rock solid words

“This country’s going to hell in a handbasket.”  I’ve long wondered what a handbasket has to do with a trip to the infernal regions.  I’m not sure how that particular container became linked with shaking the hand of el Diablo.  I don’t suppose there’s anything particularly evil about handbaskets.  They frequently are taken on picnics, and there doesn’t seem to be anything especially sinister about picnics, unless a spot is chosen right next to an anthill!

(Side note: the world’s largest handbasket is the building in Newark, Ohio, former home of the Longaberger Basket Company.  In the late 90s, Banu had a Longaberger Basket party when we lived in Nebraska.  That’s when her love affair of the baskets began!)

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I tried to find out the origin of that phrase.  It seems to date back to the 1600s.  Another variation was “going to hell in a wheelbarrow.”  Apparently, that wasn’t quite as catchy, so “hell in a handbasket” it was.

I think it’s safe to say, one who utters that phrase is expressing a grim outlook.  The poet of Psalm 12 clearly shares that perspective.

“Help, O Lord, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from the human race” (v. 1).  Everything has gone to hell in a handbasket.

There could be any number of reasons for that lamentation.  It might result from certain beliefs or attitudes or practices.

The psalmist (who traditionally is identified as David) wastes no time in uttering his complaint, his cause for concern.  In the place of the godly and faithful are those who “utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a deceitful heart they speak” (v. 2).  The genesis of so much wrongdoing lies in the words that come out of our mouth.

What are we to make of “flattering lips and a deceitful heart”?  Has anyone ever experienced that?  Have we ever been guilty of that?

What does the psalmist suggest as a remedy?  “May the Lord cut off all flattering lips, the tongue that makes great boasts” (v. 3).

I’m reminded of the song by R.E.M., “Shiny Happy People,” which came out in 1991.[1]  It was inspired by a propaganda poster distributed by the Chinese Communist Party two years after the Tiananmen Square uprising and massacre.  There is the iconic image of the lone protestor standing in front of a tank.  He came to be known as “Tank Man.”  The government wanted to promote the image of the population as “shiny, happy people holding hands.”

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It was indicative of a policy of flattering lips and deceitful heart portraying deadly events in an obscenely deceptive way.

One of the ironies of that song turned out to be its popularity.  People often enjoyed the shiny, happy tune, thinking it was about shiny, happy things—not realizing it was satire, dripping with sarcasm.  R.E.M. didn’t intend it as propaganda, but it worked very well as such!

Verse 4 continues the thought of flattering lips and boastful tongue with “those who say, ‘With our tongues we will prevail; our lips are our own—who is our master?’”

The Revised English Bible puts it, “They say, ‘By our tongues we shall prevail.  With words as our ally, who can master us?’”  With words as our ally.  What a delicious phrase.  In another translation, it reads “our weapon is our lips.”[2]

In George Orwell’s 1984, Winston Smith, who is the central character, makes the statement, “Freedom is the freedom to say two plus two equals four.  If that is granted all else will follow.”  By the way, I read his book in 1983.  I wanted to be sure I read it before the year arrived!

The Orwellian concept of language focuses on Newspeak, in which the government deliberately reduces words and the ability to express freedom of thought.  For example, “bad” becomes “ungood.”  “Very good” becomes “plusgood,” and “wonderful” becomes “doubleplusgood.”  Language becomes narrowed, as does awareness, even the ability to conceive.

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1984 gave us the helpful reminder, “Big brother is watching you.”  What a pleasant thought.

Would it be a surprise to know—to be “aware”—that we employ our own forms of Newspeak?  Of course in our case, the goal isn’t deletion of language but the deletion of trust.  That includes deletion of trust in definitions of words.

Once upon a time, a “vaccine” prevented, or almost certainly prevented, one from obtaining a disease and being able to spread it to others.  Sadly, that is no longer the case.  The word “appropriate” seems to have lost its contours.  Case in point would be drag shows held in schools, even elementary schools, being called appropriate.

With words as our ally.  Our weapon is our lips.

Moreso than any other, it is government who uses words to redefine the truth.  “The first casualty of war is the truth.”  So said the ancient Greek poet, Aeschylus.

In her article, “Acceptable Torture,” Karen Hunt comments, “It’s worse than that.  Truth has become the first casualty of everyday life.  The elites have manipulated, discredited, and denied the truth so convincingly that it has all but disappeared.”[3]

In a speech at Texas A&M University, a recent CIA director “jokingly asked his audience, ‘What’s the cadet motto of West Point?  You will not lie, cheat, or steal or tolerate those who do…  ‘We lied, we cheated, we stole,’ he continued, laughing as if he thought that was very funny and clever.  And the brainwashed audience laughed along with him.”  He then added, “It reminds you of the glory of the American experiment.”[4]

I honestly don’t know what that last comment is about.  Certainly it doesn’t mean he believes deception is glorious?  Or does he believe it epitomizes America?  Beats me.

Chapter 12 of Matthew’s gospel notes “every careless word,” or “every idle word” (v. 36).  We’ve just seen plenty of careless, idle words.

Words have power.  Besides “idle,” the Greek word (argos) also means “lazy.”  We too often don’t consider the impact our words carry.  Or maybe we do!  We might intend our words to hurt, calling each other stupid, ugly, worthless.  We utter curses rather than blessings.  Jesus tells us, “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”  What is in us has a way of coming out.

Words have power.  That power can be wielded for good or ill.  That power can be filled with grace or filled with reproach.

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Words have power; they have energy.  We are to pronounce blessings and avoid curses, not because it’s nice, but because what comes out of us comes right back to us.  We clothe ourselves with whatever we produce.  If we emit positive energy, we are bathed in what is good and true and holy.  If we emit negative energy, we are bathed (maybe I should say defiled) in what is wrong and false and unholy.

There are some words of wisdom which state, “truth is in order to goodness.”  (It’s a nugget from our Presbyterian history, but I think it’s available to all!)  The truth must serve the good.  It must promote goodness.  It is possible to tell the truth with the purpose of crushing someone, beating them down.  The truth can be told with malevolent intent.  I call that “the devil’s truth.”  It’s meant, as I just said, to hurt and not to help.  To the extent it does that, it really isn’t the truth.

What stories do we tell about each other?  What stories do we tell about ourselves?  Are they stories of despair and discouragement?  Are they stories of acceptance and affirmation?

I’ve often wondered, how many wars have been started (both wars large and small) over a word misheard?  Once the word is out there, it’s out there.  It really is impossible to “take it back.”

There’s an illustration all of us will recognize.  What happens when we give a tube of toothpaste a little squeeze?  Here comes the toothpaste.  But what if we have a change of heart?  Well, we could return it from whence it came.  I have tried that, and to my amazement, I’ve never been successful.  It’s impossible to take the toothpaste back.

5In his journals, the 19th century Danish philosopher and theologian Søren Kierkegaard makes an embarrassing confession.  “I have just returned from a party,” he says, “of which I was the life and soul; wit poured from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me—but I went away—and the dash should be as long as the earth’s orbit—[inserted in the text is a dash taking up half the line] and wanted to shoot myself.”[5]

Of course, none of us have ever spoken foolish words, whether accompanied by drink or not!  Idle words, indeed.  Having said that, even when we speak out of turn, our words can be transformed; they can be redeemed.

Far from words as our ally, from words that are idle, the psalmist paints a new picture.  “The promises of the Lord are promises that are pure, silver refined in a furnace on the ground, purified seven times” (v. 6).

All the impurity, all the duplicitous language is burned away.  The promises of the Lord—the words of the Lord—are rock solid to the ends of the earth.

“No more let sins and sorrows grow / Nor thorns infest the ground / He comes to make His blessings flow / Far as the curse is found / Far as the curse is found.”

The Lord promises protection to all who seek it, because “on every side the wicked prowl, as vileness is exalted among the human race” (v. 8).  Another translation puts it, “The wicked parade about, and what is of little worth wins general esteem.”[6]  What is of little worth wins general esteem.  That’s almost as delicious as “with words as our ally.”

Where are you with your words?  What are you uttering?  What are you claiming?  What are you rejecting or owning?  Words have energy.  They indeed have power.  We either build with our words or destroy with our words.

In Deuteronomy 30 the Lord says, “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses.  Choose life so that you and your descendants may live” (v. 19).  In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mt 5:44).

That’s a tall order!  I don’t know if anyone ever really gets there, but it is a lofty goal.  If that’s the stratosphere, it makes it all the more doable here at ground level.  It makes it all the more likely that idle words are silenced.  It makes it all more likely that we see the faithful reappearing among the human race.  That includes the face in the mirror.

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There is a word which liberates.  It is the word—the word permeating the cosmos.  It is the word with all power.  It is the living word.  It is the word that defeats death, Jesus the Christ.  It is the word rising from the dead and letting us know that in the end, nothing has truly been wasted.

 

[1] www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYOKMUTTDdA

[2] Mitchell Dahood, Psalms 1 (1-50) (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, 1966), 72.

[3] khmezek.substack.com/p/acceptable-torture?publication_id=258694&post_id=101510344&isFreemail=false

[4] www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPt-zXn05ac

[5] Søren Kierkegaard, A Kierkegaard Anthology, ed. Robert Bretall (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1948), 7.

[6] Revised English Bible


Adar, Lent, and Purim: party time

This year, Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Adar, the final month of the Hebrew calendar, began on the same day.  Lent, as is commonly portrayed, is a season of self-flagellation, of doom and gloom.  “What are you giving up for Lent?”  Once upon a time, the expectation was quite severe, a regimen of rigorous fasting.

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The word Adar means “strength,” and it is a month of rejoicing.  A month combining elements of joy and strength could lend itself well to a message from Nehemiah.  To returned exiles who were aware of their guilt, he proclaimed, “Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength” (8:10).

With my title combining Adar and Lent, I’m suggesting there is joy in Lent—even a joy that gives us strength.

The fourteenth day of Adar is the feast of Purim, which marks the defeat of an attempt to extinguish the Jewish people.  This year, Purim begins at sundown tomorrow and ends at sundown on Tuesday.  [“This year,” meaning sundown on March 6 to sundown on March 7.]  It is recounted in the book of Esther, the story of a woman portrayed as living in Persia in the 5th century BC.  (It should be noted the book’s depiction of history is rather suspect.)

Ahaseurus (a.k.a. Xerxes) is the king.  His chief minister, Haman, is a petty and spiteful man.  Esther’s older cousin is Mordecai, who raises her after her parents died.  Filled with self-importance, Haman expects people to bow and scrape before him.  However, Mordecai fails to grant him the deference he desperately desires.  Mind you, Haman is the highest-ranking member of the government.

Haman, knowing Mordecai is Jewish, devises a devilish way to make him pay for his insolence.  He tells the king of “a certain people scattered and separated among the peoples” (3:8).  The New Jerusalem Bible reads, “a certain unassimilated nation.”

(I’m reminded of certain characters from Star Trek: the Borg.  They are cybernetic organisms linked in a hive mind referred to as the Collective.  They usually appear traveling in ships looking like a giant cube.  Upon encountering another vessel or planet, the message is given, “We are the Borg.  You will be assimilated.  Resistance is futile.”  Apparently, Haman has a lot in common with the Borg.)

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He’s casting lots (the meaning of “Purim”)—he’s rolling the dice—he’s flipping the coin to select the day for attacking and annihilating the Jews.  Long story short, in a delicious reversal of fate, Haman is hanged on the very gallows he had prepared for Mordecai.

As noted, we are in the season of Lent.  Lent focuses on reflection, repentance, and reevaluation on how we are living life.  “What are you giving up for Lent?”  That isn’t a question meant to result in despondent deprivation—or it shouldn’t.  It is better seen as a path to freedom.  What self-imposed chains do we lug around?

Although, there is something to be said for taking a fast for six and a half weeks from…whatever!  A respite can help us get our mind, body, and spirit sorted out.

One of the themes of Adar deals with is identity revealed.  Adar is associated with fish.  Some note the zodiac sign of Pisces.  Among other qualities, fish swimming underwater are hidden from sight.  The ancient Israelites even tended to regard the depths with a sense of foreboding.  It was the dwelling place of Leviathan, the dreaded sea monster.

The identity of fish is revealed when they come to the surface.

Another aspect of identity revealed belongs to Esther herself.  She was counseled by Mordecai to keep her Jewish nationality a secret.  Eventually, the king finds out who Esther really is.  Consequently, when Haman’s plot is revealed—he is peeved, to put it lightly.

Robert Heidler, who is with Glory of Zion Ministries, has also commented on the revelation of identity.[1]  [The message starts at 56:00.]  It is linked to the invisible world, just like those fishies down below.  Who knows what’s going on in the deep, where the light struggles to travel, in a place not designed for our human eyes?

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[photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash]

It is in that shrouded domain where our spiritual identity resides.  We read in the book of Revelation, “Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.  To everyone who conquers I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give a white stone, and on the white stone is written a new name that no one knows except the one who receives it” (2:17).

To everyone who conquers sin, conquers self, conquers the world—hidden gifts emerge.  We become aware of that which was there all along.  If only we would dare to dive in and leave the surface behind, who can say what treasures we might find?  We might realize we already have everything we need.

Yet another aspect of identity is joy.  Remember, the month of Adar emphasizes it.  It should be noted that joy is not the same thing as happiness.  Happiness is an emotion.  It is fleeting; it is transient.  It comes and goes.  However, joy is a deep reality; it becomes part of who we are—even when we feel the whole world is against us.  The apostle Paul speaks of joy as the fruit of the Spirit.  And Paul says in 2 Corinthians, “we were so utterly, unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself,” so he knew a little bit about having one’s back against the wall (1:8).

It might seem counter-intuitive, but joy doesn’t always feel good.  “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice,” so says the apostle.  Joy is a command.  Joy asks for a choice.

In fact, Heidler goes so far as to say joylessness is a sin.  That’s a bold statement!  It is a refusal to enjoy God’s goodness in creation.  Joy is good for your health.  Remember, the joy of the Lord is your strength.  Joy is life.

Going back to identity revealed, Esther is a perfect example.  After Haman’s plans have become known, Mordecai says the time has come for Esther to reveal her identity.  “If you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish.  Who knows?  Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.” (4:14).

It is time for Esther to choose.  The characteristics of her life put Esther in a position to use her freedom of choice.

It is time for us to choose.  We have the freedom to choose, and freedom can be daunting.  What we choose, or what we do not choose, actually matters.

4 esChristine Vales has a YouTube channel she calls “Chalkboard Teaching.”  She indeed uses a chalkboard on which, in many different colors, she inscribes words and phrases and scriptures and drawings!  Relevant for today, she speaks on the imperatives Adar brings.[2]

Again, referring to joy, she says the enemy is “the ultimate killjoy.”  Certainly, we can think of the ultimate enemy as the devil.  The devil hates joy.  Laughing in a cruel manner—that gets a thumbs-up.  Recall, joy is the fruit of the Holy Spirit.  The devil fears the Holy Spirit.  Praise confounds the enemy.

There are other enemies.  Bullies can’t stand it when the object of their ire is good-natured and rejoicing.  How dare they!  They should be filled with terror and trembling.  We can be our own enemy and fight against the upwelling power provided by joy.  We become our own killjoys!

I would like to revisit the beginning of the sermon with the Hebrew calendar.  We currently are in the year 5783.  That is supposed to be the number of years since the creation of the world.  5784 will arrive on Rosh HaShanah (literally, “the head of the year”) which is the beginning of the Hebrew month Tishrei, which falls in September.

We are in the decade which began in 5780; this is the decade of declaration.[3]  It is represented by the letter “pe” פ, which looks like a mouth or an opening.  We are urged to speak the truth, to proclaim the word of the Lord.  We have to watch what we say.

Case in point: I post writings to a couple of websites: substack.com and medium.com.  In January, I reflected on “Every Idle Word.”[4]  I noted, “Words have power.  In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus reminds us ‘we have to give an account for every careless word [we] utter’ (12:36)…  Words have power.  That power can be wielded for good or ill.  That power can be filled with grace or filled with reproach.”[5]  By the way, that one was also in the newspaper.[6]

Vales observes that 5780, inaugurating the decade of declaration, fell in 2020.  And we know what happened then.  The wearing of masks was imposed.  She says, “If you ask me, masks steal joy.”  And let’s not forget, this building was declared non-essential.  What we are doing right now, the worship of the Lord, was considered by the powers-that-be non-essential.  We were told to close down, while places where one can buy wine and whisky were deemed to be essential.

Let’s be honest, it is difficult to speak the word of God through a mask.  And the difficulty of speaking through a mask is true in more ways than one.

Addressing the happenings on social media, Vales comments on how our very words are being censored.

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However, there are other kinds of masks that do not impair the ability to speak.  They are worn during celebrations of Purim.  They are worn during Purim parties.  They are joyful affairs when people wear masks, kind of like at Halloween, to celebrate the defeat of their enemies as told in the book of Esther.  Masks are worn because the miracles in Esther are not readily apparent.  They seem to come through ordinary events.  They are masked.  Even God is masked: the name of God appears nowhere in the book, and yet God is actively at work.

God is actively at work within us and among us.  Are we ready to remove the masks that hide and restrain the free movement of the Spirit of joy?  Do we quench the Spirit?  Do we slap a frown on the joy that yearns to rise to the surface?  Can we visualize the ways we do that?  And now, can we visualize the ways we allow the fire of the Spirit to melt the ice?

Joy can’t exist bottled up. By its very nature, it must be shared.  Joy transforms.  Let this time of Adar and Lent be one in which we take hold of joy and see what happens.  The joy of the Lord is our strength.

 

[1] www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbwN4bgt7PA  (message starts at 56:00)

[2] www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZoVdNhSy85I

[3] www.youtube.com/watch?v=TysFNR2qQK0

[4] jamesmoore94.medium.com/every-idle-word-38ee47800dee

[5] zebraview.substack.com/p/every-idle-word

[6] auburnpub.com/lifestyles/moore-every-idle-word/article_c35144ce-e1a9-52ed-bfd0-2295a41ed45c.html


we have been adopted

“When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law” (v. 4).  That’s how a text in Galatians which I want to consider begins.  One might say that it’s a sentence pregnant with meaning!

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It continues in verse 5, “in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.”  The apostle Paul is speaking of us, but adoption isn’t limited to the human race.  Our local paper frequently features dogs and cats who apparently are able to introduce themselves.  They speak of their likes and dislikes.  And, of course, they all are seeking a fur-ever family!

The scripture in Galatians points to two aspects of salvation—justification and adoption.

Justification can be seen as a negative work.  It involves—in Christ—a redemption from, a restoration from, an erasing, of the mark of sin.  That doesn’t sum it up, but it can be seen as a removal.  Adoption, on the other hand, is more of a positive work.  Something new is brought into being.  Something new, something tangible, is created.

In his book, Knowing God, the late J. I. Packer made the distinction, “Justification is a forensic [or legal] idea, conceived in terms of law, and viewing God as judge.”  At the same time, “Adoption is a family idea, conceived in terms of love, and viewing God as Father.”[1]

Paul says to the Galatians that the birth of Jesus is the story of a new member in the family.  Applied to us, it means that we have been adopted into God’s family.

So there are different images at work.  A prisoner who has served a term may be cleared legally, but whether he or she is received back into the family of society is an open question.  It’s likely that the stigma of being in prison will continue to be carried.  I would ask that we put each of ourselves in the position of someone who has served time.  How would you like to be received?  We don’t quite get the sense of warmth from being justified that we do from being adopted.

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This is not to deny that God’s justifying us is an act of love, or that God’s adopting us is done without regard to what is just.  It is simply to highlight the different perspectives of what has happened in Christ, and I should add, what continues to happen in Christ.

“When the fullness of time had come.”  When the time was just right.  That is how the passage begins.  The Greek (πληρωμα, plērōma) means “make replete, fulfill, accomplish.”  When the stage was set, this grandest of all plays began.

We might think of stories in which a scruffy wandering youngster is taken into the king’s court and raised as part of the royal household.  The Bible even has examples similar to this.  We can point to Joseph and Moses.  After years of imprisonment, Joseph, who has become known for his interpretation of dreams, is brought to the Pharaoh and deciphers his dream.  Long story short, Joseph is given the position of prime minister, or something equivalent to that.

Moses’ mother hid him among the reeds of the river, afraid that he might be killed.  It was not lost on the Egyptians that the Hebrew population was reproducing more quickly than they were.  The decision was made to dispatch the baby boys.  Thus, the decision of Moses’ mother to conceal him.  As it happened, the daughter of the Pharaoh found him and took him as her own.

We might think of “My Fair Lady” in which the illiterate flower girl, though not adopted in the strict sense, receives the proper care and attention, and blooms into an articulate and beautiful young woman.  (“The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain!”)

There is something about adoption that is noble and calls forth the best in us.  Remember the doggies and the kitty cats!

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For me, the imagery of adoption is especially meaningful, because I was adopted as an infant.  Once in a great while, someone asked what it felt like to be unwanted.  Precisely because I was adopted, while growing up, I never questioned whether or not I was wanted.  I knew that I had been chosen, and I knew that my parents had to go through a lot of screening and jumping through hoops as a result of that choice.

On a side note, in February 2018, I was located by my birth mother.

Here’s the thumbnail version.  I received a letter in the mail from the Children’s Home Society in Florida, verifying they had the right person.  Skipping through all the details of the process, we linked up and starting doing Skype and Zoom calls.  I was introduced to my half-brother and half-sister.  The father wasn’t in the picture.  He had taken off back when she was a teenager.  She told me she has thought about me every day of her life, wondering what became of her firstborn son.

She, with my sister and her daughter, visited us in September of that year, and Banu and I have been to Pensacola twice now.  The relationship has continued to evolve.

So I think I’ve always had, even if subconsciously, some sense of what it means to be chosen by God.  I have had the sense of being brought into a family, into a way of life.  Clearly, my experience has been my own.  Everyone who has had the sense of being chosen has their own story.

God, by adopting us into the family, invites us to realize our full potential.  That’s a note of great joy—and great concern.  I think there’s no greater challenge than realizing one’s full potential.  There are many forces working against that—forces outside us and forces inside us.  Among those many internal forces is sloth.

Wendy Wasserstein has spoken on its effect on our potential.[2]  “When you achieve true slothdom,” she says, “you have no desire for the world to change.  True sloths are not revolutionaries…  Sloths are neither angry nor hopeful.  They are not even anarchists.  Anarchy takes too much work.  Sloths are the lazy guardians at the gate of the status quo…

“Whether you’re a traditional sloth or a New Age übersloth, we are all looking at the possibility of real thought, and rejecting it.  Better to fall into line than to question the [party line].”

There’s a disturbing trend in America that’s taken on a life of its own.  Actually it is happening in countries all around the world.  It involves being “cancelled.”  That is, being censored or shamed or denied employment due to saying or writing the wrong thing.  Really, it tends happen anytime an authoritarian mindset sets in.

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I have noticed something similar to that myself.  People who once were critical of big pharma and censorship, people I once considered to be philosophical allies, have almost done a 180 degree turn.  And I must say it’s been during these past years of Covid.  Perhaps Covid simply exposed fissures that were already there.

Owen Edwards, in language reminiscent of science fiction, comments on our “[drifting] toward our digital dream.”[3]  The longer we stay plugged in—to the internet, to our cell phones, to television, whatever—the less time we have for real world, real time, face-to-face interaction.  And the lockdowns (sorry to keep harping on this) only reinforced that trend.

I hope we can take to heart the warning about being “lazy guardians at the gate of the status quo.”  Something I would like to highlight is this: never be satisfied.  That is, never stop asking questions, keep stretching yourselves, doing your own research.

For years I’ve had a cartoon I always put on the wall. It’s one done by Ashleigh Brilliant.  It features a fellow who’s wearing glasses not properly positioned on his face; they’re slanted.  There’s a caption stating, “Nothing is beyond question—and you can take my word for it.”  So friends, don’t take my word for it; check things out for yourselves.

Despite all that confusion and nonsense, verse 6 tells us because we’ve been adopted, “because [we] are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba!  Father!’”  That Spirit recognizes and calls out to the Father.  We are energized from within toward our God-given potential, which I noted earlier is no easy task.  The good news is that God refuses to leave us alone.

We need to bear in mind that the Spirit who recognizes the Father isn’t a spirit of private revelation.  This Spirit is the one who teaches us our growth is tied to the rest of the family.  Sometimes that means doing stuff we don’t want to.  We try to move heaven and earth to avoid it.  But it also means experiencing life more deeply than we possibly could alone.  The spirit of adoption, the Spirit that sounds the cry of “Abba, Father” deep within—this is the Spirit that renews us in the family likeness.

I should say the idea of “family likeness” is contingent on many factors.  For example, you know the promises many businesses make.  “At Bubba’s, we treat you like family.”  Bubba’s promise may or may not be a good thing.

I don’t have to tell you families are tricky.  Families are the source of joy and sorrow, affirmation and rejection, pride and embarrassment.  Family is where we hear, “Nice job.  Nice job.”  Family is where we hear, “Well, you screwed up again.”

Another effect of the lockdowns was something quite horrendous for some people.  For some, home doesn’t feel like home.  For some, home is not a safe place.  Home is a place of neglect, of violence, of perversion.  A lockdown really does feel like prison.

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The perfect image of family is the Holy Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Each member plays a role in the intertwining of selfless love.  Each one looks out for the other.  They all say, “I’ve got your back.”  It’s an endless circle of support.  It’s the perfect place to hear, “We treat you like family.”

It’s a family who cares.  It’s a family who cares about others.  When something horrible happens, like a horrific earthquake, they reach out and ask, “How is your family?”

So—what of all this?  What does our adoption mean?  The passage ends in verse 7 by saying that we have become heirs.  No longer slaves, we have become adopted children, and so, heirs to what God has in store.

We accept the privileges and responsibilities that come with membership in the family.  We seek to find our place, our role, in the family.

We have been adopted.

 

[1] winfieldeastsidebaptistchurch.podbean.com/e/knowing-god-by-j-i-packer-sons-of-god-chapter-19-part-1/

[2] in Kathleen Norris, Acedia and Me (New York: Riverhead Books, 2008), 326.

[3] in Norris, 325.


can conflict be a gift-

After looking at my sermon title, I realize that it could lead to some unintended conclusions.  Raising the question as to whether or not conflict could be considered a “gift” might suggest that I enjoy conflict—even possibly that I seek it out.  I’m just itching for a fight!  I assure you, that is not the truth.

One day, Banu was looking through some old files.  She found a folder that contained some documents from when we were at seminary, when we were just beginning the ordination process.  We were in the Presbytery of Philadelphia, and their Committee on Preparation for Ministry had us fill out some forms.

1There was one that asked about our challenges / weaknesses.  I wrote something along the lines of needing to be more assertive, especially in situations of conflict.  That was 1994.  All these years later, I think I would include that in the list.  I’ve made some progress in being more assertive and a less anxious presence in the midst of conflict, but I still have a ways to go.

So, no, I do not enjoy conflict.

It would seem from Matthew 5 that Jesus doesn’t either.  In fact, it looks like when presented with conflict, he simply wimps out!  Look at how our scripture begins.  Jesus tells the people, “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’  But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer.  But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also” (vv. 38-39).

The “eye for an eye” Jesus starts with is the lex talionis.  That’s Latin for the “law of retaliation.”

We often hear calls for law and order, for greater security, based on this idea—an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.  This one often finds its way into arguments for the death penalty.  It seems to provide for a very stern, no holds barred style of justice.  However, that’s only true if we take the principle of “an eye for an eye” completely out of context.

The late Francis Beare wrote, “The lex talionis was in its time a social advance of great magnitude; it put an end to the vendetta, the blood feud, which allowed unlimited retaliation for an injury done to a member of the family or tribe, so that an entire group could be wiped out before the demands for vengeance were satisfied.”[1]

To our 21st century ears, that law “sounds savage, but it was actually a softening of the primitive fierceness of the feud, which set no limits to the revenge” that could be taken.  The idea was, if you kill one of ours, we’ll kill two of yours—and then, doing the math, we can see how it would escalate.

2Still, Jesus doesn’t say limit revenge to “the same injury; Jesus declares that we must take no revenge at all.”  When he says, “Do not resist an evildoer,” he says don’t worry about getting payback (v. 39).

There’s one verse that isn’t so much a question of revenge.  Jesus tells his disciples, “Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you” (v. 42).  I wonder, would that include lending your car to someone who returns it with an empty gas tank?

It looks like everything Jesus says in our gospel text runs contrary to what we usually do.  (Or at least, we might do it with a great deal of hesitation!)  Why is that?  Is this ethic he lays out something that can actually be done?  Many people simply say “no.”  Many people say Jesus is exaggerating to make a point.  I’m not sure I’m totally on board with that!

In any event, I find the phrase in verse 39 especially interesting: “if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.”  Again, there are many takes on what Jesus means by this, but I find the comments of Speed Leas, a consultant on congregational conflict, to be useful.

3“What that means to me,” he says, “is that when the battle has begun, I do not leave, nor do I attack.  I stay there.  I stay in range of getting hit again.  I take the risk of not destroying the other person or leaving the scene.”[2]  According to Leas, Jesus tells us to resist the “fight, flight, or freeze” reaction.  You know what that is: the temptation, when faced with a conflict, to lash out, to take off, or to become paralyzed!

There’s something that tends to handcuff us when dealing with conflict.  This is true for all people, but I think it might be especially true for those in the church.  We tend to see conflict as inherently bad, something to always steer clear of.

Episcopal priest Caroline Westerhoff talks about this.  “Conflict is not just inevitable…  Instead it is part of the divine plan, a gift.”[3]   So here’s the question I raise in my sermon title—with a little emphasis on the bit about it being “a divine gift.”  How in the world can conflict be a gift?

According to Westerhoff, conflict is part of the creative process.  Almost any story or movie has an element of conflict.  There’s the protagonist and the antagonist.  Conflict is indeed inevitable; it’s built into creation itself.  Animals engage in conflict for food.  In a way, humans do, as well.  We certainly find ourselves in many different kinds of struggle.  A big part of the artistic process is struggling with ourselves and with God.  Westerhoff says that “newness cannot come without conflict.”[4]

As we all know, we have differences.  We look, think, act, smell, vote differently!  That’s how we’ve been created.  One of the main reasons for conflict is due to the fact that we’re not all alike.  We aren’t copies of each other.  We often try to impose a level of sameness on each other, but it’s a mistake.

If we can’t, or shouldn’t, avoid conflict—if it can’t be prevented—what we can and should do is to manage it.  We need to guide it, set boundaries around it.  (Recall what I said about the lex talionis, “an eye for an eye” being a boundary, a limit.)  We have to use conflict for constructive, and not destructive, purposes.

Westerhoff continues, “To manage conflict then would be to allow it, not suppress it; to open our doors and windows to its fresh wind.”[5]  I must say that I don’t often think of conflict as being a breath of fresh air!

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“Following this line of thought to its ultimate conclusion, violence and war becomes not conflict run amuck, conflict out of all bounds, but the final outcome of conflict quelled.  They result when we will not allow the other to be different, when we deny our life-giving dependence on the different one with all our might and means.”

Proverbs 27:17 says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”

We recently had the mid-term elections.  There’s no debating that our country is divided.  That’s been true for a long time.  No matter your political orientation, no matter who you voted for, I think I’m safe in saying that there has been a narrative of not allowing the other to be different.  Sadly, there’s almost an assumption when someone from “the other side” makes a suggestion, it is automatically to be rejected.  There’s been a narrative of denying our life-giving dependence on the different one.

In that context, Jesus seems to wimp out again in verses 43 and 44.  “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”  Really, that sounds outrageous!

Far from wimping out, what Jesus proposes takes a great deal of courage.

In another congregation, I asked the session to read the book, Congregational Leadership in Anxious Times by Peter Steinke.[6]  (At the time, I mentioned that people are always anxious at some level, so this book would probably always work.)  He doesn’t exactly use the language of “loving the enemy,” though sometimes it might feel that way when we’re in the midst of conflict.

In the book’s Acknowledgements, he salutes “the unnamed congregational leaders and members who have influenced my thinking through their wisdom, counsel, and especially courageous action.  They deeply cared for their congregations in such a way that they were willing to risk the displeasure of others, even to the point of being demonized.”  Remember, these are church folk!  “They resisted giving in to the pressure of the moment if it meant forsaking their integrity.”[7]

Remember what I said at the beginning about recognizing my own need to keep working on being assertive in situations of conflict?  Friends, this is not easy.  That’s why we let things go for so long that we know in our heart of hearts need to be addressed.

One of those things is gossip.  Not long ago, I preached a sermon based on the grumblings against Moses in the desert.  It is sin.  We all are prone to gossip and grumbling, including (yes), myself!  When we put darkness—curses instead of blessings—out into the universe, it comes back to us.  Darkness is a heavy thing to carry around.  It infects us.

Twice in our scripture text, Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said…  But I say to you…”  In the midst of conflict, Jesus shows us the way forward.

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In the midst of conflict, it can feel like the walls are closing in.  We can feel tightness in our chest.  I have felt that myself.  We need to remember to breathe.  We need to remember that the Spirit is within us.  But we also need to remember to actually breathe!  There’s nothing like being still, taking some deep breaths, and getting oxygen into the lungs to help us regain some perspective.

Jesus closes by saying, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (v. 48).  That sounds like a tall order!  But this isn’t “perfect” in the sense of being flawless; this is “perfect” in the sense of being “perfected,” of being made whole.  Be complete.  That is the Lord’s desire for us.

We are fragmented, broken creatures.  We are not whole.  Still, in the strange and unwanted gift that is conflict, we come together.  Sometimes we come together by crashing into each other.  But thanks be to God, in all of that craziness and pain, the Spirit is there to lead us into new avenues of truth, replacing insult with blessing.

We need that now more than ever.

 

[1] Francis Beare, The Gospel According to Matthew (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1981),158.

[2] Speed Leas, “The Basics of Conflict Management in Congregations,” Conflict Management in Congregations, ed. David Lott (Bethesda, MD: The Alban Institute, 2001), 30.

[3] Caroline Westerhoff, “Conflict: The Birthing of the New,” Conflict Management in Congregations, 56.

[4] Westerhoff, 56.

[5] Westerhoff, 57.

[6] Peter Steinke, Congregational Leadership in Anxious Times (Herndon, VA: The Alban Institute, 2006).

[7] Steinke, xv.


season of death to season of life

A text in 1 Kings 2 comes from the synagogue Sabbath reading for yesterday the 7th.  It features Jacob’s final words to his sons and David’s final words to his son, Solomon.  As a meditation for the beginning of the new year, deathbed instructions might seem to be an unusual choice, to say the least.

I should add that the Jewish new year, Rosh Hashanah (that is, “head of the year”) falls at various times in September.  The current year on the Jewish calendar is 5783.

I imagine there were quite a few of us who were happy to pronounce the death sentence on 2020.  Some probably wanted to drive a stake through its heart to make sure the monster had been slain!

Still, taking into consideration the coming of Covid into the world, there is always much to celebrate about God’s good creation, which we’ll hear more about later.

David couches his closing wishes in terms of strength, courage, and faithfulness.  “Hear my words, beloved son, and you will follow the way of the Lord.  In pursuing them, you will guarantee that my lineage will continue through you.”  That’s no big responsibility.

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What follows is a list of names and how Solomon is to deal with each of them.  I’m reminded of how certain Roman emperors decided the fate of gladiators.  Thumbs up, and they lived.  Thumbs down, and that’s all she wrote.

(At least, that’s how the story goes!)

First on the list is Joab, one of David’s mighty commanders.  He retaliated “in time of peace for blood that had been shed in war” (v. 5).  Very briefly: Joab killed Abner and Amasa, two military leaders, and Absalom, David’s rebellious son.  This was despite David’s explicit instructions.  He made it clear that he did not want any of them to be slain.

Joab, known for his violent temperament, was unable to let go of blood vengeance, however justified it might have seemed.  David didn’t want to be seen responsible for “innocent blood.”  The verdict: “do not let his gray head go down to Sheol in peace” (v. 6).  Thumbs down.

However, Barzillai treated David honorably, so permit his sons to live in peace with you.  Thumbs up.

And then there is Shimei, who uttered a curse on David, but later tried to make nice.  David promised he would do no harm to him.  He wouldn’t touch a hair on his head but said nothing about how his offspring would treat Shimei while he visits the beauty parlor.  So, thumbs down.

I just said Joab was unable to let go of blood vengeance.  He dragged what happened in time of war into a time of peace.

Is he the only one who couldn’t let go?  Could not the king have behaved any differently?  Was he truly compelled to settle those scores?  I don’t know; perhaps by the standards of his time, it was to be expected.  Nevertheless, it seems like he could have acted in a nobler manner—perhaps in a spirit of royal largesse?

I doubt any of us have the blood of queens and kings flowing through our veins, but how often do we dwell in the past?  How often are we trapped by the past?

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We have now entered 2023.  On every New Year’s Day, I am reminded of the song by that name which was done by the band U2.  Bono sings, “All is quiet on New Year’s Day / A world in white gets underway.  I want to be with you / Be with you night and day.  Nothing changes on New Year’s Day / On New Year’s Day.”

Other people have their own memories or practices when January rolls around.  This year there is the realization of that song being released forty years ago.  Forty years ago!  In 1983, I was a freshman in college.  Tempus fugit.

In his masterpiece, The Sabbath (which reads almost like poetry), the beloved twentieth century rabbi Abraham Heschel suggests, “Time to us is sarcasm, a slick treacherous monster with a jaw like a furnace incinerating every moment of our lives.”[1]  He isn’t saying time is evil, rather it’s our reaction to it.

“We know what to do with space,” Heschel comments, “but do not know what to do about time, except to make it subservient to space.  Most of us seem to labor for the sake of things of space.  As a result we suffer from a deeply rooted dread of time and stand aghast when compelled to look into its face.”

It’s fascinating.  Genesis has God pronouncing aspects of creation—that is, space—as “good.”  Creation of earth and sea, plants and animals, are pronounced “good.”  “And God saw that it was good.”  Even after the creation of the human race, all is pronounced “very good.”

It is only the Sabbath—time—that is hallowed, pronounced holy.  The word in Hebrew has to do with being sanctified, being set apart.  It is set apart from all we can see.

3We so often want to grasp time, as if it were an object.  We want to stop it, or at least slow it down, and just take a breath.  We want that fire-breathing monster consuming every moment to be held at bay.  Time flies, like a dragon.

Are we indeed unwilling to let go?  Do we need to, so to speak, die to the past before we can truly live?

Today is the Baptism of the Lord.  We hear the story of another dying to the past.  We engage with a narrative of one passing through a portal.  The heavens themselves open up like a shower from on high, and there is a powerful proclamation of perpetual passion.

John offers a baptism for the forgiveness of sin.  He offers a baptism of repentance.  He questions Jesus when he comes to him for this ritual.  Wait, we’ve got this totally backward.  I’m supposed to be the forerunner for you.  You should be the one dunking me into the river!

He doesn’t need to do this for his own sake, but Jesus models moving from the death of sin.  He shows the way from the grave of the past to the life of the future.

A couple of decades later, regarding baptism, the apostle Paul establishes the connection, he develops the theology, between the dying of Jesus and his being raised from the grave by God to an indestructible life.

In his letter to the Roman church, Paul shares the glorious news, “We were buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we also might walk in newness of life” (6:4).

In the letter to the Colossians, he says in similar words, “When you were buried with him in baptism, you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God, who raised him from the dead” (2:12).

There are two key events of the Christian faith: Christmas and Easter.  Christmas, of course, tells the story of God becoming incarnate.  It is God becoming enfleshed as the baby of Bethlehem.

More to our point here is the story of Easter.  Jesus was dead, with no life whatsoever, dead as a doornail.  His mission had apparently ended in utter and complete failure.  Jesus was right when he spoke the words, “It is finished.”  It’s difficult to do worse than that.  We go from the bitter tears of defeat of Holy Saturday to the inexpressible and impossible euphoria of Easter Sunday.

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So again, here we are in 2023.  We have been focused on Covid.  In some ways, we have been focused on death.  We’ve had lockdowns.  Many small businesses have not survived.  So many children held out of school have seemingly fallen hopelessly behind.  Getting close to each other has been forbidden.  We have been told to not shake hands!

(Please note: I do understand the logic expressed here.)

The 20s have indeed gotten off to an alarming start.  One cause for concern is that over the past couple of years or so, we’ve become used to accepting ever increasing levels of control and surveillance from the government and from big tech.

By the grace of God, we are becoming ever more aware of our ability to recognize and challenge the lies.  Banu and I invite you to join us.  By the grace of God, death is being exposed.

In the movie, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Winona Ryder plays Mina and Gary Oldman plays Dracula.  In Mina, Dracula sees his centuries-dead wife, Elisabeth, as having returned.  In the scene in which Dracula pledges his eternal love for Mina, she pleads with him, “take me away from all this death.”  Of course, she’s putting that request to the wrong fellow!

We all have been so focused on death, I fear we might have forgotten how to live.

That is the meaning of baptism, however.  It is more than an emphasis on space, an emphasis on physicality.  It also deals with time.  It is the movement from a season of death to a season of life.  That is what it means to be saved.  Salvation is not a one-time reality.  Salvation is ongoing.  Salvation is what we look to in the future.

Still, salvation does require the element of choice.  It requires what the baptism of John models for those coming after, that is, repentance.  Repentance isn’t a furious escape from a hammer descending from above.  It is a turning around, an about face.  And it doesn’t happen once and for all time.  It also is a lifestyle—a lifestyle which is based in joy.

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Our focus on death requires repentance, salvation.  Joy is the defeat of death.  It is time to repent as a congregation, shake off the dust of death, and enter into a 2023 full of the life that God wants to show us.  Whatever we think is enough, God says I have more.  It is time for the remnant to rise from the dead and share in the promises of the Kingdom here and now.

 

[1] Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1951), 5.


the sky is falling!

I’m using for my title a well-known phrase; it is, in fact, the frightened cry of a certain Chicken Little.  There are many variations to the story, but they all begin with an acorn—an acorn which comes plunging from far above and whacks Chicken Little (plop!) on the top of her head.  She panics, “The sky is falling!  I must go tell the king!”

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So off goes Chicken Little, encountering along the way such individuals as Henny Penny, Goosey Loosey, and Turkey Lurkey—not to mention the infamous Foxy Loxy, who’s more than happy to help Chicken Little, while licking his chops at the sight of all those birds.

Luke 21 might have us thinking that Chicken Little was onto something.  The description of “signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars” sounds like everything’s coming apart.  This may be just me, but if you notice the paranoia that so often surrounds us, you’ll see that some people already think the sky is falling.  Maybe some of us feel that way!

We are well into Advent.  Advent is as much about the second coming of Jesus as it is about his first—as the baby in Bethlehem.  The idea of a returning messiah has appeared in various religions and mythologies all over the world.

For example, there was the Aztec belief that the god Quetzalcoatl would someday return to them.  When Hernán Cortés arrived in Mexico in 1519, many thought their hope had been realized.  He had come from the east—from the sea—just as Quetzalcoatl was supposed to do, and it happened on the same date as Quetzalcoatl was to appear.  However, when the Spanish started killing the Aztecs, it became pretty clear that Cortés was not their savior!

I should add this story has now largely been considered a fabrication.  But it is a great story!

We’re looking at part of a passage that goes back to verse 5, as some folks are “ooh-ing and ah-ing” over how beautiful the temple is.  I don’t suppose many of us have ever been in a temple.  Banu and I have been inside the model of a temple.  There’s a full-scale replica of the Parthenon in Nashville—a really impressive structure—complete with a 42-foot-tall statue of the Greek goddess of wisdom, Athena.

2

In the scripture, Jesus proceeds to pour cold water on the admiration of the temple.  He tells those who are simply breathless over its beauty that “the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down” (v. 6).  Not one stone will be left upon another.  (Note to self: do not hire him as a tour guide!)

The first part of today’s reading, verses 25 to 28, actually may have people saying, “The sky is falling!”  Besides disturbances in the heavens, there’s a reference to what’s happening on earth.  Confusion will be caused “by the roaring of the sea and the waves” (v. 25).  The sea and the waves are symbols of chaos.  “People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world” (v. 26).  We’re looking at some scary stuff.

I suppose many generations could identify with this.  Case in point: in the mid-fourteenth century, a pandemic of bubonic and pneumonic plague (alias the Black Death) swept through Europe, killing about one-third of the population.  It was commonly believed the end of the world was at hand.

These last three years might have stirred up similar feelings.

Despite all of that, we aren’t to do imitations of Chicken Little.  Verse 28 says “when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads.”  Stand up and raise your heads—even if it seems like the sky is falling.  Why are we to do that?  “Because your redemption is drawing near.”  That’s the response of the faithful: those who look for the Lord’s return, as opposed to those who pay no attention to such things.

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The second part of the passage, verses 29 to 33, is a parable taken from nature.  Besides the image of the fig tree, Luke includes “all the trees,” since his audience includes those not familiar with fig trees.  When they sprout leaves, summer is near.  In the same way, when the signs of the preceding verses appear, the kingdom of God is near.

Here’s a question.  Has there ever been a time when people did not see these things?  That would seem to suggest—and this can be found elsewhere in the New Testament—the kingdom of God is always at hand.  When we consider the kingdoms of Christ and Caesar, the difference in the two isn’t a matter of location.  Both are always with us.  Instead, it’s a difference in worldviews—a difference in vision.

The third part contains warnings.  They seem to question the way most of us live our lives.  Verse 34 says, “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life.”

In his paraphrase of the Bible, The Message, Eugene Peterson put it this way:  “But be on your guard.  Don’t let the sharp edge of your expectation get dulled by parties and drinking and shopping.”  What’s his deal?  He’s like Arnold Schwarzeneggar in Kindergarten Cop: “I’m the party pooper.”

Bruce Prewer spoke of those who, in effect, only recognize the first advent of Jesus by wanting to ignore the season of Advent and race ahead to Christmas. “If you don’t believe in the Final Coming of Christ,” he says, “then I suggest that you don’t really believe in the first coming of this True Child of God. They are inseparable as thunder and lightning…  If they are not inseparably linked in our faith, our Christmas activities are in danger of becoming a sentimental excursion into fantasy…

“Unless we see Christ as the Alpha and Omega, the One who will certainly come again, then Advent and Christmas can be a brief sentimental diversion; time out from the hard suffering and desperation of this world.  It may offer a bit of temporary escapism.  But mere tinselled sentiment will not provide a liberation for anxious souls who fear they are living in doomsday times.”[1]

The world doesn’t need the church to mimic its empty portrayal of Christmas.  The world needs the church to be the church.  What I mean is: the world needs the church to show that there is a better way.  Too often, it is the reverse!

One way to put these thoughts into a question—and if you haven’t figured this out by now—I like to ask questions.  Probably much more important than having the right answer is asking the right question.  So, what does it mean, in Advent 2022, to wait for the Lord?

Verse 36 gives the warning, “Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”  The New Jerusalem Bible renders that last phrase as “to hold your ground before the Son of Man.”  How do we hold our ground?

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the line must be drawn herrre!

What does it mean to be alert?  Or how about this: how do we look for the second advent of Jesus, even when the sky is falling?

There are probably as many different ways the sky can fall as there are people.  Disaster need not happen on a public scale, with many witnesses.  The sky can fall, as we all know, in our own lives.  That only underlines the need to encourage each other in the faith, to strive to see Christ in others.

The Bible says we are to pray for the strength to escape what causes us to say, “The sky is falling!”  We are to pray for the strength to stand before the Son of Man.

“The Son of Man”: in simple terms, it means “human being.”  To the extent that we imitate Christ, to the same extent we become human.  Christ is the new Adam—the human of the new creation.

That touches on a key aspect of Christmas itself.  There is the reality of incarnation, literally, “in the flesh.”  It is God being embodied, appearing as a human—that is, as the baby of Bethlehem.  The uncreated revealed as the created.  It imparts a limitless affirmation of who we are as humans.  The sanctification of matter, of physicality, presents us as children of God.

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the pillars of creation

Holding our ground before the Son of Man is an acknowledgment of, and celebration of, the great gift of being born as human, and what’s more, adoption into the family of God.  It’s a great gift even when we feel like the sky is falling.

 

[1] www.bruceprewer.com/DocC/C01advt1.htm


the gift of repentance

I imagine we have occasionally come upon some characters dressed in unusual garb, professing to have a word from God.  They often are dressed in robes, crying out their appeals / commands.

I recall one such individual, who was poised on a traffic island in downtown Nashville.  He was wearing a sign bearing the message, “Repent in the raw.  Nudist Christians.”  If my recollection of the fellow is accurate, it seemed underneath the sign, he was wearing no shirt.  However, he did have on some pants.

Below the delightful invitation was a phone number.  I didn’t bother memorizing it.  I had no intention to follow up and get more information on his group.

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[photo by Samuel Regan-Asante on Unsplash]

The nudist fellow aside, the call to repent is usually understood to be a stern warning.  It’s a demand to get your act together!  If you have ever encountered any of those oddballs on the sidewalks, it would be easy to get that idea.  Or maybe you’ve been in church with a wild-eyed preacher pointing and shouting, “Repent, ye sinners!”

The fellow in Matthew 3 could fit the bill.  “In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near’” (vv. 1-2).  He seems to be a rather formidable force, with a bit of fanatic thrown in, at least according to polite society.

“In those days” he appears.  No particular time period is intended.  We might think of life going on as normal, when suddenly this prophetic figure arises.  It happens in the wilderness—a region “off the grid,” so to speak.  The reason for repentance is due to the kingdom of heaven as drawing near, as being at hand.

It’s right here, within our grasp.  The pure of heart are graced, as the gospel later tells us, to “see God” (5:8).  The kingdom can be sensed in moments of awe.

We’re told John is prefigured by Isaiah with the message, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight’” (v. 3).  By this time, those in the Jewish faith had come to see this as a messianic scripture, a reference to the end times when the Messiah will establish universal peace.  There’s a slightly different spin from Isaiah 40, which says, “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’”

Being in the desert, in the wilderness, is far from the structures erected by human ingenuity.  Having said that, the wilderness is less about outward structures than it is about inward ones.  The desert is a place of utter openness, of exposure that is complete vulnerability.

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[photo by Ahmad Ardity on Pixabay]

The clothing of John the Baptist has been an inspiration for those characters I mentioned earlier.  It’s not exactly what would be seen on the runways of fashion capitals around the world.

How about his menu, consisting of locusts and wild honey?  In Leviticus 11, which deals with ritually clean and unclean food, “locusts of every kind” are pronounced kosher (v. 22).

On a side note, locusts have been and are still eaten in many parts of the world.  They are rich in protein, and can be prepared in many different ways, including frying in olive oil, perhaps with a dusting of salt and spices.  They are a tasty and crunchy biblical food!  So accompanied with wild honey (as opposed to the product of domestic bees) we have a combination of savory and sweet.

3With verses 5 and 6, we see why John is at the Jordan.  He’s baptizing folks from near and far.  They are confessing their sins, heeding the call for repentance.

Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor says of him, “When John waded into the water with people, he was cleaning them up for their audience with God, which he believed would take place very soon. He begged them to change their lives in preparation for that event, and he was not below scaring them half to death if that was what it took.”[1]

That especially applied to the Pharisees and Sadducees who approached him, who he referred to as a “brood of vipers” (v. 7).  John compares them to snakes fleeing a fire.  In doing so, he’s hardly saying their ministry and leadership are based on such noble and godly qualities like love and concern for the people.

He warns them against relying on their status as sons of Abraham.  Quit acting like big shots.  Demonstrate a conscientious desire to serve the Lord.

Taylor continues, saying John “offered to hose them down, if they were willing.  If they could come out of their comas long enough to see what was wrong and say so out loud, then he would wash it away for them, forever.  Or God would.  The same God who could make children of Abraham out of river rocks could make children of God out of them right there, if they were willing.  All they had to do was consent, repent, return to the Lord and they could start their lives all over again before they even dried off.”[2]

That was an amazing gift.  “The past would lose its power over them.  What they had done, what they had said, what they had made happen and what had happened to them would no longer run their lives.”

Too often we want to hold on to the past, even a past that was destructive and hurtful.  Have there been voices in our head telling us, “You’re dumb.  You’re ugly.  You’re worthless.  You’re an embarrassment”?  Or maybe we’ve inflicted that kind of pain on others, possibly without even intending to.

“As scary as John was,” says Taylor, “it was a pretty great offer.  No wonder people walked days to get to him.  No wonder they stood around even after their turns were over, just to hear him say it again and again.  ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’  What sounds like a threat to us sounded like a promise to them.  We hear guilt where they heard pardon, and at least part of the problem, I think, is our resistance to the whole notion of repentance.”[3]

Remember the wild-eyed guy I mentioned yelling, “Repent, ye sinners”?  As just noted, where we hear a threat, they hear a promise.  That goes to my title: the gift of repentance.  If that sounds counter-intuitive, please know there are scriptures in the Bible making that very point.  I could cite several, but I’ll just give one from both Old and New Testaments.

In the book of Ezekiel, the prophet speaks the word of the Lord to the people in exile in Babylon.  They are promised return and restoration.  “A new heart I will give you,” says the Lord, “and a new spirit I will put within you, and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh” (36:26).  They are promised outer restoration (their nation), and inner restoration (their spirit).

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In the New Testament, Peter is describing to his fellow Jews how God directed him to go to the home of the Roman centurion, Cornelius.  Understand, Jews were forbidden to visit Gentiles—and certainly not to sit down and eat with them!  Peter said, “as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning,” that is, on the day of Pentecost (Ac 11:15).  How do they react?  “When they heard this, they were silenced.  And they praised God, saying, ‘Then God has given even to the gentiles the repentance that leads to life’” (v. 18).

The Gentiles received the gift of repentance.  Do we also not play a role in that?  Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

Repentance leads to life.  The chains of death and darkness are shattered, torn asunder.  We are set free from the power of sin.  We are slaves no more.

However, having those shackles removed doesn’t mean we won’t be aching to put them on again.  Sometimes we don’t want to be healed.  Sometimes we like being stuck in the mud.  The hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” cries out the plea, “Take away the love of sinning; Alpha and Omega be.”  Poor wretched creatures that we are, we are prone to not only choosing sin, but loving it.

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We don’t want to give up the fun of spreading rumors or talking smack behind somebody’s back.  Why forego the enjoyment of berating the driver who cut us off in traffic?  Why is it called road rage when it’s such a thrill?  Why deprive ourselves of the pleasure found in getting revenge, which is a dish best served cold?

Worst of all, we too often refuse the love of God, who calls us to do the things—or calls us to love the ones—we would rather not do.  We might even notice our ignoring Ezekiel’s caution about hearts turning to stone.

Repentance is indeed a gift, but it also must be sought.  Without a desire to change, without a desire to know Jesus more deeply, there is no repentance.

John is baptizing, but he knows very well it’s not about him.  “I baptize you with water for repentance, but the one who is coming after me is more powerful than I, and I am not worthy to carry his sandals.  He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (v. 11).  Now he really sounds like that wild man from the wilderness.

If John the Baptist hoses you down, the one to come (a perfect image for Advent) sets you on fire.  Jesus is he who baptizes with the Holy Spirit and with fire.  He wields a winnowing fork, throwing the wheat into the air and allowing the breeze to blow away the debris.

The chaff will be consumed by flame.  It takes up space but contributes very little.  It’s not terribly nutritious.  It provides some empty calories, so to speak.

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There is chaff within us to be burned away.  (I’m addressing this to myself more than to anyone.)  It can be quite painful; burning usually is!  As noted before, sometimes we don’t want to be healed.  We want to remain stuck.  We love our sin.  And to submit to it being wrenched away feels like we’re losing part of ourselves.  And guess what?  It’s true, and it needs to go.

Once we let that stuff go, we find a liberty we couldn’t imagine.  A burden is lifted.  Dare we look inside and have the courage to face it?

We are freed to love and serve whose advent is nigh, Jesus Christ, the one who comes to us.

 

[1] Barbara Brown Taylor, Journal for Preachers, “A Cure for Despair: Matthew 3:1-12,” 21:1 (Advent 1997), 16.

[2] Taylor, 16.

[3] Taylor, 17.


detours

One of the pure joys of a road trip is finding ourselves in the heart of a long line of traffic, particularly when we’re way out in the country.  It might be due to an accident or possibly construction work.  It’s especially fun when the line stretches as far as the eye can see.  If by chance an exit is coming up, we might be tempted to get off the highway and try to outflank the congestion.

We might whip out the atlas, that is, if we’re old school.  (When I was a kid, I developed a love with geography.  I spent many hours looking at atlases with places all over the world.)  Or we might simply listen to our friendly MapQuest voice giving directions.  “In 500 feet, turn right.”

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When my sister and I were young, sometimes my dad would say, “Do you want to go for a ride?”  I loved it when he asked that.  When the price of gasoline was negligible, a great way to spend the time would be simply wandering around in the car.  Of course, I would be the one who suggested taking detours, perhaps with a map poised in my lap—or just because I wanted to see “where that road goes.”

Usually, I had a pretty good idea where we would wind up, but if we happened to get lost, I would be the recipient of ire from the front seat.  Still, at least we found out where that road went.

Finding out where roads go means traveling.  1 Corinthians 16 involves plenty of that.  The apostle Paul spent a lot of time on the road.  The Corinthian church themselves were familiar with movement.  The city of Corinth was a hub of activity in the Roman Empire.  Folks were coming and going from every direction.

Paul is writing this from Ephesus, which is in modern-day Turkey.  It’s on the other side of the Aegean Sea.  He’s making his travel plans; he is putting in place his itinerary.

There are some things he would like for them to have in order before he arrives.  At the top of the list is the collection for the church in Jerusalem.  The Jerusalem church is poor.  The believers there are in financial need.  However, there are other factors in play besides the economic ones.

There is an acknowledgment that Jerusalem is the birthplace of the faith.  The Word went out from there.  It is, so to speak, the mother church.  With this “collection for the saints,” they are honoring that reality.

Paul asks the Corinthians to set aside some money when they gather “on the first day of every week,” when they come together for worship (v. 2).  He doesn’t want to show up with their being unprepared and having to scramble to get the funds in place.  It could be a bit embarrassing.

With this appeal for assistance, we might wonder about those with more modest resources.  Certainly, we all have various gifts and abilities.  There’s the often-mentioned itemized request for giving: time, talents, and treasure.  It frequently is the case that those with the least in material possessions do the most with their time and talents—possessions with even greater value.

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Is it safe to say, Paul’s words that “each of you is to put aside and save whatever extra you earn” applies to us?  Can we do so, without asking questions like, “Are they deserving?  Are they one of us?”  Who among us hasn’t been the recipient of God’s grace?  Have we deserved the grace of God, and that in an overwhelming measure?  If we have deserved it, then it isn’t grace.

Verses 3 and 4 show Paul being quite scrupulous in avoiding the appearance of misconduct.  He wants them to select the couriers in charge of the money for the trip to Jerusalem.  He’s fine with sending them off with his blessing and letters of introduction.  Okay, if they want the apostle to come along for the ride, he’s willing to go.

Now it’s time for those travel plans mentioned earlier.  Being in Ephesus, Paul is almost directly across the sea from Corinth.  It would be a quick trip by water.  But he wants to go overland and visit Macedonia, which will take him in a giant loop around the Aegean.

Paul wants to take some time in Macedonia, and he wants to take some time with you, Corinthians.  Maybe you will still have the welcome mat out when winter arrives.  He doesn’t want this to be a flying visit.

Then we come to verses 8 and 9.  The apostle says, “I will stay in Ephesus until Pentecost, for a wide door for effective work has opened to me, and there are many adversaries.”  There are many adversaries.

So often, when we encounter opposition, we quickly conclude it is a sign God wants us to choose another path.  Where’s that detour?  Have we read the signs wrong?  Have we misinterpreted God’s will?  Serving the Lord shouldn’t be this darn hard.

On the other hand, sometimes we will keep beating our head against the wall.  We will engage in head banging.  And by head banging, I’m not talking about what lovers of heavy metal do when they’re cranking up the volume.  Sometimes—I’m not sure how often—we get punched in the face, and we might reply, “Thank you sir, may I have another?”  To borrow a thought from what Jesus says at the time of Paul’s conversion, we will kick against the goads, to our own distress (Acts 26:14).  Maybe it really is time for a detour!

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photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash

It takes spiritually enlightened reason.  Both are necessary.  Still, it’s easy to minister to and share God’s love with those who are kind to us, those who are grateful.

Cannot an adversary become an ally?  A foe become a friend?

Note that the opposition is beyond, as Paul says, “a wide door for effective work.”  The word for “effective” is ἐνεργής (energēs), the source of our word “energy.”  Paul believes there is some good energy, some good vibes in play.

On a side note, the apostle wants to send some good energy to his friends in Corinth.  “Don’t give Timothy a hard time,” he writes.  That young man is Paul’s protégé.  Don’t give him grief because of his age.

He mentions Apollos, who is an eloquent preacher well known to the Corinthians.  Paul wanted him to come and visit them, but as he says, “he was not at all willing to come now” (v. 12).  There is an alternate reading: “it was not at all God’s will.”  So basically, Apollos will come when the time is right.

Lest they stray from the path, lest they detour, Paul delivers some concise directives: “Keep alert; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong” (v. 13).  It’s the third in that list I find especially interesting.  “Be courageous” in Greek is ανδριζεσθε (andrizesthe).  It literally means “be a man.”  I don’t suppose it would be a big surprise to hear “being a man” linked with “being courageous.”

If you’re wondering what the command to “be a man” has to do with the other half of the human race, don’t worry, I’ll get to it in a few moments!

New York Times columnist David Brooks published an article entitled, “Before Manliness Lost Its Virtue.”[1]  He uses as a starting point the ancient Greek concept of manliness.  “Greek manliness,” he says, “started from a different place than ours does now.  For the ancient Greeks, it would have been incomprehensible to count yourself an alpha male simply because you can run a trading floor or sell an apartment because you gilded a faucet handle.

“For them, real men defended or served their city, or performed some noble public service.  Braying after money was the opposite of manliness.  For the Greeks, that was just avariciousness, an activity that shrunk you down into a people-pleasing marketer or hollowed you out because you pursued hollow things.”

Brooks talks about certain traits the ancient Greeks considered indicative of a manly man: being courageous, assertive, competitive, demonstrating his prowess, being self-confident.  Nonetheless, there is something else about the manly man.  “[H]e is also touchy.  He is outraged if others do not grant him the honor that is his due…  They are hard to live with.  They are constantly picking fights and engaging in peacock displays.”

He does mention a corrective the Greeks had.  They “took manliness to the next level.  On top of the honor code, they gave us the concept of magnanimity…  The magnanimous leader possesses all the spirited traits described above, but uses his traits not just to puff himself up, but to create a just political order.”

Here’s where I get back to the question of what “being a man” says to women and children.  Clearly, the apostle is addressing the entire church.

He praises women who have served Christ and the church, sometimes at great personal risk.  Paul refers to Chloe as one of the church’s leaders (1:11).  And in another letter, he gives God thanks for Phoebe, a deacon, for Mary (one of several Marys, we don’t know which), the sisters Tryphaena and Tryphosa, and the beloved Persis, among others (Ro 16:1,6, 12).

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Iesha Evans in Baton Rouge on 9 July 2016

Keep alert; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.  It’s safe to say these women have demonstrated—they have lived—the four-fold directive of verse 13.

So, having said all of that, we immediately have this.  “Let all that you do be done in love” (v. 14).  Be a man.  Be courageous, but do it in love.  Maybe we can say, as we saw earlier, be magnanimous!

The last part of the chapter, with Paul’s greeting of various people in Corinth, is appropriate for All Saints Sunday.

Verse 20 calls for greeting one another “with a holy kiss.”  In cultures where kissing is a normal part of greeting, this isn’t such a strange thing.  The point is it’s supposed to be a “holy” kiss, not something else.

I have a quick story along those lines.  When Banu and I were in seminary, I took a worship class taught by a Presbyterian professor.  She gave us an assignment.  On Sunday, we were to attend a church with a worship service very different from the one we were used to.  There was an Armenian Orthodox church about a mile down the road, so I chose it for my assignment.

The entire service was in the Armenian language, except for the sermon and the prayer of confession, which were in English.  Included in their liturgy was the kiss of peace, the holy kiss.  The only other people in the pew where I was sitting was a family with a father, mother, and daughter.  She looked like she was about 20.  They started down the line, kissing each other on the cheek.  Then the daughter started moving toward me; I became a bit nervous.  She extended her hand, so a holy kiss turned into a holy handshake.  Potential drama averted!

“Let anyone be accursed who has no love for the Lord” (v. 22).  We go from a holy kiss to a pronouncement of a curse.  Still, we might think of it as a self-imposed curse.  A rejection of love, let alone a rejection of the Lord’s love, in itself would mean accepting a curse.

However, right after that we end on a high note.  “Our Lord, come!”  That’s the word maranatha.  It also means, “our Lord is coming.”

So, to summarize, how are we supporting each other?  Regarding the church in Jerusalem, Paul was speaking first of money.  But as we saw, there are things more important than money.  (Amazingly enough!)  How are we doing with holding each other up?  How are we doing with holding those up in our community?

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Regarding Timothy, he reminds the Corinthians “he is doing the work of the Lord just as I am.”  How do we support those doing the work of the Lord in our midst?

And how are we doing in navigating the detours in serving the Lord?  How are we doing in discerning the detours, knowing which way to go?  Our Lord is much more than willing to lead us.  The Lord is ever more ready to hear than we are to pray.

What does all of this look like?  I can’t answer that for you.  We have to answer that question for ourselves.

So, we go through the detours of life, seeking our way home.  We hear the call, “Maranatha.”  Our Lord Jesus, come!  Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is coming.

 

[1] www.nytimes.com/2017/08/01/opinion/scaramucci-mccain-masculinity-white-house.html


in with the old, out with the new

Psalm 51 has been called “one of the most moving prayers in the Old Testament.”[1]  It hits all the right notes.  There’s a full admission of guilt, acknowledgment that no pardon is deserved, and loving joy because God does forgive.  There’s an expressed awareness that “unless a radical change is wrought by God, the future will be but a repetition of the past.”  That’s why the psalmist “appeals to God for a clean heart and a new spirit.”[2]

This is the psalm which appears in the liturgy with Ash Wednesday, which by the way probably never makes the list on anyone’s favorite holidays.  There is a cruel and kind revelation about our very existence, who we are, down to the bone.  “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  There can be no pretensions.

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A key verse in our psalm is verse 14.  The psalmist seems to be on the precipice of some kind of horror, something to be dreaded.  “Deliver me from bloodshed, O God,” is the cry, “O God of my salvation, and my tongue will sing aloud of your deliverance.”

Opinions differ as to what “bloodshed” here is all about.  Is it something the psalmist has done—or something feared yet to happen?  Is it a comment about the whole nation, something we frequently see in Old Testament prayers?  I would say there’s room for both.

Still, there is a painful, agonizing note sounded by an individual.  The caption of the psalm refers to it as King David’s plea for pardon after raping Bathsheba.  The prophet Nathan has confronted the king and exposed his guilt.  There’s nothing to say.  He has been caught red-handed, so to speak.

Lest we think we are free of the shedding of blood, reflect on this.  Even with inflation, have you ever thought of how so many items are priced so cheaply?   Consider the overwhelmingly vast number of goods coming from a single country.  We support that country, which commits plenty of bloodshed, both literally and figuratively.

Recall verse 1, how this whole thing gets kicked off: “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy, blot out my transgressions.”  The Hebrew word for “abundant mercy” (or in the New Jerusalem Bible, “tenderness”) is רַחַם (raham).  It means “womb.”  O God, according to your compassion for your unborn child…

Recalling David’s violation of Bathsheba, the Lord can be seen (or is seen) as a female who has suffered that grievous harm—one who has been violated in that most violent way.

The king can’t undo the past; he knows a radically new way is called for.

As we recite the psalm on Ash Wednesday, we should note not all of the psalm is used.  We stop at verse 17.  Here are verses 16 and 17: “For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased.  The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”

As we scroll through this poem, time and time again, we see calls for radical openness.  I encourage you to read every verse and then pause and reflect on it.

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity…

Against you, you alone, have I sinned…

You desire truth in the inward being…

Create in me a clean heart…

Restore to me the joy of your salvation…  (I think the point is made.)

For that vision, for that reality to come alive, some radical change—as already mentioned—must come to pass.  That sounds great, but then here are verses 18 and 19.  These last two verses are often seen as having been added later, as a sort of appendix.

“Do good to Zion in your good pleasure; rebuild the walls of Jerusalem; then you will delight in right sacrifices, in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings; then bulls will be offered on your altar.”  We might ask, “Okay, so what’s the point?”  It sounds like a perfectly acceptable and necessary part of repentance.

I would suggest there is a chasm between these two verses and what has gone before.  I know not everyone agrees with me.  They might say I’m overstating the case, pretending I’m looking at the Grand Canyon, as opposed to a babbling brook.  And that’s fine.  But see for yourself.

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On the one hand, “For you have no delight in sacrifice…”  And on the other, “Then you will delight in right sacrifices…”

On the one hand, “If I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased…”  And on the other, “You will delight in burnt offerings…”

“The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit.”

With those last two verses, there is a sense of “but then…  There’s nothing wrong with the way we served God in the past.”

At the Missionaries of Prayer website, there’s a post titled, “Prophetic Word—Why am I Attracted to This?”[3]

Why am I attracted to this?  That’s a question for each of us.

Why am I attracted to this?  Suggestions are offered.  Why am I attracted to this church…  this person…  this place?  What do I really want?

“You need to know the answer to this, for yourself.  Because this will help to make or break you.  Only you know the answer.”

This is hard.  It is deeply uncomfortable.  I want the safe.  I want the secure.  I want what verses 18 and 19 promise: the tried and true.  I don’t like being dangled over the cliff, held only by spirit, held only by the Spirit.  How badly I want to say, “In with the old, out with the new.”

Last week, we had a dinner in which a young woman invited many of her friends.  Some of them were sharing experiences they had with the Holy Spirit.  I appreciated a comment by another young woman who said she was asking her husband if they should leave.  With these other people uttering such profound insights (my words, not hers), she said she felt “shallow.”  She felt inadequate.  As I just suggested, I have had feelings like that.

The author of the article says, “We need to grow up.  Christianity is not comfortable.  Growth and change are not comfortable so if every now and then your pastor is not preaching a message that stretches you and causes you to think about your life or calls you to repentance, then something is wrong.  It means you’re only hearing the parts of the Bible that makes you feel good but there are large sections not being preached.  And that should bother you.”

And that should bother me.  As the apostle Paul said, “woe to me if I do not proclaim the gospel!” (1 Co 9:16).  That’s a stark warning.

God forbid I give you easy answers.  God forbid I don’t encourage painful and probing questions.

Adam Neder, professor at Whitworth University in Spokane, Washington, says, “If our way of talking about God leaves [us] unaware of the threat he poses to our lives, perhaps that is because we no longer perceive the threat he poses to our lives.”[4]  Can we see God as a threat to our lives?  What could that mean?

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I would suggest we often—or perhaps always—believe our lives are limited to the way we sleepwalk through life.  We don’t necessarily have to get into some deep philosophical discussion.  A trip to the grocery store can be quite revealing.  We see people rushing around, impatient, not smiling, without joy.  What would happen if we conducted an experiment?  What would happen if we decided to slow down?

The late Thomas Merton wrote, “Our ordinary waking life is a bare existence in which, most of the time, we seem to be absent from ourselves and from reality because we are involved in the vain preoccupations which dog the steps of every living [person].  But there are times when we seem suddenly to awake and discover the full meaning of our own present reality…  In the light of such an experience it is easy to see the futility of all the trifles that occupy our minds.  We recapture something of the calm and balance that ought always to be ours, and we understand that life is far too great a gift to be squandered on anything less than perfection.”[5]

Thank the Lord that God is a threat to that substitute for real life, our life hidden in Christ.  We fear the dangerous and delightful depth expressed by the worship chorus, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. / Cast me not away from Thy presence, O Lord / and take not Thy Holy Spirit from me. / Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation, / and renew a right spirit within me.”

At the beginning I used the quote, “unless a radical change is wrought by God, the future will be but a repetition of the past.”  The psalmist ready to move on.  There’s no looking back.  The past has involved David’s being a rapist and a murderer.  The threat God poses is seen and welcomed.  “Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have crushed rejoice” (v. 8).

To insert a New Testament perspective: “if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; look, new things have come into being!” (2 Co 5:17).

So, what now?  As the song says, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going, / And soon all those around can warm up in its glowing. / That’s how it is with God’s love once you’ve experienced it; / You spread His love to everyone; You want to pass it on.”  Pass it on.  “I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you” (v. 13).

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We aren’t made righteous in the eyes of God just for the fun of it.  If we have truly experienced it, our lives will be changed.  We won’t be able to do otherwise.  We need not feel inadequate, as did the young woman at our dinner.  We are made more than sufficient, more than conquerors.

 

[1] A. A. Anderson, The Book of Psalms, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids:  Eerdmans, 1992), 389.

[2] Anderson, 398.

[3] www.missionariesofprayer.org/2022/10/prophetic-word-why-am-i-attracted-to-this/

[4] Adam Neder, “Theology as a Way of Life,” Theology Matters 28:3 (Summer 2022), 4.

[5] Thomas Merton, The Ascent to Truth (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1951), 10.


corrosion

A couple of weeks ago, Banu and I went to a restaurant that was really busy.  They must have been understaffed, because the fellow serving as host was running around, trying to see if there were any open tables.  He was asking people if they didn’t mind waiting ten or fifteen minutes.  (We were debating whether or not to stay.)  Meanwhile, more folks were walking in the door.  It was getting a bit crowded.

He did all of this with good humor.  It was service with a smile, as opposed to service with a snarl.  I must confess, after a little while of that, my service would probably be the latter.

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Chapters 15 to 17 in Exodus contain the so-called “grumbling” or “murmuring” stories.  At the end of chapter 15, the people complain to Moses because they can only find bitter water.  In chapter 16, the problem is hunger.[1]  In the next chapter, the trouble will again be thirst.

I think we can understand how Moses and Aaron feel.  They didn’t sign up for this job; it was thrust upon them!  More than anyone else, it’s Moses who’s catching the flak.  By the time we get to chapter 17, it seems clear that he’s nearing his breaking point.

Moses says to them, “Why do you quarrel with me?  Why do you test the Lord?” (17:2).  It is interesting how he nicely identifies himself with the divine, but then, why shouldn’t he?  Moses then turns on the one who drafted him into this business, crying out to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people?  They are almost ready to stone me” (v. 4).

There is also a rather extreme—and somewhat irrational—longing for the good old days.

In 16:3, we hear, “The Israelites said to [Moses and Aaron], ‘If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the pots of meat and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.’”  They had an all-you-can-eat buffet, even if it wasn’t vegetarian friendly!

I like the way Eugene Peterson put it in The Message: “Why didn’t God let us die in comfort in Egypt where we had lamb stew and all the bread we could eat?”  It sounds like the taste of slavery was “mmm mmm good!”

And please correct me if I’m wrong, but it also sounds like they’re accusing Moses of actually planning their hardship!  But maybe we can see that shouldn’t be a completely unexpected response.  When people are beaten down and living in misery, they (or we) can lash out, even at those working for good.

I’ve sometimes seen interviews of Russians who express a longing for the days of the Soviet Union.  Back then, at least their jobs were guaranteed.  In times of economic insecurity, political freedom may seem like a luxury.  When there’s rampant crime and corruption, it’s easy to forget the fear that comes with a police state.

It can be easy to forget that the “good old days” weren’t really so good when we were living them.  We tend to romanticize the past.  And we should note the “good old days” are on a sliding scale.  Depending on the color of one’s skin, one’s gender, the accent of one’s speech, the good old days might not be remembered so fondly.

Please understand, I don’t want to give the impression that, in and of itself, there’s a problem with yearning for the past.  It’s normal.  I’m now old enough to experience something of that myself.  I think I began noticing it when I heard athletes who were my age being described as at the end of their careers!

Yearning for the past—indeed, a past that never was—becomes a problem when it takes us from where we need to be.  It’s a problem when it becomes destructive.

This “grumbling” or “murmuring” story is about something more fundamental than idealizing bygone days; it’s about more than rewriting history.  It’s not about the Egyptians treating their slaves to fictitious banquets!  It’s about the way it expresses itself.  It speaks to the corrosive effect of grumbling on the community, on the church.  That’s the danger this story reveals.

St. Benedict who lived in the 5th and early 6th centuries, wrote, “If disciples obey grudgingly and grumble, not only aloud but also in their hearts, then, even though the order is carried out, their actions will not be accepted with favor by God, who sees that they are grumbling in their hearts.”[2]  This was written for Benedictine monastics, but it clearly can apply to anyone of faith.

2 exSister Joan Chittister makes this relevant for all of us.  In her book, The Rule of Benedict: Insights for the Ages, she writes, “It is community that enables us both to live the Christian life and to learn from it.  Human growth is gradual, Benedict knows—the grumblers and defiant are to be warned about their behavior twice privately—but grow we must.” (59)  The bit about two private warnings is a reference to Matthew 18, where Jesus speaks about brothers and sisters who sin against us.

She continues, “Otherwise those who do not honor the community, those in fact who sin against the development of community in the worst possible way, by consistent complaining, constant resistance, or outright rebellion, must be corrected for it.”  It’s not fighting or theft that she highlights as the “worst possible” sin against fostering community—it’s constant complaining!

It should be pointed out we’re not talking about people who are in really dire straits.  This isn’t about people who suffer from serious mental illness; it’s not about people who are tortured.  No, this is something willful.  The “worst possible” sin Chittister refers to is a decision.  It’s a decision that throws a monkey wrench into the works.

It’s noted, “We come to the meetings…or go through the motions of being part of the community or part of the family…but there is no truth in us and we weigh the group down with our complainings.  We become a living lamentation.  We become a lump of spiritual cement around the neck of the group.”

It’s important to understand.  Grumbling and gossiping are sinful, pure and simple.  Going behind people’s backs and bad mouthing them is sin.

There’s something else about the past.  We can carry grudges from the past.  A grudge is a heavy weight to lug around.  It has a corrosive effect on our soul.  Fortunately, Jesus asks us to cast our burdens on him; his yoke is easy, his burden is light.  Jesus breaks the chains of the past.

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I want to include a reference from our Presbyterian Book of Order.  It speaks of “The Ministry of Members.” (G-1.0304)  It’s helpful to consider this as we ponder grumbling and murmuring.

“Membership in the Church of Jesus Christ is a joy and a privilege.  It is also a commitment to participate in Christ’s mission.  A faithful member bears witness to God’s love and grace and promises to be involved responsibly in the ministry of Christ’s Church.  Such involvement includes:

“proclaiming the good news in word and deed, taking part in the common life and worship of a congregation, lifting one another up in prayer, … studying Scripture and the issues of Christian faith and life, supporting the ministry of the church through the giving of money, time, and talents, demonstrating a new quality of life within and through the church…  and reviewing and evaluating regularly the integrity of one’s membership, and considering ways in which one’s participation in the worship and service of the church may be increased and made more meaningful.”

That’s quite a list, and I didn’t mention all of it!  And to be sure, there are some qualities we display better than others.

Returning to our story, there is something to notice.  Even though the Israelites are griping at Moses, there’s no mention of reprimand from God, at least not immediately.  Okay, so when you were slaves in Egypt you could eat meat and bread to your hearts’ content?  Really?  Well, here comes a flock of quail.  And in the morning, you’ll have more than enough bread!

The manna is the bread from heaven.  Verse 15 says, “When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, ‘What is it?’  For they did not know what it was.  Moses said to them, ‘It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.”  The Hebrew word for manna means, “What is it?”

Joan Chittister, who I mentioned earlier, tells a story I’ll paraphrase regarding a student asking the teacher about enlightenment, about wisdom. (178)  (I should warn you this may sound like a comedy routine!)

The student asks where wisdom, where enlightenment, can be found.  “Here,” the teacher replies.  “When will it happen?”  “It is happening right now.”

“Then why don’t I experience it?”  “Because you do not look.”

“What should I look for?”  “Nothing.  Just look.”

“At what?”  “Anything your eyes alight upon.”

“Must I look in a special kind of way?”  “No.  The ordinary way will do.”

“But don’t I always look the ordinary way?”  “No.  You don’t.”

“Well, why not?”  “Because to look you must be here.  You’re mostly somewhere else.”

(We might think of Jesus saying, “The kingdom of heaven is at hand.”)

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[www.etsy.com/listing/190021236/out-of-the-abundance-of-the-heart-the]

Friends, that’s us!  We spend a great deal, if not the majority, of our lives mostly somewhere else.  When we’re grumbling and murmuring, we aren’t present to what God is doing—right here, right now.  The bread of heaven is made available; we need only accept it.

Jesus said, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”

 

[1] http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=532276484

[2] https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/82414.The_Rule_of_Benedict