Mark 16:1-8, 1 Corinthians 15: 1-11
Easter I, Year B
April 12, 2009
This is a tad embarrassing, but I’m a recovering hypochondriac. And just so there’s no misunderstanding, hypochondria is the phobia that makes you think you’re always terminally ill. It has nothing to do an unhealthy attraction towards trees or corpses. Sorry – that misunderstanding’s just cost me friends in the past. Anyway, I went through a two-year stretch of paranoia in seminary where I thought that every mole, spot, bump, headache, toothache, and dizzy spell was God’s way of telling me that I had two months to live. Now, this is obviously ridiculous, and I think we all know who’s at fault here – the “Web M.D.” Whatever you do, never go to the internet doctor, because in the last three years I’ve been diagnosed with scoliosis, A-DD, schizophrenia, polio, and four different types of cancer. Now, rationally, I know it’s not 100% accurate. For example, a while back I was moody and having hot flashes and the Web M.D. assured me there was no need to worry – it was just the early stages of menopause. And so I’m not a big fan of the Web M.D – it’s really good at making you think you’re going to die, not so good when it comes to offering hope.
Because let’s be honest – death is a hard thing to think about. It makes us feel scared, lonely, and powerless. We often speak of death as a natural and normal part of life, and I thank God that many deaths seem that way, but let’s be honest: when we lose someone we love – or when we think about our own death – we don’t feel natural and we don’t feel normal. Death just seems so irreversible, and so no matter how much we speak about death as a natural event, our hearts will not get on board.
And to be quite frank, the Bible won’t either. From a biblical standpoint, death is seen as the enemy, as the Great Intruder to God’s good creation. In other words, death is a bleak reality that must be overcome and defeated – a giant millstone hanging around the neck of humanity. And it’s a stone that weighs us down – it’s a stone of fear; a stone of loneliness; a stone of powerlessness– a stone too heavy for any one man to move. And so we wonder – is death all that there is? Or is there someone that can move the stone?
According to today’s Gospel, three women – on the first Easter morning – were asking the exact same question. They wanted to anoint Jesus’ body – the first of two steps required to give Jesus a proper Jewish burial. And practically speaking, they were powerless to move the stone that guarded Jesus’ tomb. According to Mark, the stone was “very large” and far too heavy for the three women to move. And so on their way to Jesus’ tomb they ask one another: “can anyone move the stone?”
But can you hear their deeper question? You see, these women had spent years in Jesus’ presence. Time and time again, Jesus spoke to them the words of eternal life. With their own eyes they saw him heal the sick, cast out demons, raise the dead, and restore the sinful to a right relationship with God. Jesus was their teacher, their friend, their hope. And to spend time in Jesus’ presence was to know the absence of stones – for his yoke was easy and his burden was light. And only two days prior to tonight’s Gospel, he was crucified. You see, for these women, it wasn’t just Jesus that died. Because on that first Good Friday, hope was nailed to a cross. The enemy had seemingly won. The Great Intruder could not be stopped, and the millstone of death hung heavier than ever before. And so once again, can you hear their deeper question? Can you hear our world’s deeper question? Can anyone move the stone?
Tonight we’ve gathered to celebrate the absence of that stone. Jesus Christ has risen from the dead, and because of that, our universe has forever been changed. That giant millstone hanging from humanity’s neck has forever been cast into the sea. The enemy has been defeated. The Intruder has been stopped. The stone has been moved.
And in essence, the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead is what Christianity is all about. To steal Paul’s phrase from tonight’s reading, the resurrection is of “first importance,” and frankly, it’s the only explanation for the church’s existence at all. Paul lays it out tonight as clearly as he can – Jesus appeared first to Peter, then to the twelve, then to five hundred people at once, then to James, then to some unnamed apostles, and finally, to Paul himself. In other words, what Paul’s trying to tell the Corinthians, and what he’s trying to tell us, is that the resurrection really happened. And in that happening, our universe has forever been changed. The enemy has been defeated. The Intruder has been stopped. The stone has been moved.
Now, there’s a lot of confusion about what resurrection actually is – about what it meant for Paul, about what it means for us. And for the early church, resurrection meant that people who die in Christ would one day return to a new, glorious, and embodied life – not at all disconnected from the one they had before – and that in the meantime, if they happened to die, that their spirit would be safe with God. But not only that, for in Jesus’ resurrection we find the hope and the belief that God will one day renew not just us – but all things – that the entire earth will one day be filled with his love, grace, power, and glory. Ultimately, resurrection’s about God’s conspiracy to reverse the irreversible. And if you think about it, that is a scary and amazing thing. It’s like Mark tells – when the women realized what had happened, they were afraid. Jesus Christ had risen from the dead, and because of that, the universe had forever been changed.
And so here’s our homework – not for the week – but for the entire season of Easter. Practice Resurrection. Resurrection isn’t just about something that happened to Jesus, nor is it just about something that will happen to us. Even now our God is alive, and because of that, resurrection happens. Make no mistake. “Alleluia, Christ is risen” isn’t a slogan for the religious – it’s the cry of revolutionaries. The universe has changed, a revolution is afoot – practicing resurrection is about joining that revolution.
You see, at the end of the day, Christianity isn’t a set of moral teachings. It’s not a mere path among many to a deeper spirituality. It’s not a system of belief. It isn’t a rule of life. And it’s not a political agenda. It may include all these things, but none of these are of “first importance.” Christianity is about a real event that happened in real time in our real world that we really inhabit. And because the resurrection happened, our world has forever been changed.
And so when tonight’s service ends, go out into the world celebrating! Perhaps more people would believe in the resurrection if Jesus’ disciples ran around doing cartwheels. If Lent was about giving things up, maybe Easter should be about taking things on – champagne for breakfast and chocolate cake for lunch. But whatever you do, be in the world as one who celebrates. Love, bless, heal, forgive, restore, cleanse, feed, give, celebrate.
After all, you can hear the world’s deeper question, can’t you? Can anyone move the stone? Practice resurrection and you’ll show the world that the same God that moved the stone that first Easter morning still moves stones – stones of fear, stones of loneliness, stones of powerlessness. And then tell them that the millstone we call death – that stone has forever been rolled away. For the enemy has been defeated. The Intruder has been stopped. Jesus has moved the stone.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
the shepherd's sacrifice
“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”
Jesus said, “I lay down my life for the sheep.” The underlying assumption behind Jesus’ words is that the sheep have gone astray. We are those sheep. While Good Friday is about the work that God accomplished through the death and suffering of Jesus Christ on the hard wood of a Roman cross, a proper understanding of Jesus’ death does not begin with God, but with us. We cannot speak of healing until we understand that we are sick. We cannot speak of salvation until we understand that we are lost. We cannot speak of resurrection until we understand that, left to ourselves, we are dead. We all are like sheep that have gone astray.
Jesus teaches that the first and great commandment is to love God with all of our heart, with all of our soul, and with all of our mind, and that the second is to love our neighbor as ourselves. God’s command to love means that we put God first, others next, and ourselves last. Somehow, we have managed to reverse God’s life-giving order. We put ourselves first, our neighbors next, and God somewhere in the background. The very act of putting ourselves first makes us estranged sheep. We are self-centered sheep inclined to talk, but not to listen; inclined to argue, but not to submit; inclined to criticize, but not to love.
“We all like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way.” To acknowledge that we have gone astray is the first step out of denial and into truth; out of darkness and into light; out of death and into life. As 1 John says, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” Perhaps even more poignant are John’s words that “if we say we have not sinned, we make God a liar.” In other words, the beginning of all truth, of all wisdom, and of all sanity begins with a clear acknowledgment that we have turned away from God. Our natural inclination is not to worship God, but ourselves, and because of this we find that we are wayward people in the midst of a wayward world. The evidence of our wayward ways surrounds us. Some of this evidence is quite obvious – war, global hunger, and the abuse of creation. Most of the evidence is more subtle. For example, since promises are inadequate, we need contracts. Since doors are inadequate, we need locks. Since laws are inadequate, we need police. Such is our world of estranged sheep.
To say that we have gone astray is to confess that we are sinners, and in doing so we condemn not our society but ourselves. Even more, to speak of ourselves as sinners is not to merely say that we sin; although that is certainly true. To speak of ourselves as sinners is to speak about our character. In other words, our very nature is prone to wander, prone to leave the God we love, prone to go astray; our insides have become corrupted. Our hearts, that central place within us that governs our lives, have become defiled. This message naturally angers us for such a claim insults our pride. Yet, the reality of our defiled hearts stems from the teachings of Jesus himself and is in fact aimed at shattering the very pride offended by this truth. “For from within,” Jesus says, “out of the heart of a person, come evil thoughts, fornication, theft, murder, adultery, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things,” Jesus continues, “come from within, and they defile a person.” In other words, we don’t sin in spite of who we are. We sin because of who we are. We are sheep who have gone astray.
If we are to understand the meaning of the cross, we must first acknowledge that that we have gone astray. If we are to understand why the Good Shepherd chose to die, we must first acknowledge that we are estranged sheep. If we are to understand Jesus’ words, “it is finished,” we must first acknowledge where we all begin. In the history of humanity no person deserved to die on that cross and experience the penalty of humanity’s sin less than Jesus of Nazareth; and yet, no one but him could offer a “full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world.”
Jesus’ death was no accident, a mere tragedy that befell him; no, Jesus died for us. Jesus’ death was the work of God on our behalf – an intentional mission undertaken for people in need by the only person competent to meet that need. Jesus’ competence lies in the fullness of his divinity and love. Our need lies in our sin. “We all like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way.”
“And the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”
Jesus said, “I lay down my life for the sheep.” The underlying assumption behind Jesus’ words is that the sheep have gone astray. We are those sheep. While Good Friday is about the work that God accomplished through the death and suffering of Jesus Christ on the hard wood of a Roman cross, a proper understanding of Jesus’ death does not begin with God, but with us. We cannot speak of healing until we understand that we are sick. We cannot speak of salvation until we understand that we are lost. We cannot speak of resurrection until we understand that, left to ourselves, we are dead. We all are like sheep that have gone astray.
Jesus teaches that the first and great commandment is to love God with all of our heart, with all of our soul, and with all of our mind, and that the second is to love our neighbor as ourselves. God’s command to love means that we put God first, others next, and ourselves last. Somehow, we have managed to reverse God’s life-giving order. We put ourselves first, our neighbors next, and God somewhere in the background. The very act of putting ourselves first makes us estranged sheep. We are self-centered sheep inclined to talk, but not to listen; inclined to argue, but not to submit; inclined to criticize, but not to love.
“We all like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way.” To acknowledge that we have gone astray is the first step out of denial and into truth; out of darkness and into light; out of death and into life. As 1 John says, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” Perhaps even more poignant are John’s words that “if we say we have not sinned, we make God a liar.” In other words, the beginning of all truth, of all wisdom, and of all sanity begins with a clear acknowledgment that we have turned away from God. Our natural inclination is not to worship God, but ourselves, and because of this we find that we are wayward people in the midst of a wayward world. The evidence of our wayward ways surrounds us. Some of this evidence is quite obvious – war, global hunger, and the abuse of creation. Most of the evidence is more subtle. For example, since promises are inadequate, we need contracts. Since doors are inadequate, we need locks. Since laws are inadequate, we need police. Such is our world of estranged sheep.
To say that we have gone astray is to confess that we are sinners, and in doing so we condemn not our society but ourselves. Even more, to speak of ourselves as sinners is not to merely say that we sin; although that is certainly true. To speak of ourselves as sinners is to speak about our character. In other words, our very nature is prone to wander, prone to leave the God we love, prone to go astray; our insides have become corrupted. Our hearts, that central place within us that governs our lives, have become defiled. This message naturally angers us for such a claim insults our pride. Yet, the reality of our defiled hearts stems from the teachings of Jesus himself and is in fact aimed at shattering the very pride offended by this truth. “For from within,” Jesus says, “out of the heart of a person, come evil thoughts, fornication, theft, murder, adultery, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things,” Jesus continues, “come from within, and they defile a person.” In other words, we don’t sin in spite of who we are. We sin because of who we are. We are sheep who have gone astray.
If we are to understand the meaning of the cross, we must first acknowledge that that we have gone astray. If we are to understand why the Good Shepherd chose to die, we must first acknowledge that we are estranged sheep. If we are to understand Jesus’ words, “it is finished,” we must first acknowledge where we all begin. In the history of humanity no person deserved to die on that cross and experience the penalty of humanity’s sin less than Jesus of Nazareth; and yet, no one but him could offer a “full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world.”
Jesus’ death was no accident, a mere tragedy that befell him; no, Jesus died for us. Jesus’ death was the work of God on our behalf – an intentional mission undertaken for people in need by the only person competent to meet that need. Jesus’ competence lies in the fullness of his divinity and love. Our need lies in our sin. “We all like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way.”
“And the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”
Monday, April 6, 2009
the gospel according to lazarus' bff
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 5‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ 6(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’
I had never met him until tonight. Of course I’d heard about him. Everyone had. But I didn’t know exactly what to think of him. And to be honest, there really wasn’t much of a consensus. My best friends, of course, had staked their entire lives on following him. And I guess that’s why they invited me to dinner. They wanted me to meet him. Lazarus, Martha, and Mary had staked their entire lives on following him, and I assume they wanted me to do the same.
But I didn’t know what to think, because like I said, there isn’t really much of a consensus. Some are claiming that he’s the Messiah – the Son of the Living God. But some people think he’s John the Baptist, and others Elijah, and still others one of the prophets. His own leaders for God’s sake are telling people he’s got a demon. And apparently, his own family thinks he’s crazy.
And so when my friends told me that they’ve come to believe that he’s the Anointed One the prophets had written about, and that he just “happened” to be coming over for dinner tonight, I didn’t know what to say. For all I knew, my friends were the crazy ones.
You see, tonight isn’t just any other night. It’s the first night of Passover week, which is why I’m in town by the way. And Passover in Jerusalem – it’s kind of a weighty week. The Temple is loud and busy, and by the end of the week, the city reeks of death. You see, we sacrifice goats and lambs, one after the other, a ritual that for us is all about freedom. It’s about remembering that God set us free in the past. It’s about remembering God’s promise to send the Anointed One – someone to set us free once and for all. Passover in Jerusalem is a festival of freedom. And so when you live under Roman rule, it’s kind of a weighty week.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t always feel that free. And that’s why I wanted to meet him. After all, my friends’ devotion to this man may have struck me as extreme, but they weren’t alone. I had spoken to others who had met him, and the vast majority claimed to see in this one man something they’d never seen before. “Beauty, truth, compassion, holiness, power, humility, service, love, life, freedom, and God” – over and over again people spoke these words to me through tear stained eyes as they struggled to explain what their encounter with this man was like.
You see, it’s not that my life is bad or tragic, and God knows that a lot of people have it a lot worse than I do. But at the same time, there’s something missing – because I’m starving for more. I yearn for beauty and truth and compassion. I hunger for holiness. I long for love. And Lazarus and Mary and Martha – and I don’t know the reason – have come to believe that they’ve found all of these things in and through this one man.
OK, I do know the reason. It’s just weird. My friend Lazarus used to be dead – or so he claims. Lazarus doesn’t say a whole lot, but I’ve heard the story from Mary, from Martha, from the entire village of Bethany. In fact, the chief priests can’t even deny that it happened – they’re just telling everyone it was the Devil’s work. But I’m not so sure. You should hear Martha tell the story. In fact, she’s been telling it all day. She says the stench was awful because Lazarus had already been dead four days when they took away the stone; and that this man – whether he be a misfit or the Messiah – commanded Lazarus to come out of his grave. She says her brother looked like a mummy before they finally took off his burial clothes. And then she gets this goofy grin and makes another crack about how bad the house smelled.
Anyway, that’s the same house that I ate dinner at tonight – in the presence of the One who people are saying gives life to the dead. Mary introduced me right before dinner. And she told him my name, but when I looked into his eyes – I knew, and Mary knew, that he knew. Before I knew him, I can tell you for certain, this man knew me.
I tried not to stare at him during dinner, but I couldn’t help it. And I don’t think he seemed to mind too much. In fact, it’s almost like he welcomed it, because when I’d stare, he’d look right back at me – not in an awkward way or in an anxious way – but in way that no one had ever looked at me before. Because when he looks at you, he looks through you. And when this man looks through you – just for that moment – you’re free.
Anyway, towards the end of the meal Mary did something strange. She took this jug of expensive perfume, anointed his feet, and then used her own hair as a towel – right there in front of us all. For minutes we watched transfixed in silence, each contemplating the significance of this act. This house once full of my dead friend’s stench was now filled with the fragrance of the perfume. This house that once reeked of death now smelled of life. The smell was beautiful. The moment was beautiful. The silence was beautiful.
Until one of his best friends finally broke the silence – scolding Mary for what he saw as an empty and wasteful gesture. And I have to admit, what Mary did for him was extravagant. But this anointed one seemed to welcome Mary’s extravagance – as if he was being anointed for a purpose. And he told us why, but I’m not sure I understand. He said it was for his burial. His words will forever be etched in my soul. “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
Like I said, I had never met him until tonight. But it’s the first night of Passover week, and the weight of the week looms large. And to be honest, I still don’t know what to think of him. But I know he’s not crazy. And if he is the Devil, then I’ll be damned. Because I saw in this one man something I’d never seen before – something I yearn for, something I hunger for, something I long for, something I’m starving for. In the presence of this man, I felt free. Because when this man enters your house, the reek of death becomes the fragrance of life.
Tonight definitely wasn’t just any other night, and by the end of the week, the city’s going to reek of death. This man that called my friend out of the grave – he’s now talking about his own. My friends – they’ve staked their entire lives on following him. And I’m still pretty sure they’re hoping that I’m going to do the same.
I had never met him until tonight. Of course I’d heard about him. Everyone had. But I didn’t know exactly what to think of him. And to be honest, there really wasn’t much of a consensus. My best friends, of course, had staked their entire lives on following him. And I guess that’s why they invited me to dinner. They wanted me to meet him. Lazarus, Martha, and Mary had staked their entire lives on following him, and I assume they wanted me to do the same.
But I didn’t know what to think, because like I said, there isn’t really much of a consensus. Some are claiming that he’s the Messiah – the Son of the Living God. But some people think he’s John the Baptist, and others Elijah, and still others one of the prophets. His own leaders for God’s sake are telling people he’s got a demon. And apparently, his own family thinks he’s crazy.
And so when my friends told me that they’ve come to believe that he’s the Anointed One the prophets had written about, and that he just “happened” to be coming over for dinner tonight, I didn’t know what to say. For all I knew, my friends were the crazy ones.
You see, tonight isn’t just any other night. It’s the first night of Passover week, which is why I’m in town by the way. And Passover in Jerusalem – it’s kind of a weighty week. The Temple is loud and busy, and by the end of the week, the city reeks of death. You see, we sacrifice goats and lambs, one after the other, a ritual that for us is all about freedom. It’s about remembering that God set us free in the past. It’s about remembering God’s promise to send the Anointed One – someone to set us free once and for all. Passover in Jerusalem is a festival of freedom. And so when you live under Roman rule, it’s kind of a weighty week.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t always feel that free. And that’s why I wanted to meet him. After all, my friends’ devotion to this man may have struck me as extreme, but they weren’t alone. I had spoken to others who had met him, and the vast majority claimed to see in this one man something they’d never seen before. “Beauty, truth, compassion, holiness, power, humility, service, love, life, freedom, and God” – over and over again people spoke these words to me through tear stained eyes as they struggled to explain what their encounter with this man was like.
You see, it’s not that my life is bad or tragic, and God knows that a lot of people have it a lot worse than I do. But at the same time, there’s something missing – because I’m starving for more. I yearn for beauty and truth and compassion. I hunger for holiness. I long for love. And Lazarus and Mary and Martha – and I don’t know the reason – have come to believe that they’ve found all of these things in and through this one man.
OK, I do know the reason. It’s just weird. My friend Lazarus used to be dead – or so he claims. Lazarus doesn’t say a whole lot, but I’ve heard the story from Mary, from Martha, from the entire village of Bethany. In fact, the chief priests can’t even deny that it happened – they’re just telling everyone it was the Devil’s work. But I’m not so sure. You should hear Martha tell the story. In fact, she’s been telling it all day. She says the stench was awful because Lazarus had already been dead four days when they took away the stone; and that this man – whether he be a misfit or the Messiah – commanded Lazarus to come out of his grave. She says her brother looked like a mummy before they finally took off his burial clothes. And then she gets this goofy grin and makes another crack about how bad the house smelled.
Anyway, that’s the same house that I ate dinner at tonight – in the presence of the One who people are saying gives life to the dead. Mary introduced me right before dinner. And she told him my name, but when I looked into his eyes – I knew, and Mary knew, that he knew. Before I knew him, I can tell you for certain, this man knew me.
I tried not to stare at him during dinner, but I couldn’t help it. And I don’t think he seemed to mind too much. In fact, it’s almost like he welcomed it, because when I’d stare, he’d look right back at me – not in an awkward way or in an anxious way – but in way that no one had ever looked at me before. Because when he looks at you, he looks through you. And when this man looks through you – just for that moment – you’re free.
Anyway, towards the end of the meal Mary did something strange. She took this jug of expensive perfume, anointed his feet, and then used her own hair as a towel – right there in front of us all. For minutes we watched transfixed in silence, each contemplating the significance of this act. This house once full of my dead friend’s stench was now filled with the fragrance of the perfume. This house that once reeked of death now smelled of life. The smell was beautiful. The moment was beautiful. The silence was beautiful.
Until one of his best friends finally broke the silence – scolding Mary for what he saw as an empty and wasteful gesture. And I have to admit, what Mary did for him was extravagant. But this anointed one seemed to welcome Mary’s extravagance – as if he was being anointed for a purpose. And he told us why, but I’m not sure I understand. He said it was for his burial. His words will forever be etched in my soul. “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
Like I said, I had never met him until tonight. But it’s the first night of Passover week, and the weight of the week looms large. And to be honest, I still don’t know what to think of him. But I know he’s not crazy. And if he is the Devil, then I’ll be damned. Because I saw in this one man something I’d never seen before – something I yearn for, something I hunger for, something I long for, something I’m starving for. In the presence of this man, I felt free. Because when this man enters your house, the reek of death becomes the fragrance of life.
Tonight definitely wasn’t just any other night, and by the end of the week, the city’s going to reek of death. This man that called my friend out of the grave – he’s now talking about his own. My friends – they’ve staked their entire lives on following him. And I’m still pretty sure they’re hoping that I’m going to do the same.
the glory of god
“The Glory of God”
John 12: 20-33
Lent V, Year B
March 29, 2009
“Jesus answered them, The hour has come for the Son of Man to be gloried. It is for this reason that I have come to this hour. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”
Definition #1 – a satisfying source of beauty and grace; and # 2, when used as a verb – to rejoice in triumph. These are both definitions of the word glory. The question I’d like us to consider this morning is – what’s glorious to us? What do we glory in?
The reason I ask is because I’ve come to believe that the human heart, above all else, wants to see glory. We long to see a satisfying source of beauty and grace. We want, above all else, to rejoice in a triumph that doesn’t fade away.
I think that’s why I loved Superman so much as a kid. Superman never failed. He’d always triumph in the end and, let’s be honest, we’d be offended if he ever failed. I mean, sure, he’d pretend to be weak and helpless, but as we all know – the vulnerability, the weakness, and the suffering of Clark Kent – that was just an act. Because underneath was a man of steel with a mission to help the week and the needy. And so I’d pretend to be Superman and yes, I wore tights and a cape under my clothes. Now fortunately, this behavior ended when I was seventeen years old – but my longing for glory did not. Because whether we’re seventeen or seventy-one, our heart longs to see a satisfying source of beauty and grace. We want to rejoice in a triumph that doesn’t fade away. Above all else, want to see glory.
Today’s reading from the Gospel of John is about seeing the glory of God. And so to help us understand today’s Gospel lesson, we have to go all the way back to the first chapter where John writes the following: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (Jn 1:14). In a very real sense, John’s Gospel is about the full revelation of the glory of God. And for John, the glory of God is about a specific moment in Jesus’ life. In fact, seven times Jesus has spoken about his “hour” that is yet to come – about a specific moment when the glory of God will be fully revealed – about a specific time when the one thing we wish to see will be visible to all and available to all.
Now traditionally, the glory of God – even in its limited and partial form – was only available to the people of Israel. But in today’s Gospel, some “Greeks” – a codeword for outsiders – get word that Jesus is the full revelation of the glory of God and they want to see it. And so they go to Phillip and say, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
Now, you’d think Jesus would be excited. But this isn’t the case at all, and I can’t help but think that these Greeks were offended at Jesus’ response. Because instead of saying “How exciting, bring them to me!” Jesus starts talking about his death on the cross. But Jesus does this, not because he wants to hide the glory of God, but because he wants to reveal it. In other words, Jesus tells Andrew and Phillip that the time has finally come for all people to see the glory of God – that the glory of God would soon be visible to all and available to all, even to the Greek outsiders. To quote Jesus one last time, “when I am lifted up from the earth, I’m going to draw all people to myself” – and of course Jesus is talking about the cross.
And so once again – what’s glorious to us? What do we glory in? After all, we all want to see glory, the human heart hungers for it – and so where are we looking? Because I know where we’re tempted to look – money, physical appeal, our intellect. After all, if we’re rich enough and attractive enough and smart enough we’ll be seen as people of beauty and grace, we’ll prove triumphant in the world’s competitive race to finish #1. And the truth is, a lot of us never grow up. We keep on pretending to be Superman – to look stronger and smarter and more spiritual and more successful than we really are. But if that’s the case, we’re looking for glory in the wrong place. So where’s the right place?
The cross. In Jesus’ death, we see the full revelation of the glory of God. In Jesus’ death, that which was hidden from the foundation of the world is now visible to all and available to all. Does the cross offend us? Or do we see the cross and rejoice in the strange triumph of God?
I have to say I really sympathize with one of the earliest Christian heresies – docetism – which taught that Jesus only pretended to be human. Apparently, a lot of people were offended by the notion that God himself would really experience vulnerability, weakness, and suffering. In other words, they thought it was an act – kind of like Clark Kent. But the scandal of the Christian Gospel is that for Jesus it wasn’t and that in the midst of Jesus’ vulnerability, weakness, and suffering we see the fullest revelation of the glory of God.
Jesus’ mission was to help the weak and the needy, but let us not mistake him for Superman. He didn’t triumph over his enemies as bullets bounced harmlessly off his chest. No – he triumphed by finishing dead last in our world’s competitive race. The whip of the soldiers drew real blood, the thorns pressed real flesh, the nails caused excruciating pain, and he died an actual death. Like a seed buried in the ground, the cross, on the surface, looked like tragedy. But as our journey to Good Friday continues, we’re reminded once again that Jesus’ cross is the triumph of God, the beauty of God, the grace of God, and the glory of god.
And so what’s glorious to us? What do we glory in? Our hearts cry out – our world cries out – with the Greeks in today’s Gospel: “We wish to see Jesus.” And a day is coming when we will. Jesus will draw all people to himself. With our own eyes we will look and see the full revelation of the glory of God. But the scars – they’re still going to be visible, and crown of glory – it’s still going to be made of thorns.
Each of us will see the beauty of God, the grace of God, and the triumph of God as we behold our Crucified God. The only question left to ask is – will we be offended?
John 12: 20-33
Lent V, Year B
March 29, 2009
“Jesus answered them, The hour has come for the Son of Man to be gloried. It is for this reason that I have come to this hour. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”
Definition #1 – a satisfying source of beauty and grace; and # 2, when used as a verb – to rejoice in triumph. These are both definitions of the word glory. The question I’d like us to consider this morning is – what’s glorious to us? What do we glory in?
The reason I ask is because I’ve come to believe that the human heart, above all else, wants to see glory. We long to see a satisfying source of beauty and grace. We want, above all else, to rejoice in a triumph that doesn’t fade away.
I think that’s why I loved Superman so much as a kid. Superman never failed. He’d always triumph in the end and, let’s be honest, we’d be offended if he ever failed. I mean, sure, he’d pretend to be weak and helpless, but as we all know – the vulnerability, the weakness, and the suffering of Clark Kent – that was just an act. Because underneath was a man of steel with a mission to help the week and the needy. And so I’d pretend to be Superman and yes, I wore tights and a cape under my clothes. Now fortunately, this behavior ended when I was seventeen years old – but my longing for glory did not. Because whether we’re seventeen or seventy-one, our heart longs to see a satisfying source of beauty and grace. We want to rejoice in a triumph that doesn’t fade away. Above all else, want to see glory.
Today’s reading from the Gospel of John is about seeing the glory of God. And so to help us understand today’s Gospel lesson, we have to go all the way back to the first chapter where John writes the following: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (Jn 1:14). In a very real sense, John’s Gospel is about the full revelation of the glory of God. And for John, the glory of God is about a specific moment in Jesus’ life. In fact, seven times Jesus has spoken about his “hour” that is yet to come – about a specific moment when the glory of God will be fully revealed – about a specific time when the one thing we wish to see will be visible to all and available to all.
Now traditionally, the glory of God – even in its limited and partial form – was only available to the people of Israel. But in today’s Gospel, some “Greeks” – a codeword for outsiders – get word that Jesus is the full revelation of the glory of God and they want to see it. And so they go to Phillip and say, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
Now, you’d think Jesus would be excited. But this isn’t the case at all, and I can’t help but think that these Greeks were offended at Jesus’ response. Because instead of saying “How exciting, bring them to me!” Jesus starts talking about his death on the cross. But Jesus does this, not because he wants to hide the glory of God, but because he wants to reveal it. In other words, Jesus tells Andrew and Phillip that the time has finally come for all people to see the glory of God – that the glory of God would soon be visible to all and available to all, even to the Greek outsiders. To quote Jesus one last time, “when I am lifted up from the earth, I’m going to draw all people to myself” – and of course Jesus is talking about the cross.
And so once again – what’s glorious to us? What do we glory in? After all, we all want to see glory, the human heart hungers for it – and so where are we looking? Because I know where we’re tempted to look – money, physical appeal, our intellect. After all, if we’re rich enough and attractive enough and smart enough we’ll be seen as people of beauty and grace, we’ll prove triumphant in the world’s competitive race to finish #1. And the truth is, a lot of us never grow up. We keep on pretending to be Superman – to look stronger and smarter and more spiritual and more successful than we really are. But if that’s the case, we’re looking for glory in the wrong place. So where’s the right place?
The cross. In Jesus’ death, we see the full revelation of the glory of God. In Jesus’ death, that which was hidden from the foundation of the world is now visible to all and available to all. Does the cross offend us? Or do we see the cross and rejoice in the strange triumph of God?
I have to say I really sympathize with one of the earliest Christian heresies – docetism – which taught that Jesus only pretended to be human. Apparently, a lot of people were offended by the notion that God himself would really experience vulnerability, weakness, and suffering. In other words, they thought it was an act – kind of like Clark Kent. But the scandal of the Christian Gospel is that for Jesus it wasn’t and that in the midst of Jesus’ vulnerability, weakness, and suffering we see the fullest revelation of the glory of God.
Jesus’ mission was to help the weak and the needy, but let us not mistake him for Superman. He didn’t triumph over his enemies as bullets bounced harmlessly off his chest. No – he triumphed by finishing dead last in our world’s competitive race. The whip of the soldiers drew real blood, the thorns pressed real flesh, the nails caused excruciating pain, and he died an actual death. Like a seed buried in the ground, the cross, on the surface, looked like tragedy. But as our journey to Good Friday continues, we’re reminded once again that Jesus’ cross is the triumph of God, the beauty of God, the grace of God, and the glory of god.
And so what’s glorious to us? What do we glory in? Our hearts cry out – our world cries out – with the Greeks in today’s Gospel: “We wish to see Jesus.” And a day is coming when we will. Jesus will draw all people to himself. With our own eyes we will look and see the full revelation of the glory of God. But the scars – they’re still going to be visible, and crown of glory – it’s still going to be made of thorns.
Each of us will see the beauty of God, the grace of God, and the triumph of God as we behold our Crucified God. The only question left to ask is – will we be offended?
Friday, March 27, 2009
omega talk: being tested
JOKE DE JOUR / FAKE TRIVIA
Who was the fastest person in the Bible?
Adam. The Bible is quite clear that he was first in the human race.
Speaking of races …
Did anyone here, by chance, run in the Austin marathon back in February? (Has anyone ever run a marathon? Heard of a marathon?) Good, we have a lot in common. I too have a history of competitive racing. Of course, it’s been a while, but back in 1994 I ran in the All Saints’ fifth grade 5K charity “fun run.” I didn’t win or anything, but I did receive a green “honorable mention” ribbon for my efforts. And so, all in all, I deem the race a success. Mainly because I finished. And as I’m sure you can imagine, finishing a race is a glorious thing.
But the most enjoyable part is always the beginning, or phase I as I call it. Phase I is when the race begins – because in phase I, running is actually fun. The body’s loose, the heart’s pumping, the blood’s flowing, and the sun’s shining. In phase I, your body feels like a well-oiled running machine. Now, how long this stage lasts depends on a runner’s athleticism and conditioning. For me, it lasted seven feet.
I wasn’t what you’d call “fit” back in fifth grade. And after the first of five K’s, I shifted from phase I to phase II, which is when running gets difficult. In phase II, your whole body aches, you can’t breathe, and the temptation to stop is overwhelming. And frankly, I wanted to stop, but I heard a voice. “Keep running,” it kept repeating. Keep running, keep running, keep running …
Marathon runners have a name for Phase II. It’s called “hitting a wall.” And to run well in phase II – to hit the wall and keep going – this is the ultimate test of a runner – because races are won or lost at “the wall.” You see, whenever we hit a wall we have to make a decision – we either quit or we invest everything in finishing well. Because starting a race is easy – anyone can do that. But to finish well – that’s glory. And finishing well, in a very real way, is the goal of Christian discipleship.
“Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,” the writer of Hebrew says. In other words, “let us not quit whenever we hit the wall. Let’s do all we can to finish well.” This capacity to finish well is what the Bible calls perseverance. Perseverance is that virtue that enables us to honor long-term commitments – lifetime commitments – especially when honoring them becomes difficult.
Now, obviously, this raises a question: why is it so hard to finish well in the first place? The easy answer – we hit a wall. Or to put it in Biblical terms, our faith is tested. “Being tested” is what makes perseverance in the Christian life hard.
Now, we need to go ahead and acknowledge that as students – or as former students – we come to the table with a dysfunctional view of what “being tested” actually is. In other words, we can’t take what we’ve learned about “being tested” in the classroom and apply that to our spiritual life.
For example, let’s consider the parable of the unfair teacher. I mean, this guy’s impossible. He gives one test a year, and your entire grade is based on this one, impossible final. And for kicks, let’s just say you’re studying the American presidents. Well, you’ve studied pretty hard. You know the material. But when you walk into the classroom on the day of the test, you see 44 pictures on the wall – not of the presidents’ faces – but of their feet. And your test is to identify each American president by looking at his feet. Well, that’s an unfair test – an impossible test. Passing this test would be, shall we say, quite the feat.
And so you complain. “This test isn’t fair and it can’t be done.” “Then I’ll be forced to fail you,” your teacher responds. “Fine, fail me then” you shout, and then you storm out of the classroom. “Wait, I need to know your name,” the unfair teacher shouts as you’re leaving. “You’ve failed my test, you’re going to fail my course, and so I need to know your name.” And so you take off your shoes, show him your feet, and say “you tell me.” Get it?
The point behind the parable of the unfair teacher is this – each of us brings a skewed view of being tested to the table. You see, the purpose of the tests that we’re used is to evaluate us on a system of “works righteousness” – to use a theological term. In other words, we’re evaluated on how well we perform. After all, have any of you ever seen the word grace on one of your syllabi? Didn’t think so. You and I don’t associate being tested with fairness, or with love, or with competent teachers for that matter. And in our world, being tested isn’t always fair, and it’s rarely an act of love. But in God’s world – or in God’s kingdom – things are different. And so with that in mind, let’s hear what Paul has to say to the Corinthians:
I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink. Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them, and they were struck down in the wilderness. These things happened to them to serve as an example to us, on whom the ends of the ages have come. So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall. No testing has overtaken you that isn’t common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide a way out, so that you may have the strength to persevere. (1 Cor 1, 3, 5, 11-13)
How many of you have ever seen a sign like this? Or perhaps you’ve seen those electronic signs that say something like “slow down: 64 deaths on this highway last year” or “320 speeding tickets issued last month.” The purpose of these warning signs is simple: they want you to consider what’s happened in the past so that you don’t make the same mistake – so that history doesn’t repeat itself.
When it comes to the Corinthians, Paul is very concerned with history repeating itself. You see, a lot of the Corinthians are Gentile converts – people that don’t know a lot about the history of how God initiated a relationship with the people of Israel. And yet, here they are at the very center of God’s plan to save the world through Jesus. The Corinthians are like actors who have stumbled onto the stage in the middle of the play and they don’t even know what act they’re in. And so what Paul is doing in today’s reading – a portion taken from chapter 10 – is trying to help the Corinthians see what’s happened so far in the “play” of salvation so to speak. Paul wants the Corinthians to see how the characters in the previous act – the people of Israel – managed to get things wrong – how God’s people were tested, hit a wall, and were unable to finish well. You see, it’s not that the Corinthians aren’t believers. It’s just that Phase I has come to an end and the Corinthians have reached a place where perseverance isn’t easy.
And because Paul’s rooting for the Corinthians to finish well, he retells the story of the Exodus. Paul wants this story to be a “warning sign” for the Corinthians. And because time only permitted us to look at a portion of chapter ten, I’ll give you a brief recap of this foundational Biblical event. A long time ago God chose a nomad named Abraham and promised that through his children the entire world would be blessed. But over time, Abraham’s children became slaves in the land of Egypt, and so God used Moses to set Abraham’s children – the Israelites – free. But to get to the Promised Land, the Israelites first had to travel through the desert. The distance between Egypt and Canaan, by the most direct route, was 250 miles – about a month’s journey. But did it take the people of Israel a month? No. It took forty years.
If you’ve never done the math, that’s a whopping 0.0007 miles per hour. To put this in perspective, a snail travels at .03 miles per hour. In other words, a snail can go from Egypt to Canaan in less than a year. And so the question is, why did it take Israel forty?
In part, God wanted to test his people. It’s not that God didn’t know a quicker way. It’s that the shortest and the easiest way, from God’s perspective, wasn’t the best way. God wanted to spend time teaching the Israelites about His character and about His laws. God wanted the Israelites to learn obedience before they entered the Promised Land. And God wanted to test their character, their faithfulness, and their allegiance to Him alone. In other words, it wasn’t enough for God to just bring them to the Promised Land. God wanted to transform these former slaves into people that were truly free. And in order to do that, the people of Israel had to be tested.
Now, phase I of the Exodus was awesome and exciting, but this too lasted about seven feet. Because then God began to test his people. For example, God sent the people bread from heaven and the people complained to Moses because it wasn’t pizza. Or another example – when God called Moses up the mountain to receive the Law, He told the people to wait patiently. But instead of obeying, they made a golden calf, worshipped it, and then had an orgy. If 60 is a passing grade, the people of Israel made a negative 42. In other words, the majority of the people that God saved from Egyptian slavery were tested and failed miserably. And so the question is, why did they fail?
It’s a complicated question, but in short, I think they failed because they didn’t understand God’s character. What they didn’t know was that the Promised Land was so much closer than they could ever imagine. It’s not that they didn’t believe God was trying to teach them something. They just thought that God was an unfair teacher. And what they failed to understand is that being tested presupposes grace. Let me say that again – being tested presupposes grace. You see, only after rescuing the people of Israel from slavery – an extravagant act of grace – did God begin to test them. And God did so to teach the people of Israel about His character and about His laws. God wanted them to learn obedience in order to transform them into people that were truly free – into a people that were faithful to God even when they hit a wall.
Now, before moving on, I want to acknowledge two things. First, I’m not a big fan of using scare tactics to motivate people. It’s like 1 John says, “God is love and perfect love casts out all fear.” But like Paul, I do think we should take the Bible’s warning signs to heart. Many have started the race and quit, and we don’t want history to repeat itself. It’s like Jesus’ parable of the sower – sometimes the seed is planted in good soil and bears fruit, but sometimes it falls on the rocky ground, springs up really quickly, and then withers because it doesn’t have any depth. Starting a race is easy. But finishing well, that requires depth. And being tested, above all else, is about becoming a person of spiritual depth.
The second thing I want to acknowledge is that for many of us, the idea of a God that tests us is a little foreign and maybe offensive. But never forget that being tested in God’s world is different than being tested in our world because being tested by God presupposes grace. In other words, God only tests those with whom He’s initiated a relationship. And when God tests our hearts, it is always an act of love. You see, it’s not that God doesn’t know what’s in our hearts. It’s that we don’t always know what’s in our hearts. And sometimes God tests us to bring that into the light.
The author of Hebrews writes the following about Jesus: “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested. For we have [a teacher] who has been tested in every way as we are, but did not sin.” (2:18, 4:15) When it comes to our life with God, we’re all at very different places. Maybe we’re young in the faith and following Jesus seems really, really easy. Or maybe we’re seasoned disciples and we’ve hit a few walls along the way. But regardless of where we happen to be, let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us. Because for a reason unknown to us, we’ve been placed in the final act of God’s plan to save the world. You and I have been invited to run the only race that’s going to matter when all is said and done – and we we’re not running for some honorable mention ribbon, but like the Bible says, for a crown of glory that never fades. And if that seems a little overwhelming to you, just remember that in Jesus, we have a fair teacher, a competent teacher, and a loving teacher – a teacher who knows from experience what it means to hit a wall and to keep going; a teacher that became human to run the race with us and to run the race for us; a teacher that ran it to the end – all the way to the cross.
The life of faith is a marathon. The excitement and enthusiasm of Phase I – it only lasts so long. Because ultimately there is a cross. And what God wants, and what Jesus died for, is to gather a people for himself who see the cross, embrace the cross, and then make a decision to finish well. God’s looking for people who, when tested, trust in the goodness of His character – for people who truly believe that He’s a fair and loving teacher – a people who are willing to bet set free.
Remember – the Promised Land is so much closer than you could ever imagine. Jesus is so much closer than you could ever imagine. And so keep running …
Who was the fastest person in the Bible?
Adam. The Bible is quite clear that he was first in the human race.
Speaking of races …
Did anyone here, by chance, run in the Austin marathon back in February? (Has anyone ever run a marathon? Heard of a marathon?) Good, we have a lot in common. I too have a history of competitive racing. Of course, it’s been a while, but back in 1994 I ran in the All Saints’ fifth grade 5K charity “fun run.” I didn’t win or anything, but I did receive a green “honorable mention” ribbon for my efforts. And so, all in all, I deem the race a success. Mainly because I finished. And as I’m sure you can imagine, finishing a race is a glorious thing.
But the most enjoyable part is always the beginning, or phase I as I call it. Phase I is when the race begins – because in phase I, running is actually fun. The body’s loose, the heart’s pumping, the blood’s flowing, and the sun’s shining. In phase I, your body feels like a well-oiled running machine. Now, how long this stage lasts depends on a runner’s athleticism and conditioning. For me, it lasted seven feet.
I wasn’t what you’d call “fit” back in fifth grade. And after the first of five K’s, I shifted from phase I to phase II, which is when running gets difficult. In phase II, your whole body aches, you can’t breathe, and the temptation to stop is overwhelming. And frankly, I wanted to stop, but I heard a voice. “Keep running,” it kept repeating. Keep running, keep running, keep running …
Marathon runners have a name for Phase II. It’s called “hitting a wall.” And to run well in phase II – to hit the wall and keep going – this is the ultimate test of a runner – because races are won or lost at “the wall.” You see, whenever we hit a wall we have to make a decision – we either quit or we invest everything in finishing well. Because starting a race is easy – anyone can do that. But to finish well – that’s glory. And finishing well, in a very real way, is the goal of Christian discipleship.
“Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,” the writer of Hebrew says. In other words, “let us not quit whenever we hit the wall. Let’s do all we can to finish well.” This capacity to finish well is what the Bible calls perseverance. Perseverance is that virtue that enables us to honor long-term commitments – lifetime commitments – especially when honoring them becomes difficult.
Now, obviously, this raises a question: why is it so hard to finish well in the first place? The easy answer – we hit a wall. Or to put it in Biblical terms, our faith is tested. “Being tested” is what makes perseverance in the Christian life hard.
Now, we need to go ahead and acknowledge that as students – or as former students – we come to the table with a dysfunctional view of what “being tested” actually is. In other words, we can’t take what we’ve learned about “being tested” in the classroom and apply that to our spiritual life.
For example, let’s consider the parable of the unfair teacher. I mean, this guy’s impossible. He gives one test a year, and your entire grade is based on this one, impossible final. And for kicks, let’s just say you’re studying the American presidents. Well, you’ve studied pretty hard. You know the material. But when you walk into the classroom on the day of the test, you see 44 pictures on the wall – not of the presidents’ faces – but of their feet. And your test is to identify each American president by looking at his feet. Well, that’s an unfair test – an impossible test. Passing this test would be, shall we say, quite the feat.
And so you complain. “This test isn’t fair and it can’t be done.” “Then I’ll be forced to fail you,” your teacher responds. “Fine, fail me then” you shout, and then you storm out of the classroom. “Wait, I need to know your name,” the unfair teacher shouts as you’re leaving. “You’ve failed my test, you’re going to fail my course, and so I need to know your name.” And so you take off your shoes, show him your feet, and say “you tell me.” Get it?
The point behind the parable of the unfair teacher is this – each of us brings a skewed view of being tested to the table. You see, the purpose of the tests that we’re used is to evaluate us on a system of “works righteousness” – to use a theological term. In other words, we’re evaluated on how well we perform. After all, have any of you ever seen the word grace on one of your syllabi? Didn’t think so. You and I don’t associate being tested with fairness, or with love, or with competent teachers for that matter. And in our world, being tested isn’t always fair, and it’s rarely an act of love. But in God’s world – or in God’s kingdom – things are different. And so with that in mind, let’s hear what Paul has to say to the Corinthians:
I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink. Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them, and they were struck down in the wilderness. These things happened to them to serve as an example to us, on whom the ends of the ages have come. So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall. No testing has overtaken you that isn’t common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide a way out, so that you may have the strength to persevere. (1 Cor 1, 3, 5, 11-13)
How many of you have ever seen a sign like this? Or perhaps you’ve seen those electronic signs that say something like “slow down: 64 deaths on this highway last year” or “320 speeding tickets issued last month.” The purpose of these warning signs is simple: they want you to consider what’s happened in the past so that you don’t make the same mistake – so that history doesn’t repeat itself.
When it comes to the Corinthians, Paul is very concerned with history repeating itself. You see, a lot of the Corinthians are Gentile converts – people that don’t know a lot about the history of how God initiated a relationship with the people of Israel. And yet, here they are at the very center of God’s plan to save the world through Jesus. The Corinthians are like actors who have stumbled onto the stage in the middle of the play and they don’t even know what act they’re in. And so what Paul is doing in today’s reading – a portion taken from chapter 10 – is trying to help the Corinthians see what’s happened so far in the “play” of salvation so to speak. Paul wants the Corinthians to see how the characters in the previous act – the people of Israel – managed to get things wrong – how God’s people were tested, hit a wall, and were unable to finish well. You see, it’s not that the Corinthians aren’t believers. It’s just that Phase I has come to an end and the Corinthians have reached a place where perseverance isn’t easy.
And because Paul’s rooting for the Corinthians to finish well, he retells the story of the Exodus. Paul wants this story to be a “warning sign” for the Corinthians. And because time only permitted us to look at a portion of chapter ten, I’ll give you a brief recap of this foundational Biblical event. A long time ago God chose a nomad named Abraham and promised that through his children the entire world would be blessed. But over time, Abraham’s children became slaves in the land of Egypt, and so God used Moses to set Abraham’s children – the Israelites – free. But to get to the Promised Land, the Israelites first had to travel through the desert. The distance between Egypt and Canaan, by the most direct route, was 250 miles – about a month’s journey. But did it take the people of Israel a month? No. It took forty years.
If you’ve never done the math, that’s a whopping 0.0007 miles per hour. To put this in perspective, a snail travels at .03 miles per hour. In other words, a snail can go from Egypt to Canaan in less than a year. And so the question is, why did it take Israel forty?
In part, God wanted to test his people. It’s not that God didn’t know a quicker way. It’s that the shortest and the easiest way, from God’s perspective, wasn’t the best way. God wanted to spend time teaching the Israelites about His character and about His laws. God wanted the Israelites to learn obedience before they entered the Promised Land. And God wanted to test their character, their faithfulness, and their allegiance to Him alone. In other words, it wasn’t enough for God to just bring them to the Promised Land. God wanted to transform these former slaves into people that were truly free. And in order to do that, the people of Israel had to be tested.
Now, phase I of the Exodus was awesome and exciting, but this too lasted about seven feet. Because then God began to test his people. For example, God sent the people bread from heaven and the people complained to Moses because it wasn’t pizza. Or another example – when God called Moses up the mountain to receive the Law, He told the people to wait patiently. But instead of obeying, they made a golden calf, worshipped it, and then had an orgy. If 60 is a passing grade, the people of Israel made a negative 42. In other words, the majority of the people that God saved from Egyptian slavery were tested and failed miserably. And so the question is, why did they fail?
It’s a complicated question, but in short, I think they failed because they didn’t understand God’s character. What they didn’t know was that the Promised Land was so much closer than they could ever imagine. It’s not that they didn’t believe God was trying to teach them something. They just thought that God was an unfair teacher. And what they failed to understand is that being tested presupposes grace. Let me say that again – being tested presupposes grace. You see, only after rescuing the people of Israel from slavery – an extravagant act of grace – did God begin to test them. And God did so to teach the people of Israel about His character and about His laws. God wanted them to learn obedience in order to transform them into people that were truly free – into a people that were faithful to God even when they hit a wall.
Now, before moving on, I want to acknowledge two things. First, I’m not a big fan of using scare tactics to motivate people. It’s like 1 John says, “God is love and perfect love casts out all fear.” But like Paul, I do think we should take the Bible’s warning signs to heart. Many have started the race and quit, and we don’t want history to repeat itself. It’s like Jesus’ parable of the sower – sometimes the seed is planted in good soil and bears fruit, but sometimes it falls on the rocky ground, springs up really quickly, and then withers because it doesn’t have any depth. Starting a race is easy. But finishing well, that requires depth. And being tested, above all else, is about becoming a person of spiritual depth.
The second thing I want to acknowledge is that for many of us, the idea of a God that tests us is a little foreign and maybe offensive. But never forget that being tested in God’s world is different than being tested in our world because being tested by God presupposes grace. In other words, God only tests those with whom He’s initiated a relationship. And when God tests our hearts, it is always an act of love. You see, it’s not that God doesn’t know what’s in our hearts. It’s that we don’t always know what’s in our hearts. And sometimes God tests us to bring that into the light.
The author of Hebrews writes the following about Jesus: “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested. For we have [a teacher] who has been tested in every way as we are, but did not sin.” (2:18, 4:15) When it comes to our life with God, we’re all at very different places. Maybe we’re young in the faith and following Jesus seems really, really easy. Or maybe we’re seasoned disciples and we’ve hit a few walls along the way. But regardless of where we happen to be, let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us. Because for a reason unknown to us, we’ve been placed in the final act of God’s plan to save the world. You and I have been invited to run the only race that’s going to matter when all is said and done – and we we’re not running for some honorable mention ribbon, but like the Bible says, for a crown of glory that never fades. And if that seems a little overwhelming to you, just remember that in Jesus, we have a fair teacher, a competent teacher, and a loving teacher – a teacher who knows from experience what it means to hit a wall and to keep going; a teacher that became human to run the race with us and to run the race for us; a teacher that ran it to the end – all the way to the cross.
The life of faith is a marathon. The excitement and enthusiasm of Phase I – it only lasts so long. Because ultimately there is a cross. And what God wants, and what Jesus died for, is to gather a people for himself who see the cross, embrace the cross, and then make a decision to finish well. God’s looking for people who, when tested, trust in the goodness of His character – for people who truly believe that He’s a fair and loving teacher – a people who are willing to bet set free.
Remember – the Promised Land is so much closer than you could ever imagine. Jesus is so much closer than you could ever imagine. And so keep running …
Monday, March 9, 2009
sermon: god's great promise
“God’s Great Promise
Gen 17: 1-7, 15-17; Rom 4: 13-25
Lent II, Year B
March 8, 2009 (Preached at ESC)
GENESIS PASSAGE
When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to Abram, and said to him, ‘I am God Almighty;* walk before me, and be blameless. 2And I will make my covenant between me and you, and will make you exceedingly numerous.’ 3Then Abram fell on his face; and God said to him, 4‘As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 5No longer shall your name be Abram,* but your name shall be Abraham;* for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 6I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you. 7I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring* after you. God said to Abraham, ‘As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. 16I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her.’ 17Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed, and said to himself, ‘Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?’
ROMANS PASSAGE
For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. 14If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. 15For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation. For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, 17as it is written, ‘I have made you the father of many nations’)—in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. 18Hoping against hope, he believed that he would become ‘the father of many nations’, according to what was said, ‘So numerous shall your descendants be.’ 19He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was already* as good as dead (for he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah’s womb. 20No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, 21being fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised. 22Therefore his faith* ‘was reckoned to him as righteousness.’ 23Now the words, ‘it was reckoned to him’, were written not for his sake alone, 24but for ours also. It will be reckoned to us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, 25who was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification.
It’s hard to exaggerate how excited I was to find out that I – of all people – was a winner. I was online – doing a little web surfing as they say – when all of the sudden a big box started flashing on the screen informing me that I’d won the grand prize. I was a bit skeptical at first but time was of the essence. After all, the box was clear. I had three minutes to call or the grand prize would go to someone else. And I had no intention of letting that happen. So I called the 800 number immediately, and when I did, they began making promises. They promised me a free vacation. They promised there were no strings attached. They promised that they only needed my credit card info to verify my age. Perhaps some of you savvy students have wondered who actually falls for those schemes. ME! To this day, I’m still haunted by what I said when they answered the phone. I’m pretty sure the exact words I shouted were, “Hi, my name’s John Newton, and I’m a winner!” I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that this was hands-down the most ironic thing I’ve ever said. Because they had no intention of keeping of their promise. They were promise-breakers.
And the truth is, we live in a world of promise breakers. That’s why we have sayings like “if it sounds too good to be true then it probably is.” Because when it comes to making promises, we’re great. And if you think about, that’s all advertising is – making promises. Already this week, Miller Lite, Tag Body Spray, and Express Men’s clothing have all promised me that if I use their product, swimsuit models will love me. Well, as one who’s faithfully used two of those three products for years – not so much. Because we’re great at making promises – we’re just not very good at keeping them. To put it in Biblical terms, we lack “righteousness” – an ability to keep the promises we make to God; an ability to keep the promises we make to one another. [1] Our world is full of promise breakers – we lack righteousness so to speak – and because of that we have become skeptical. We have become skeptical of great promises.
According to tonight’s reading from Genesis, so was Abraham. After all, God makes a pretty amazing promise. God tells Abraham that he’ll be the father of many nations, and that through him and his children, God intends to bless the world. And God calls this an everlasting “covenant,” but another translation of the Hebrew word is promise. And so God is making an everlasting promise – a great promise. And Abraham, to be honest, is a bit skeptical.
For starters, this isn’t the first time God’s made this promise to Abraham. In fact, it’s the fourth time. According to Genesis, thirteen years have passed since God first appeared to Abraham, telling him to leave his home and his family, all on the grounds of this same promise – this great promise to bless the world through him and his descendants. But since God’s initial promise, Abraham’s experienced a few setbacks – famine, war, problems with his nephew, problems with his wife, and let’s be honest, problems with his body. After all, he’s a 99 year old nomad. Today’s reading from Romans doesn’t really water it down. To quote Paul, “his body was as good as dead.” And so Abraham’s old – and he’s heard God’s promise a few times before.
But that’s not the main reason he’s skeptical. Because practically speaking, in order to be the father of many nations, first, you have to be – a father. And in Abraham’s case, for it to really count, the mother had to be his wife. Because the rules of his society were a bit different than ours. But the rules of biology? They were the same. And Sarah, his wife, was 90 years old at the time. Now, not only is this slightly gross, but from a biological perspective, it’s impossible. And that’s the reason Abraham is skeptical. And like Genesis tells us, Abraham falls on his face and he laughs. Abraham laughs at the great promise of God. “If it sounds too good to be true then it probably is.” Because what God’s promising, from a human point of view, is impossible.
Now, to be fair, that’s not the whole story. And what our reading from Genesis leaves out tonight’s reading from Romans fills in. Because according to Paul, Abraham’s laughter was temporary. And though skeptical, Abraham was faithful and he lived a life of faith – a life firmly rooted in the great promise of God. Did he experience setbacks? Yea. Times of testing? Sure. Moments when the promise of God seemed laughable? Apparently so. And yet, Paul tells us today that Abraham is our model for the life of faith. But that’s not all. Paul goes on to say something else, something amazing – that Abraham’s faith was “reckoned” to him as righteousness.
Now, I mentioned before that we lack “righteousness” – a word that’s tied to integrity, to promise-keeping, to being put “right” on the insides. To make a long story short, righteousness is something we need. Something we’re missing. Something God requires. And the great promise of God to us is that the one thing we need, the one thing we’re missing, the one thing God requires – righteousness – is now available as a gift. Through faith in Jesus. And in essence, that’s God’s great impossible promise to us.
You’ve got to love that Abraham, of all people, is our model for the life of faith. Because it shows us that the life of faith isn’t always smooth. It sure wasn’t for Abraham. It wasn’t for Moses. It wasn’t for Peter. It wasn’t for Paul. It hasn’t always been that smooth for me, and if I had to guess, each of you knows something about setbacks, about anxiety, about times of testing, and about moments when the great promise of God seems laughable. But the difference between people of faith and people without faith isn’t that some have trials and that some don’t. It’s not that some are better than others. The difference is this: people of faith base their lives on the conviction that the great promise of God is true. They may be laughing one minute – but they’re dancing the next. Expecting setbacks, and regardless of what happens, they cling to the great impossible promise of God, they refuse to let go. And is very act of clinging, Paul tells us, this refusal to let go, is what makes us righteous before God.
The truth is, you and I are weak. We’re shaky. We make promises. We break promises. One minute we’re walking the walk, the next minute we’re laughing at God. We’re not righteous. And deep down, we know that no one else is either. But the good news of the Christian Gospel is that our God is. And I know that in a world where the things that seem too good to be true probably are, it can be hard to cling to God’s great promise. Because it’s one thing to recite a Creed once a week, but to base our entire lives on the conviction that the great promise of God is true, that takes courage. In the midst of setbacks, in the midst of skepticism, it takes a lot of courage to refuse to let go. But this refusal to let go of the God that refuses to let go of us – that’s what faith is. And not only that, but this refusal to let go is what makes us righteous before God.
The truth is, you and I will never perfectly keep the promises we make to God or to one another. But I want you to know that that’s ok. Because in spite of our inability to be faithful, our God remains faithful. And in spite of our skepticism, our God’s plan of salvation is certain. This is God’s great impossible promise to promise-breakers like us. And make no mistake; the God we worship is a Promise-Keeper.
[1] This is a fitting connection because one of Paul’s uses of dikaiosune in Romans (translated righteousness) is “covenant faithfulness.” In other words, God is righteous because God keep’s God’s promises.
Gen 17: 1-7, 15-17; Rom 4: 13-25
Lent II, Year B
March 8, 2009 (Preached at ESC)
GENESIS PASSAGE
When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to Abram, and said to him, ‘I am God Almighty;* walk before me, and be blameless. 2And I will make my covenant between me and you, and will make you exceedingly numerous.’ 3Then Abram fell on his face; and God said to him, 4‘As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 5No longer shall your name be Abram,* but your name shall be Abraham;* for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. 6I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you. 7I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring* after you. God said to Abraham, ‘As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. 16I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her.’ 17Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed, and said to himself, ‘Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?’
ROMANS PASSAGE
For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. 14If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. 15For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation. For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, 17as it is written, ‘I have made you the father of many nations’)—in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. 18Hoping against hope, he believed that he would become ‘the father of many nations’, according to what was said, ‘So numerous shall your descendants be.’ 19He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was already* as good as dead (for he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah’s womb. 20No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, 21being fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised. 22Therefore his faith* ‘was reckoned to him as righteousness.’ 23Now the words, ‘it was reckoned to him’, were written not for his sake alone, 24but for ours also. It will be reckoned to us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, 25who was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification.
It’s hard to exaggerate how excited I was to find out that I – of all people – was a winner. I was online – doing a little web surfing as they say – when all of the sudden a big box started flashing on the screen informing me that I’d won the grand prize. I was a bit skeptical at first but time was of the essence. After all, the box was clear. I had three minutes to call or the grand prize would go to someone else. And I had no intention of letting that happen. So I called the 800 number immediately, and when I did, they began making promises. They promised me a free vacation. They promised there were no strings attached. They promised that they only needed my credit card info to verify my age. Perhaps some of you savvy students have wondered who actually falls for those schemes. ME! To this day, I’m still haunted by what I said when they answered the phone. I’m pretty sure the exact words I shouted were, “Hi, my name’s John Newton, and I’m a winner!” I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that this was hands-down the most ironic thing I’ve ever said. Because they had no intention of keeping of their promise. They were promise-breakers.
And the truth is, we live in a world of promise breakers. That’s why we have sayings like “if it sounds too good to be true then it probably is.” Because when it comes to making promises, we’re great. And if you think about, that’s all advertising is – making promises. Already this week, Miller Lite, Tag Body Spray, and Express Men’s clothing have all promised me that if I use their product, swimsuit models will love me. Well, as one who’s faithfully used two of those three products for years – not so much. Because we’re great at making promises – we’re just not very good at keeping them. To put it in Biblical terms, we lack “righteousness” – an ability to keep the promises we make to God; an ability to keep the promises we make to one another. [1] Our world is full of promise breakers – we lack righteousness so to speak – and because of that we have become skeptical. We have become skeptical of great promises.
According to tonight’s reading from Genesis, so was Abraham. After all, God makes a pretty amazing promise. God tells Abraham that he’ll be the father of many nations, and that through him and his children, God intends to bless the world. And God calls this an everlasting “covenant,” but another translation of the Hebrew word is promise. And so God is making an everlasting promise – a great promise. And Abraham, to be honest, is a bit skeptical.
For starters, this isn’t the first time God’s made this promise to Abraham. In fact, it’s the fourth time. According to Genesis, thirteen years have passed since God first appeared to Abraham, telling him to leave his home and his family, all on the grounds of this same promise – this great promise to bless the world through him and his descendants. But since God’s initial promise, Abraham’s experienced a few setbacks – famine, war, problems with his nephew, problems with his wife, and let’s be honest, problems with his body. After all, he’s a 99 year old nomad. Today’s reading from Romans doesn’t really water it down. To quote Paul, “his body was as good as dead.” And so Abraham’s old – and he’s heard God’s promise a few times before.
But that’s not the main reason he’s skeptical. Because practically speaking, in order to be the father of many nations, first, you have to be – a father. And in Abraham’s case, for it to really count, the mother had to be his wife. Because the rules of his society were a bit different than ours. But the rules of biology? They were the same. And Sarah, his wife, was 90 years old at the time. Now, not only is this slightly gross, but from a biological perspective, it’s impossible. And that’s the reason Abraham is skeptical. And like Genesis tells us, Abraham falls on his face and he laughs. Abraham laughs at the great promise of God. “If it sounds too good to be true then it probably is.” Because what God’s promising, from a human point of view, is impossible.
Now, to be fair, that’s not the whole story. And what our reading from Genesis leaves out tonight’s reading from Romans fills in. Because according to Paul, Abraham’s laughter was temporary. And though skeptical, Abraham was faithful and he lived a life of faith – a life firmly rooted in the great promise of God. Did he experience setbacks? Yea. Times of testing? Sure. Moments when the promise of God seemed laughable? Apparently so. And yet, Paul tells us today that Abraham is our model for the life of faith. But that’s not all. Paul goes on to say something else, something amazing – that Abraham’s faith was “reckoned” to him as righteousness.
Now, I mentioned before that we lack “righteousness” – a word that’s tied to integrity, to promise-keeping, to being put “right” on the insides. To make a long story short, righteousness is something we need. Something we’re missing. Something God requires. And the great promise of God to us is that the one thing we need, the one thing we’re missing, the one thing God requires – righteousness – is now available as a gift. Through faith in Jesus. And in essence, that’s God’s great impossible promise to us.
You’ve got to love that Abraham, of all people, is our model for the life of faith. Because it shows us that the life of faith isn’t always smooth. It sure wasn’t for Abraham. It wasn’t for Moses. It wasn’t for Peter. It wasn’t for Paul. It hasn’t always been that smooth for me, and if I had to guess, each of you knows something about setbacks, about anxiety, about times of testing, and about moments when the great promise of God seems laughable. But the difference between people of faith and people without faith isn’t that some have trials and that some don’t. It’s not that some are better than others. The difference is this: people of faith base their lives on the conviction that the great promise of God is true. They may be laughing one minute – but they’re dancing the next. Expecting setbacks, and regardless of what happens, they cling to the great impossible promise of God, they refuse to let go. And is very act of clinging, Paul tells us, this refusal to let go, is what makes us righteous before God.
The truth is, you and I are weak. We’re shaky. We make promises. We break promises. One minute we’re walking the walk, the next minute we’re laughing at God. We’re not righteous. And deep down, we know that no one else is either. But the good news of the Christian Gospel is that our God is. And I know that in a world where the things that seem too good to be true probably are, it can be hard to cling to God’s great promise. Because it’s one thing to recite a Creed once a week, but to base our entire lives on the conviction that the great promise of God is true, that takes courage. In the midst of setbacks, in the midst of skepticism, it takes a lot of courage to refuse to let go. But this refusal to let go of the God that refuses to let go of us – that’s what faith is. And not only that, but this refusal to let go is what makes us righteous before God.
The truth is, you and I will never perfectly keep the promises we make to God or to one another. But I want you to know that that’s ok. Because in spite of our inability to be faithful, our God remains faithful. And in spite of our skepticism, our God’s plan of salvation is certain. This is God’s great impossible promise to promise-breakers like us. And make no mistake; the God we worship is a Promise-Keeper.
[1] This is a fitting connection because one of Paul’s uses of dikaiosune in Romans (translated righteousness) is “covenant faithfulness.” In other words, God is righteous because God keep’s God’s promises.
Monday, March 2, 2009
sermon: who are you?
“Who are you?”
Mark 1: 9-15
Lent I, Year B
March 1, 2009 (Preached at ESC)
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved;* with you I am well pleased. And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. 13He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.14 Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news* of God,* 15and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near;* repent, and believe in the good news.’*
I’d like to begin tonight’s sermon with a question. Who are you? In other words, I am __. How would you fill in the blank? A seminary professor of mine once said that “the question of identity is the question of difference.” And I agree. Our identity matters. How we define ourselves matters. And so how we choose to answer this question matters. Who are you? I am __ ?
That’s the question I’d like to wrestle with tonight, but first, we’re going to play a little game. Mad Libs. Mad Libs is a game of filling in the blanks. And it’s a funny game because the way we fill in the blanks is usually ridiculous. And if you’re anything like me, or your average 2nd grader, this is hilarious and it never gets old. A normal sentence like “Jeff parked a car in the lot,” after a little mad-libbing, becomes “Jeff spanked a gorilla in the oven.” And that’s funny because, I don’t care how crazy Jeff is, he’d never spank a gorilla, let alone do so in an oven of all places. Because that’s just ridiculous. And so, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to play a quick game, which means I’ll need a little CC – congregational cooperation. And so, if someone could please give me a …
(1) A past tense verb – ending in the letters “ed”
(2) A noun – the name of someone you admire
(3) Adjective
(4) Noun
If you’ll look in your worship bulletin, you’ll see the “Mad Lib” we’re filling in. And so, after filling in the blanks, this is how our sentence would read. Define yourself radically as one ___ by ___. This is your ___ self. Every other identity is a (an) ___.
Now obviously, this is ridiculous. It doesn’t even make sense. At the core of your being, this isn’t who you are. If someone were to say, “Who are you?” your answer wouldn’t be “I’m one __ by __.” In terms of defining your identity, that’s a ridiculous way to fill in the blank. But how should you fill in the blank? I am ___. Who are you?
When it comes to defining our identity, the way you and I fill in the blanks can be really ridiculous. In fact, our favorite way to fill in the blank is to tell people something we do. Who are you? I’m a priest. I’m a business student. I’m an athlete. I’m in a fraternity. I’m in a band. I’m involved in the church. I’m the president of the Chris Brown fan club. Now, don’t get me wrong. What we do is a part of who we are, and what we do matters to God. But at the core of our being, our identity – who we are – can’t be tied to any of these things. Because what happens if we preach a bad sermon? Or graduate and can’t find a job? Who are we going to be then? A bad priest? An unemployed ex business student? I’m not so sure that’s who I want to be.
The truth is, you and I have hard time standing firm in the knowledge of who we are. And when we’re not sure who we are, we panic and start filling in the blanks in ridiculous ways. After all, we have to be someone. And so we make our life about perfecting an image. We find something the world values – money, power, our intellect, our sense of humor, the way we look, how religious we are, how well we’re doing in school – and we build our identity around that. We make our life about perfecting an image. The only problem is, always working to perfect our image is competitive and exhausting, and before we know it, our lives become motivated by fear; fear of not measuring up. Fear of not living up to the expectations of others. Fear of losing our sense of self-worth. And a person driven by fear – well, I’m not so sure that’s who I want to be either.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus is baptized by John in the Jordan. And at his baptism, Jesus hears a voice from heaven telling him who he is. Jesus receives unique insight into his identity. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Now remember – Jesus hasn’t done a thing to prove himself yet. He hasn’t healed the sick or cast out any demons or preached a single sermon. And yet God tells Jesus that he is the beloved. Jesus is told that his life is pleasing to God. And so if you were to ask Jesus on the day of his baptism, who are you? What do you think Jesus would have said? “I’m a carpenter. I’m a Jew. I’m the son of Joseph.” No, Jesus would have been beaming from ear to ear and told you, “I am the beloved son of my Father in heaven. I am one with whom God is well-pleased.”
The miracle of grace is that, by virtue of our baptism, the Living God looks at each of us and says to us what He said to Jesus on the day of His baptism. It’s like Paul says in Colossians, “you have died, and your identity is hidden with Christ in God.” [1] In other words, God sees us – not as we are in ourselves – but as we are in Jesus Christ. God looks at us – at every single moment of our life – and says to us what he said to Jesus – “You are my dear, dear child. And I’m absolutely delighted with you.”
But our story doesn’t stop here, because after hearing these words, Jesus doesn’t begin his ministry just yet, but like Mark tells us, the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness. And for forty days Jesus is tempted. Now, Mark doesn’t tell us how. But my guess is that Satan makes Jesus question his identity – I bet he tries to get Jesus to question who he is at the core of his being. For those forty days in the dessert, I think Satan’s plan was to make Jesus think that he had to do something to earn God’s love – to make Jesus think that he had to prove himself for God to be well-pleased with his life. And I’m willing to bet that each of us fights that same temptation too.
As many of you know, today is the first Sunday of Lent – a season of intentional repentance. And the word repent means to change one’s mind. And what I think you and I need to change our mind about more than anything is who or what we allow to define our identity - we need to change the way we fill in the blanks when it comes to defining who we are. Because at the core of our being, we are not what we do. We are not what others say that we are. We are not what we feel. We are not how we look. We are not our portfolio. We are not our I.Q. We are not as good as our latest sermon or our latest relationship or our latest test score or our latest service project. Because who we are – at the core of our being – has nothing to do with us. And it has everything to do with God.
In other words, in order to know who we are, we have to know Whose we are. And we are beloved children of God. Before we were even born, God knew us. And we belong to God. And to define ourselves in any other way is ridiculous. To define ourselves in any other way just doesn’t make sense.
I began tonight’s sermon with the question who are you. Believe it or not, Moses actually had the guts to ask God that same question a long time ago. And the more I think about God’s answer, the more it amazes me. When Moses asked God – “who are you” – God said, “I AM.” “I AM.” In other words, God doesn’t have any blanks to fill in –because God just IS –He’s the only One who has an identity in and of Himself. And the miracle grace is that gives us an identity – that God tells us who we are. And what he said to Jesus he says to us. “You are my dear, dear child. And I’m absolutely delighted with you.”
And so get out your worship bulletin and take a look at our mad libs again. The question is – who are you? How should you define yourself?
Define yourself radically as one LOVED by GOD. This is your TRUE self. Every other identity is an ILLUSION.
[1] Col 3:3. “Identity” is my translation of zoe, which is usually translated “life.” But the words are interchangeable, and for the purposes of this sermon, mean the same thing.
Mark 1: 9-15
Lent I, Year B
March 1, 2009 (Preached at ESC)
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved;* with you I am well pleased. And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. 13He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.14 Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news* of God,* 15and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near;* repent, and believe in the good news.’*
I’d like to begin tonight’s sermon with a question. Who are you? In other words, I am __. How would you fill in the blank? A seminary professor of mine once said that “the question of identity is the question of difference.” And I agree. Our identity matters. How we define ourselves matters. And so how we choose to answer this question matters. Who are you? I am __ ?
That’s the question I’d like to wrestle with tonight, but first, we’re going to play a little game. Mad Libs. Mad Libs is a game of filling in the blanks. And it’s a funny game because the way we fill in the blanks is usually ridiculous. And if you’re anything like me, or your average 2nd grader, this is hilarious and it never gets old. A normal sentence like “Jeff parked a car in the lot,” after a little mad-libbing, becomes “Jeff spanked a gorilla in the oven.” And that’s funny because, I don’t care how crazy Jeff is, he’d never spank a gorilla, let alone do so in an oven of all places. Because that’s just ridiculous. And so, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to play a quick game, which means I’ll need a little CC – congregational cooperation. And so, if someone could please give me a …
(1) A past tense verb – ending in the letters “ed”
(2) A noun – the name of someone you admire
(3) Adjective
(4) Noun
If you’ll look in your worship bulletin, you’ll see the “Mad Lib” we’re filling in. And so, after filling in the blanks, this is how our sentence would read. Define yourself radically as one ___ by ___. This is your ___ self. Every other identity is a (an) ___.
Now obviously, this is ridiculous. It doesn’t even make sense. At the core of your being, this isn’t who you are. If someone were to say, “Who are you?” your answer wouldn’t be “I’m one __ by __.” In terms of defining your identity, that’s a ridiculous way to fill in the blank. But how should you fill in the blank? I am ___. Who are you?
When it comes to defining our identity, the way you and I fill in the blanks can be really ridiculous. In fact, our favorite way to fill in the blank is to tell people something we do. Who are you? I’m a priest. I’m a business student. I’m an athlete. I’m in a fraternity. I’m in a band. I’m involved in the church. I’m the president of the Chris Brown fan club. Now, don’t get me wrong. What we do is a part of who we are, and what we do matters to God. But at the core of our being, our identity – who we are – can’t be tied to any of these things. Because what happens if we preach a bad sermon? Or graduate and can’t find a job? Who are we going to be then? A bad priest? An unemployed ex business student? I’m not so sure that’s who I want to be.
The truth is, you and I have hard time standing firm in the knowledge of who we are. And when we’re not sure who we are, we panic and start filling in the blanks in ridiculous ways. After all, we have to be someone. And so we make our life about perfecting an image. We find something the world values – money, power, our intellect, our sense of humor, the way we look, how religious we are, how well we’re doing in school – and we build our identity around that. We make our life about perfecting an image. The only problem is, always working to perfect our image is competitive and exhausting, and before we know it, our lives become motivated by fear; fear of not measuring up. Fear of not living up to the expectations of others. Fear of losing our sense of self-worth. And a person driven by fear – well, I’m not so sure that’s who I want to be either.
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus is baptized by John in the Jordan. And at his baptism, Jesus hears a voice from heaven telling him who he is. Jesus receives unique insight into his identity. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Now remember – Jesus hasn’t done a thing to prove himself yet. He hasn’t healed the sick or cast out any demons or preached a single sermon. And yet God tells Jesus that he is the beloved. Jesus is told that his life is pleasing to God. And so if you were to ask Jesus on the day of his baptism, who are you? What do you think Jesus would have said? “I’m a carpenter. I’m a Jew. I’m the son of Joseph.” No, Jesus would have been beaming from ear to ear and told you, “I am the beloved son of my Father in heaven. I am one with whom God is well-pleased.”
The miracle of grace is that, by virtue of our baptism, the Living God looks at each of us and says to us what He said to Jesus on the day of His baptism. It’s like Paul says in Colossians, “you have died, and your identity is hidden with Christ in God.” [1] In other words, God sees us – not as we are in ourselves – but as we are in Jesus Christ. God looks at us – at every single moment of our life – and says to us what he said to Jesus – “You are my dear, dear child. And I’m absolutely delighted with you.”
But our story doesn’t stop here, because after hearing these words, Jesus doesn’t begin his ministry just yet, but like Mark tells us, the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness. And for forty days Jesus is tempted. Now, Mark doesn’t tell us how. But my guess is that Satan makes Jesus question his identity – I bet he tries to get Jesus to question who he is at the core of his being. For those forty days in the dessert, I think Satan’s plan was to make Jesus think that he had to do something to earn God’s love – to make Jesus think that he had to prove himself for God to be well-pleased with his life. And I’m willing to bet that each of us fights that same temptation too.
As many of you know, today is the first Sunday of Lent – a season of intentional repentance. And the word repent means to change one’s mind. And what I think you and I need to change our mind about more than anything is who or what we allow to define our identity - we need to change the way we fill in the blanks when it comes to defining who we are. Because at the core of our being, we are not what we do. We are not what others say that we are. We are not what we feel. We are not how we look. We are not our portfolio. We are not our I.Q. We are not as good as our latest sermon or our latest relationship or our latest test score or our latest service project. Because who we are – at the core of our being – has nothing to do with us. And it has everything to do with God.
In other words, in order to know who we are, we have to know Whose we are. And we are beloved children of God. Before we were even born, God knew us. And we belong to God. And to define ourselves in any other way is ridiculous. To define ourselves in any other way just doesn’t make sense.
I began tonight’s sermon with the question who are you. Believe it or not, Moses actually had the guts to ask God that same question a long time ago. And the more I think about God’s answer, the more it amazes me. When Moses asked God – “who are you” – God said, “I AM.” “I AM.” In other words, God doesn’t have any blanks to fill in –because God just IS –He’s the only One who has an identity in and of Himself. And the miracle grace is that gives us an identity – that God tells us who we are. And what he said to Jesus he says to us. “You are my dear, dear child. And I’m absolutely delighted with you.”
And so get out your worship bulletin and take a look at our mad libs again. The question is – who are you? How should you define yourself?
Define yourself radically as one LOVED by GOD. This is your TRUE self. Every other identity is an ILLUSION.
[1] Col 3:3. “Identity” is my translation of zoe, which is usually translated “life.” But the words are interchangeable, and for the purposes of this sermon, mean the same thing.
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