyer", one of the religious leaders specializing in Torah interpretation. The lawyer correctly understands that the greatest law involves "loving neighbor as yourself." But he does not stop there. In Luke's words "seeking to justify himself", the lawyer asks, "who is my neighbor?"
It is response to this question that Jesus tells his story. The circumstances of the story are well known and we will not review them here. If you want you can go read it in Luke 10. What matters to us here is this: at the end of the story Jesus asks the lawyer "who was neighbor to the man?" The lawyer responds, "The one who showed him mercy."
Jesus, as is his custom, turns the terms of the question up-side-down. The lawyer asked, "who is my neighbor?" Jesus asks, "who was neighbor to the man?" The story redefines the emphasis of the question of neighbor. Rather than a means of assessing who is worthy of being considered a "neighbor", Jesus defines neighbor as something we "are" to others. Therefore, the worthiness of the one we help becomes irrelevant. What matters is need.
My In-laws attend a church in Green Valley, AZ which is very committed to Border issues. Arizona, as many people know, has recently passed legislation relating to illegal immigration which has raised quite a ruckus. There is a group in my In-Laws church called the "Samaritans" whose calling it is to look for immigrants in the desert region around the border and provide them with food or water or help. A great many people who seek to come from Mexico to the United States do so at great risk and many die in the attempt. Should the "Samaritans" find someone in the desert, they provide necessities for survival and, if the circumstances warrant it, they call Border Patrol.
Understandably there are many people who do not like the Samaritans. They feel these illegal immigrants get what they have coming if they die in the desert. They feel that providing them with food and water is unlawfully assisting them in breaking the law. There is a group, known as the Minutemen, who patrol looking for migrants for the purpose of harassing and intimidating them. This is not the only difference between Samaritans and Minutemen: the Samaritans are armed with water and food. The Minutemen are merely armed.
When we look at this situation in Arizona from the standpoint of Jesus' story, something should be clear. Jesus' story is about BEING a neighbor to those in need. Not, as the lawyer hoped, about assessing who was worthy of mercy. The Samaritans in Arizona are, therefore, very biblical in their desire to show mercy to those in need without assessing their character, legality, or circumstance (apart from their immediate need for food and water). The Minutemen, it would seem, are more like the Lawyer who asked Jesus the question. Who is my neighbor? Apparently, thirsty, starving Mexicans in the desert are not "their neighbor". If we want to be followers of Jesus, what shall we do? How shall we respond to the immigration issue? It is by no means easy. It is quite complicated. But we should begin with the right question. It is not, "who is my neighbor?" The right question is "Who acted as neighbor to the one in need?"
As with many stories of Jesus, as told by Luke, the Good Samaritan does not simply fall from the sky. Jesus does not stop random passers-by and say "hear this story". The story is prompted by an exchange with a "lawyer", one of the religious leaders specializing in Torah interpretation. The lawyer correctly understands that the greatest law involves "loving neighbor as yourself." But he does not stop there. In Luke's words "seeking to justify himself", the lawyer asks, "who is my neighbor?"
It is response to this question that Jesus tells his story. The circumstances of the story are well known and we will not review them here. If you want you can go read it in Luke 10. What matters to us here is this: at the end of the story Jesus asks the lawyer "who was neighbor to the man?" The lawyer responds, "The one who showed him mercy."
Jesus, as is his custom, turns the terms of the question up-side-down. The lawyer asked, "who is my neighbor?" Jesus asks, "who was neighbor to the man?" The story redefines the emphasis of the question of neighbor. Rather than a means of assessing who is worthy of being considered a "neighbor", Jesus defines neighbor as something we "are" to others. Therefore, the worthiness of the one we help becomes irrelevant. What matters is need.
My In-laws attend a church in Green Valley, AZ which is very committed to Border issues. Arizona, as many people know, has recently passed legislation relating to illegal immigration which has raised quite a ruckus. There is a group in my In-Laws church called the "Samaritans" whose calling it is to look for immigrants in the desert region around the border and provide them with food or water or help. A great many people who seek to come from Mexico to the United States do so at great risk and many die in the attempt. Should the "Samaritans" find someone in the desert, they provide necessities for survival and, if the circumstances warrant it, they call Border Patrol.
Understandably there are many people who do not like the Samaritans. They feel these illegal immigrants get what they have coming if they die in the desert. They feel that providing them with food and water is unlawfully assisting them in breaking the law. There is a group, known as the Minutemen, who patrol looking for migrants for the purpose of harassing and intimidating them. This is not the only difference between Samaritans and Minutemen: the Samaritans are armed with water and food. The Minutemen are merely armed.
When we look at this situation in Arizona from the standpoint of Jesus' story, something should be clear. Jesus' story is about BEING a neighbor to those in need. Not, as the lawyer hoped, about assessing who was worthy of mercy. The Samaritans in Arizona are, therefore, very biblical in their desire to show mercy to those in need without assessing their character, legality, or circumstance (apart from their immediate need for food and water). The Minutemen, it would seem, are more like the Lawyer who asked Jesus the question. Who is my neighbor? Apparently, thirsty, starving Mexicans in the desert are not "their neighbor". If we want to be followers of Jesus, what shall we do? How shall we respond to the immigration issue? It is by no means easy. It is quite complicated. But we should begin with the right question. It is not, "who is my neighbor?" The right question is "Who acted as neighbor to the one in need?"
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Ready or Not
Galatians 6:14-16
Luke 10:1-11
We in the modern church do not speak much of circumcision. And this is fine with me. With the exception of Jewish people, this topic is best discussed with one’s pediatrician rather than one’s pastor. We may acknowledge that this subject bears some importance to the Old Testament and Paul seems to want to bring it up a lot, but by and large this subject, from our religious viewpoint, is a religious concern of a by-gone era.
But this avoidance does come at a cost. For while it is true that circumcision itself is not relevant to gentile Christians such as us, Paul is making an important point that should not be lost, tossed out like the proverbial baby with the bathwater. Paul is speaking of a matter of great importance to the early church. The issue is whether non-Jews need to go through a process of becoming Jews on the way to becoming Christians. Paul says no. If you are a Jew, as he was, then good for you. If you are not, then welcome aboard. The only thing that matters to Paul is the New Creation in Jesus Christ, realized in the cross of Christ, a reality equally accessible to the Jew and the non-Jew.
So the question for us hip, modern Christians is this: what is our circumcision? In other words, what are those things we cling to as essential prerequisites for participation in the Christian faith? We might be surprised when we stop to think about it, how many things we consider the essential “first things first”. Just as those early Jewish Christians believed that conforming to the Jewish law was a prerequisite for being a “Christian”, so we, too, have our gauntlets established.
As you know one of my favorite examples in town is the church that has the handy card in the pews which tell visitors the seven things they have to believe before they can become members or take communion. We are well familiar with the Roman Catholic understanding that only Roman Catholics may partake of the Eucharist. There is a church in town on the way to Cody Go Carts whose sign proclaims the following: Fundamental, Independent, and KJV ONLY!
In the Christian bookstore you can buy evangelical tracts to hand out to people. One of them tells the story of an Army chaplain who worked hard to help those in his charge, including those who didn’t believe in Jesus. When he died he went to the pearly gates only to be told by whomever was standing guard that he didn’t get in because he did not worship Jesus as the only way to salvation. As I understood the message, it makes no difference how much compassion you show people, especially people who are religiously different, if you do not drive home Jesus you don’t get in.
Now I can’t speak for you, wouldn’t dream of it, but I have a hard time with believing in a God who, at the end of the day, is as petty and vindictive as we are. But I digress. The point is this: It seems we all have those things we find essential prerequisites on the way to “being saved”. For many Christians, before you can be one of us, you have to BE one of us.
But what is the biblical witness? What does scripture say? Well, to be a bit more focused, what do this morning’s texts say? Since we have already started with Paul we will stay with him. Paul’s letter to the Galatians is, with the possible exception of Romans, the most succinct statement of his theology. And whereas Romans is drawn out a bit, more of a reasoned argument, Galatians is a fiery retort full of anger. Paul apparently wrote it himself, at least the conclusion, literally, as he mentions what large letters he makes when he writes with his own hand. At issue here is whether the church—or series of churches—to which Paul has brought the Gospel will continue in the Gospel Paul preached. Or shall they, from Paul’s perspective, be “led astray”. Paul’s Gospel is inclusive. Gentile or Jew, male or female, slave nor free—all are one in Christ Jesus. For Paul, God has intervened in human history decisively in Jesus Christ. This “once and for all” event changes everything. No longer does the law hold humanity in captivity. The law has been condensed into a new reality in Christ—it is by God’s grace that we are saved through faith in the one who makes salvation possible. What is left is a life of thankful praise. After depositing this gospel of grace, Paul moved on. Not long after, it appears, other evangelists came through with a slightly different message. Not so fast, they said: Jesus, yes, but the law as well. And these evangelists compelled potential Gentile Christians to first accept the requirements of the law, circumcision—the sign of the covenant with Abraham—being the outward sign.
Well, when Paul finds out he flips out, and this letter is his response. Paul ends his letter with a glorious observation that is worth every bit of time we take meditating on it. Neither circumcision or uncircumcision is anything. The New Creation is everything. Or, as the Greek text reads: Neither circumcision nor uncircumcision—New Creation!
The New Creation. This is the foundation of Paul’s theology. Whatever went wrong with Adam in the Garden of Eden, whatever went wrong which made the law and all of its baggage necessary, whatever twists and turns human affairs have taken, sinking deeper and deeper into sin, all of that is erased with a sweep of God’s cosmic hand. Paul preaches Christ and him crucified and raised, God’s “New Creation” in which sin is forgiven and overcome, death is overcome, all human division is overcome. What remains in this “New Creation” is unity, brother and sisterhood, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. As Paul sardonically points out, against these there is no law.
But more than this, the point to take away from his words is this: All of it is of God’s choosing and God’s doing. This seems so simple to say but so hard to truly accept. We don’t get a say in this. It’s done. That is why Paul is so upset with these Galatians. Jesus has taken away any and all of the human rules for religion. Think of it this way. This is the season for bad weather. We have storms from time to time. When a severe thunderstorm is heading our way, the weather people let us know. They issue a warning and we, if we are wise, heed that warning and take precautions. Are we at liberty to say, “thank you for the note about the storm, but we prefer sunshine thank you.” No. The storm is coming. We cannot change that. All we can do is adjust ourselves to that impending reality.
And so it is for Paul and the New Creation. We do not get to decide whether we want a New Creation or not. We do not get to select from a buffet of religious choices which parts suit us and which parts do not. God has redeemed creation in Jesus Christ and we, as part of that creation, are caught up in redemption. Paul says we have to grasp that redemption, which is faith, and live a grateful life in the ways he describes. Now surely many people believe themselves to be redeemed and, in one sense, they are. But do they act like Paul would have them act—with love, joy, peace, etc. Or do they act as the Jewish Christians act—with rules and regulations and condemnations and threats
In our Gospel story Jesus sends teams out to proclaim the good news. Jesus gives them particular instructions. If you come to a town and they receive you, good. Tell them the Kingdom of God has come near to them. If you go to a town that does not receive you, bad. Tell them the Kingdom of God has come near them.
Do you notice what these two experiences have in common? Not the reception, to be sure. Some towns were happy to see them and others not. What was common to both events was the message. The message is the same to those who are receptive and to those who are not—the Kingdom of God has come near.
Imagine you go to visit other lands with a message—your message is that a heavy rainfall is coming. The first land you visit is locked in a severe drought. How will you message be received? With joy, one supposes. As the answer to prayer. Now you visit a land in which the grass is green and the plants are plentiful and the residents do nothing but play golf every day. You bring your message of heavy rainfall. How will they feel about it? They will be disappointed, as the reality you predict will mess up their plans, their way of life.
It is not a perfect illustration, but it is meant to help us think about the ways in which one message may be heard differently by different people in different situations. In Jesus’ day, those who were, for the most part, excluded from the benefits of society welcomed Jesus’ words. Those who largely benefited from the status quo were not as keen. Good news is not always Good news for everyone.
But it should be. The Kingdom of God and its righteousness is a pearl of great price, a treasure hidden in the field. The Kingdom of God is a mustard seed that grows into a giant bush and a seed that takes root in fertile ground. But more than anything, the Kingdom of God is the Kingdom of GOD. And, as such, like our thunderstorm, has come whether we like it or not. Like Paul’s New Creation, the Kingdom of God is a new and triumphant reality that has arrived by God’s will alone and we cannot live in any other reality because there is no other reality. That is not to say we cannot try to live in another reality. We can, and often do, attempt to impose our Kingdoms onto the Kingdom of God. But this is folly, the evangelists agree, and in Jesus Christ—his life, death, resurrection—we see God’s intention for our lives together and God’s promised fulfillment of things at the end of history.
So back to our original question. What, for us, is circumcision? Or, what would Paul say to us today, using the language and examples from our time? That is for each of us to answer, but here are a few ideas….
Neither the KJV nor the NRSV is anything, but the New Creation is everything.
Neither your politics nor my politics is anything, but the New Creation is everything.
Neither your creed nor my creed is anything, but the New Creation is everything.
Or, just simply—The New Creation is everything. The Kingdom of God has come near. Ready or not….
Luke 10:1-11
We in the modern church do not speak much of circumcision. And this is fine with me. With the exception of Jewish people, this topic is best discussed with one’s pediatrician rather than one’s pastor. We may acknowledge that this subject bears some importance to the Old Testament and Paul seems to want to bring it up a lot, but by and large this subject, from our religious viewpoint, is a religious concern of a by-gone era.
But this avoidance does come at a cost. For while it is true that circumcision itself is not relevant to gentile Christians such as us, Paul is making an important point that should not be lost, tossed out like the proverbial baby with the bathwater. Paul is speaking of a matter of great importance to the early church. The issue is whether non-Jews need to go through a process of becoming Jews on the way to becoming Christians. Paul says no. If you are a Jew, as he was, then good for you. If you are not, then welcome aboard. The only thing that matters to Paul is the New Creation in Jesus Christ, realized in the cross of Christ, a reality equally accessible to the Jew and the non-Jew.
So the question for us hip, modern Christians is this: what is our circumcision? In other words, what are those things we cling to as essential prerequisites for participation in the Christian faith? We might be surprised when we stop to think about it, how many things we consider the essential “first things first”. Just as those early Jewish Christians believed that conforming to the Jewish law was a prerequisite for being a “Christian”, so we, too, have our gauntlets established.
As you know one of my favorite examples in town is the church that has the handy card in the pews which tell visitors the seven things they have to believe before they can become members or take communion. We are well familiar with the Roman Catholic understanding that only Roman Catholics may partake of the Eucharist. There is a church in town on the way to Cody Go Carts whose sign proclaims the following: Fundamental, Independent, and KJV ONLY!
In the Christian bookstore you can buy evangelical tracts to hand out to people. One of them tells the story of an Army chaplain who worked hard to help those in his charge, including those who didn’t believe in Jesus. When he died he went to the pearly gates only to be told by whomever was standing guard that he didn’t get in because he did not worship Jesus as the only way to salvation. As I understood the message, it makes no difference how much compassion you show people, especially people who are religiously different, if you do not drive home Jesus you don’t get in.
Now I can’t speak for you, wouldn’t dream of it, but I have a hard time with believing in a God who, at the end of the day, is as petty and vindictive as we are. But I digress. The point is this: It seems we all have those things we find essential prerequisites on the way to “being saved”. For many Christians, before you can be one of us, you have to BE one of us.
But what is the biblical witness? What does scripture say? Well, to be a bit more focused, what do this morning’s texts say? Since we have already started with Paul we will stay with him. Paul’s letter to the Galatians is, with the possible exception of Romans, the most succinct statement of his theology. And whereas Romans is drawn out a bit, more of a reasoned argument, Galatians is a fiery retort full of anger. Paul apparently wrote it himself, at least the conclusion, literally, as he mentions what large letters he makes when he writes with his own hand. At issue here is whether the church—or series of churches—to which Paul has brought the Gospel will continue in the Gospel Paul preached. Or shall they, from Paul’s perspective, be “led astray”. Paul’s Gospel is inclusive. Gentile or Jew, male or female, slave nor free—all are one in Christ Jesus. For Paul, God has intervened in human history decisively in Jesus Christ. This “once and for all” event changes everything. No longer does the law hold humanity in captivity. The law has been condensed into a new reality in Christ—it is by God’s grace that we are saved through faith in the one who makes salvation possible. What is left is a life of thankful praise. After depositing this gospel of grace, Paul moved on. Not long after, it appears, other evangelists came through with a slightly different message. Not so fast, they said: Jesus, yes, but the law as well. And these evangelists compelled potential Gentile Christians to first accept the requirements of the law, circumcision—the sign of the covenant with Abraham—being the outward sign.
Well, when Paul finds out he flips out, and this letter is his response. Paul ends his letter with a glorious observation that is worth every bit of time we take meditating on it. Neither circumcision or uncircumcision is anything. The New Creation is everything. Or, as the Greek text reads: Neither circumcision nor uncircumcision—New Creation!
The New Creation. This is the foundation of Paul’s theology. Whatever went wrong with Adam in the Garden of Eden, whatever went wrong which made the law and all of its baggage necessary, whatever twists and turns human affairs have taken, sinking deeper and deeper into sin, all of that is erased with a sweep of God’s cosmic hand. Paul preaches Christ and him crucified and raised, God’s “New Creation” in which sin is forgiven and overcome, death is overcome, all human division is overcome. What remains in this “New Creation” is unity, brother and sisterhood, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. As Paul sardonically points out, against these there is no law.
But more than this, the point to take away from his words is this: All of it is of God’s choosing and God’s doing. This seems so simple to say but so hard to truly accept. We don’t get a say in this. It’s done. That is why Paul is so upset with these Galatians. Jesus has taken away any and all of the human rules for religion. Think of it this way. This is the season for bad weather. We have storms from time to time. When a severe thunderstorm is heading our way, the weather people let us know. They issue a warning and we, if we are wise, heed that warning and take precautions. Are we at liberty to say, “thank you for the note about the storm, but we prefer sunshine thank you.” No. The storm is coming. We cannot change that. All we can do is adjust ourselves to that impending reality.
And so it is for Paul and the New Creation. We do not get to decide whether we want a New Creation or not. We do not get to select from a buffet of religious choices which parts suit us and which parts do not. God has redeemed creation in Jesus Christ and we, as part of that creation, are caught up in redemption. Paul says we have to grasp that redemption, which is faith, and live a grateful life in the ways he describes. Now surely many people believe themselves to be redeemed and, in one sense, they are. But do they act like Paul would have them act—with love, joy, peace, etc. Or do they act as the Jewish Christians act—with rules and regulations and condemnations and threats
In our Gospel story Jesus sends teams out to proclaim the good news. Jesus gives them particular instructions. If you come to a town and they receive you, good. Tell them the Kingdom of God has come near to them. If you go to a town that does not receive you, bad. Tell them the Kingdom of God has come near them.
Do you notice what these two experiences have in common? Not the reception, to be sure. Some towns were happy to see them and others not. What was common to both events was the message. The message is the same to those who are receptive and to those who are not—the Kingdom of God has come near.
Imagine you go to visit other lands with a message—your message is that a heavy rainfall is coming. The first land you visit is locked in a severe drought. How will you message be received? With joy, one supposes. As the answer to prayer. Now you visit a land in which the grass is green and the plants are plentiful and the residents do nothing but play golf every day. You bring your message of heavy rainfall. How will they feel about it? They will be disappointed, as the reality you predict will mess up their plans, their way of life.
It is not a perfect illustration, but it is meant to help us think about the ways in which one message may be heard differently by different people in different situations. In Jesus’ day, those who were, for the most part, excluded from the benefits of society welcomed Jesus’ words. Those who largely benefited from the status quo were not as keen. Good news is not always Good news for everyone.
But it should be. The Kingdom of God and its righteousness is a pearl of great price, a treasure hidden in the field. The Kingdom of God is a mustard seed that grows into a giant bush and a seed that takes root in fertile ground. But more than anything, the Kingdom of God is the Kingdom of GOD. And, as such, like our thunderstorm, has come whether we like it or not. Like Paul’s New Creation, the Kingdom of God is a new and triumphant reality that has arrived by God’s will alone and we cannot live in any other reality because there is no other reality. That is not to say we cannot try to live in another reality. We can, and often do, attempt to impose our Kingdoms onto the Kingdom of God. But this is folly, the evangelists agree, and in Jesus Christ—his life, death, resurrection—we see God’s intention for our lives together and God’s promised fulfillment of things at the end of history.
So back to our original question. What, for us, is circumcision? Or, what would Paul say to us today, using the language and examples from our time? That is for each of us to answer, but here are a few ideas….
Neither the KJV nor the NRSV is anything, but the New Creation is everything.
Neither your politics nor my politics is anything, but the New Creation is everything.
Neither your creed nor my creed is anything, but the New Creation is everything.
Or, just simply—The New Creation is everything. The Kingdom of God has come near. Ready or not….
Should We Fear God?
Should We Fear God?
Each of us is afraid of something. I am afraid of heights. A few summers ago we roofed our old house and I was unable to go up and help. Maybe its more a fear of ladders. Or, maybe I am just afraid of hard work. In any event, it was very useful to have this fear a few summers ago.
Fear can be very helpful. The zebra who is not afraid of the lion is called lunch. Fear is entirely normal. It is perfectly understandable to experience fear between the medical tests and learning the results of medical tests. It is a scary world, to be sure. There seems to be a lot these days to be afraid of.
But should we be afraid of God? This is the question I have been pondering after driving by one of our local churches whose sign exclaimed “those who fear God do not have to fear anything else.” Now I am certain that this expression was meant as a comfort and with the best intentions and I am not quarrelling with the church. But the statement raises an interesting theological question and, I think, an important one. Should we fear God? Does God expect us to fear him? If so, what are the consequences of not fearing God? If we are not to fear God, what are the alternatives?
As always, the place to take such questions is the Bible. And not just bits of the bible, but as much of the Bible as we can manage. There are an abundance of choices for this subject from the Old Testament but I was drawn to a very familiar statement which is really at the heart of Old Testament wisdom literature. Proverbs 1: the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
What does the proverb mean by “fear the Lord”? In the Old Testament this word, like many words, can mean one thing in one place and something different in another place. But by and large when the Old Testament talks about fear of the Lord—and nearly four-fifths of all references to fear in the Old Testament have God as the object—it means a combination of fear and awe, or reverence. To the Hebrew mind, God is awesome, mysterious. One cannot look upon God and live. The God of Isaac is referred to in various places as “the fear of Isaac”.
Which is not to say that the common understanding of fear is not also present. There are many references which mean pretty much to be afraid. The psalms are full of references to the this fear of the Lord as being a very healthy response.
And certainly in the Old Testament there is a lot to fear. Adam and Eve were fearful of God after they disobeyed and they had reason to, as they were cast out of paradise and saddled with painful punishments. God was angered by the behavior of human beings and sent a flood to wipe them out. Moses feared God after discovering that the people had molded a golden calf and the result of that episode was a great plague which God sent to the people on account of their sin. Throughout the narratives of Israel first in the time of the Judges through the story of the Kings God is constantly delivering Israel into the hands of their enemies because of this or that transgression. No wonder wisdom says to begin with fear of the Lord.
And clearly these ideas are still with us to this day. Whenever tragedy strikes, like the earthquake in Haiti, there will be people like Pat Robertson who see the vengeful hand of God. Robertson and the late Jerry Falwell raised a stir after 9/11 calling in God’s judgment on America. Behind such statements is clearly the theology that says that God is ever ready to do us harm if we are not doing exactly what God demands we do.
But how can this view be contemplated by anyone who has the Gospel implanted in his/her heart? And to be fair to the Old Testament, there are abundant passages of grace. God forgives, redeems, comforts, even regrets. It is in that light that the New Testament illumines the Old, or, that the Old Testament emerges into the New. But the place to start in the New Testament is, or course, with Jesus.
Or just before Jesus. Luke begins his nativity story with John the Baptist’s dad Zechariah. When Zechariah first heard that he and Elizabeth were going to have a son he was afraid. When Mary was visited by the angel she was perplexed. When the shepherds encountered the angels they were sore afraid. And in each instance the message was the same. Do not be afraid.
Throughout the Gospel narratives there are people in fear. There is the woman with the flow of blood who touches Jesus’ hem and is healed. She is afraid of Jesus but Jesus tells her that her faith has healed her. The leader of the synagogue whose child is dying is told “Do not fear, only believe” and his daughter is healed. The disciples see Jesus walking across the water and they are afraid and Jesus says, “Do not be afraid, it is I”.
Now there is one passage where Jesus says “I will warn you who to fear: fear him who has the authority to cast into hell.” (Luke 12:4-34) From this it would appear that Jesus is advocating a healthy fear of God. And yet when we look more closely at the context, Jesus is really contrasting this fear with the present earthly fear of authorities who have the power to kill indiscriminately. Further, Jesus says only two lines later: “Do not be afraid, you are of more value than many sparrows.”
In other words, Jesus is speaking rhetorically. Rather than fearing human authority, if you are going to fear someone, fear God, because only God is in control of your eternal destiny. Why waste your time being afraid of anything lesser than God? And here is where the church sign cozies up to the scripture. But Jesus quickly adds something which changes the complexion of this idea completely. If we fear anything it should be God, but we should not fear God because God places a great value on us. Jesus then goes on to caution against worry, talks about the ravens and the lilies of the field and culminates with the passage: Fear not little flock, for it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.
So we return to the question with which we began: Are we meant to fear God? Well certainly if “fear” is understood as a reverential awe, as an acknowledgement of the mystery and autonomy that is God, then surely this is a good disposition to hold. Yet I knew a man once who, thankfully, had no children, who gave me some parenting advice. He looked at me at said, “Pastor, you and I both know what it takes to be a parent—you have to give ‘em fear!” Apparently he was disturbed by the fact that the kids next door were a bit exuberant and he thought if they carried with them the fear of a good beating they might be less annoying.
Now if this is how we are to understand the fear of God then I think the New Testament witness discourages this. Now I don’t want to get sidetracked into debates about parenting and punishment and consequences etc because that is not really my point. My point is that Jesus exclusively tells people that God is not to be feared as the deliverer of punishment, he is to be loved and followed for he has in his grace given us the Kingdom of God.
The earliest New Testament witness to this is the Apostle Paul who writes frequently about this, especially in the letter to the Romans. Although Paul, being a human being, is not entirely consistent in his theology, he does amplify the point that in Christ we have been set free from the judgment of the law by the grace of God. And, being free from the burden of perfection under the law, we are free to respond in grace to the needs of the world. Can he put it more eloquently than he does in Romans 8 when he writes “nothing in life or in death can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”?
That seems pretty comprehensive—nothing in life or in death. And yet how often do we hear of the conditional love of God, which is why this topic is important.
Fear, properly understood, has its place. It protects the Zebra from being lunch and it protects us from wandering into a busy street without paying attention. Fear, properly understood, puts us in a good orientation to God as one who is majestic and awesome and yet personal to us in Christ. Fear, not properly used or managed, is a bad thing when it is used as a tool of manipulation by governments or churches or any other organization.
So fear not, little flock, for it is the Father’s good pleasure to give us the kingdom. It is for this reason, and not out of fear, that when something goes wrong in the kingdom we rush to aid and support as we did in Haiti or we did in the gulf coast when hurricanes strike, or anywhere else locally or globally where people are in distress. This is our Father’s world and we are meant to tend it, build it, maintain justice within it. We do this not out of fear of condemnation but out of the joy of life in Jesus Christ. Remember, God sent his only son not to condemn the world, but so the world might be saved through him. Fear not.
Now, having said that, I am still not going up on that roof.
Each of us is afraid of something. I am afraid of heights. A few summers ago we roofed our old house and I was unable to go up and help. Maybe its more a fear of ladders. Or, maybe I am just afraid of hard work. In any event, it was very useful to have this fear a few summers ago.
Fear can be very helpful. The zebra who is not afraid of the lion is called lunch. Fear is entirely normal. It is perfectly understandable to experience fear between the medical tests and learning the results of medical tests. It is a scary world, to be sure. There seems to be a lot these days to be afraid of.
But should we be afraid of God? This is the question I have been pondering after driving by one of our local churches whose sign exclaimed “those who fear God do not have to fear anything else.” Now I am certain that this expression was meant as a comfort and with the best intentions and I am not quarrelling with the church. But the statement raises an interesting theological question and, I think, an important one. Should we fear God? Does God expect us to fear him? If so, what are the consequences of not fearing God? If we are not to fear God, what are the alternatives?
As always, the place to take such questions is the Bible. And not just bits of the bible, but as much of the Bible as we can manage. There are an abundance of choices for this subject from the Old Testament but I was drawn to a very familiar statement which is really at the heart of Old Testament wisdom literature. Proverbs 1: the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
What does the proverb mean by “fear the Lord”? In the Old Testament this word, like many words, can mean one thing in one place and something different in another place. But by and large when the Old Testament talks about fear of the Lord—and nearly four-fifths of all references to fear in the Old Testament have God as the object—it means a combination of fear and awe, or reverence. To the Hebrew mind, God is awesome, mysterious. One cannot look upon God and live. The God of Isaac is referred to in various places as “the fear of Isaac”.
Which is not to say that the common understanding of fear is not also present. There are many references which mean pretty much to be afraid. The psalms are full of references to the this fear of the Lord as being a very healthy response.
And certainly in the Old Testament there is a lot to fear. Adam and Eve were fearful of God after they disobeyed and they had reason to, as they were cast out of paradise and saddled with painful punishments. God was angered by the behavior of human beings and sent a flood to wipe them out. Moses feared God after discovering that the people had molded a golden calf and the result of that episode was a great plague which God sent to the people on account of their sin. Throughout the narratives of Israel first in the time of the Judges through the story of the Kings God is constantly delivering Israel into the hands of their enemies because of this or that transgression. No wonder wisdom says to begin with fear of the Lord.
And clearly these ideas are still with us to this day. Whenever tragedy strikes, like the earthquake in Haiti, there will be people like Pat Robertson who see the vengeful hand of God. Robertson and the late Jerry Falwell raised a stir after 9/11 calling in God’s judgment on America. Behind such statements is clearly the theology that says that God is ever ready to do us harm if we are not doing exactly what God demands we do.
But how can this view be contemplated by anyone who has the Gospel implanted in his/her heart? And to be fair to the Old Testament, there are abundant passages of grace. God forgives, redeems, comforts, even regrets. It is in that light that the New Testament illumines the Old, or, that the Old Testament emerges into the New. But the place to start in the New Testament is, or course, with Jesus.
Or just before Jesus. Luke begins his nativity story with John the Baptist’s dad Zechariah. When Zechariah first heard that he and Elizabeth were going to have a son he was afraid. When Mary was visited by the angel she was perplexed. When the shepherds encountered the angels they were sore afraid. And in each instance the message was the same. Do not be afraid.
Throughout the Gospel narratives there are people in fear. There is the woman with the flow of blood who touches Jesus’ hem and is healed. She is afraid of Jesus but Jesus tells her that her faith has healed her. The leader of the synagogue whose child is dying is told “Do not fear, only believe” and his daughter is healed. The disciples see Jesus walking across the water and they are afraid and Jesus says, “Do not be afraid, it is I”.
Now there is one passage where Jesus says “I will warn you who to fear: fear him who has the authority to cast into hell.” (Luke 12:4-34) From this it would appear that Jesus is advocating a healthy fear of God. And yet when we look more closely at the context, Jesus is really contrasting this fear with the present earthly fear of authorities who have the power to kill indiscriminately. Further, Jesus says only two lines later: “Do not be afraid, you are of more value than many sparrows.”
In other words, Jesus is speaking rhetorically. Rather than fearing human authority, if you are going to fear someone, fear God, because only God is in control of your eternal destiny. Why waste your time being afraid of anything lesser than God? And here is where the church sign cozies up to the scripture. But Jesus quickly adds something which changes the complexion of this idea completely. If we fear anything it should be God, but we should not fear God because God places a great value on us. Jesus then goes on to caution against worry, talks about the ravens and the lilies of the field and culminates with the passage: Fear not little flock, for it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.
So we return to the question with which we began: Are we meant to fear God? Well certainly if “fear” is understood as a reverential awe, as an acknowledgement of the mystery and autonomy that is God, then surely this is a good disposition to hold. Yet I knew a man once who, thankfully, had no children, who gave me some parenting advice. He looked at me at said, “Pastor, you and I both know what it takes to be a parent—you have to give ‘em fear!” Apparently he was disturbed by the fact that the kids next door were a bit exuberant and he thought if they carried with them the fear of a good beating they might be less annoying.
Now if this is how we are to understand the fear of God then I think the New Testament witness discourages this. Now I don’t want to get sidetracked into debates about parenting and punishment and consequences etc because that is not really my point. My point is that Jesus exclusively tells people that God is not to be feared as the deliverer of punishment, he is to be loved and followed for he has in his grace given us the Kingdom of God.
The earliest New Testament witness to this is the Apostle Paul who writes frequently about this, especially in the letter to the Romans. Although Paul, being a human being, is not entirely consistent in his theology, he does amplify the point that in Christ we have been set free from the judgment of the law by the grace of God. And, being free from the burden of perfection under the law, we are free to respond in grace to the needs of the world. Can he put it more eloquently than he does in Romans 8 when he writes “nothing in life or in death can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”?
That seems pretty comprehensive—nothing in life or in death. And yet how often do we hear of the conditional love of God, which is why this topic is important.
Fear, properly understood, has its place. It protects the Zebra from being lunch and it protects us from wandering into a busy street without paying attention. Fear, properly understood, puts us in a good orientation to God as one who is majestic and awesome and yet personal to us in Christ. Fear, not properly used or managed, is a bad thing when it is used as a tool of manipulation by governments or churches or any other organization.
So fear not, little flock, for it is the Father’s good pleasure to give us the kingdom. It is for this reason, and not out of fear, that when something goes wrong in the kingdom we rush to aid and support as we did in Haiti or we did in the gulf coast when hurricanes strike, or anywhere else locally or globally where people are in distress. This is our Father’s world and we are meant to tend it, build it, maintain justice within it. We do this not out of fear of condemnation but out of the joy of life in Jesus Christ. Remember, God sent his only son not to condemn the world, but so the world might be saved through him. Fear not.
Now, having said that, I am still not going up on that roof.
God's Piano Recital
Attending God's Piano Recital
The following is an edited text of a sermon delivered March 7, 2010 at the First Presbyterian Church, Salina, Kansas, as part of the church's celebration of 150 years in ministry.
Texts: Ruth 1:1-18; Mark 3:31-35
It goes without saying what a privilege it is to be here today, but I will say it anyway. It is always a wonderful thing to return here to the church that nurtured my faith and supported me in my growth from a four year old terror to a young adult. When I decided that I was called to the ministry, this congregation supported with generous financial assistance for which I remain grateful. I hope that that my ministry, first in New York and now in Nebraska, renders that gift a good investment.
I was last here in worship ten years ago this July. That was the occasion of my parents 50th anniversary and we were on the way to Colorado to celebrate. I bring you my parents greetings on this day. As many of you know my parents health is not good. They are grateful for the prayers and support of this congregation of which my father speaks often very fondly and, I know, cherishes his role as pastor emeritus.
Ten years ago I spoke, with my father, about the role of the church in my formative years. I spoke of how the church was one of the few, if not the only place, in society where young people can mix so freely with adults who were not their parents who expressed care and interest in them. I feel that was an invaluable part of my development and still advocate for the role of the church in nurturing the young.
Ten years ago my daughter, Jamie, was two and spent the morning in the nursery. My son, Aaron, was not yet born. Today Jamie is 12 and Aaron is 8. As such, my views on the subject of “church family” have modified somewhat. So today is an interim report on that subject. Perhaps ten years from now you will have me back and I can reflect on the subject from the standpoint of the empty nest.
I receive and read this church’s newsletter and I recall that somewhat recently you engaged in a congregational study. If I recall correctly one of the identified needs of the congregation was to find ways to broaden and deepen the sense of community within the church. Welcome to the club. Our congregation in Nebraska has articulated a similar need. Our Session is currently at work trying to understand this new, post-post modern world with its resulting social networking, technology, and soccer games on Sunday.
In our church we have quite a few young families. But they don’t know each other very well. We get some on one Sunday and some on another Sunday and still another set on another Sunday. We had one young family join the church who told us that they were going to be good church members and come at least once a month. And they were true to their word. There is another family who, after attending and participating for some time, finally told us they wanted to join the church. We haven’t seen them since.
It is a fast, crazy world amongst the young. Kids are into so many things. When I was growing up here, as best as I can remember, there were school sports teams and little league baseball. Today there are school teams but there are also travelling independent teams in soccer, volleyball, softball, etc. This reality leads to the two most popular phrases in our church among the younger families: “we love the church” and “we won’t be here this weekend.”
An enduring metaphor for the church is that of family. Paul said we are the body of Christ but he was also fond of referring to the sisters and brothers in the faith. In fact, the word that is most often translated “family” in the New Testament is “adelphos”, which means brother or sibling, or fellow believer, or fellow countryman. The word is part of the city Philadelphia which means the city of brotherly love. Or maybe the city of family love? Is the church a place of family love?
As I said, ten years ago Jamie was two and Aaron wasn’t here. At that time I had no idea what was coming. Ten years ago if you asked me about family and the church, and you did, I reflected on my own childhood and my own experience in the church. Now the arrows in my quiver of metaphors has grown somewhat, thanks to the experiences with my own children. And I have an evolving idea of what it could mean to say the church is a “family”.
But first let’s take a moment to look at the images of family presented by our texts this morning. First we have the story of Ruth. Ruth is from Moab, where Naomi and her family fled during a time of famine. Now historically Moab is one of the worst enemies of biblical Israel. So the thought of a Moabite heroine takes some getting used to. But that is happening all the time in the Bible. Women from Moab become king David’s great-grandmother. Samaritans, another enemy of Israel, render aid. Ninevites, yet another set of bad guys, repent instantly when Jonah confronts them with God’s Word. In other words, the Bible is always turning upside down conventional understandings of the good guys and the bad, the in people and the outsiders, those who see and those who do not see.
So Ruth, the Moabite, when given the choice to return to her home where her security is more assured, chooses instead to follow her mother-in-law to Israel where her security is practically non-existent. Does she do this simply out of biological or national loyalty? No, because she is from Moab, not Israel, and she is an in-law not a blood daughter. Her decision to follow Naomi is rooted in a relationship that transcends biological or nationalistic terms. And this commitment, for that is what it is, sees only the love and not the peril. Now Ruth is a fairy tale, it is true, and they do live happily ever after. But at this point in the story, Ruth is saying yes when she has every reason to say no. That is the part we are to pay attention to.
Mark is even more explicit. Jesus has been traveling the countryside teaching, healing, and casting out demons. In short, making a real spectacle of himself. Apparently his family had seen enough, for they come to collect him and save he and they from further embarrassment. But when Jesus is told that his family is outside, he looks instead to those gathered around him and declares “whoever does the will of God is my mother, and brother, and sister.” My adelphoi. So what is the will of God? Mark, as well as Matthew and Luke take from sixteen to twenty six chapters to lay that out. John, in his gospel, is a bit more succinct. John reduces much of the detail to a single word—love. Now, back to my experiences in parenting.
Which are by no means unique. Every parent has been there, grandparents too. Even Aunts and Uncles. We have been there at our children’s’ piano recitals. Or T-Ball games. Or pre-school Christmas programs. Or school plays. Or take your pick from your own experience. Have you noticed, while attending these special moments with your precious young person, that the general public is not there? Why are there only relatives at these events? Because free from the subjectivity of those who value the participant…they are really quite tedious. T-Ball is definitely a game only a parent could love. The stop and start and stop rhythms of the first grade piano recital are not the stuff of great music. The general public does not attend such events because they event itself is not the draw. The quality of the event is not the point. What makes these moments special and enduring and worth watching on video five years later is the relationship between the participant and the spectator—which, I dare say, is rooted one hundred percent in love.
We go to piano recitals and little league games in 80 degree weather and soccer games in freezing weather not because the event itself is dramatically important but because the participant is dramatically important. And what I am coming to understand about the church as family and about building authentic community in the church is that we need to think of church programming and even church worship to some degree not as an event of importance—as if we just got the elements right and the music in the right beat things would really take off—and think more about the people with whom we worship as dramatically important. We must not approach church as consumers, taking and leaving whatever appeals to us, and think more of valuing and honoring the diversity of interests and needs of the people around us.
In North Platte we have a woman who has come to find great spiritual value in walking a labyrinth. She was so moved by this ministry that she was led to ask the church to acquire a canvas labyrinth. She developed a labyrinth group around this and began to promote labyrinth walks. Few came. At a Session meeting where we were talking about community building this woman mentioned that no one comes to the labyrinth walks. Another of the elders responded, “well what is it? I don’t understand it. I don’t go to things I don’t understand.” And that is when the light bulb came on for me. You see, the labyrinth is not for everyone to be sure. But it was valued by this one person. And rather than dismissing it because “I don’t understand it”, why not take a moment to learn about it because she cares about it? Why not take an hour to walk the Labyrinth as a way of saying “I value you, and I will honor what you honor because of our relationship in Christ.” Isn’t that why we go to piano recitals? That is how we might think about our relationship to one another in the Church of Jesus Christ.
I have fond memories of this place. I have fonder memories of the people who made up the community of this place. I remember the church picnics at Sam and Terry Evans’ farm. I remember one Epiphany evening when we gathered around a roaring fire and celebrated the light. I remember little sacks of candy and fruit given out after the Christmas parties. I remember pot lucks in Blair hall and a Pepsi machine which dispensed bottles for fifteen cents. And in and through all of these memories are the people. The people who loved me and taught me how to love. That is what community is about. That is why we go to the piano recital. Not to value the event, but the person. That is why God comes to us in Jesus Christ. Because God values our personhood. Each and every one of us: The Children of God.
The following is an edited text of a sermon delivered March 7, 2010 at the First Presbyterian Church, Salina, Kansas, as part of the church's celebration of 150 years in ministry.
Texts: Ruth 1:1-18; Mark 3:31-35
It goes without saying what a privilege it is to be here today, but I will say it anyway. It is always a wonderful thing to return here to the church that nurtured my faith and supported me in my growth from a four year old terror to a young adult. When I decided that I was called to the ministry, this congregation supported with generous financial assistance for which I remain grateful. I hope that that my ministry, first in New York and now in Nebraska, renders that gift a good investment.
I was last here in worship ten years ago this July. That was the occasion of my parents 50th anniversary and we were on the way to Colorado to celebrate. I bring you my parents greetings on this day. As many of you know my parents health is not good. They are grateful for the prayers and support of this congregation of which my father speaks often very fondly and, I know, cherishes his role as pastor emeritus.
Ten years ago I spoke, with my father, about the role of the church in my formative years. I spoke of how the church was one of the few, if not the only place, in society where young people can mix so freely with adults who were not their parents who expressed care and interest in them. I feel that was an invaluable part of my development and still advocate for the role of the church in nurturing the young.
Ten years ago my daughter, Jamie, was two and spent the morning in the nursery. My son, Aaron, was not yet born. Today Jamie is 12 and Aaron is 8. As such, my views on the subject of “church family” have modified somewhat. So today is an interim report on that subject. Perhaps ten years from now you will have me back and I can reflect on the subject from the standpoint of the empty nest.
I receive and read this church’s newsletter and I recall that somewhat recently you engaged in a congregational study. If I recall correctly one of the identified needs of the congregation was to find ways to broaden and deepen the sense of community within the church. Welcome to the club. Our congregation in Nebraska has articulated a similar need. Our Session is currently at work trying to understand this new, post-post modern world with its resulting social networking, technology, and soccer games on Sunday.
In our church we have quite a few young families. But they don’t know each other very well. We get some on one Sunday and some on another Sunday and still another set on another Sunday. We had one young family join the church who told us that they were going to be good church members and come at least once a month. And they were true to their word. There is another family who, after attending and participating for some time, finally told us they wanted to join the church. We haven’t seen them since.
It is a fast, crazy world amongst the young. Kids are into so many things. When I was growing up here, as best as I can remember, there were school sports teams and little league baseball. Today there are school teams but there are also travelling independent teams in soccer, volleyball, softball, etc. This reality leads to the two most popular phrases in our church among the younger families: “we love the church” and “we won’t be here this weekend.”
An enduring metaphor for the church is that of family. Paul said we are the body of Christ but he was also fond of referring to the sisters and brothers in the faith. In fact, the word that is most often translated “family” in the New Testament is “adelphos”, which means brother or sibling, or fellow believer, or fellow countryman. The word is part of the city Philadelphia which means the city of brotherly love. Or maybe the city of family love? Is the church a place of family love?
As I said, ten years ago Jamie was two and Aaron wasn’t here. At that time I had no idea what was coming. Ten years ago if you asked me about family and the church, and you did, I reflected on my own childhood and my own experience in the church. Now the arrows in my quiver of metaphors has grown somewhat, thanks to the experiences with my own children. And I have an evolving idea of what it could mean to say the church is a “family”.
But first let’s take a moment to look at the images of family presented by our texts this morning. First we have the story of Ruth. Ruth is from Moab, where Naomi and her family fled during a time of famine. Now historically Moab is one of the worst enemies of biblical Israel. So the thought of a Moabite heroine takes some getting used to. But that is happening all the time in the Bible. Women from Moab become king David’s great-grandmother. Samaritans, another enemy of Israel, render aid. Ninevites, yet another set of bad guys, repent instantly when Jonah confronts them with God’s Word. In other words, the Bible is always turning upside down conventional understandings of the good guys and the bad, the in people and the outsiders, those who see and those who do not see.
So Ruth, the Moabite, when given the choice to return to her home where her security is more assured, chooses instead to follow her mother-in-law to Israel where her security is practically non-existent. Does she do this simply out of biological or national loyalty? No, because she is from Moab, not Israel, and she is an in-law not a blood daughter. Her decision to follow Naomi is rooted in a relationship that transcends biological or nationalistic terms. And this commitment, for that is what it is, sees only the love and not the peril. Now Ruth is a fairy tale, it is true, and they do live happily ever after. But at this point in the story, Ruth is saying yes when she has every reason to say no. That is the part we are to pay attention to.
Mark is even more explicit. Jesus has been traveling the countryside teaching, healing, and casting out demons. In short, making a real spectacle of himself. Apparently his family had seen enough, for they come to collect him and save he and they from further embarrassment. But when Jesus is told that his family is outside, he looks instead to those gathered around him and declares “whoever does the will of God is my mother, and brother, and sister.” My adelphoi. So what is the will of God? Mark, as well as Matthew and Luke take from sixteen to twenty six chapters to lay that out. John, in his gospel, is a bit more succinct. John reduces much of the detail to a single word—love. Now, back to my experiences in parenting.
Which are by no means unique. Every parent has been there, grandparents too. Even Aunts and Uncles. We have been there at our children’s’ piano recitals. Or T-Ball games. Or pre-school Christmas programs. Or school plays. Or take your pick from your own experience. Have you noticed, while attending these special moments with your precious young person, that the general public is not there? Why are there only relatives at these events? Because free from the subjectivity of those who value the participant…they are really quite tedious. T-Ball is definitely a game only a parent could love. The stop and start and stop rhythms of the first grade piano recital are not the stuff of great music. The general public does not attend such events because they event itself is not the draw. The quality of the event is not the point. What makes these moments special and enduring and worth watching on video five years later is the relationship between the participant and the spectator—which, I dare say, is rooted one hundred percent in love.
We go to piano recitals and little league games in 80 degree weather and soccer games in freezing weather not because the event itself is dramatically important but because the participant is dramatically important. And what I am coming to understand about the church as family and about building authentic community in the church is that we need to think of church programming and even church worship to some degree not as an event of importance—as if we just got the elements right and the music in the right beat things would really take off—and think more about the people with whom we worship as dramatically important. We must not approach church as consumers, taking and leaving whatever appeals to us, and think more of valuing and honoring the diversity of interests and needs of the people around us.
In North Platte we have a woman who has come to find great spiritual value in walking a labyrinth. She was so moved by this ministry that she was led to ask the church to acquire a canvas labyrinth. She developed a labyrinth group around this and began to promote labyrinth walks. Few came. At a Session meeting where we were talking about community building this woman mentioned that no one comes to the labyrinth walks. Another of the elders responded, “well what is it? I don’t understand it. I don’t go to things I don’t understand.” And that is when the light bulb came on for me. You see, the labyrinth is not for everyone to be sure. But it was valued by this one person. And rather than dismissing it because “I don’t understand it”, why not take a moment to learn about it because she cares about it? Why not take an hour to walk the Labyrinth as a way of saying “I value you, and I will honor what you honor because of our relationship in Christ.” Isn’t that why we go to piano recitals? That is how we might think about our relationship to one another in the Church of Jesus Christ.
I have fond memories of this place. I have fonder memories of the people who made up the community of this place. I remember the church picnics at Sam and Terry Evans’ farm. I remember one Epiphany evening when we gathered around a roaring fire and celebrated the light. I remember little sacks of candy and fruit given out after the Christmas parties. I remember pot lucks in Blair hall and a Pepsi machine which dispensed bottles for fifteen cents. And in and through all of these memories are the people. The people who loved me and taught me how to love. That is what community is about. That is why we go to the piano recital. Not to value the event, but the person. That is why God comes to us in Jesus Christ. Because God values our personhood. Each and every one of us: The Children of God.
Are Some Animals More Equal Than Others
Are Some Animals More Equal Than Others?
March 14, 2010
First Presbyterian Church- North Platte, NE
Rev. James Hawley
Luke 15:1-32, 2 Corinthians 5:16-21
A good reputation can be a wonderful thing. Say you have a reputation for being honest. Or you have a reputation for being generous. With such reputations as these people are glad to see you, glad to have you attend their fundraisers. Glad to have you as a friend. But it is equally true that negative characteristics can become our reputation. Say you have a reputation for having a temper. Or say your have a reputation for cheating at cards. Do you think you will get many bridge invitations? (bridge, for our younger listeners, is a card game old people play). One hopes for a good reputation, because reputations are hard to get rid of. If you have a reputation for being honest you can cheat a few times before people begin to get suspicious. But if you have a reputation for dishonesty, then no amount of fair play seems enough to win over the skeptics.
Bible stories also have reputations. For example, no where in the Bible do the wise men and the shepherds cross paths, but there they are co-mingling every year in Christmas Pageants around the world. The Bible says Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree, and yet it is the apple that is almost universally blamed for the trouble. Jonah spent three nights in a “great fish”, but every children’s bible talks about Jonah and the whale. These are not necessarily “bad” reputations. It could have been an apple. The fish might have been a whale. But the point is, once we think we know someone or something, it takes quite a bit to get us to see the person—or the story—differently.
That is a burden born by Luke’s story of the man and his two sons. This is one of those great Bible stories that has made the break to the big time—to the arena of public usage without any necessary reference back to the Bible. Joey comes home from college with a pile of laundry and Dad will crack, “Look, the prodigal has come home!” Or maybe your co-worker comes back from a long weekend skiing and he looks like no amount of coffee in the world will help him, so you say “well, well, so the prodigal has decided to show up at work.”
First of all, prodigal is not a noun. It is an adjective. And prodigal, does not mean lost. It does not mean “where have you been, we haven’t seen you in a while.” Prodigal means waste. Prodigal means reckless lavishness. The Son is prodigal because he took his inheritance and spent it recklessly to his ruin.
But this is where the reputation of the story gets in the way. Because this story, like all of Jesus’ major parables, is so deep and broad with suggestive meaning that it is best not to give it a name at all. In fact, the word prodigal doesn’t appear in the text—English or Greek. There are several characters in this story, and each one is important. Although it is not inaccurate to see this as a tale of repentance, forgiveness, and reclamation, it is also much more.
One non-traditional place to begin is to place the story in its larger context, something the lectionary doesn’t do. The story we call the prodigal son is the last of a trilogy of stories Jesus tells in response to a snide comment made by the Pharisees and the Scribes. They are grousing because the sinners were drawing near to Jesus. “This man receives sinners and eats with them.” Jesus’ response is to tell them three parables. First he talks of the shepherd who leaves ninety-nine sheep in order to find the one that is lost, and when he finds it he brings it back and gathers his friends and neighbors to rejoice in finding the lost sheep. Jesus says “there will be more Joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” That seems clear enough, but then Jesus goes on to tell of a woman who loses one coin and turns her house upside down to find it. She then rejoices with her neighbors for finding the lost coin. Again Jesus drives home the point, “there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” So we’re good, right? We get the point? Perhaps not. For Jesus is now about to tell the famous story, but we are not quite done with the first two.
In each of the first two parables something of value was lost and then found. The sheep and the coin have obvious, intrinsic value. The sheep was property. It was an asset. The coin had obvious value as currency. Dare we imagine what the Pharisees are thinking in response to Jesus’ stories? “Duh (to use the vernacular of the young)…who doesn’t try to retrieve something of value? But Jesus, we are not talking about things of value here. We are talking about sinners. Worthless scum that they are! Whatcha got to say about that? (I am paraphrasing, of course)
And so Jesus tells the story of the man who had two sons. This is how Jesus introduces the story—a man with two sons. This tips us off right away that the story is about more than one son. It is about three, distinct characters. The younger son demands his inheritance and takes off. He is the “prodigal” son because he recklessly wastes his inheritance until he is left worse than the pigs. So he comes to a practical solution. He will return to his father as a servant so at least he can eat. We skeptics might even question the sincerity of his words, “Father I have sinned.” Are they genuine or simply expedient? But he did “come to himself”, and that was an important moment.
But the father does not wait to hear of the son’s repentance. Before he even has a chance to say his line the father has already decided on a course of action. It is enough for him that his son has come back. When his son does say his well rehearsed line, the Father is not even listening. He is preparing for the joyous celebration. Now it is the father who is behaving prodigally.
Which brings us to the older son. The bitter one. The “good” one. Why is he unhappy? Because this is not fair. The older son has been steady, reliable, never asking for anything. And the fact that he never asked for anything means he never got anything, not so much as a goat, let alone a fat calf, for his own party. And note very carefully how the older brother refers to his younger brother. He says to the father, “this son of yours”. Not “my brother”. He says, “this son of yours.” That sounds a little distant. It seems to be not quite family.
And finally the father. He was so happy just a moment ago. And now? Well, being the loving father he obviously is he is now engulfed with bittersweet emotions. You see, he was so happy that his youngest son returned. But now his older son is angry. He pleads with his older son to understand the rightness of the celebration, encourages him to enter into the joy. He offers a counter statement to the brother's line "this son of yours." The father refers to him as "this brother of yours." But the older son resists. He refuses to acknowledge his brother.
So, as the story ends, is anyone happy? Perhaps the youngest son is happy, although does he have residual guilt? A sense that he is not worthy of the celebration? Does he know how his brother feels? It is so hard to repent when those closest to us will not let us. The older son is not happy, as he feels the whole affair is unjust, that the undeserving get rewarded while the well behaved are left out. And the father can’t be happy. He wants joyous sons. He wants his older son to be happy for the younger. He wants his family back.
And so the story concludes but is the conclusion satisfactory? Or is it the case, as with all great stories, that the conclusion is not in the story, but in the reader. The conclusion of the story lies with us.
So let’s go back to the observation we made earlier. This story is the last of a trilogy about the lost being found. Remember we remarked that the lost objects of the first two stories were things readily seen as valuable. Sheep and coins were assets, they have obvious intrinsic worth. So as Jesus tells these two stories he is inviting the Pharisees into a “gotcha” moment. For the third story is not about a sheep or a coin, it is about a human being. And because the story comes connected to the previous two stories, we may assume that the essential point is the same. If the sheep and the coin are valuable, worth finding, then so is the human being. The human being has as much, or more, intrinsic value as the sheep and the coin. And this is the aspect of the Pharisee’s point of view—as echoed in the older Brother’s observations—that Jesus wants to draw out into the light. Human beings—even “sinners”—are intrinsically valuable in the sight of God. No one is expendable. Not even the prostitutes, lepers, lame, women, children—anyone else so easily disposed of in Jesus’ day.
The title of the sermon is taken from George Orwell’s book “Animal Farm”, a staple of every high school English class. When the animals take over the farm from the mean and harsh human farmer, they seek to establish a more just and utopian society. The pigs take charge and establish some new rules---better rules than the farmer lived by. The fundamental principle upon which the new society is based is that “all animals are equal”. Well, as the pigs Napoleon and Snowball continue to feed off of power and authority---until Napoleon essentially becomes a human being—the rules change. And the fundamental rule that all animals are equal becomes “all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”
Here is the link. The Pharisees, as Luke and the other Gospel writers portray them, are like Snowball and Napoleon. What begins with a very clear message at creation—that human beings are made in the image of God—over time becomes “human beings are made in the image of God—but some human beings are made more in the image of God than others.” Some human beings are simply “better than” others. More righteous, more correct, more pious, less sinful. Luke also tells us of the Pharisee and the sinner who go to the temple to pray and the Pharisee prays “I thank thee, Lord, that I am not like other people. Like this sinner here.” Enter the older brother. He is angry because, well, he is better than his brother. He is more acceptable, more pious, more righteous. And no one is arguing that. No one said he was in the wrong. His own father said “whatever is mine is yours.” It is in the older brother’s own head that his younger brother is just not worth being saved!” Especially if it is going to cost him in the process.
It is a terrible state to be in when we believe that money and property and other such things are more valuable than people. By extension it is also a sad state of affairs when we find doctrine and dogma and fixed moral codes to more important than people. All people, even the sinners, are intrinsically valuable to God. More so, in fact, than all of the things we want to value.
None of this is to say that behavior does not matter. The younger son does act in a foolish and self-destructive manner. That we have intrinsic value to God does not mean God is indifferent to the nonsense we subject ourselves and others to through our behavior and bad judgment. What it does mean is that God loves us before, during, and after the dumb things we do. God is not interested in punishing us for the bad decisions we make, God is interested in our “coming to ourselves” and repenting of the self-destructive behaviors with which we are involved. And as the community that bears Jesus name, we should all be more interested in welcoming the lost than in pointing out who the lost is so we can distance ourselves from them. How Christian it would be if we had the reputation here in town as the church that “receives sinners and eats with them”.
Personally I am tired of grace with so many strings attached. I am tired of hearing about God’s love but some exclusions apply. I am tired of the self-righteousness of any church that presumes to determine who is fit to come to the Lord’s table. I am tired of right belief being the condition of membership, apart from a belief that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior. I am tired of the defense of doctrine as more important than the defense of people and of purity in the church as more important than the church as the family of God. And, frankly, I think Jesus was tired of it, too. Which is why he repeatedly makes the point from beginning to the end of each and every Gospel that God loves human beings and wants what is good for human beings and expects his followers to love human beings and welcome them in their lost condition even as we are welcomed in our lost conditions. For in one way or another we are all lost, or were lost. We are lost until we find our way home to the center of faith and love which wells up in us and allows us to say, with full confidence, I am accepted. I am loved. The church of Jesus Christ should not be one more impediment for people to overcome on their way to divine acceptance. The Church of Jesus Christ should be killing the fatted calf, changing the water into wine, inviting all to the wedding feast, pointing out that the tomb and the cross are empty and that our cup is running over.
Paul told the Corinthians that Jesus Christ was the New Creation. Just as in the first creation, human beings are once again restored to the image of God. Paul calls this work reconciliation. God was at work in Jesus Christ reconciling the world to himself. And God has entrusted to us—can you believe it?—to us the message of reconciliation. Let that be our reputation. That we are prodigal with our grace. That we rejoice that all human beings are equal—some maybe a little more lost than others, but no less valuable. And we pray for that day when all the lost are found,
all the sons and daughters have come home, and the family of God can finally party together in joy.
March 14, 2010
First Presbyterian Church- North Platte, NE
Rev. James Hawley
Luke 15:1-32, 2 Corinthians 5:16-21
A good reputation can be a wonderful thing. Say you have a reputation for being honest. Or you have a reputation for being generous. With such reputations as these people are glad to see you, glad to have you attend their fundraisers. Glad to have you as a friend. But it is equally true that negative characteristics can become our reputation. Say you have a reputation for having a temper. Or say your have a reputation for cheating at cards. Do you think you will get many bridge invitations? (bridge, for our younger listeners, is a card game old people play). One hopes for a good reputation, because reputations are hard to get rid of. If you have a reputation for being honest you can cheat a few times before people begin to get suspicious. But if you have a reputation for dishonesty, then no amount of fair play seems enough to win over the skeptics.
Bible stories also have reputations. For example, no where in the Bible do the wise men and the shepherds cross paths, but there they are co-mingling every year in Christmas Pageants around the world. The Bible says Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree, and yet it is the apple that is almost universally blamed for the trouble. Jonah spent three nights in a “great fish”, but every children’s bible talks about Jonah and the whale. These are not necessarily “bad” reputations. It could have been an apple. The fish might have been a whale. But the point is, once we think we know someone or something, it takes quite a bit to get us to see the person—or the story—differently.
That is a burden born by Luke’s story of the man and his two sons. This is one of those great Bible stories that has made the break to the big time—to the arena of public usage without any necessary reference back to the Bible. Joey comes home from college with a pile of laundry and Dad will crack, “Look, the prodigal has come home!” Or maybe your co-worker comes back from a long weekend skiing and he looks like no amount of coffee in the world will help him, so you say “well, well, so the prodigal has decided to show up at work.”
First of all, prodigal is not a noun. It is an adjective. And prodigal, does not mean lost. It does not mean “where have you been, we haven’t seen you in a while.” Prodigal means waste. Prodigal means reckless lavishness. The Son is prodigal because he took his inheritance and spent it recklessly to his ruin.
But this is where the reputation of the story gets in the way. Because this story, like all of Jesus’ major parables, is so deep and broad with suggestive meaning that it is best not to give it a name at all. In fact, the word prodigal doesn’t appear in the text—English or Greek. There are several characters in this story, and each one is important. Although it is not inaccurate to see this as a tale of repentance, forgiveness, and reclamation, it is also much more.
One non-traditional place to begin is to place the story in its larger context, something the lectionary doesn’t do. The story we call the prodigal son is the last of a trilogy of stories Jesus tells in response to a snide comment made by the Pharisees and the Scribes. They are grousing because the sinners were drawing near to Jesus. “This man receives sinners and eats with them.” Jesus’ response is to tell them three parables. First he talks of the shepherd who leaves ninety-nine sheep in order to find the one that is lost, and when he finds it he brings it back and gathers his friends and neighbors to rejoice in finding the lost sheep. Jesus says “there will be more Joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” That seems clear enough, but then Jesus goes on to tell of a woman who loses one coin and turns her house upside down to find it. She then rejoices with her neighbors for finding the lost coin. Again Jesus drives home the point, “there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” So we’re good, right? We get the point? Perhaps not. For Jesus is now about to tell the famous story, but we are not quite done with the first two.
In each of the first two parables something of value was lost and then found. The sheep and the coin have obvious, intrinsic value. The sheep was property. It was an asset. The coin had obvious value as currency. Dare we imagine what the Pharisees are thinking in response to Jesus’ stories? “Duh (to use the vernacular of the young)…who doesn’t try to retrieve something of value? But Jesus, we are not talking about things of value here. We are talking about sinners. Worthless scum that they are! Whatcha got to say about that? (I am paraphrasing, of course)
And so Jesus tells the story of the man who had two sons. This is how Jesus introduces the story—a man with two sons. This tips us off right away that the story is about more than one son. It is about three, distinct characters. The younger son demands his inheritance and takes off. He is the “prodigal” son because he recklessly wastes his inheritance until he is left worse than the pigs. So he comes to a practical solution. He will return to his father as a servant so at least he can eat. We skeptics might even question the sincerity of his words, “Father I have sinned.” Are they genuine or simply expedient? But he did “come to himself”, and that was an important moment.
But the father does not wait to hear of the son’s repentance. Before he even has a chance to say his line the father has already decided on a course of action. It is enough for him that his son has come back. When his son does say his well rehearsed line, the Father is not even listening. He is preparing for the joyous celebration. Now it is the father who is behaving prodigally.
Which brings us to the older son. The bitter one. The “good” one. Why is he unhappy? Because this is not fair. The older son has been steady, reliable, never asking for anything. And the fact that he never asked for anything means he never got anything, not so much as a goat, let alone a fat calf, for his own party. And note very carefully how the older brother refers to his younger brother. He says to the father, “this son of yours”. Not “my brother”. He says, “this son of yours.” That sounds a little distant. It seems to be not quite family.
And finally the father. He was so happy just a moment ago. And now? Well, being the loving father he obviously is he is now engulfed with bittersweet emotions. You see, he was so happy that his youngest son returned. But now his older son is angry. He pleads with his older son to understand the rightness of the celebration, encourages him to enter into the joy. He offers a counter statement to the brother's line "this son of yours." The father refers to him as "this brother of yours." But the older son resists. He refuses to acknowledge his brother.
So, as the story ends, is anyone happy? Perhaps the youngest son is happy, although does he have residual guilt? A sense that he is not worthy of the celebration? Does he know how his brother feels? It is so hard to repent when those closest to us will not let us. The older son is not happy, as he feels the whole affair is unjust, that the undeserving get rewarded while the well behaved are left out. And the father can’t be happy. He wants joyous sons. He wants his older son to be happy for the younger. He wants his family back.
And so the story concludes but is the conclusion satisfactory? Or is it the case, as with all great stories, that the conclusion is not in the story, but in the reader. The conclusion of the story lies with us.
So let’s go back to the observation we made earlier. This story is the last of a trilogy about the lost being found. Remember we remarked that the lost objects of the first two stories were things readily seen as valuable. Sheep and coins were assets, they have obvious intrinsic worth. So as Jesus tells these two stories he is inviting the Pharisees into a “gotcha” moment. For the third story is not about a sheep or a coin, it is about a human being. And because the story comes connected to the previous two stories, we may assume that the essential point is the same. If the sheep and the coin are valuable, worth finding, then so is the human being. The human being has as much, or more, intrinsic value as the sheep and the coin. And this is the aspect of the Pharisee’s point of view—as echoed in the older Brother’s observations—that Jesus wants to draw out into the light. Human beings—even “sinners”—are intrinsically valuable in the sight of God. No one is expendable. Not even the prostitutes, lepers, lame, women, children—anyone else so easily disposed of in Jesus’ day.
The title of the sermon is taken from George Orwell’s book “Animal Farm”, a staple of every high school English class. When the animals take over the farm from the mean and harsh human farmer, they seek to establish a more just and utopian society. The pigs take charge and establish some new rules---better rules than the farmer lived by. The fundamental principle upon which the new society is based is that “all animals are equal”. Well, as the pigs Napoleon and Snowball continue to feed off of power and authority---until Napoleon essentially becomes a human being—the rules change. And the fundamental rule that all animals are equal becomes “all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”
Here is the link. The Pharisees, as Luke and the other Gospel writers portray them, are like Snowball and Napoleon. What begins with a very clear message at creation—that human beings are made in the image of God—over time becomes “human beings are made in the image of God—but some human beings are made more in the image of God than others.” Some human beings are simply “better than” others. More righteous, more correct, more pious, less sinful. Luke also tells us of the Pharisee and the sinner who go to the temple to pray and the Pharisee prays “I thank thee, Lord, that I am not like other people. Like this sinner here.” Enter the older brother. He is angry because, well, he is better than his brother. He is more acceptable, more pious, more righteous. And no one is arguing that. No one said he was in the wrong. His own father said “whatever is mine is yours.” It is in the older brother’s own head that his younger brother is just not worth being saved!” Especially if it is going to cost him in the process.
It is a terrible state to be in when we believe that money and property and other such things are more valuable than people. By extension it is also a sad state of affairs when we find doctrine and dogma and fixed moral codes to more important than people. All people, even the sinners, are intrinsically valuable to God. More so, in fact, than all of the things we want to value.
None of this is to say that behavior does not matter. The younger son does act in a foolish and self-destructive manner. That we have intrinsic value to God does not mean God is indifferent to the nonsense we subject ourselves and others to through our behavior and bad judgment. What it does mean is that God loves us before, during, and after the dumb things we do. God is not interested in punishing us for the bad decisions we make, God is interested in our “coming to ourselves” and repenting of the self-destructive behaviors with which we are involved. And as the community that bears Jesus name, we should all be more interested in welcoming the lost than in pointing out who the lost is so we can distance ourselves from them. How Christian it would be if we had the reputation here in town as the church that “receives sinners and eats with them”.
Personally I am tired of grace with so many strings attached. I am tired of hearing about God’s love but some exclusions apply. I am tired of the self-righteousness of any church that presumes to determine who is fit to come to the Lord’s table. I am tired of right belief being the condition of membership, apart from a belief that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior. I am tired of the defense of doctrine as more important than the defense of people and of purity in the church as more important than the church as the family of God. And, frankly, I think Jesus was tired of it, too. Which is why he repeatedly makes the point from beginning to the end of each and every Gospel that God loves human beings and wants what is good for human beings and expects his followers to love human beings and welcome them in their lost condition even as we are welcomed in our lost conditions. For in one way or another we are all lost, or were lost. We are lost until we find our way home to the center of faith and love which wells up in us and allows us to say, with full confidence, I am accepted. I am loved. The church of Jesus Christ should not be one more impediment for people to overcome on their way to divine acceptance. The Church of Jesus Christ should be killing the fatted calf, changing the water into wine, inviting all to the wedding feast, pointing out that the tomb and the cross are empty and that our cup is running over.
Paul told the Corinthians that Jesus Christ was the New Creation. Just as in the first creation, human beings are once again restored to the image of God. Paul calls this work reconciliation. God was at work in Jesus Christ reconciling the world to himself. And God has entrusted to us—can you believe it?—to us the message of reconciliation. Let that be our reputation. That we are prodigal with our grace. That we rejoice that all human beings are equal—some maybe a little more lost than others, but no less valuable. And we pray for that day when all the lost are found,
all the sons and daughters have come home, and the family of God can finally party together in joy.
Peter, Paul, and Us
Peter, Paul, and Us- A Sermon
Sermon for Sunday, April 18, 2010.
Peter, Paul, and Us
John 21:1-19, Acts 9:1-9
I don’t often remember my dreams. I seldom dream things worth remembering and never dream things worth mentioning in sermons. But I had a dream this week which I think has some bearing on one of our texts this morning. It was, perhaps, inspired by the text.
I do not remember all of the dream. But I remember the cats. And the dogs. It seems there was a family gathering of some kind joined with some other people and everyone seemed to have cats and dogs. I was given a kitten as a gift.
Now it is true that my family enjoys their animals. Everyone has cats and three of the four of us have at least one dog. Our family has but one dog and one cat which really makes us amateurs by Hawley family standards.
But back to the dream. Lots of cats and dogs. And, for some reason, in my dream, I felt responsible for taking care of them all. The image I remember vividly is opening the door to see a multitude of cats and dogs all wanting to come in, all needing something. I felt overwhelmed.
Now the reason I think this dream matters is because of Jesus’ statement to Peter about feeding his sheep. It is commonly understood that chapter 21 of John was not a part of the original gospel. It was added at some later time and, based upon its content, seems to have two purposes. One purpose is to clarify some later opinion concerning the disciple whom Jesus loved. That is not our concern this morning so we will bracket that concern. What is more to the point this morning is the rehabilitation of Peter’s image. Peter was a crucial leadership figure in the early church and there were no doubt detractors who preferred another’s leadership instead. It was Peter, after all, who denied Jesus three times. It is hard to get a job in the Church with that on your record. But John 21 sets everything right. Peter confesses his love three times—one for each denial—and is given his marching orders from Jesus. Feed my sheep. And that is what I think my dream was about. Feeding the sheep, and how hard it is to do that sometimes.
Remember Michael Dukakis? He was Governor of Massachusetts and the Democratic candidate for President in the year that George H. W. Bush was elected president. I remember Michael Dukakis because I remember the moment I decided not to vote for him. It was during a televised debate, something I ordinarily do not watch. Dukakis was opposed to capital punishment and the moderator of the debate, Bernard Shaw of CNN, asked the governor this question: If your wife were brutally attacked and murdered, would you favor the death penalty for her assailant? Dukakis’ answer was offered in a reasoned, level-headed, dispassionate way: “Why, no. I would not.” I do not remember what he said after that because I stopped listening.
I thought, "you lying fox." You see, I also oppose capital punishment. But if someone brutally murdered my wife I would truthfully want to remove their head with a spade. Which, I would argue, is why we need laws. We need laws to govern us from our passions. We need laws established in non-stressful times to guide our paths in the stressful times. It is understandable and permissible to feel certain ways. It is not always right to act based upon our feelings alone.
So when Jesus says “feed my sheep” we can certainly understand his concern. There are many sheep and they do need tending. But we must avoid the Michael Dukakis approach to this text. That approach would be to quietly, rationally agree and imply that nothing less is acceptable. But this is dishonest. Because there are times when we are worn out, exhausted, waiting to find out when it is our turn to be fed for a change.
My dream and this text are the tributaries that flow from my life circumstance right now. My mother will have knee surgery in ten days. My father will be admitted to the Presbyterian Manor in Lawrence. Mom cannot walk and Dad cannot understand all that is happening to him and around him. My brother and his wife are exhausted from all of the wonderful but difficult work they have been doing to assist my parents. My other brother and sister are exhausted from worry and tormented by academic schedules and responsibilities that make their participation in these events difficult. Amy and I are exhausted from living somewhere in between—somewhat helpful in Lawrence but also concerned that with all of our obligations it is hard to be more supportive.
And you know my point is not to focus on my particular condition. It is simply the condition about which I am most familiar. But I know many of you are also tired, exhausted, spent from the ways in which you are feeding the sheep in your lives.
This week at the Presbyterian Women Circle meetings we considered the next to last lesson on the book of Joshua. It concerned rest. Where to we find rest? For Joshua rest meant no one was attacking at the moment. Maybe many of us can relate to that. The author of the study also wanted to draw in Hebrews wherein rest is associated with the Sabbath. God rested on the seventh day and so shall we. And, naturally, there is the rest that comes at the end of our days. Our rest in the arms of God.
Where do we find our rest? But, what may be more on our minds, are we entitled to any? Jesus is full of mixed messages. Be perfect, he says, as your Father in heaven is perfect. If you do not feed, cloth, visit, water the poor then you will be cast into the outer darkness. If you love me, feed my sheep.
But Jesus also says do not worry. Jesus says that he loves us and we are to love one another. Jesus says God sent the Son into the world for salvation and not condemnation. And in the same gospel wherein Jesus says be perfect, he invites all who are weary and carry a heavy burden to come to him, for he will give them rest.
The companion piece to this morning’s John reading is the conversion of Paul by a vision of Jesus. Like Peter, Paul had issues. Principally his resume was full of church persecution. He was a Pharisee---a perfect one it appears---who had it in for this new sect of Judaism which followed the peasant Messiah Jesus. But when the peasant turned radiant king addressed Paul from the sky, Paul changed his mind and his ways and became the Church’s first great international ambassador.
But he didn’t change completely. Sometimes Paul can be as demanding in grace as he was in the law. He can be manipulative as when he coerces money out of the Macedonians for the church in Jerusalem. He can be judgmental, as when he orders a man thrown out of the church for sexual misbehavior. In short, he can be as much of a mess as Peter or you and I.
But why should Peter and Paul be any different from, say, Abraham who fathered a child with his wife’s maid (his wife told him to do it) and then cast her and her son out (again, his wife and God told him to do it—but still….) Or Jacob who stole his brother’s blessing with the help of their mother. Or David who fathered Solomon with another man’s wife and then tried to have that man killed. Or Solomon who made his own people slaves. Well, you get the point. God, for God’s own reasons, chooses over and over again to work out his purpose with a rag-tag group of folks who are far from perfect, far from entirely committed, far from saintly.
So if we are inclined to say, as I am from time to time, that I am not fit for the Kingdom of Heaven because I just don’t have the energy for it right now, then we are in good company. Jesus asked Peter if he loved him. Peter said yes. We have no reason to believe Peter lied. Then Jesus said, feed my sheep. Did he mean that very moment? Drop everything and go? Probably not. After all, think about the setting for this conversation. A breakfast which Jesus prepared. Not only has Jesus fried the fish, but Jesus made the catch possible. Jesus, in essence, feeds his sheep before he asks anyone else to feed anyone else’s sheep. And that is the part of the story we do not always remember. We hear “feed my sheep” as a command. And perhaps it is. But the command is never the first thing. Nor is it the last thing. It is the middle thing. What comes first is the love and sustenance which Jesus offers. The last thing is the assurance of everlasting life. What happens in the middle are our best efforts to balance the demands in our life—to offer assistance and aid where we are able—and to remember that we, too, are deserving of care and compassion.
I do not travel much anymore, if I can help it. But I remember what the flight attendants say before every take off. If the oxygen masks should be required, secure your own mask first. Then help those who need assistance. Jesus cooked the fish and fed his own. He then sent his own into the world. Come to me, Jesus said, and I will give you rest. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. When we feel overly burdened by the world and our lives, we should not think of Jesus’ words as piling on. Rather, they are grace. They remind us that we, too, are among the sheep to be fed. And our families—our parents, our children—are among the sheep we are ask to feed. And the Lord is the shepherd of us all, and we shall not want.
Sermon for Sunday, April 18, 2010.
Peter, Paul, and Us
John 21:1-19, Acts 9:1-9
I don’t often remember my dreams. I seldom dream things worth remembering and never dream things worth mentioning in sermons. But I had a dream this week which I think has some bearing on one of our texts this morning. It was, perhaps, inspired by the text.
I do not remember all of the dream. But I remember the cats. And the dogs. It seems there was a family gathering of some kind joined with some other people and everyone seemed to have cats and dogs. I was given a kitten as a gift.
Now it is true that my family enjoys their animals. Everyone has cats and three of the four of us have at least one dog. Our family has but one dog and one cat which really makes us amateurs by Hawley family standards.
But back to the dream. Lots of cats and dogs. And, for some reason, in my dream, I felt responsible for taking care of them all. The image I remember vividly is opening the door to see a multitude of cats and dogs all wanting to come in, all needing something. I felt overwhelmed.
Now the reason I think this dream matters is because of Jesus’ statement to Peter about feeding his sheep. It is commonly understood that chapter 21 of John was not a part of the original gospel. It was added at some later time and, based upon its content, seems to have two purposes. One purpose is to clarify some later opinion concerning the disciple whom Jesus loved. That is not our concern this morning so we will bracket that concern. What is more to the point this morning is the rehabilitation of Peter’s image. Peter was a crucial leadership figure in the early church and there were no doubt detractors who preferred another’s leadership instead. It was Peter, after all, who denied Jesus three times. It is hard to get a job in the Church with that on your record. But John 21 sets everything right. Peter confesses his love three times—one for each denial—and is given his marching orders from Jesus. Feed my sheep. And that is what I think my dream was about. Feeding the sheep, and how hard it is to do that sometimes.
Remember Michael Dukakis? He was Governor of Massachusetts and the Democratic candidate for President in the year that George H. W. Bush was elected president. I remember Michael Dukakis because I remember the moment I decided not to vote for him. It was during a televised debate, something I ordinarily do not watch. Dukakis was opposed to capital punishment and the moderator of the debate, Bernard Shaw of CNN, asked the governor this question: If your wife were brutally attacked and murdered, would you favor the death penalty for her assailant? Dukakis’ answer was offered in a reasoned, level-headed, dispassionate way: “Why, no. I would not.” I do not remember what he said after that because I stopped listening.
I thought, "you lying fox." You see, I also oppose capital punishment. But if someone brutally murdered my wife I would truthfully want to remove their head with a spade. Which, I would argue, is why we need laws. We need laws to govern us from our passions. We need laws established in non-stressful times to guide our paths in the stressful times. It is understandable and permissible to feel certain ways. It is not always right to act based upon our feelings alone.
So when Jesus says “feed my sheep” we can certainly understand his concern. There are many sheep and they do need tending. But we must avoid the Michael Dukakis approach to this text. That approach would be to quietly, rationally agree and imply that nothing less is acceptable. But this is dishonest. Because there are times when we are worn out, exhausted, waiting to find out when it is our turn to be fed for a change.
My dream and this text are the tributaries that flow from my life circumstance right now. My mother will have knee surgery in ten days. My father will be admitted to the Presbyterian Manor in Lawrence. Mom cannot walk and Dad cannot understand all that is happening to him and around him. My brother and his wife are exhausted from all of the wonderful but difficult work they have been doing to assist my parents. My other brother and sister are exhausted from worry and tormented by academic schedules and responsibilities that make their participation in these events difficult. Amy and I are exhausted from living somewhere in between—somewhat helpful in Lawrence but also concerned that with all of our obligations it is hard to be more supportive.
And you know my point is not to focus on my particular condition. It is simply the condition about which I am most familiar. But I know many of you are also tired, exhausted, spent from the ways in which you are feeding the sheep in your lives.
This week at the Presbyterian Women Circle meetings we considered the next to last lesson on the book of Joshua. It concerned rest. Where to we find rest? For Joshua rest meant no one was attacking at the moment. Maybe many of us can relate to that. The author of the study also wanted to draw in Hebrews wherein rest is associated with the Sabbath. God rested on the seventh day and so shall we. And, naturally, there is the rest that comes at the end of our days. Our rest in the arms of God.
Where do we find our rest? But, what may be more on our minds, are we entitled to any? Jesus is full of mixed messages. Be perfect, he says, as your Father in heaven is perfect. If you do not feed, cloth, visit, water the poor then you will be cast into the outer darkness. If you love me, feed my sheep.
But Jesus also says do not worry. Jesus says that he loves us and we are to love one another. Jesus says God sent the Son into the world for salvation and not condemnation. And in the same gospel wherein Jesus says be perfect, he invites all who are weary and carry a heavy burden to come to him, for he will give them rest.
The companion piece to this morning’s John reading is the conversion of Paul by a vision of Jesus. Like Peter, Paul had issues. Principally his resume was full of church persecution. He was a Pharisee---a perfect one it appears---who had it in for this new sect of Judaism which followed the peasant Messiah Jesus. But when the peasant turned radiant king addressed Paul from the sky, Paul changed his mind and his ways and became the Church’s first great international ambassador.
But he didn’t change completely. Sometimes Paul can be as demanding in grace as he was in the law. He can be manipulative as when he coerces money out of the Macedonians for the church in Jerusalem. He can be judgmental, as when he orders a man thrown out of the church for sexual misbehavior. In short, he can be as much of a mess as Peter or you and I.
But why should Peter and Paul be any different from, say, Abraham who fathered a child with his wife’s maid (his wife told him to do it) and then cast her and her son out (again, his wife and God told him to do it—but still….) Or Jacob who stole his brother’s blessing with the help of their mother. Or David who fathered Solomon with another man’s wife and then tried to have that man killed. Or Solomon who made his own people slaves. Well, you get the point. God, for God’s own reasons, chooses over and over again to work out his purpose with a rag-tag group of folks who are far from perfect, far from entirely committed, far from saintly.
So if we are inclined to say, as I am from time to time, that I am not fit for the Kingdom of Heaven because I just don’t have the energy for it right now, then we are in good company. Jesus asked Peter if he loved him. Peter said yes. We have no reason to believe Peter lied. Then Jesus said, feed my sheep. Did he mean that very moment? Drop everything and go? Probably not. After all, think about the setting for this conversation. A breakfast which Jesus prepared. Not only has Jesus fried the fish, but Jesus made the catch possible. Jesus, in essence, feeds his sheep before he asks anyone else to feed anyone else’s sheep. And that is the part of the story we do not always remember. We hear “feed my sheep” as a command. And perhaps it is. But the command is never the first thing. Nor is it the last thing. It is the middle thing. What comes first is the love and sustenance which Jesus offers. The last thing is the assurance of everlasting life. What happens in the middle are our best efforts to balance the demands in our life—to offer assistance and aid where we are able—and to remember that we, too, are deserving of care and compassion.
I do not travel much anymore, if I can help it. But I remember what the flight attendants say before every take off. If the oxygen masks should be required, secure your own mask first. Then help those who need assistance. Jesus cooked the fish and fed his own. He then sent his own into the world. Come to me, Jesus said, and I will give you rest. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. When we feel overly burdened by the world and our lives, we should not think of Jesus’ words as piling on. Rather, they are grace. They remind us that we, too, are among the sheep to be fed. And our families—our parents, our children—are among the sheep we are ask to feed. And the Lord is the shepherd of us all, and we shall not want.
The Gorilla In The Text
The Gorilla in the Text- A Sermon
Note: When the sermon was delivered at The First Presbyterian Church, North Platte, Nebraska, this video was first shown to the congregation. You should take a moment to watch it. Click Here
The Gorilla in the Text
Luke 7:11-17
Did you see the gorilla? Half of the people who watch this video do not see the gorilla. The experiment has been conducted in many countries, with diverse groups, and the result is always the same: half of the observers do not observe the gorilla. They are so engaged with counting the passes by the people in white that the gorilla comes and goes without notice. The authors of this study have written a book about this phenomenon and others like it. In “The Invisible Gorilla”, psychologists Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons off this summary: “When people devote their attention to a particular area or aspect of their visual world, they tend not to notice unexpected objects, even when those unexpected objects are salient, potentially important, and appear right where they are looking.”
The authors offer another illustration—this one more serious. In 2001 a military submarine near Hawaii engaged in a training exercise. The submarine performed what is known as an “emergency deep”. The commander of the sub followed this with an emergency tank blow, in which the main ballasts are emptied and the sub surfaces as fast as it can. This maneuver causes the sub to exit the water briefly. In this case, the sub surfaced under a Japanese fishing boat. Three crew members and six passengers aboard the boat died. The fishing boat was 200 feet long. How could a modern submarine miss the presence of a 200 foot long fishing boat? The investigation concluded that the accident occurred because the commander of the sub failed to see the fishing ship during a routine periscope search of the area. How could this be? How can you not see a fishing boat through the periscope? Chabris and Simons write, “the key lies in what [the commander] thought he would see when he looked. As he said later, “I wasn’t looking for it, nor did I expect it.” He looked right at the fishing boat and did not see it.
I believe this is a fascinating topic to consider. Although these psychologists focus on the visual, I believe their findings suggest that a very similar thing happens when we read something, especially something with which we are very familiar or at least something with which we believe we are very familiar. More specifically, I found this a very insightful observation for reading the Bible. It is quite possible that because we believe we understand something, we will look right past something important that is right before our eyes. Exhibit A comes from our text this morning.
The story of Jesus at Nain is part of a progression of healing which begins with Jesus healing a Centurion’s daughter. This healing comes by request of the father and happens long distance, as Jesus never sees the girl, just pronounces her well. From there he moves on to Nain where he comes upon a funeral procession. Jesus has progressed from a sick daughter at a distance to a dead son at his feet. The dead man is a widow's only son, which implies that the widow herself is now at risk as she has no male household member
So this man is dead. And Jesus raises him from the dead. By his word—I say to you arise—the man sits up and begins to speak and he is restored to his mother. This act serves the dual purpose of bringing the man back to life and restoring his mother’s security.
But the larger point is this—Jesus raised him from the dead. This story is one of resurrection. This intrigues me. We are conditioned to think of Jesus’ resurrection as being unique in human history. God raised Jesus from the dead, thus conquering the power of death once and for all. And yet here is a story of resurrection that comes only seven chapters into Luke’s story. And before that—both Elijah and Elisha are credited with restoring life to those who were dead. They were prophets powerful in word and deed.
So what does it mean that Jesus is not the only one to be raised from the dead in the gospel? He is not even the first! We might even imagine this man living long enough to hear of Jesus' resurrection. What might he say? Been there done that? In order to get to the bottom of this, it was time to consult the wisest commentaries. But not long after I began my search, I realized there were gorillas in our midst.
The first thing I noticed was how many of the commentaries used the word “resuscitation” rather than “resurrection”. Now maybe I am just is splitting hairs or is this distinction important? The Oxford English Dictionary defines resuscitation as the “restoration of consciousness or life in one who is near or apparently dead.” Using the word resuscitation hedges our bet a little. The implication is that the person may not have been really dead, or perhaps dead such a short time it was possible to revive him. Contrast this definition with that of resurrection. The number one definition is the Oxford English Dictionary is “the rising again of Christ after his death and burial.” I found this really interesting. Resurrection, according to the OED, is something that happens to Jesus. And it happens to the rest of us "on the last day". But apparently it doesn't happen to middle aged men in the city of Nain, even if the text right in front of us explicitly says so. Gorillas indeed.
The second thing I noticed was the extensive discussion tying this episode to that of Elijah. Now this is quite understandable. The parallels simply cannot be missed. Elijah raises the widow’s son and Jesus raises the widow’s son. The widow proclaims Elijah a man of God and the people proclaim of Jesus that a great prophet has risen among us and the buzz travels. Many commentators emphasized this miracle as an act of compassion on behalf of the widow.
But this parallel with Elijah only reinforces my main point: resurrection is not new. It was happening centuries before Jesus was born, it happened several times by Jesus’ own hand (in addition to this story there is the 12 year old girl and Lazarus in the Gospel of John). and Jesus himself is raised. So what are we to make of all of this? The man was dead. Stone cold dead. And Jesus raised him from the dead. And the man even spoke in a post-resurrection appearance. The Gorilla in the text is resurrection.
If we think of Jesus’ resurrection as the unique, one and only occurrence of resurrection, than we miss these other occurrences clearly displayed in the text. But this is not to say there is nothing significantly unique about Jesus’ resurrection. Only that the resurrection itself is not unique.
When we think of Jesus’ resurrection as unique—the one and only—we keep it safely tucked away in the past. Resurrection happened once and the world was changed. This is how Paul understands Jesus’ resurrection—as the point of new Creation. And this resurrection of the past becomes the promised resurrection of the future. The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised, according to Paul’s understanding. So Jesus’ resurrection is rooted in the past and projected into the future. But what about the present?
When the widow’s son died in the time of Elijah, Elijah prayed to the Lord and the son had his life come back to him. It was by this miracle that the widow knew that the power of God was active in the world. When the widow’s son was raised by Jesus, he did not call upon God—he uttered the word “arise”. And the son was restored to life. In this way the people knew that a might prophet had risen among them. When Jesus was raised from the dead—well we don’t know. Scripture does not tell us. He was dead and then the tomb was empty and he appeared alive again to his disciples. Jesus was raised by the power of God—in a transaction known only to Jesus and God. So we see the progression. Resurrection through supplication to God. Resurrection by the power of God working in Jesus. Resurrection by the power of God alone.
So, today, in this present time, by what power does resurrection occur? By the power of God! By what instrument? Through the body of Christ, God’s Church. But someone might say, no one has been raised. The dead stay dead. Is it not in the last days that resurrection shall occur? And the scripture does suggest this. But scripture also says something else we must consider. And because this story of Jesus raising the man at Nain appears only in Luke, let us briefly consider another story that occurs only in Luke. The familiar story of the prodigal son.
We will not review this whole story, we know it well enough. It is the end of the story that concerns us. When the son comes home to his joyous father from a life of ruin. The older brother is bitter, and their father says—we have to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.
There are many ways to die in this world and there are many who are dead even in this life. Without diminishing the legitimacy of resurrection in these two stories, without calling into question the resurrection of the dead on the last day, we must also admit to the kind of death to which Luke refers in the story of the prodigal son. This is the death of despair. This is the death of hopelessness. This is the death of ruin, of addiction, of desperate loneliness. This is the living death of those who live without meaning, hope, love, joy—all of the aspects of life many of us take for granted. The death that was the father’s son who---when he came to himself—was received with joy. For he was dead and is now alive.
This is a resurrection story. But not one quite as obvious. This is the resurrection that dresses in the gorilla suit and beats its chest in the midst of basketball players. For whereas God was at work in Elijah, God was at work in Jesus to raise the dead, so God is at work in us, his church, to raise the dead that are around us. As God raised Jesus from the dead so God will raise us in the last day but until then, God calls us to live a life of resurrection and resurrecting.
For the spiritually and emotionally dead are among us. They might even worship with us from time to time. By understanding resurrection as an act of God in the here and now, we may be more sensitive to our calling to follow in the footsteps of the prophets and call the dead to life, which is to say to be the agents of God’s love, peace, forgiveness, hope, and reconciliation.
Those who missed the gorilla the first time will now see the gorilla for the rest of their lives. And this is also why it is important to continue to open and read the Bible. We cannot assume that we "know" it. God's Word continues to speak to us, reveal to us, call to us and change us by our encountering it in the text. The Bible speaks today but we have to take a step back from all that we think we know to allow ourselves to hear and see, maybe for the first time, those aspects of Jesus and of God that we need to hear and know. When we read the Bible we should look for the gorilla, expect the gorilla. From experience I can tell you there are few things more rewarding than to have a new understanding, a new awareness come to me out of the pages of this ancient text. Maybe that, in its
Note: When the sermon was delivered at The First Presbyterian Church, North Platte, Nebraska, this video was first shown to the congregation. You should take a moment to watch it. Click Here
The Gorilla in the Text
Luke 7:11-17
Did you see the gorilla? Half of the people who watch this video do not see the gorilla. The experiment has been conducted in many countries, with diverse groups, and the result is always the same: half of the observers do not observe the gorilla. They are so engaged with counting the passes by the people in white that the gorilla comes and goes without notice. The authors of this study have written a book about this phenomenon and others like it. In “The Invisible Gorilla”, psychologists Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons off this summary: “When people devote their attention to a particular area or aspect of their visual world, they tend not to notice unexpected objects, even when those unexpected objects are salient, potentially important, and appear right where they are looking.”
The authors offer another illustration—this one more serious. In 2001 a military submarine near Hawaii engaged in a training exercise. The submarine performed what is known as an “emergency deep”. The commander of the sub followed this with an emergency tank blow, in which the main ballasts are emptied and the sub surfaces as fast as it can. This maneuver causes the sub to exit the water briefly. In this case, the sub surfaced under a Japanese fishing boat. Three crew members and six passengers aboard the boat died. The fishing boat was 200 feet long. How could a modern submarine miss the presence of a 200 foot long fishing boat? The investigation concluded that the accident occurred because the commander of the sub failed to see the fishing ship during a routine periscope search of the area. How could this be? How can you not see a fishing boat through the periscope? Chabris and Simons write, “the key lies in what [the commander] thought he would see when he looked. As he said later, “I wasn’t looking for it, nor did I expect it.” He looked right at the fishing boat and did not see it.
I believe this is a fascinating topic to consider. Although these psychologists focus on the visual, I believe their findings suggest that a very similar thing happens when we read something, especially something with which we are very familiar or at least something with which we believe we are very familiar. More specifically, I found this a very insightful observation for reading the Bible. It is quite possible that because we believe we understand something, we will look right past something important that is right before our eyes. Exhibit A comes from our text this morning.
The story of Jesus at Nain is part of a progression of healing which begins with Jesus healing a Centurion’s daughter. This healing comes by request of the father and happens long distance, as Jesus never sees the girl, just pronounces her well. From there he moves on to Nain where he comes upon a funeral procession. Jesus has progressed from a sick daughter at a distance to a dead son at his feet. The dead man is a widow's only son, which implies that the widow herself is now at risk as she has no male household member
So this man is dead. And Jesus raises him from the dead. By his word—I say to you arise—the man sits up and begins to speak and he is restored to his mother. This act serves the dual purpose of bringing the man back to life and restoring his mother’s security.
But the larger point is this—Jesus raised him from the dead. This story is one of resurrection. This intrigues me. We are conditioned to think of Jesus’ resurrection as being unique in human history. God raised Jesus from the dead, thus conquering the power of death once and for all. And yet here is a story of resurrection that comes only seven chapters into Luke’s story. And before that—both Elijah and Elisha are credited with restoring life to those who were dead. They were prophets powerful in word and deed.
So what does it mean that Jesus is not the only one to be raised from the dead in the gospel? He is not even the first! We might even imagine this man living long enough to hear of Jesus' resurrection. What might he say? Been there done that? In order to get to the bottom of this, it was time to consult the wisest commentaries. But not long after I began my search, I realized there were gorillas in our midst.
The first thing I noticed was how many of the commentaries used the word “resuscitation” rather than “resurrection”. Now maybe I am just is splitting hairs or is this distinction important? The Oxford English Dictionary defines resuscitation as the “restoration of consciousness or life in one who is near or apparently dead.” Using the word resuscitation hedges our bet a little. The implication is that the person may not have been really dead, or perhaps dead such a short time it was possible to revive him. Contrast this definition with that of resurrection. The number one definition is the Oxford English Dictionary is “the rising again of Christ after his death and burial.” I found this really interesting. Resurrection, according to the OED, is something that happens to Jesus. And it happens to the rest of us "on the last day". But apparently it doesn't happen to middle aged men in the city of Nain, even if the text right in front of us explicitly says so. Gorillas indeed.
The second thing I noticed was the extensive discussion tying this episode to that of Elijah. Now this is quite understandable. The parallels simply cannot be missed. Elijah raises the widow’s son and Jesus raises the widow’s son. The widow proclaims Elijah a man of God and the people proclaim of Jesus that a great prophet has risen among us and the buzz travels. Many commentators emphasized this miracle as an act of compassion on behalf of the widow.
But this parallel with Elijah only reinforces my main point: resurrection is not new. It was happening centuries before Jesus was born, it happened several times by Jesus’ own hand (in addition to this story there is the 12 year old girl and Lazarus in the Gospel of John). and Jesus himself is raised. So what are we to make of all of this? The man was dead. Stone cold dead. And Jesus raised him from the dead. And the man even spoke in a post-resurrection appearance. The Gorilla in the text is resurrection.
If we think of Jesus’ resurrection as the unique, one and only occurrence of resurrection, than we miss these other occurrences clearly displayed in the text. But this is not to say there is nothing significantly unique about Jesus’ resurrection. Only that the resurrection itself is not unique.
When we think of Jesus’ resurrection as unique—the one and only—we keep it safely tucked away in the past. Resurrection happened once and the world was changed. This is how Paul understands Jesus’ resurrection—as the point of new Creation. And this resurrection of the past becomes the promised resurrection of the future. The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised, according to Paul’s understanding. So Jesus’ resurrection is rooted in the past and projected into the future. But what about the present?
When the widow’s son died in the time of Elijah, Elijah prayed to the Lord and the son had his life come back to him. It was by this miracle that the widow knew that the power of God was active in the world. When the widow’s son was raised by Jesus, he did not call upon God—he uttered the word “arise”. And the son was restored to life. In this way the people knew that a might prophet had risen among them. When Jesus was raised from the dead—well we don’t know. Scripture does not tell us. He was dead and then the tomb was empty and he appeared alive again to his disciples. Jesus was raised by the power of God—in a transaction known only to Jesus and God. So we see the progression. Resurrection through supplication to God. Resurrection by the power of God working in Jesus. Resurrection by the power of God alone.
So, today, in this present time, by what power does resurrection occur? By the power of God! By what instrument? Through the body of Christ, God’s Church. But someone might say, no one has been raised. The dead stay dead. Is it not in the last days that resurrection shall occur? And the scripture does suggest this. But scripture also says something else we must consider. And because this story of Jesus raising the man at Nain appears only in Luke, let us briefly consider another story that occurs only in Luke. The familiar story of the prodigal son.
We will not review this whole story, we know it well enough. It is the end of the story that concerns us. When the son comes home to his joyous father from a life of ruin. The older brother is bitter, and their father says—we have to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.
There are many ways to die in this world and there are many who are dead even in this life. Without diminishing the legitimacy of resurrection in these two stories, without calling into question the resurrection of the dead on the last day, we must also admit to the kind of death to which Luke refers in the story of the prodigal son. This is the death of despair. This is the death of hopelessness. This is the death of ruin, of addiction, of desperate loneliness. This is the living death of those who live without meaning, hope, love, joy—all of the aspects of life many of us take for granted. The death that was the father’s son who---when he came to himself—was received with joy. For he was dead and is now alive.
This is a resurrection story. But not one quite as obvious. This is the resurrection that dresses in the gorilla suit and beats its chest in the midst of basketball players. For whereas God was at work in Elijah, God was at work in Jesus to raise the dead, so God is at work in us, his church, to raise the dead that are around us. As God raised Jesus from the dead so God will raise us in the last day but until then, God calls us to live a life of resurrection and resurrecting.
For the spiritually and emotionally dead are among us. They might even worship with us from time to time. By understanding resurrection as an act of God in the here and now, we may be more sensitive to our calling to follow in the footsteps of the prophets and call the dead to life, which is to say to be the agents of God’s love, peace, forgiveness, hope, and reconciliation.
Those who missed the gorilla the first time will now see the gorilla for the rest of their lives. And this is also why it is important to continue to open and read the Bible. We cannot assume that we "know" it. God's Word continues to speak to us, reveal to us, call to us and change us by our encountering it in the text. The Bible speaks today but we have to take a step back from all that we think we know to allow ourselves to hear and see, maybe for the first time, those aspects of Jesus and of God that we need to hear and know. When we read the Bible we should look for the gorilla, expect the gorilla. From experience I can tell you there are few things more rewarding than to have a new understanding, a new awareness come to me out of the pages of this ancient text. Maybe that, in its
When the Story is About Us
When The Story Is About Us- A Sermon Luke 7
2 Samuel 12
I am imagining a common scene, played out across dining tables everywhere. The mother offers a piece of difficult but necessary wisdom to the teenager. The teenager sits quietly, pondering, absorbing. The father, unaware of the dynamic, offers what he believes to be encouragement. “I believe what your mother is saying is…..” but he never finishes. The teenager looks up with a growl and says, “I KNOW what she is saying!”
And such is the preacher’s lot with texts such as this. And there are many texts such as this. Texts we call parables, or simply the narrative story itself, wherein the interaction of character and dialogue is meant to stand as sufficient, self evident. What more is there to say to Jesus’ words about love and forgiveness? How does the preacher avoid being the one who says, “I think what Jesus is trying to say is….” To a congregation that knows what Jesus says. Silence, not sermons, may be the more appropriate response to texts such as this.
And yet I will take the risk and say something, even if to only shine a spotlight even more brightly on Jesus’ words and Luke’s story. The situation is straightforward enough. One of the Pharisees has invited Jesus to dinner. This is a common strategy which we see played out on the 24 hour cable news channels all the time. Whoever is the hot ticket, whoever has the buzz, that is the one we want as a guest. We want to be associated with him. We want the people to think of us as a pair. Jesus is the latest thing, especially after that resurrection trick he pulled at Nain. Or, perhaps, there is another explanation. Remember the adage—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Whatever the reason, Jesus is at table with the Pharisee who is distinguished by a trait few Pharisees share in the Gospel. He has a name. Simon.
So Simon the Pharisee and Jesus the Christ are at table together. No other is mentioned until the end of the story save the woman, the woman from the city, the woman who is a sinner, the woman who is a problem. The woman is behind Jesus, in view of Simon, washing and anointing his feet. We need to make a careful note of the language here. The Pharisee, Simon, said disparaging things about the woman to himself. Not out loud. There is no direct challenge to Jesus here. This foreshadows a similar scene later in the Gospel around the time of the story of the prodigal in chapter 15. At that time the “sinners and tax collectors” were coming near to Jesus and the Pharisees were grumbling, saying to themselves “this fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” And Jesus’ response is also the same—he anticipates the objection and has a direct response to it.
And as is Jesus’ way, he tells a story. Two debtors, one creditor. One owes a great deal, one owes little. The creditor forgives both debts. Who will be more grateful? The answer seems obvious to Simon. The one who was forgiven more, he says, no doubt wondering what the relevance is. Just so, Jesus says.
When David decided to borrow Bathsheba from her husband while her husband was fighting David’s war, he did so without much thought to consequence. He was king, after all. It was after Bathsheba disclosed her pregnancy that David decided he had to take preventive measures. After failing to entice Uriah, her husband, to spend the night with her, he tried to have him killed. He succeeded in this and his problem was solved. That is until Nathan, his court “story-teller” came to him with a story.
There was a poor man who had a sheep. He loved the sheep as one loves a child. The rich man had many sheep and, when one was needed for a lavish banquet, the rich man did not want to take from his own flock and instead took the poor man’s dear sheep and served it up with mint jelly. David, upon hearing of this towering injustice, was filled with rage. As I am king, he proclaimed, such a man as this deserves death. Let him repay four times the loss.
David’s indignation is encouraging, but his sensitivity is still lacking. After all, this was not a property issue, this was a love issue. In Nathan’s story the poor man clearly loved the sheep and had no intention of ever serving it to anyone. David sees the injustice, but he doesn’t see the emotional import. He doesn’t understand that there are some things more important that property, assets, and privilege.
Which is why, perhaps, we still need sermons on stories. When David heard the story, he knew what it was about, except the part that was about him. When Simon heard the story, it was tiresomely obvious, except that part which indicted him. This is the joy and sorrow of story. Story opens to us levels of awareness that rational argument cannot penetrate. Jesus, and Nathan, understood one of the first rules of engaging the audience—emotional response.
Those of you with children. Did you ever call your parents to complain about your child? You would not believe the words that come out of that child’s mouth! All she does is complain! He just will not clean his room! And your parent listens patiently on the other end before saying, calmly and plainly, you are the man. (or the woman). You were the same way. Or have you ever caught yourself complaining to another person about all the gossipy people while in the process of gossiping about them? When we hear stories that engage our sense of right and wrong, our “common” sense, the moral seems self evident. But it is a common characteristic of such stories that it is easier to apply its lessons elsewhere, or not apply it at all. Simon understood well enough that if one is forgiven one hundred and another ten, the one forgiven one hundred will likely feel more relieved. David understood well enough that you should not raid someone else’s house for what you should supply yourself. What neither understood was that the story was about them.
The bible stories are not just history and they are not just stories. They do not all have the feel good impact of the children’s bible. They are deep and penetrating examinations of what it means to be a human being, good and bad, in the presence of God. This is the power of all stories that matter, that endure. Stories serve not as windows on the past but as mirrors for the present. Stories that matter have the power to change us in ways that argument and lecture and a mountain of facts never can. So Jesus told stories—stories designed to sneak up on us with their truth so that we end up inviting them in before we know what they have to say to us. Had Nathan simply told David he had done a bad thing, David could have denied and excused and evaded. Had Jesus told Simon straight out that this woman was forgiven and therefore loved he would have gotten lost with the others in the argument about forgiveness and who can forgive and when. No. Nathan invited David to self-discovery and Jesus does the same for Simon and for us. In our debt encumbered culture we can surely relate to Jesus’ question to Simon. So can we see, by extension, the truth about love?
Jesus’ story is the story within the larger story that Luke is telling. In Luke’s story we note that the “others” at the table argue about forgiveness. Who does he think he is that he can forgive. But Jesus never forgives the woman. He merely observes that she is forgiven. And this is what explains her actions, her love, her compassion. Does Simon understand? We are not told. We hear only the bickering of the ones Jesus was not directly addressing. Maybe Simon gets it, as David did. You are the man, Simon. You love little, because you are forgiven little. You love little, hence little do you forgive.
Paul Tillich, a wonderful theologian and preacher, offered a sermon on this text. Why, he asked, do so many turn away from their righteous parents, their righteous pastors? Do escape judgment? That is surely some of it. But, Tillich speculates, more often it is because they seek a love that is rooted in forgiveness, and this the righteous ones cannot give. There was a pastor in North Platte many years ago who mentioned once to Amy Jo that it was getting harder and harder to find people to be on the church’s board. “There are just not enough righteous people,” he complained. Is it easier to fill a board with forgiven people?
Tillich concluded his sermon with these words. “The Church would be more the Church of Christ if it joined Jesus and not Simon in its encounter with those judged unacceptable. Each of us who strives for righteousness would be more Christian if more were forgiven
2 Samuel 12
I am imagining a common scene, played out across dining tables everywhere. The mother offers a piece of difficult but necessary wisdom to the teenager. The teenager sits quietly, pondering, absorbing. The father, unaware of the dynamic, offers what he believes to be encouragement. “I believe what your mother is saying is…..” but he never finishes. The teenager looks up with a growl and says, “I KNOW what she is saying!”
And such is the preacher’s lot with texts such as this. And there are many texts such as this. Texts we call parables, or simply the narrative story itself, wherein the interaction of character and dialogue is meant to stand as sufficient, self evident. What more is there to say to Jesus’ words about love and forgiveness? How does the preacher avoid being the one who says, “I think what Jesus is trying to say is….” To a congregation that knows what Jesus says. Silence, not sermons, may be the more appropriate response to texts such as this.
And yet I will take the risk and say something, even if to only shine a spotlight even more brightly on Jesus’ words and Luke’s story. The situation is straightforward enough. One of the Pharisees has invited Jesus to dinner. This is a common strategy which we see played out on the 24 hour cable news channels all the time. Whoever is the hot ticket, whoever has the buzz, that is the one we want as a guest. We want to be associated with him. We want the people to think of us as a pair. Jesus is the latest thing, especially after that resurrection trick he pulled at Nain. Or, perhaps, there is another explanation. Remember the adage—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Whatever the reason, Jesus is at table with the Pharisee who is distinguished by a trait few Pharisees share in the Gospel. He has a name. Simon.
So Simon the Pharisee and Jesus the Christ are at table together. No other is mentioned until the end of the story save the woman, the woman from the city, the woman who is a sinner, the woman who is a problem. The woman is behind Jesus, in view of Simon, washing and anointing his feet. We need to make a careful note of the language here. The Pharisee, Simon, said disparaging things about the woman to himself. Not out loud. There is no direct challenge to Jesus here. This foreshadows a similar scene later in the Gospel around the time of the story of the prodigal in chapter 15. At that time the “sinners and tax collectors” were coming near to Jesus and the Pharisees were grumbling, saying to themselves “this fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” And Jesus’ response is also the same—he anticipates the objection and has a direct response to it.
And as is Jesus’ way, he tells a story. Two debtors, one creditor. One owes a great deal, one owes little. The creditor forgives both debts. Who will be more grateful? The answer seems obvious to Simon. The one who was forgiven more, he says, no doubt wondering what the relevance is. Just so, Jesus says.
When David decided to borrow Bathsheba from her husband while her husband was fighting David’s war, he did so without much thought to consequence. He was king, after all. It was after Bathsheba disclosed her pregnancy that David decided he had to take preventive measures. After failing to entice Uriah, her husband, to spend the night with her, he tried to have him killed. He succeeded in this and his problem was solved. That is until Nathan, his court “story-teller” came to him with a story.
There was a poor man who had a sheep. He loved the sheep as one loves a child. The rich man had many sheep and, when one was needed for a lavish banquet, the rich man did not want to take from his own flock and instead took the poor man’s dear sheep and served it up with mint jelly. David, upon hearing of this towering injustice, was filled with rage. As I am king, he proclaimed, such a man as this deserves death. Let him repay four times the loss.
David’s indignation is encouraging, but his sensitivity is still lacking. After all, this was not a property issue, this was a love issue. In Nathan’s story the poor man clearly loved the sheep and had no intention of ever serving it to anyone. David sees the injustice, but he doesn’t see the emotional import. He doesn’t understand that there are some things more important that property, assets, and privilege.
Which is why, perhaps, we still need sermons on stories. When David heard the story, he knew what it was about, except the part that was about him. When Simon heard the story, it was tiresomely obvious, except that part which indicted him. This is the joy and sorrow of story. Story opens to us levels of awareness that rational argument cannot penetrate. Jesus, and Nathan, understood one of the first rules of engaging the audience—emotional response.
Those of you with children. Did you ever call your parents to complain about your child? You would not believe the words that come out of that child’s mouth! All she does is complain! He just will not clean his room! And your parent listens patiently on the other end before saying, calmly and plainly, you are the man. (or the woman). You were the same way. Or have you ever caught yourself complaining to another person about all the gossipy people while in the process of gossiping about them? When we hear stories that engage our sense of right and wrong, our “common” sense, the moral seems self evident. But it is a common characteristic of such stories that it is easier to apply its lessons elsewhere, or not apply it at all. Simon understood well enough that if one is forgiven one hundred and another ten, the one forgiven one hundred will likely feel more relieved. David understood well enough that you should not raid someone else’s house for what you should supply yourself. What neither understood was that the story was about them.
The bible stories are not just history and they are not just stories. They do not all have the feel good impact of the children’s bible. They are deep and penetrating examinations of what it means to be a human being, good and bad, in the presence of God. This is the power of all stories that matter, that endure. Stories serve not as windows on the past but as mirrors for the present. Stories that matter have the power to change us in ways that argument and lecture and a mountain of facts never can. So Jesus told stories—stories designed to sneak up on us with their truth so that we end up inviting them in before we know what they have to say to us. Had Nathan simply told David he had done a bad thing, David could have denied and excused and evaded. Had Jesus told Simon straight out that this woman was forgiven and therefore loved he would have gotten lost with the others in the argument about forgiveness and who can forgive and when. No. Nathan invited David to self-discovery and Jesus does the same for Simon and for us. In our debt encumbered culture we can surely relate to Jesus’ question to Simon. So can we see, by extension, the truth about love?
Jesus’ story is the story within the larger story that Luke is telling. In Luke’s story we note that the “others” at the table argue about forgiveness. Who does he think he is that he can forgive. But Jesus never forgives the woman. He merely observes that she is forgiven. And this is what explains her actions, her love, her compassion. Does Simon understand? We are not told. We hear only the bickering of the ones Jesus was not directly addressing. Maybe Simon gets it, as David did. You are the man, Simon. You love little, because you are forgiven little. You love little, hence little do you forgive.
Paul Tillich, a wonderful theologian and preacher, offered a sermon on this text. Why, he asked, do so many turn away from their righteous parents, their righteous pastors? Do escape judgment? That is surely some of it. But, Tillich speculates, more often it is because they seek a love that is rooted in forgiveness, and this the righteous ones cannot give. There was a pastor in North Platte many years ago who mentioned once to Amy Jo that it was getting harder and harder to find people to be on the church’s board. “There are just not enough righteous people,” he complained. Is it easier to fill a board with forgiven people?
Tillich concluded his sermon with these words. “The Church would be more the Church of Christ if it joined Jesus and not Simon in its encounter with those judged unacceptable. Each of us who strives for righteousness would be more Christian if more were forgiven
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Of Sneetches and the Spirit -- A sermon
Of Sneetches and the Spirit -- A sermon
Acts 11, John 14
After centuries of scholastic pursuit of the deep meaning of the Gospel, one of the best interpreters could well be Dr. Seuss. Not that the good doctor necessarily had the New Testament in mind as he crafted his social parables. But so many of them strike so very close to the heart of Jesus' message. And this morning the parable that again comes to my mind is the plight of the Sneetches.
I know that I have referenced the Sneetches before. And yet we are accustomed to hearing familiar parables of Jesus more than once, so why not the Sneetches? But there may be some here not as familiar with the story, so a brief summary is in order.
The Sneetches are a race of beings who spend considerable amounts of time on the beaches. There is nothing to differentiate one Sneetch from another apart from this: some have stars on their bellies and some do not. This contrast leads to much unhappiness and civil discontent. The Sneetches with stars believe themselves to be the best kind of Sneetch on the beach and the ones without stars are inferior, which explains why they do not get invited to any frankfurter roasts.
One day a darkly mysterious character--McMonkey McBean-- arrives and offers to add stars to the Sneetches without. Over time McMonkey McBean drains the Sneetches of all their money in their frantic pursuit to be "better than" the other Sneetches by first having stars, then not having stars, then having stars again. In the end McBean leaves with all the money and the Sneetches are left staring at each other no longer certain who is who.
For our purposes this morning we are less concerned with the business model of McMonkey McBean and more concerned with the Sneetches as obsessed creatures of status. And the reason any of it is important this morning can be found in our reading from the book of Acts. What we are hearing today is Peter's account of the events recorded in chapter 10, of the time Peter received a vision from God to violate central tenants of Jewish faith as a prelude to bringing baptism to Gentiles. Gentiles are anyone not Jewish, and up to this point the Jesus movement has been an offshoot of Jewish practice. Being responsible for bringing salvation to those who were not already Jewish was a big deal for Peter and it did not make him popular with the home boys. When Peter arrived back at the mother church in Jerusalem, he was criticized for eating "with such men as this." Does that sound familiar? The Gospel portrays Jesus as being criticized for the same thing, for "eating and drinking with sinners." In this case, Peter was encouraged by a vision to eat things unclean by Jewish standards. But the menu is not the point. The point is inclusion. How is it, the home church wonders, that something that belongs to US is being given to people like THAT? How is it that we, who have stars, have to associate with those who have none upon thars?
This tension between the Jewish Christians and their Gentile counterparts is also reported by Paul in his own letters. Galatians, which is primarily concerned with this problem, contains a story Paul tells about Peter. "But when Peter came to Antioch I opposed him to his face for until certain people came from James (who was the head of the Jerusalem church) he used to eat with Gentiles. But after he came, he drew back and kept himself separate for fear of the circumcision faction. And the other Jews joined him in this hypocrisy." Who would have thought the early church was just another version of Middle School? And so it goes--factions form, sides are chosen, there are popular kids and not popular kids. Some Sneetches have stars upon thars and some do not. And so it goes.
Yet none of this should surprise us. This tension has never gone away throughout recorded history. We are, it seems, a very competitive species. We compete at everything. And this competition can be useful, helpful. It can promote growth and maturity. It can even be fun. Family game night is really family competition night. Someone has to win the game, right? Where would our culture be without sports? Sports are everywhere. There are people not here today because somewhere someone is competing in a sport. We have four wonderful high school kids who have spent a great deal of time competing--in softball, volleyball, track, swimming, academics, music, theater. They are no doubt better for it. Three of the four are attending school on sports scholarships and the other is a regents scholar in addition to other academic achievements. We learn from winning. We learn from losing. It is our nature to be competitive.
What lies at the heart of competition? What makes competition possible? Scarcity. There can be no competition where the prize is plentiful. Cows do not generally compete for grass. There is plenty for all. What makes a competition a competition is that there is not enough of the prize to go around. In nature the "prize" is enough food and water or sunlight. Not every tree in the forest can survive. Our competitions are rooted in this scarcity. This can be only one record holder in the 100 meter freestyle. There is only one Super Bowl Trophy. There is only one lead in the school musical, one first chair violin, only one Student Council President. For that matter this is only one President of the United States, a fact that generates an incredible amount of competition. There are only so many church goers in town, so churches compete for their attention. We compete for money, for prizes, for market share, for attention, for recognition, for status.....
Which brings us to the dark side of competition. The Sneetches were competing. What scarcity was at the heart of their competition? Not frankfurters. There were plenty of them. Not square mile of beach. Lots of beach. What was so scarce that they had to compete? Only this. Only one kind of Sneetch could be the best kind of Sneetch.
This is the dark side of competition. Healthy competition takes place in the arena of gifts, skills, and some luck, all governed by fairness and good sportsmanship. If we have a foot race, and start from the same position, you will win, because you are faster. If we have a competition involving various kinds of literary theory, I will win, because you won't play because that sounds really boring. But what if we had a competition to decide who was a more valuable human being? What if we competed to determine who had more value as a human being? How would we do that?
Well consider such competitions in our history. Reflect upon race relations in our country up through the civil rights movement and beyond. Reflect upon the encroachment of Europeans into the habitat of the Native Americans and the justifications for eliminating the natives. Consider Germany in the 1920s and 1930s and Hitler's interpretation as to which Sneetches had stars and which ones did not. Although that image is a big ironic, because in Hitler's Germany it was bad to have a star if it was the star of David.
When is competition not healthy? When the competition is rooted in a claim of fundamental superiority--the claim that one human being is superior to another on the basis of nothing more than opinion and the power to enforce that opinion. Competition is wrong when the prize is the value of a human soul.
Unfortunately the Bible is full of such competitions. Remember Cain and Abel, that did not end so well. Remember Isaac and Ishmael? Jacob and Esau? Moses and Pharaoh? How about King David and his sons. Talk about dysfunctional competition in the family.
And the disciples. They argue about which one of them is the greatest. They demand that Jesus do for them whatever they ask. They despise Samaritans and threaten to bring fire from heaven to consume them. But Jesus will have none of it. Whoever is first shall be last, he says. One must be as a child to enter the kingdom. When the disciples threaten with fire Jesus scolds them asking, what kind of Spirit are you of? Which brings us back to our text for this morning.
Because at the heart of the competition between the Jews and the Gentiles is the prize of the Holy Spirit. The question is: is the Spirit in short supply, to be hoarded by the chosen? Or is there an abundance of the Spirit so that it might be freely shared with all? Well, if we want to be special, if we want to be "better than" others, than we want a Spirit that is ours. We want to possess the Spirit so that we can determine, based upon our own prejudicial subjectiveness, who is deserving of it. Or the Spirit could belong to God, and God alone determines to whom the Spirit comes which is, according to the biblical witness, pretty much anyone who seeks it, who claims it, who gives their heart to it.
In John's Gospel Jesus tells his community not to be afraid. I do not give as the world gives, Jesus says. Do not let your hearts be troubled. And do not be afraid. Competition is rooted in scarcity. One prize, one record, one blue ribbon. Bad competition is also rooted in scarcity. A scarcity of love. It is the absence of love that creates the need to be superior. It is the absence of felt love and the absence of love to offer. It is a fundamental pathology to derive one's own self esteem from the injurious treatment of others. But this is how the world gives. This is how the world proceeds. There is a need to be "better than" someone else. I may believe that I am better than you because I am richer, whiter, more male, more straight, smarter, more honored. But that is all an illusion. For fundamentally I am not better than you because I am blessed of the same Spirit as you. And you are not better than me. We are not better than one another. We are children of God. We are heirs to the kingdom. It is the world that wants to separate us into groupings. But Jesus doesn't give to us as the world gives. So let us not be driven by fear and insecurity into the dark regions of social competition. Let us live in the light of Christ's love.
The Sneetches do figure that out. After McMonkey McBean drives away with all of their money and self-respect, they realize that there is no best kind of Sneetch on the beaches. And they have a frankfurter roast together. All of them. That sounds like a beautiful image of the Kingdom of God. Amen.
Acts 11, John 14
After centuries of scholastic pursuit of the deep meaning of the Gospel, one of the best interpreters could well be Dr. Seuss. Not that the good doctor necessarily had the New Testament in mind as he crafted his social parables. But so many of them strike so very close to the heart of Jesus' message. And this morning the parable that again comes to my mind is the plight of the Sneetches.
I know that I have referenced the Sneetches before. And yet we are accustomed to hearing familiar parables of Jesus more than once, so why not the Sneetches? But there may be some here not as familiar with the story, so a brief summary is in order.
The Sneetches are a race of beings who spend considerable amounts of time on the beaches. There is nothing to differentiate one Sneetch from another apart from this: some have stars on their bellies and some do not. This contrast leads to much unhappiness and civil discontent. The Sneetches with stars believe themselves to be the best kind of Sneetch on the beach and the ones without stars are inferior, which explains why they do not get invited to any frankfurter roasts.
One day a darkly mysterious character--McMonkey McBean-- arrives and offers to add stars to the Sneetches without. Over time McMonkey McBean drains the Sneetches of all their money in their frantic pursuit to be "better than" the other Sneetches by first having stars, then not having stars, then having stars again. In the end McBean leaves with all the money and the Sneetches are left staring at each other no longer certain who is who.
For our purposes this morning we are less concerned with the business model of McMonkey McBean and more concerned with the Sneetches as obsessed creatures of status. And the reason any of it is important this morning can be found in our reading from the book of Acts. What we are hearing today is Peter's account of the events recorded in chapter 10, of the time Peter received a vision from God to violate central tenants of Jewish faith as a prelude to bringing baptism to Gentiles. Gentiles are anyone not Jewish, and up to this point the Jesus movement has been an offshoot of Jewish practice. Being responsible for bringing salvation to those who were not already Jewish was a big deal for Peter and it did not make him popular with the home boys. When Peter arrived back at the mother church in Jerusalem, he was criticized for eating "with such men as this." Does that sound familiar? The Gospel portrays Jesus as being criticized for the same thing, for "eating and drinking with sinners." In this case, Peter was encouraged by a vision to eat things unclean by Jewish standards. But the menu is not the point. The point is inclusion. How is it, the home church wonders, that something that belongs to US is being given to people like THAT? How is it that we, who have stars, have to associate with those who have none upon thars?
This tension between the Jewish Christians and their Gentile counterparts is also reported by Paul in his own letters. Galatians, which is primarily concerned with this problem, contains a story Paul tells about Peter. "But when Peter came to Antioch I opposed him to his face for until certain people came from James (who was the head of the Jerusalem church) he used to eat with Gentiles. But after he came, he drew back and kept himself separate for fear of the circumcision faction. And the other Jews joined him in this hypocrisy." Who would have thought the early church was just another version of Middle School? And so it goes--factions form, sides are chosen, there are popular kids and not popular kids. Some Sneetches have stars upon thars and some do not. And so it goes.
Yet none of this should surprise us. This tension has never gone away throughout recorded history. We are, it seems, a very competitive species. We compete at everything. And this competition can be useful, helpful. It can promote growth and maturity. It can even be fun. Family game night is really family competition night. Someone has to win the game, right? Where would our culture be without sports? Sports are everywhere. There are people not here today because somewhere someone is competing in a sport. We have four wonderful high school kids who have spent a great deal of time competing--in softball, volleyball, track, swimming, academics, music, theater. They are no doubt better for it. Three of the four are attending school on sports scholarships and the other is a regents scholar in addition to other academic achievements. We learn from winning. We learn from losing. It is our nature to be competitive.
What lies at the heart of competition? What makes competition possible? Scarcity. There can be no competition where the prize is plentiful. Cows do not generally compete for grass. There is plenty for all. What makes a competition a competition is that there is not enough of the prize to go around. In nature the "prize" is enough food and water or sunlight. Not every tree in the forest can survive. Our competitions are rooted in this scarcity. This can be only one record holder in the 100 meter freestyle. There is only one Super Bowl Trophy. There is only one lead in the school musical, one first chair violin, only one Student Council President. For that matter this is only one President of the United States, a fact that generates an incredible amount of competition. There are only so many church goers in town, so churches compete for their attention. We compete for money, for prizes, for market share, for attention, for recognition, for status.....
Which brings us to the dark side of competition. The Sneetches were competing. What scarcity was at the heart of their competition? Not frankfurters. There were plenty of them. Not square mile of beach. Lots of beach. What was so scarce that they had to compete? Only this. Only one kind of Sneetch could be the best kind of Sneetch.
This is the dark side of competition. Healthy competition takes place in the arena of gifts, skills, and some luck, all governed by fairness and good sportsmanship. If we have a foot race, and start from the same position, you will win, because you are faster. If we have a competition involving various kinds of literary theory, I will win, because you won't play because that sounds really boring. But what if we had a competition to decide who was a more valuable human being? What if we competed to determine who had more value as a human being? How would we do that?
Well consider such competitions in our history. Reflect upon race relations in our country up through the civil rights movement and beyond. Reflect upon the encroachment of Europeans into the habitat of the Native Americans and the justifications for eliminating the natives. Consider Germany in the 1920s and 1930s and Hitler's interpretation as to which Sneetches had stars and which ones did not. Although that image is a big ironic, because in Hitler's Germany it was bad to have a star if it was the star of David.
When is competition not healthy? When the competition is rooted in a claim of fundamental superiority--the claim that one human being is superior to another on the basis of nothing more than opinion and the power to enforce that opinion. Competition is wrong when the prize is the value of a human soul.
Unfortunately the Bible is full of such competitions. Remember Cain and Abel, that did not end so well. Remember Isaac and Ishmael? Jacob and Esau? Moses and Pharaoh? How about King David and his sons. Talk about dysfunctional competition in the family.
And the disciples. They argue about which one of them is the greatest. They demand that Jesus do for them whatever they ask. They despise Samaritans and threaten to bring fire from heaven to consume them. But Jesus will have none of it. Whoever is first shall be last, he says. One must be as a child to enter the kingdom. When the disciples threaten with fire Jesus scolds them asking, what kind of Spirit are you of? Which brings us back to our text for this morning.
Because at the heart of the competition between the Jews and the Gentiles is the prize of the Holy Spirit. The question is: is the Spirit in short supply, to be hoarded by the chosen? Or is there an abundance of the Spirit so that it might be freely shared with all? Well, if we want to be special, if we want to be "better than" others, than we want a Spirit that is ours. We want to possess the Spirit so that we can determine, based upon our own prejudicial subjectiveness, who is deserving of it. Or the Spirit could belong to God, and God alone determines to whom the Spirit comes which is, according to the biblical witness, pretty much anyone who seeks it, who claims it, who gives their heart to it.
In John's Gospel Jesus tells his community not to be afraid. I do not give as the world gives, Jesus says. Do not let your hearts be troubled. And do not be afraid. Competition is rooted in scarcity. One prize, one record, one blue ribbon. Bad competition is also rooted in scarcity. A scarcity of love. It is the absence of love that creates the need to be superior. It is the absence of felt love and the absence of love to offer. It is a fundamental pathology to derive one's own self esteem from the injurious treatment of others. But this is how the world gives. This is how the world proceeds. There is a need to be "better than" someone else. I may believe that I am better than you because I am richer, whiter, more male, more straight, smarter, more honored. But that is all an illusion. For fundamentally I am not better than you because I am blessed of the same Spirit as you. And you are not better than me. We are not better than one another. We are children of God. We are heirs to the kingdom. It is the world that wants to separate us into groupings. But Jesus doesn't give to us as the world gives. So let us not be driven by fear and insecurity into the dark regions of social competition. Let us live in the light of Christ's love.
The Sneetches do figure that out. After McMonkey McBean drives away with all of their money and self-respect, they realize that there is no best kind of Sneetch on the beaches. And they have a frankfurter roast together. All of them. That sounds like a beautiful image of the Kingdom of God. Amen.
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