At age forty, I left corporate America to follow the call to ministry.
I was well educated, having been steeped in a refined broth of rationalism and critical reasoning, read all the appropriate European authors, perched my fanny on the erudite ruins at Delphi, and stumbled wide-eyed through Jerusalem’s Yad Vashem holocaust memorial. I was experienced as a world traveler who had skied the Alps, gone elbow to elbow with Chinese businessmen for platefuls of ugly fish in Kuala Lumpur restaurants, and lived amongst the “lost Woodstock generation” who shuffled around the west side of Greenwich Village in their Birkenstocks, avoiding exposure to the sun. I was even married with three young kids, the youngest a mumbo-jumbo yacking, couscous tossing extrovert.
I was ready for anything and knew it. What’s more, I knew that I knew it.
In seminary, professors work hard to relieve students of all their goofball, folkloric misconceptions about why and what we believe. They teach you that the Bible doesn’t really say what you think it says unless you’ve personally translated the old papyrus scrolls from the original Greek or Hebrew for yourself, dissected the grammar, and consulted all the scholars who’ve spent devoted and low paid lifetimes figuring out things like whether Paul actually wrote the letter to the Ephesians or if it was written by a follower or even an impostor.
Now I was really ready, theologically and Biblically locked and loaded.
And then began my hospital pastoral care rotation, clinical field work that could burn the corn-based wax shine off Helen of Troy’s golden apple. This is where you face the test of learning whether you can render all that theological and Biblical understanding into something meaningful in people’s lives. People who don’t care about the Greek or the Hebrew or the authorship of the letter to the Ephesians.
People who just want some answers.
The nurse administrator who ran the desk on the blood and organ diseases floor was sharp as a tack. Her smooth, perfect skin was somewhere between the color of maple syrup and green tea and her eyes never quite rose above the horizon of her reading glasses. She could see people like me coming before we’d even driven into the parking garage or waived our newly laminated security badges for the first time. She could eradicate that waxy shine from your golden apple faster than battery acid.
I introduced myself and asked for a patient list.
“Whatcha bring me?” she monotoned without looking up from her paperwork. There were several lists sitting on her desk.
“I, I beg your pardon? I’m sorry. Do you mean some kind of authorization or something?”
“I mean a muffin or a latte or something. But you don’t appear to have anything like that. Do you? No treat, no list.”
I stammered something unintelligible as she took a long drag off a diet soda.
“Go down this hall to room 41. Start there and work back. Pay attention.” She finished these gruff instructions by skewing her lower jaw slightly sideways and poking her tongue against her molars in a kind of disgusted way. I started down the hall.
Something I didn’t know about a diabetes patient on welfare is that either the person has feet or doesn’t and entering room 41, I immediately noticed that the sheets at the foot of the bed were curiously flat up to the knees. I swallowed and stepped forward to greet Irene with some sort of empathy not found in the doctrines of either Calvin or Luther. I was trying not to gaff and say something stupid like “How are you feeling?” or “I’m the chaplain today, is there something I can do for you?”
I spoke her name and asked where she was from. I asked about her family. I asked about her home and how she had gotten to the hospital. I asked when she might be released. I asked anything I could in order to avoid talking about her medical condition and her missing limbs. She was eighty-nine and lived in a small town in the mountains north of our city, had no children, a brother in a distant state, and no other family.
After a while, I asked if she wished to pray.
“No,” she mumbled weakly, taking long, slow breaths every couple of words. “It’s too late for prayer. I just want to know something. I want you to tell me something chaplain, pastor, whoever you are.”
“Okay,” I responded quietly, reluctantly.
“I just want to know why I’m still here. I’m sick and not gonna get better. Been in here three times this year. All they can do is amputate again.”
I said I was sorry and that she was probably still in the hospital because the doctors still had some hope.
“Those doctors don’t have hope. They’ve got walls full of degrees and microscopes and clean white jackets but they’ve got no hope. Anyway, I don’t want to know why I’m still in the hospital.”
Her eyes moistened and streams of tears silently slid down the sides of her ashen face and into her matted, white hair as she lay flat on her back.
“I want to know what only you can tell me, chaplain, pastor. What you have to tell me. I want to know why Jesus is leavin’ me here this way. Why won’t he just take me to heaven today, to be with my Mama?”
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Friday, April 04, 2008
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
I Beg Your Pardon
1 Timothy 1:12-17
This writer is acknowledging his sins in word and thought, his sins in deeds, his sins in ignorance and negligence, his sins in weakness, and in deliberate fault. It’s all there.
This letter is referred to as one of the Pastoral Epistles which includes both letters to Timothy and the letter to Titus. Now traditionally, these were thought to have been written by the Apostle Paul late in his ministry. But more recent scholars have recognized that the theology expressed in the Pastorals conflicts with theology of Paul in letters that we are sure Paul wrote like Romans, Galatians, and Corinthians.
[i] Psalm 14: 1-3.
[ii] http://www.fulcrum-anglican.org.uk/page.cfm?ID=97.
[iii] ibid.
[iv] 1 Timothy1:12-13
[v] Cousar, Gaventa, McCann, Newsome. Texts For Preaching. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994), 510.
Presenting Engagement: Confess What?!
The Psalm reading in the Presbyterian lectionary for today would seem rather harsh to many people. It’s the kind of condemnation that a lot of people feel is an effort of the church to make good people feel guilty about themselves. It’s the kind of condemnation that drives some people away from church entirely and drives some churches to dump that depressing prayer of confession entirely.
The Psalm reading in the Presbyterian lectionary for today would seem rather harsh to many people. It’s the kind of condemnation that a lot of people feel is an effort of the church to make good people feel guilty about themselves. It’s the kind of condemnation that drives some people away from church entirely and drives some churches to dump that depressing prayer of confession entirely.
I’m talking about Psalm 14.
It begins like this:
Fools say in their hearts, “There is no God.” They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds; there is no one who does good. The Lord looks down from heaven on humankind to see if there are any who are wise, who seek after God. They have all gone astray, they are all alike perverse; there is no one who does good, no, not one.[i]
Well what are we to make of that? Surely there is someone who is good. Surely there is at least one person who has done no abominable deeds. Surely somebody out there truly seeks after God.
I know that I do.
And I know that you do too.
We’re good people, you and I. Aren’t we?
After all we’re here in church today and that makes us good people, doesn’t it? At least that must mean that we are not the ones saying: “There is no God.” I didn’t do any deliberate harm to anyone on the way here and that too makes me good, doesn’t it? I haven’t coveted anybody’s anything or taken the Lord’s name in vain or murdered or stolen or littered or even forgotten to make up my bed today and all that makes me a good person. Doesn’t it?
Well that’s what many people think to themselves about themselves. So when they come to the moment for silent prayer in the prayer of confession, they shift in their pews uncomfortably. They shuffle their feet or pick at their fingernails because they can’t think of anything to pray.
A Canon on the clergy staff at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London remarked that in some baptism services in the Anglican tradition where people are asked if they “repent of sins that separate us from God and neighbour,” you could actually perceive the mental calisthenics that people were doing just to think of something they’d done wrong so that they could feel appropriately penitent at that particular moment when such a feeling was required of them by church ceremony.[ii]
But conjuring up an appropriately contrite feeling or accepting layer upon layer of guilt until you just want to jump off a cliff, is not what confession is all about.
It’s about mercy.
The Canon from St. Paul’s went on to describe what church confession does and what it does is first acknowledge the fact that we human beings commit sin. It is simply our nature. Second, confession describes how “sin is manifest: through negligence, weakness, through our own deliberate fault.” It’s not just what we do but what we don’t do as well. It’s not just what we say but also what we think. Murder is obviously a sin, but so is hatred.[iii]
When it comes to confessing, we’ve all got a story to tell. We’ve all got a reason to ask God for mercy.
Biblical Context: What’s going on?
In this letter to Timothy that we read today, the writer tells his own story. He talks about his own need for mercy.
“I was a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence. I had acted ignorantly in unbelief.”[iv]
It begins like this:
Fools say in their hearts, “There is no God.” They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds; there is no one who does good. The Lord looks down from heaven on humankind to see if there are any who are wise, who seek after God. They have all gone astray, they are all alike perverse; there is no one who does good, no, not one.[i]
Well what are we to make of that? Surely there is someone who is good. Surely there is at least one person who has done no abominable deeds. Surely somebody out there truly seeks after God.
I know that I do.
And I know that you do too.
We’re good people, you and I. Aren’t we?
After all we’re here in church today and that makes us good people, doesn’t it? At least that must mean that we are not the ones saying: “There is no God.” I didn’t do any deliberate harm to anyone on the way here and that too makes me good, doesn’t it? I haven’t coveted anybody’s anything or taken the Lord’s name in vain or murdered or stolen or littered or even forgotten to make up my bed today and all that makes me a good person. Doesn’t it?
Well that’s what many people think to themselves about themselves. So when they come to the moment for silent prayer in the prayer of confession, they shift in their pews uncomfortably. They shuffle their feet or pick at their fingernails because they can’t think of anything to pray.
A Canon on the clergy staff at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London remarked that in some baptism services in the Anglican tradition where people are asked if they “repent of sins that separate us from God and neighbour,” you could actually perceive the mental calisthenics that people were doing just to think of something they’d done wrong so that they could feel appropriately penitent at that particular moment when such a feeling was required of them by church ceremony.[ii]
But conjuring up an appropriately contrite feeling or accepting layer upon layer of guilt until you just want to jump off a cliff, is not what confession is all about.
It’s about mercy.
The Canon from St. Paul’s went on to describe what church confession does and what it does is first acknowledge the fact that we human beings commit sin. It is simply our nature. Second, confession describes how “sin is manifest: through negligence, weakness, through our own deliberate fault.” It’s not just what we do but what we don’t do as well. It’s not just what we say but also what we think. Murder is obviously a sin, but so is hatred.[iii]
When it comes to confessing, we’ve all got a story to tell. We’ve all got a reason to ask God for mercy.
Biblical Context: What’s going on?
In this letter to Timothy that we read today, the writer tells his own story. He talks about his own need for mercy.
“I was a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence. I had acted ignorantly in unbelief.”[iv]
This writer is acknowledging his sins in word and thought, his sins in deeds, his sins in ignorance and negligence, his sins in weakness, and in deliberate fault. It’s all there.
This letter is referred to as one of the Pastoral Epistles which includes both letters to Timothy and the letter to Titus. Now traditionally, these were thought to have been written by the Apostle Paul late in his ministry. But more recent scholars have recognized that the theology expressed in the Pastorals conflicts with theology of Paul in letters that we are sure Paul wrote like Romans, Galatians, and Corinthians.
Much of the content of 1st Timothy relates to conflicts in the church and how those conflicts should be dealt with. But these conflicts were about disruptions to a church organization that saw itself with a long term role in society. Paul, however, thought the end of time was near and was interested in the church in the short term rather than in the long term.
So who wrote these letters and what can we do with them?
Perhaps it was someone in the Pauline tradition some years after Paul’s death by which time everybody realized that the end of the age was a bit farther off than Paul or any other of the Apostles had expected. In that situation, Paul’s proteges had to resolve long term church issues that Paul hadn’t imagined. And yet, they sought to resolve those issues under the authority and the name of Paul.
And when it came to confession of sin, they used a version of Paul’s story.
You remember that Paul was a Jewish zealot who persecuted the Christian church but was at the same time righteous in terms of the Torah law. In other words, he kept the Commandments and the other laws of Moses and followed the teachings of the prophets. In terms of Judaism, he was definitely not a blasphemer. He was not someone who needed mercy for committing sin under the Hebrew traditions.
But something changed- he was converted. This paul now testifies about his need for mercy. His persecution of the Christians made him a man of violence. His denial of the divinity of Christ made him a blasphemer. This writer from the school of Paul or in the style of Paul, tells Paul’s story in order to provide a personal example.
He is an example of the human capacity for sin and he is an example of the human need for mercy.
In effect, this writer is saying: “I was the biggest sinner around. My need for mercy was tremendous. I sinned against God by blaspheming. I sinned against other people through my violent ways. I even sinned when I didn’t realize I was sinnin g because I was ignorant of the fact that what I was doing was wrong because I did not believe in Christ Jesus.”
Explication of Text: What’s it all mean?
But the writer is saying one thing more. He is saying: “If I was the biggest sinner around and God had mercy on me then God will show mercy on anyone. No one was less deserving of mercy and more in need of mercy than I was and yet the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.”
This story makes Paul into an example but it does not make Paul into a hero. Paul isn’t some triumphant banner carrier for Christ in a righteous army of faithful Christians. Paul was judged. Paul was found guilty of his blasphemy and his violence and his ignorant unbelief. The amazing thing is that Paul still received mercy.
That’s what makes this passage so amazing. Paul didn’t get a free pass. He was judged and he still received mercy. He was given a reprieve even though he was sinful. He was strengthened by Christ even though he was sinful.
The story of this Paul is not about conjuring up an appropriately contrite feeling or accepting layer upon layer of guilt until he just wanted to jump off a cliff. The story of this Paul is about receiving mercy.
The whole gospel is about receiving mercy.
Christ Jesus is about receiving mercy.
And so this passage from 1st Timothy includes the wonderful doxology that we often use as our assurance of pardon: “The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.”
It’s all about receiving mercy.
Listener Context: How does this relate to my life?
I think that many people who dislike the Christian concept of confession of sin only see confession as the laying on of guilt.
For them, sin is like a stack of clammy pancakes that have sat out on the plate too long and have grown cold. The stack grows taller and taller. The syrup gets stickier and stickier until the pancakes become a plateful of inedible, unappealing mush. The eater’s appetite disolves and they are driven away from the table.
That clammy stack of guilt is all they see and so they’re driven away from church and driven away from Christ because they think the judgement will be too much for them. They think they will be put down by God and will become unable to see themselves positively in the future.
That’s unfortunate because then they miss the part about mercy. They don’t see that confession to God leads to mercy from God. They don’t see that mercy from God changes their relationship with other people for the better and changes how they see themselves for the better.
But I think that group is actually a minority.
The majority are people who dislike the Christian concept of confession of sin because they don’t think they have sinned. When it comes time for the silent confession they are the ones shifting around in their pew uncomfortably. Not only can they not think of anything they’ve done wrong lately but they think of sins as deliberate acts of felonious significance. Sin is murder or theft or road rage or animal abuse or fraud, something you go to court for and maybe even something you go to jail for. And since they have not done anything of that magnitude, these folks don’t think that they have done anything that requires forgiveness from God or anybody else for that matter.
In essence, these are kind of like the people described in Psalm 14 who say in their hearts that there is no God. The idea in the Psalm is not just that some people disavow the existence of God. It’s not just that some people deny the possibility of God. We call that atheism. No these people act as if there is no God. They act as if there is no need for God’s mercy, no need for God.
This kind of atheism has more to do with how people behave rather than what they believe. We call this “practical atheism.”[v] It’s a kind of autonomy in which people judge for themselves whether or not their deeds require repentence. If you can decide something like that for yourself, then you obviously don’t need God. If you can decide for yourself what the law is and whether or not you’ve broken that law, then you have no need either for God’s judgement or God’s mercy.
But here’s the universal truth that we try to deny all our lives: the Psalm says that when the Lord looks down on humankind, there is no one who seeks God.
We all think we can make up our own index of right and wrong. At times, we all think we have nothing to confess.
Conclusion: What’s the Point?
That is why the example of the Pauline writer in 1st Timothy is so important.
Paul was a preacher and teacher and evangelist who was widely known and respected in the first century Christian communities of Greece and Rome. His example could lead others to re-evaluate their own lives. His story could lead others to re-examine their own stories. His willingness to confess his sinfulness and tell of the mercy he had received from God could lead others to confess and receive mercy.
We don’t seem to get many church or civic leaders who confess freely and honestly and tell their stories unless they’ve done some great wrong and have gotten caught. Occasionally, some television evangelist does something sensational that undermines his credibility and cries publicly about his guilt- and gets a boost in ratings and advertising dollars.
So who wrote these letters and what can we do with them?
Perhaps it was someone in the Pauline tradition some years after Paul’s death by which time everybody realized that the end of the age was a bit farther off than Paul or any other of the Apostles had expected. In that situation, Paul’s proteges had to resolve long term church issues that Paul hadn’t imagined. And yet, they sought to resolve those issues under the authority and the name of Paul.
And when it came to confession of sin, they used a version of Paul’s story.
You remember that Paul was a Jewish zealot who persecuted the Christian church but was at the same time righteous in terms of the Torah law. In other words, he kept the Commandments and the other laws of Moses and followed the teachings of the prophets. In terms of Judaism, he was definitely not a blasphemer. He was not someone who needed mercy for committing sin under the Hebrew traditions.
But something changed- he was converted. This paul now testifies about his need for mercy. His persecution of the Christians made him a man of violence. His denial of the divinity of Christ made him a blasphemer. This writer from the school of Paul or in the style of Paul, tells Paul’s story in order to provide a personal example.
He is an example of the human capacity for sin and he is an example of the human need for mercy.
In effect, this writer is saying: “I was the biggest sinner around. My need for mercy was tremendous. I sinned against God by blaspheming. I sinned against other people through my violent ways. I even sinned when I didn’t realize I was sinnin g because I was ignorant of the fact that what I was doing was wrong because I did not believe in Christ Jesus.”
Explication of Text: What’s it all mean?
But the writer is saying one thing more. He is saying: “If I was the biggest sinner around and God had mercy on me then God will show mercy on anyone. No one was less deserving of mercy and more in need of mercy than I was and yet the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.”
This story makes Paul into an example but it does not make Paul into a hero. Paul isn’t some triumphant banner carrier for Christ in a righteous army of faithful Christians. Paul was judged. Paul was found guilty of his blasphemy and his violence and his ignorant unbelief. The amazing thing is that Paul still received mercy.
That’s what makes this passage so amazing. Paul didn’t get a free pass. He was judged and he still received mercy. He was given a reprieve even though he was sinful. He was strengthened by Christ even though he was sinful.
The story of this Paul is not about conjuring up an appropriately contrite feeling or accepting layer upon layer of guilt until he just wanted to jump off a cliff. The story of this Paul is about receiving mercy.
The whole gospel is about receiving mercy.
Christ Jesus is about receiving mercy.
And so this passage from 1st Timothy includes the wonderful doxology that we often use as our assurance of pardon: “The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.”
It’s all about receiving mercy.
Listener Context: How does this relate to my life?
I think that many people who dislike the Christian concept of confession of sin only see confession as the laying on of guilt.
For them, sin is like a stack of clammy pancakes that have sat out on the plate too long and have grown cold. The stack grows taller and taller. The syrup gets stickier and stickier until the pancakes become a plateful of inedible, unappealing mush. The eater’s appetite disolves and they are driven away from the table.
That clammy stack of guilt is all they see and so they’re driven away from church and driven away from Christ because they think the judgement will be too much for them. They think they will be put down by God and will become unable to see themselves positively in the future.
That’s unfortunate because then they miss the part about mercy. They don’t see that confession to God leads to mercy from God. They don’t see that mercy from God changes their relationship with other people for the better and changes how they see themselves for the better.
But I think that group is actually a minority.
The majority are people who dislike the Christian concept of confession of sin because they don’t think they have sinned. When it comes time for the silent confession they are the ones shifting around in their pew uncomfortably. Not only can they not think of anything they’ve done wrong lately but they think of sins as deliberate acts of felonious significance. Sin is murder or theft or road rage or animal abuse or fraud, something you go to court for and maybe even something you go to jail for. And since they have not done anything of that magnitude, these folks don’t think that they have done anything that requires forgiveness from God or anybody else for that matter.
In essence, these are kind of like the people described in Psalm 14 who say in their hearts that there is no God. The idea in the Psalm is not just that some people disavow the existence of God. It’s not just that some people deny the possibility of God. We call that atheism. No these people act as if there is no God. They act as if there is no need for God’s mercy, no need for God.
This kind of atheism has more to do with how people behave rather than what they believe. We call this “practical atheism.”[v] It’s a kind of autonomy in which people judge for themselves whether or not their deeds require repentence. If you can decide something like that for yourself, then you obviously don’t need God. If you can decide for yourself what the law is and whether or not you’ve broken that law, then you have no need either for God’s judgement or God’s mercy.
But here’s the universal truth that we try to deny all our lives: the Psalm says that when the Lord looks down on humankind, there is no one who seeks God.
We all think we can make up our own index of right and wrong. At times, we all think we have nothing to confess.
Conclusion: What’s the Point?
That is why the example of the Pauline writer in 1st Timothy is so important.
Paul was a preacher and teacher and evangelist who was widely known and respected in the first century Christian communities of Greece and Rome. His example could lead others to re-evaluate their own lives. His story could lead others to re-examine their own stories. His willingness to confess his sinfulness and tell of the mercy he had received from God could lead others to confess and receive mercy.
We don’t seem to get many church or civic leaders who confess freely and honestly and tell their stories unless they’ve done some great wrong and have gotten caught. Occasionally, some television evangelist does something sensational that undermines his credibility and cries publicly about his guilt- and gets a boost in ratings and advertising dollars.
But there are very few religious leaders who make an example of the sinfulness of their everyday live in both words and thoughts, in deeds and in deeds left undone.
So we use the example of ourselves, for ourselves. We make our confession aloud together to take responsibility for what we do as a society and we bow our heads to make our individual confessions directly to God.
And then the minister tells us that God has heard our confession and that we are forgiven.
We learn that the saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners and we are grateful to Christ Jesus our Lord who has strengthened us and appointed us to his service. AMEN.
So we use the example of ourselves, for ourselves. We make our confession aloud together to take responsibility for what we do as a society and we bow our heads to make our individual confessions directly to God.
And then the minister tells us that God has heard our confession and that we are forgiven.
We learn that the saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners and we are grateful to Christ Jesus our Lord who has strengthened us and appointed us to his service. AMEN.
[i] Psalm 14: 1-3.
[ii] http://www.fulcrum-anglican.org.uk/page.cfm?ID=97.
[iii] ibid.
[iv] 1 Timothy1:12-13
[v] Cousar, Gaventa, McCann, Newsome. Texts For Preaching. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994), 510.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Endurance In The Race Of Life
Hebrews 11:29-12:2
Presenting Engagement: The race as metaphor for life.
Every Fourth of July, the Atlanta Track Club hosts a ten kilometer footrace down Peachtree Road in the center of Atlanta. They’ve been putting on this race for over three decades and the 2007 race attracted 60,000 runners.
When you register for this race, you have to predict how long it will take you to run the race based on your record in other equally long races or in previous Peachtree races. Runners receive a placement number to pin on the front of their shirts and the first two digits of that number indicate which section you are eligible to start from. You can understand that if, based on your speed, you are runner 59,999 then you are going to be at the back of a very long group of participants!
I have personally never been in a group any closer to the front than halfway and it takes ages to even get up to the starting line. So there you stand, shaking loose the muscles in your calves and thighs and arms, stretching your back and stomach muscles for maybe twenty to forty minutes. It’s hard to stay loose and it’s even harder to stay focused. There are spectators on the curb and spectators peering out of hotel windows overhead. The loudspeaker up ahead announces the start of faster groups. The excitement climbs. You want to get going.
Finally you begin trudging forward with stunted steps. You are packed like a sardine with hundreds of other anxious sardines beside you, behind you, ahead of you. Two hundred yards to the starting line. One hundred yards. Fifty yards. Twenty five yards.
Finally you reach the line. The race officials call out. Radio stations broadcast live some kind of thumping, heart pumping, heavy jamming music. A starter pistol barks.
So off you go into the July sunshine. You’ll have stretches where the road descends and other points where you’ll encounter places with names like “heartbreak hill.” You’ll get leg weary. You’ll get thirsty but you won’t want to drink for fear of stomach cramps. You’ll get hot. And close to the finish you’ll slow back down to a stutter step as thousands of runners attempt to navigate two narrow chutes at the finish line. Finally, if you’ve made it all the way, you will flow out into the broad expanse of Piedmont park.
You did it. Or at least some of you did it. The reward, the big pay off? It’s a T shirt and a popsicle and the knowledge that you made it all the way.
How did you make it through to the end? What got you from the pre-start warm up and anticipation to finish line?
I can tell you from experience that the thing that keeps you going through it all is the support of spectators. It’s a far bigger reward than either the Tshirt or the popsicle! They cheer. They wave banners. You see people you know standing on the sidewalk and they call out your name. Even if they don’t know you they yell: “looking great!” or “you’re gonna make it!” or “way to go!”
All in all, this race, in fact any race, is a great metaphor for life itself. We all need the encouragement of others to make it from pre-start to finish. We all need those cheering hollers and smiling faces to bouy us up in times of distress and heartache and illness and grief and loneliness.
We need a community and if we have a faith community that is strong and loving, then perhaps we can live strong lives no matter what life throws at us.
Biblical Context: What's going on?
The scripture lesson today talks about just such a community of faith.
The reading is from a portion of the New Testament known as the Letter to the Hebrews. It was added to the cannon, which is the body of scripture that we speak of as the Bible, in the 4th century specifically because it was thought to have been written by the Apostle Paul. Scholars after that time, however, decided it wasn’t written by Paul. They also don’t think it was written to Jewish Christians as the title implies. And there’s no greeting at the beginning that would have been standard in an epistle so it probably isn’t even a letter either.
Now, with all that contradictory scholarship you might wonder why this “letter” stayed in the Biblical cannon and why it continued to be keep its title. But then, Hebrews is a difficult text to get to know. It’s one of those texts that defies any attempt to read it simplistically or literally because if you read it that way you will come away with some very dark considerations about the relationship between Christianity and Judaism that contrast very strongly with the teachings of the Gospels.
The basic theology of this “letter” is that Christianity is superior to and supercedes Judaism. It proclaims that the Old Testament is inadequate testimony to the powerful redemption of God. It claims that God’s covenant with Abraham is an inadequate revelation of God. It claims that the faithful patriarchs of the Old Testament could not achieve salvation without Christ no matter how faithful they were.
Hebrews was very likely a sermon written late in the first century and sent out to be read to various congregations. At that time persecution of Christians was widespread and there was a strong impulse among new converts to either abandon this persecuted religion or fly under the official radar of the Roman governors by claiming that they were Jewish instead of Christian. It’s the same God, after all. Isn’t it?
This sermon intends to dissuade these frightened congregations from leaving the faith by specifically demonstrating the superiority of Christianity.
This was an age when the apocalypse- the end of time- was expected to occur at any moment. So the writer of Hebrews wanted to show that being faithful to Christ was the only way to be certain of immortality. The writer says: “Look, if you convert to Judaism then you are abandoning true salvation in Christ for a mere foreshadowing of salvation through the law of Moses. If you accept life under the flawed covenant of Abraham then you are giving up on the true covenant in Christ which promises resurrection from death.”
It’s a powerfully written argument heard by a frightened and imperilled group of believers whose new found faith was tenuous and susceptible to threats from Roman authorities.
Explication of Text: What’s it all mean?
The section we read today tells of the mighty deeds that Old Testament heroes performed because of their faith in God. These are impressive accounts. Gideon, David, Samson, the prophet Samuel. Through their faith they were able to “conquer kingdoms, administer justice, obtain promises, quench raging fire.” The Jewish martyrs described in the Maccabean writings suffered mocking and torture, and even endured excruciating death at the hands of stone throwing mobs and sadistic Roman soldiers. The faith of these heroes was powerful and they were steadfast in their beliefs even in the face of torture and death.
This is a strong testimony of what faith can do. When we read this, we’re set up to admire these heroes and count them as lion hearted role models. We understand that. We accept it and we’re ready to imitate those role models. But then the writer twists the narrative around and tells us something that is inteded to make us see that no matter how faithful these heroes were, their achievements were imperfect because they did not know Christ.
The writer says: “Yet all these… did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.”
What in the world can that mean? Just when we get scripture figured out there’s something that throws us of course again.
The answer lies in the claim that our faith is different than the faith of these Old Testament heroes because we have the revelation of Christ and we have Christ’s death on the cross that gives us salvation. It’s a fine point of theology but it says that since Christ’s covenant is perfect and Christ’s revelation is perfect and since Christ’s saving death is perfect then our faith in Christ fulfills the imperfect faith of the patriarchs and martyrs who lived before Christ.
Our faith in Christ fulfills the faith of our Old Testament ancestors.
Our faith in the possibility of eternal life through Jesus Christ brings eternal life to our Old Testament ancestors.
And yet, this writer also calls all those Old Testament ancestors a “great cloud of witnesses.” It’s as if two things are happening at once.
On the one hand, our faith is making perfect the faith of those who came before us. On the other hand, those who came before us, the witnesses who surround us, were the pioneers in faith whose mighty acts of heroism made our own faith possible.
We fulfill them but we need to stand on their shoulders to claim that fulfillment for ourselves.
Listener Context: How does this relate to my life?
I think that as we go through life’s experiences, as we run the race of life, we tend to think of ourselves in that good old American way: we think of ourselves as lone pioneers forging our way through the challenges of the wilderness, combating the storms and floods and wild animals, climbing over the lofty mountain passes. And like those early pioneers we sometimes we think God is on our side because we stand for what is morally right and our successes prove how right we are. Conversely, we sometimes think God is against us when we meet catastrophic setbacks.
But actually, we’ve got that all wrong. That traditional folklore promotes a false reality.
First of all, God is on our side because God loves us and not just because of the moral talk that we talk. And more than that, God does not stop loving us just because we fail to walk our talk. That’s what divine forgiveness is all about as long as we are honest about our human nature and the human capacity for moral failure.
Second, if God loves us despite our human nature, then God can never be against us. God is never the cause of our setbacks.
Third, we are not the pioneers that we think we are. Behind every Horatio Alger story of a self made man there is some un-named and unacknowledged individual who gave that self made man a crucial opportunity. In every Peachtree Road Race, there are volunteers who hand out unlimited cups of water to hot and dry and thirsty participants. Every mile there is someone who shouts to thousands of anonymous runners: “Come on. You can do it. I have confidence in you!”
There is a great cloud of witnesses around us at all times urging us on. They have travelled the road we travel. They know the challenges we face. They have faced persecution. They have faced illness and loneliness and grief. They have fought cancer. They have lost loved ones and they have cried with joy over photographs of new babies. They have loved life.
You are not alone.
You stand on the shoulders of those witnesses to claim your triumphs and by boosting you up, they fulfill their own triumphant destinies. The joy is twofold. It is the joy of completing the race as well as the joy of helping others to complete their own race.
This is a joy that we can never find on our own. This shared triumph is far more glorious than any single handed achievment because it is the achievment of a whole community.
Conclusion: What’s the Point?
Whatever else the writer of this “letter” to the Hebrews is telling us, he is telling us that Christian believers have something unique that sustains us for the long race of life.
We have the community which is a great cloud of witnesses who have prepared the way for us and who urge us on to the finish line.
And we have faith in the enduring presence of Christ Jesus who is the true pioneer in faith and leader in this race of life. Christ Jesus, who faithfully suffered on the cross for our sake, gave us a salvation that is the ultimate encouragement for us. Christ Jesus is the ultimate proof of God’s love for us.
With God’s love, we are capable of any good thing. AMEN.
Presenting Engagement: The race as metaphor for life.
Every Fourth of July, the Atlanta Track Club hosts a ten kilometer footrace down Peachtree Road in the center of Atlanta. They’ve been putting on this race for over three decades and the 2007 race attracted 60,000 runners.
When you register for this race, you have to predict how long it will take you to run the race based on your record in other equally long races or in previous Peachtree races. Runners receive a placement number to pin on the front of their shirts and the first two digits of that number indicate which section you are eligible to start from. You can understand that if, based on your speed, you are runner 59,999 then you are going to be at the back of a very long group of participants!
I have personally never been in a group any closer to the front than halfway and it takes ages to even get up to the starting line. So there you stand, shaking loose the muscles in your calves and thighs and arms, stretching your back and stomach muscles for maybe twenty to forty minutes. It’s hard to stay loose and it’s even harder to stay focused. There are spectators on the curb and spectators peering out of hotel windows overhead. The loudspeaker up ahead announces the start of faster groups. The excitement climbs. You want to get going.
Finally you begin trudging forward with stunted steps. You are packed like a sardine with hundreds of other anxious sardines beside you, behind you, ahead of you. Two hundred yards to the starting line. One hundred yards. Fifty yards. Twenty five yards.
Finally you reach the line. The race officials call out. Radio stations broadcast live some kind of thumping, heart pumping, heavy jamming music. A starter pistol barks.
So off you go into the July sunshine. You’ll have stretches where the road descends and other points where you’ll encounter places with names like “heartbreak hill.” You’ll get leg weary. You’ll get thirsty but you won’t want to drink for fear of stomach cramps. You’ll get hot. And close to the finish you’ll slow back down to a stutter step as thousands of runners attempt to navigate two narrow chutes at the finish line. Finally, if you’ve made it all the way, you will flow out into the broad expanse of Piedmont park.
You did it. Or at least some of you did it. The reward, the big pay off? It’s a T shirt and a popsicle and the knowledge that you made it all the way.
How did you make it through to the end? What got you from the pre-start warm up and anticipation to finish line?
I can tell you from experience that the thing that keeps you going through it all is the support of spectators. It’s a far bigger reward than either the Tshirt or the popsicle! They cheer. They wave banners. You see people you know standing on the sidewalk and they call out your name. Even if they don’t know you they yell: “looking great!” or “you’re gonna make it!” or “way to go!”
All in all, this race, in fact any race, is a great metaphor for life itself. We all need the encouragement of others to make it from pre-start to finish. We all need those cheering hollers and smiling faces to bouy us up in times of distress and heartache and illness and grief and loneliness.
We need a community and if we have a faith community that is strong and loving, then perhaps we can live strong lives no matter what life throws at us.
Biblical Context: What's going on?
The scripture lesson today talks about just such a community of faith.
The reading is from a portion of the New Testament known as the Letter to the Hebrews. It was added to the cannon, which is the body of scripture that we speak of as the Bible, in the 4th century specifically because it was thought to have been written by the Apostle Paul. Scholars after that time, however, decided it wasn’t written by Paul. They also don’t think it was written to Jewish Christians as the title implies. And there’s no greeting at the beginning that would have been standard in an epistle so it probably isn’t even a letter either.
Now, with all that contradictory scholarship you might wonder why this “letter” stayed in the Biblical cannon and why it continued to be keep its title. But then, Hebrews is a difficult text to get to know. It’s one of those texts that defies any attempt to read it simplistically or literally because if you read it that way you will come away with some very dark considerations about the relationship between Christianity and Judaism that contrast very strongly with the teachings of the Gospels.
The basic theology of this “letter” is that Christianity is superior to and supercedes Judaism. It proclaims that the Old Testament is inadequate testimony to the powerful redemption of God. It claims that God’s covenant with Abraham is an inadequate revelation of God. It claims that the faithful patriarchs of the Old Testament could not achieve salvation without Christ no matter how faithful they were.
Hebrews was very likely a sermon written late in the first century and sent out to be read to various congregations. At that time persecution of Christians was widespread and there was a strong impulse among new converts to either abandon this persecuted religion or fly under the official radar of the Roman governors by claiming that they were Jewish instead of Christian. It’s the same God, after all. Isn’t it?
This sermon intends to dissuade these frightened congregations from leaving the faith by specifically demonstrating the superiority of Christianity.
This was an age when the apocalypse- the end of time- was expected to occur at any moment. So the writer of Hebrews wanted to show that being faithful to Christ was the only way to be certain of immortality. The writer says: “Look, if you convert to Judaism then you are abandoning true salvation in Christ for a mere foreshadowing of salvation through the law of Moses. If you accept life under the flawed covenant of Abraham then you are giving up on the true covenant in Christ which promises resurrection from death.”
It’s a powerfully written argument heard by a frightened and imperilled group of believers whose new found faith was tenuous and susceptible to threats from Roman authorities.
Explication of Text: What’s it all mean?
The section we read today tells of the mighty deeds that Old Testament heroes performed because of their faith in God. These are impressive accounts. Gideon, David, Samson, the prophet Samuel. Through their faith they were able to “conquer kingdoms, administer justice, obtain promises, quench raging fire.” The Jewish martyrs described in the Maccabean writings suffered mocking and torture, and even endured excruciating death at the hands of stone throwing mobs and sadistic Roman soldiers. The faith of these heroes was powerful and they were steadfast in their beliefs even in the face of torture and death.
This is a strong testimony of what faith can do. When we read this, we’re set up to admire these heroes and count them as lion hearted role models. We understand that. We accept it and we’re ready to imitate those role models. But then the writer twists the narrative around and tells us something that is inteded to make us see that no matter how faithful these heroes were, their achievements were imperfect because they did not know Christ.
The writer says: “Yet all these… did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.”
What in the world can that mean? Just when we get scripture figured out there’s something that throws us of course again.
The answer lies in the claim that our faith is different than the faith of these Old Testament heroes because we have the revelation of Christ and we have Christ’s death on the cross that gives us salvation. It’s a fine point of theology but it says that since Christ’s covenant is perfect and Christ’s revelation is perfect and since Christ’s saving death is perfect then our faith in Christ fulfills the imperfect faith of the patriarchs and martyrs who lived before Christ.
Our faith in Christ fulfills the faith of our Old Testament ancestors.
Our faith in the possibility of eternal life through Jesus Christ brings eternal life to our Old Testament ancestors.
And yet, this writer also calls all those Old Testament ancestors a “great cloud of witnesses.” It’s as if two things are happening at once.
On the one hand, our faith is making perfect the faith of those who came before us. On the other hand, those who came before us, the witnesses who surround us, were the pioneers in faith whose mighty acts of heroism made our own faith possible.
We fulfill them but we need to stand on their shoulders to claim that fulfillment for ourselves.
Listener Context: How does this relate to my life?
I think that as we go through life’s experiences, as we run the race of life, we tend to think of ourselves in that good old American way: we think of ourselves as lone pioneers forging our way through the challenges of the wilderness, combating the storms and floods and wild animals, climbing over the lofty mountain passes. And like those early pioneers we sometimes we think God is on our side because we stand for what is morally right and our successes prove how right we are. Conversely, we sometimes think God is against us when we meet catastrophic setbacks.
But actually, we’ve got that all wrong. That traditional folklore promotes a false reality.
First of all, God is on our side because God loves us and not just because of the moral talk that we talk. And more than that, God does not stop loving us just because we fail to walk our talk. That’s what divine forgiveness is all about as long as we are honest about our human nature and the human capacity for moral failure.
Second, if God loves us despite our human nature, then God can never be against us. God is never the cause of our setbacks.
Third, we are not the pioneers that we think we are. Behind every Horatio Alger story of a self made man there is some un-named and unacknowledged individual who gave that self made man a crucial opportunity. In every Peachtree Road Race, there are volunteers who hand out unlimited cups of water to hot and dry and thirsty participants. Every mile there is someone who shouts to thousands of anonymous runners: “Come on. You can do it. I have confidence in you!”
There is a great cloud of witnesses around us at all times urging us on. They have travelled the road we travel. They know the challenges we face. They have faced persecution. They have faced illness and loneliness and grief. They have fought cancer. They have lost loved ones and they have cried with joy over photographs of new babies. They have loved life.
You are not alone.
You stand on the shoulders of those witnesses to claim your triumphs and by boosting you up, they fulfill their own triumphant destinies. The joy is twofold. It is the joy of completing the race as well as the joy of helping others to complete their own race.
This is a joy that we can never find on our own. This shared triumph is far more glorious than any single handed achievment because it is the achievment of a whole community.
Conclusion: What’s the Point?
Whatever else the writer of this “letter” to the Hebrews is telling us, he is telling us that Christian believers have something unique that sustains us for the long race of life.
We have the community which is a great cloud of witnesses who have prepared the way for us and who urge us on to the finish line.
And we have faith in the enduring presence of Christ Jesus who is the true pioneer in faith and leader in this race of life. Christ Jesus, who faithfully suffered on the cross for our sake, gave us a salvation that is the ultimate encouragement for us. Christ Jesus is the ultimate proof of God’s love for us.
With God’s love, we are capable of any good thing. AMEN.
Friday, May 25, 2007
What'll It Be: Twinkies or Carrots?
Acts 5:12-32
We live in an era when the word of God has circumnavigated the globe.
What began as a branch from the root of Jesse and was preached to the Jerusalem masses under the Portico of Solomon on the east side of the Temple, came to be spread throughout the world on the wings of European empires and American foreign mission boards. And now, now as the world grows ever smaller and ever flatter, Christianity is finding its own way back to the west.
The word of God has always been on the move.
Now it finds us here in North America in the beginning of the 21st century - even right here in our Presbyterian pews where we thought we had already heard the word of God and where we thought Jesus was already among us. Right here amid the familiar and the reliable and the comfortable.
But this returning word of God stirs us out of those comfort zones with an Asian hallelujah or hymns with Caribbean or African rhythms. This rebounding word of God makes us anxious and confused because it isn’t our European tradition. We feel like the first apostles alone in a sea of competing theologies and spiritualities.
More than anything, we feel as though we’re being left behind but we can’t quite understand why. Why?
We’re educated. We’re faithful. We’re giving and we’re loving. But the culture that embraces the multitude of spiritual voices, the culture in which our footsteps fall every single day, doesn’t care. No it doesn’t. What our culture wants is only a simplistic maxim to live by. Something easy to digest, easy to remember, not too taxing for the brain or the soul. Too often, what we offer is the full 14 volumes of Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics.
So, in the face of this swirling ocean of voices we’ve found ourselves in a crisis of relevance as a people loyal to the one gospel yet surrounded by a society whose values are the reverse of gospel values.
A society which reveres competition over compassion.
A society which seeks revenge rather than justice.
A society which promotes individual empowerment over connectedness and fellowship.
A society which finds in its soul absolutely no need for forgiveness.
A society which, as the archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, puts it: feels no need for “adoption into God’s initmate presence.”
The well known and admired Barbara Brown Taylor has chronicled that she entered ministry with a strong desire for in depth religious dialogue. But she notes that her first parish required more of her attention in the arena of sustaining the congregation than challenging her congregation. It had more to do with questions of functional immediacy than questions of eternal meaning.
Well, maybe that’s as it should be - to some degree. Maybe faith within the parish is all about strengthening and sustaining, nourishing and nurturing. After all, if you want to teach your congregation about the theological undergirding of belief you’ve got to do a good job of pastoral care first. You’ve got to deal with real life before you can deal with theological structure.
But as important as feeding and caring for the parish is, it’s not the totality of Christian discipleship. More than that, those basic life issues are fundamentally connected to that theological structure. If we’re not careful, the parish can become isolated and insulated. It can live for years there inside the Temple and never breathe the vibrant air of openness.
But God calls Peter and the Apostles, indeed God calls each of us in every pew, in every parish to take our faith outside the Temple and be with the crowds beneath the columns of the Portico. We ‘ve got to out into the public square.
My country cousins might have said: “You can’t stay in the kitchen. You’ve got to get out on the porch.” While I may be too much of a city slicker to make that sound authentic, the sentiment is entirely accurate.
Suffice it to say that Peter and his pals make good role models for us. They got out of the kitchen and went out on the porch and when people began to listen and believe, Peter and the others got arrested. That’s the cost of discipleship. But we’re told that the Holy Spirit was with them and they were freed from captivity and directed to go back to the public square and teach some more.
Again the Apostles were arrested and made to appear before the Sanhedrin, the council of Temple authorities, arbiters of religious custom, validators of socio-religious practice.
And the council chastised these Christ followers and said: “Look! We told you people not to teach and preach anymore to that clamoring crowd out there. You’re just stirring them up telling them all manner of things that contradict what we know is best for the Hebrew people. We make the rules here and you can’t upset the established order of our society by talking about that false prophet, that crucified phony.”
Peter could have said: “We’re sorry. Okay, you’re right. From now on we’ll just teach about the prophets of old. We’ll talk about the glory days of David and the importance of adhering to the accepted laws of religious authority. Oh yes, and we’ll give the people some simplistic maxims that are easy to follow.”
But Peter did not say that. He didn’t say that at all. The Holy Spirit had commanded the Apostles to teach something far more meaningful than conventional ritual that would appear holy but would in truth offer no real sustenance to humanity nor honor to God.
Peter wasn’t willing to go along with the pronouncements of these human authorities when the Creator wanted so much more for the world.
Peter understood that societies built on the policies of human authority always fall short of the Kingdom of God.
A report just this spring connected obesity among the poor to that disfunctional bastion of American policy- the Farm Bill. In its contemporary form this familiar lesigslation supports farmers by subsidizing certain cash crops. Some $25 billion worth of subsidy goes to three products: corn, soybeans, and wheat – the very commodities that yield the fats and carbohydrates essential to the commercial manufacture of processed foods like, well like Twinkies.
By contrast, the Farm Bill does extremely little to encourage the production of healthy, fresh produce such as carrots. Every processed food, every sports drink, every quick snack, every corn-syrup enriched food product on your grocer’s shelf is Federally subsidized so that the most filling yet fattening and artery choking foods bear an artificially low price while unsubsidized, healthy, fresh foods don’t.
If you want to get the most for your food dollar buy those Twinkies. They’ll fill you up and you’ll feel that pleasing rush of corn derived sugars and soy derived fats. If you want something life sustaining, well then, you’ve got to pay full price for the carrots.
Societies built on the policies of human authority always fall short of the Kingdom of God.
But we’ve got to remember that the word of God is always on the move. And we've got to get going or else get left behind. We’ve got to get ourselves out on the porch.
You see, we can’t retreat inside the insular sanctuary of the parish because the Holy Spirit commands us to live our faith among the crowd of the Portico in that a mixed up world where the economic values of agricultural subsidy dominate the moral values of public health.
We’ve got to get out on the porch and talk about it.
But then when we get out there, out in that broken and fearful world, what will we say? Whose voice will we use? Which set of values will we say is truth? What will you and I say to the world?
Will we subsidize processed truth rich in social carbohydrates and cultural sugars so that we won’t get chastised? Will we say that mercy is an un-necessary social ingredient in civilization as long as our group can be powerful? Will we say that God just wants us to fulfill our independent, individualistic, personal goals and ignore others living obese lives on a thin economic margin?
Or will we witness some truth that supercedes sanctified cultural folklore and the disfunctional accumulation of social norms? Let us be witnesses to Christological values and divine truth.
let us witness that the last shall be first.
Let us witness that the meek shall inherit the earth.
Let us witness that the peacemakers, yes the peacemakers, are the children of God.
Let us boldly claim that adoption into the intimate presence of God, the need for self-awareness and forgiveness of sin are critical ingredients for healthy human life and spiritual well being.
I’m asking you these things today just as I’m asking myself. I’m asking us both to make a choice that will define our relationship with the world, a choice that will define our relationship with creation itself.
Will we give the crowd some cheap liturgy of popular cultural values?
Or will we live costly yet truthful discipleship to the God of our ancestors. The one true God, who on an Easter morning long ago raised up Christ Jesus, the one true hope for all people?
Glory be to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.
AMEN.
We live in an era when the word of God has circumnavigated the globe.
What began as a branch from the root of Jesse and was preached to the Jerusalem masses under the Portico of Solomon on the east side of the Temple, came to be spread throughout the world on the wings of European empires and American foreign mission boards. And now, now as the world grows ever smaller and ever flatter, Christianity is finding its own way back to the west.
The word of God has always been on the move.
Now it finds us here in North America in the beginning of the 21st century - even right here in our Presbyterian pews where we thought we had already heard the word of God and where we thought Jesus was already among us. Right here amid the familiar and the reliable and the comfortable.
But this returning word of God stirs us out of those comfort zones with an Asian hallelujah or hymns with Caribbean or African rhythms. This rebounding word of God makes us anxious and confused because it isn’t our European tradition. We feel like the first apostles alone in a sea of competing theologies and spiritualities.
More than anything, we feel as though we’re being left behind but we can’t quite understand why. Why?
We’re educated. We’re faithful. We’re giving and we’re loving. But the culture that embraces the multitude of spiritual voices, the culture in which our footsteps fall every single day, doesn’t care. No it doesn’t. What our culture wants is only a simplistic maxim to live by. Something easy to digest, easy to remember, not too taxing for the brain or the soul. Too often, what we offer is the full 14 volumes of Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics.
So, in the face of this swirling ocean of voices we’ve found ourselves in a crisis of relevance as a people loyal to the one gospel yet surrounded by a society whose values are the reverse of gospel values.
A society which reveres competition over compassion.
A society which seeks revenge rather than justice.
A society which promotes individual empowerment over connectedness and fellowship.
A society which finds in its soul absolutely no need for forgiveness.
A society which, as the archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, puts it: feels no need for “adoption into God’s initmate presence.”
The well known and admired Barbara Brown Taylor has chronicled that she entered ministry with a strong desire for in depth religious dialogue. But she notes that her first parish required more of her attention in the arena of sustaining the congregation than challenging her congregation. It had more to do with questions of functional immediacy than questions of eternal meaning.
Well, maybe that’s as it should be - to some degree. Maybe faith within the parish is all about strengthening and sustaining, nourishing and nurturing. After all, if you want to teach your congregation about the theological undergirding of belief you’ve got to do a good job of pastoral care first. You’ve got to deal with real life before you can deal with theological structure.
But as important as feeding and caring for the parish is, it’s not the totality of Christian discipleship. More than that, those basic life issues are fundamentally connected to that theological structure. If we’re not careful, the parish can become isolated and insulated. It can live for years there inside the Temple and never breathe the vibrant air of openness.
But God calls Peter and the Apostles, indeed God calls each of us in every pew, in every parish to take our faith outside the Temple and be with the crowds beneath the columns of the Portico. We ‘ve got to out into the public square.
My country cousins might have said: “You can’t stay in the kitchen. You’ve got to get out on the porch.” While I may be too much of a city slicker to make that sound authentic, the sentiment is entirely accurate.
Suffice it to say that Peter and his pals make good role models for us. They got out of the kitchen and went out on the porch and when people began to listen and believe, Peter and the others got arrested. That’s the cost of discipleship. But we’re told that the Holy Spirit was with them and they were freed from captivity and directed to go back to the public square and teach some more.
Again the Apostles were arrested and made to appear before the Sanhedrin, the council of Temple authorities, arbiters of religious custom, validators of socio-religious practice.
And the council chastised these Christ followers and said: “Look! We told you people not to teach and preach anymore to that clamoring crowd out there. You’re just stirring them up telling them all manner of things that contradict what we know is best for the Hebrew people. We make the rules here and you can’t upset the established order of our society by talking about that false prophet, that crucified phony.”
Peter could have said: “We’re sorry. Okay, you’re right. From now on we’ll just teach about the prophets of old. We’ll talk about the glory days of David and the importance of adhering to the accepted laws of religious authority. Oh yes, and we’ll give the people some simplistic maxims that are easy to follow.”
But Peter did not say that. He didn’t say that at all. The Holy Spirit had commanded the Apostles to teach something far more meaningful than conventional ritual that would appear holy but would in truth offer no real sustenance to humanity nor honor to God.
Peter wasn’t willing to go along with the pronouncements of these human authorities when the Creator wanted so much more for the world.
Peter understood that societies built on the policies of human authority always fall short of the Kingdom of God.
A report just this spring connected obesity among the poor to that disfunctional bastion of American policy- the Farm Bill. In its contemporary form this familiar lesigslation supports farmers by subsidizing certain cash crops. Some $25 billion worth of subsidy goes to three products: corn, soybeans, and wheat – the very commodities that yield the fats and carbohydrates essential to the commercial manufacture of processed foods like, well like Twinkies.
By contrast, the Farm Bill does extremely little to encourage the production of healthy, fresh produce such as carrots. Every processed food, every sports drink, every quick snack, every corn-syrup enriched food product on your grocer’s shelf is Federally subsidized so that the most filling yet fattening and artery choking foods bear an artificially low price while unsubsidized, healthy, fresh foods don’t.
If you want to get the most for your food dollar buy those Twinkies. They’ll fill you up and you’ll feel that pleasing rush of corn derived sugars and soy derived fats. If you want something life sustaining, well then, you’ve got to pay full price for the carrots.
Societies built on the policies of human authority always fall short of the Kingdom of God.
But we’ve got to remember that the word of God is always on the move. And we've got to get going or else get left behind. We’ve got to get ourselves out on the porch.
You see, we can’t retreat inside the insular sanctuary of the parish because the Holy Spirit commands us to live our faith among the crowd of the Portico in that a mixed up world where the economic values of agricultural subsidy dominate the moral values of public health.
We’ve got to get out on the porch and talk about it.
But then when we get out there, out in that broken and fearful world, what will we say? Whose voice will we use? Which set of values will we say is truth? What will you and I say to the world?
Will we subsidize processed truth rich in social carbohydrates and cultural sugars so that we won’t get chastised? Will we say that mercy is an un-necessary social ingredient in civilization as long as our group can be powerful? Will we say that God just wants us to fulfill our independent, individualistic, personal goals and ignore others living obese lives on a thin economic margin?
Or will we witness some truth that supercedes sanctified cultural folklore and the disfunctional accumulation of social norms? Let us be witnesses to Christological values and divine truth.
let us witness that the last shall be first.
Let us witness that the meek shall inherit the earth.
Let us witness that the peacemakers, yes the peacemakers, are the children of God.
Let us boldly claim that adoption into the intimate presence of God, the need for self-awareness and forgiveness of sin are critical ingredients for healthy human life and spiritual well being.
I’m asking you these things today just as I’m asking myself. I’m asking us both to make a choice that will define our relationship with the world, a choice that will define our relationship with creation itself.
Will we give the crowd some cheap liturgy of popular cultural values?
Or will we live costly yet truthful discipleship to the God of our ancestors. The one true God, who on an Easter morning long ago raised up Christ Jesus, the one true hope for all people?
Glory be to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.
AMEN.
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