1 Samuel 16:1-13
4th Sunday in Lent
As we continue in our Lenten journey, we’re going to step out of the New Testament for today. We’re going to step away from the life of Jesus and his journey toward the Cross, and look to the life of King David. Now I know this may seem like an odd choice, but as one of my favorite Christian authors (Eugene Peterson) has put it: “If we're going to get the most out of the Jesus story, we'll want first to soak our imaginations in the David story.”
You see when we think about Jesus, we might know and profess that Jesus was fully God and fully human; but if we’re honest, we still have a hard time thinking of Jesus as fully human. I mean, look at his life: we believe he never sinned, he had control over nature, he healed the sick, he cast out demons, he spoke the word of God, he befriended the outcast and the sinner, he raised people from the dead, and in fact he was raised from the dead. We may believe and profess that he was fully human, but that’s not the stuff we’re the most interested in.
But it’s not the same way with David. Although he was a king, he was clearly more like one of us. He had good days and bad days. He was persecuted and he had victories. He was a sinner, and yet he wrote psalms that reached out to the very heart of God. And indeed as we remember today, although he was called by God to be the king of Israel, he was first called to be a shepherd.
In other words, as followers of Jesus we strive to be like him: we aim to be as obedient, faithful, compassionate, and self-giving as our Savior; we aim for that same intimacy with God. We aim to be like Jesus, but even at our best, we're probably more like David. And this is not at all a bad thing! David does more than just remind us of ourselves, he reminds us of that earthy humanness that came with the one who was God-with-us. He reminds us of a part of Jesus we sometimes have a hard time understanding.
Our story today takes place in Bethlehem. Bethlehem was, and in some ways still is, a small town. Today it's got a little over 25,000 people living there; not huge by some standards, but certainly bigger than it was when David grew up there or even when Jesus was born there. I mention this mainly because I think I’ve learned a bit about living in a small town. And I can just imagine the kind of craziness that came when Samuel visited your town.
You know that everybody knew about it, right? I’m sure they were talking about it in the Bethlehem equivalent of Brenda’s for months after! That's why Samuel had to come up with that cover story: “Oh, just coming to make a sacrifice.” A visit like this from the king's prophet would have been a big deal. Not only would people tend to freak out (as if they were in trouble with God) but a random visit to some out of the way village would probably get back to the king as well. It was a big deal.
One time, when I was a pastor over in Del Norte, Oprah Winfrey visited a local Dairy Queen. Everybody knew about it; the Dairy Queen had “Oprah ate here” on their marquee for months. It was huge. I got calls from people in other states about it. I knew about her visit and I don't care about Oprah in the least! It was a big deal.
When I picture Samuel's visit to Bethlehem, that's what I imagine it was like: I imagine helicopters flying overhead; an entourage; I imagine a film crew following him around. I bet someone even put up a “Samuel ate here” sign.
But this was no mere silly road trip for Samuel, was it? For the second time in Samuel's career as a prophet, God had called him to anoint a king. God had rejected Saul for reasons that are, as they say, another story. So Samuel came here looking for a king and what happens next is more like a livestock show than a sacrifice, right? They trot out Jesse's sons and parade them around the arena for Samuel to judge.
And Samuel's first reaction is, “Wow that was easy,” because the first son they trot out is Eliab. We don't really know exactly what it was that impressed Samuel so much about Eliab, but he must have been something; king material if ever Samuel had seen it! But before Samuel could anoint him God says, “Slow down Sam; it's that kind of thinking that got you into trouble with Saul, remember? You don't see what I see. You see an impressive young man who can get what he wants with the flash of his smile, but I can see his heart.” God tells Samuel, “I can see past what you can see and I can see that this one won't work out.”
Jesse has eight sons all together and the pattern continues: we look at Abinidab then Shamah... then we stop naming them because it starts to get a little tedious. I imagine this was kind of a humbling experience for Samuel; maybe the great prophet was getting rusty. Son after son after son was trotted out and son after son after son was rejected by God as king. Finally, Samuel asks, “Are these all the sons you've got?” But maybe he was thinking, “Am I at the right address?”
But then they trot out David: as the youngest of Jesse's sons, he misses all the excitement because he’s had to be out with the sheep. But as soon as David walks in the room, Samuel is told that this is Israel's next king. And the ironic part is that, when he shows up, he is actually good looking. Samuel's first instinct to anoint the good-looking son was, in a way right on. He just didn't have every good-looking son of Jesse in front of him at the time.
But then again, David isn't just handsome is he? There is something more about him that only God can see. But what was it that made God choose this boy to be Israel's king? We know by his life's story that he wasn't exactly perfect, so that wasn't it. He certainly wasn't very kingly at the time, right? He was just a little shepherd boy; not even his father thought to bring him in from the field to meet the great prophet. What did God see?
Well, of course we can't see specifically what God saw, but Scripture tells us that what God saw was his heart; a heart that we learn elsewhere in the Bible, “Sought after God's own heart.” What I take that to mean is simply that he wanted to please God. They knew each other already. It tells me that he didn't just seek to obey God; he didn't just seek to keep out of trouble; but he wanted to make God happy. This tells me that he had a relationship with God; perhaps he had already begun writing songs for God while he was out there in the fields. But at any rate, you can't seek after God's heart unless you know something of that heart in the first place. What I think God saw in David was, in a sense, familiarity.
In short, I think that the thing God saw in David was much the same thing that God sought for us in Jesus. God wants to be known by us in the same way that God knows us. In Jesus, we know the depth and breadth of God's love for us. In him we know that God has done and will do whatever it takes to bring us home. God wants to be in relationship with us so much that God would become flesh and then be broken for us. And our knowing God’s love in this way, we are then fully known; God looks into our heart.
Last week we heard about the woman at the well and, looking into her heart, Jesus knew everything she’d ever done. But this week we learn of a different kind of knowing: a knowing that comes from a relationship with our Creator; a knowing that sees us for who we are and then calls us to a level of greatness far beyond what our outward appearance might suggest. As we continue through this Lenten season, let us seek to know our loving God more and more. Let us, like that shepherd boy hear the voice of God calling us to do our Savior’s work. Because God sees us from the inside out, let us seek to be transformed from the inside out, as we seek that closer walk.
Monday, March 23, 2020
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
Everything
John 4:5-42
Third Sunday in Lent
I've known people like this woman all my life, and I bet you have too. Of course, I work in the church and people like this just kind of show up from time to time. But I've lived next to them too. It's always something with them, isn't it? It's always some new crisis; it's always some new angle that's going to make all of the old problems magically go away... and they never do. In fact, their problems have a way of piling up in the yard. If you're not careful, their problems can somehow become your problems. If you are careful, you can act just interested enough not to be rude, but not so interested that they'll keep talking.
Yeah, I've known people like this woman all my life. I've met her so often, I can even hear them talking about her as she comes panting back from the well: “Uh, oh. Somebody's in a hurry... and she's headed right for us. How much do you want to bet, she's in love again?”
“Come. See. A. Man. Who. Told. Me. Everything. I. Ever. Did. Could this... be the Messiah?”
“Hold on. What?”
“Come and see... the Messiah.”
“No, no, no; that middle part.”
“He told me everything I ever did.”
“Everything?”
“Yeah, everything.”
Did they go out to see him? Of course they did. They knew everything she'd ever done... and probably avoided her because of it. He knew everything she'd ever done and welcomed her home; just like he welcomes people like us every day of our lives.
Come and see the Savior of the World. Come and see the one who knows everything about you (yeah, everything) and loves you and accepts you beyond your wildest imaginations.
I don't know that a pastor is supposed to play favorites with Scripture passages... but I love this story. The first sermon I ever preached was about this woman at this well. It is, at its heart, a story about not being where you’re supposed to be; it’s about being off of the main highway, as it were. Jesus leaves the highway on purpose, here in Samaria: in the first line of chapter four, Jesus hears that the Pharisees have started keeping score between him and John the Baptist. Instead of hearing the Message, or even recognizing that something amazing is going on, they start counting baptisms between Jesus' and John's followers. So Jesus says something like, “I've got to step out for some fresh air,” and heads off for Galilee.
But even his departure from Judea gets sidetracked: the gospel says that Jesus had to go through Samaria. But Samaria wasn’t a place proper people really went. Proper people believed that Samaritans were, at best, only kind of Jewish. And the Samaritans didn’t really care for the Jews either: they kept making the audacious claim that the true place of worship was there in Samaria, and not in Jerusalem (the place Jesus just intentionally left). Samaria was a place of dispute; a place that proper people didn’t really go.
If they had trains back then, the whole of Samaria would be on the wrong side of the tracks. And yet the gospel writer tells us that Jesus had to go there, and I'm not entirely sure what John means by that: it could be that John is simply making some kind of excuse for this less-than-respectable act on Jesus part. In other words, it could be that he’s saying, “For what Jesus was up to and where he was going, he couldn't have done this trip without going through Samaria; after all, it was the quickest route.”
But maybe, it was like when the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted; maybe this was someplace Jesus just had to go. Maybe one morning Jesus looked at the disciples and said, “Boys, we've got to go to Samaria.” Now this is just speculation on my part, but I like that idea; that sounds like something my Jesus would do. That sounds like the Jesus who would go off the main road, into scandalous places, just to show us how to truly love.
But of course, Jesus is not the only one who's wandered from the main highway in this story, is he? Soon we meet a woman who is so out there, I have a hard time knowing where to start. Well, we meet her in Samaria, so why not start there: she is, of course, a Samaritan. We know this because it comes up kind of frequently in the story. The gospel writer brings it up a couple of times and even points out that there were specific rules about this kind of interaction. The women herself mentions it as well. And even the disciples, although they're smart enough to keep it to themselves, at least noticed when they got back from the store.
Whether we like to admit it or not, when we tell our kids not to talk to strangers, we usually have specific strangers in mind. And in Jesus' day, the Samaritans were those strangers. If at all possible, they should be avoided; and you certainly don't want to be sharing their water cups!
But she wasn't just a Samaritan, she was a woman. There were similar rules of propriety that kept respectable men from interacting with unknown women. But of course, Jesus breaks those rules too.
But then there is that one other thing too. Leaving behind the bigotries and silly customs of the day, she was still that kind of woman. This is a fact we don't learn about until later in the story, but Jesus seems to have known it all along. As the story goes on this point is made all the more scandalous because it's Jesus who starts up the conversation. He knows who she is. He knows that she’s a Samaritan. He knows that she is a woman. He even knows what kind of Samaritan woman she is… and it’s Jesus who breaks the ice. It’s Jesus who breaks all the rules of proper, acceptable behavior… and asks her for a drink.
At this point, I’d like to point out that he never does get his drink, does he? He never does get his drink of water, but then again, he wasn’t really after water in the first place. He asks her for a drink, but that’s not really what he wants. What he wants is really to offer her something. She came to this well, with all her baggage and a jar to draw water with; what she found was a deeper well with Living Water flowing freely from it. What she found was Jesus.
And then something happens: we might otherwise miss it because it seems to happen just about the same time the disciples come back, but something definitely happens. When this story starts out, these two are perfect strangers at a well. When it ends, this woman is so excited that she leaves without the very thing she came to the well for in the first place.
The way the Gospel writer puts it is, “Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, ‘Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did! Could this be the Christ?’”
She leaves behind what brought her there in the first place because she had found something she wasn’t actually looking for; and isn’t that just like Jesus? Isn’t it just like Jesus to find us, whether we’re looking for him or not? Isn’t it just like Jesus to find us, to know everything about us, and love us and accept us when we least expect it?
So she leaves the water, she leaves the jar and she heads back to town with the most compelling testimony any of us can ever offer: he knows me completely; come and see. And soon, this is no longer just a story about a woman who meets Jesus; it’s a story about a whole town full of people meeting Jesus. The implications for us are both terrifying and thrilling.
Christ sees us completely. Our Savior knows everything about us – it isn’t that he doesn’t see it, he just sees past it – and then he asks us for a drink in spite of all that. But what he’s really asking of us is that we drink of his Living Water and then take it with us to share with our thirsty neighbors. What he’s really asking is that we first see ourselves as fully known by him – and therefore fully accepted and fully forgiven – and then let us be fully used by him, calling all those around us to come and see the one who knows everything we’ve ever done. And when they ask you, “Everything?” You just answer, “Yeah, everything! Come and see.”
Third Sunday in Lent
I've known people like this woman all my life, and I bet you have too. Of course, I work in the church and people like this just kind of show up from time to time. But I've lived next to them too. It's always something with them, isn't it? It's always some new crisis; it's always some new angle that's going to make all of the old problems magically go away... and they never do. In fact, their problems have a way of piling up in the yard. If you're not careful, their problems can somehow become your problems. If you are careful, you can act just interested enough not to be rude, but not so interested that they'll keep talking.
Yeah, I've known people like this woman all my life. I've met her so often, I can even hear them talking about her as she comes panting back from the well: “Uh, oh. Somebody's in a hurry... and she's headed right for us. How much do you want to bet, she's in love again?”
“Come. See. A. Man. Who. Told. Me. Everything. I. Ever. Did. Could this... be the Messiah?”
“Hold on. What?”
“Come and see... the Messiah.”
“No, no, no; that middle part.”
“He told me everything I ever did.”
“Everything?”
“Yeah, everything.”
Did they go out to see him? Of course they did. They knew everything she'd ever done... and probably avoided her because of it. He knew everything she'd ever done and welcomed her home; just like he welcomes people like us every day of our lives.
Come and see the Savior of the World. Come and see the one who knows everything about you (yeah, everything) and loves you and accepts you beyond your wildest imaginations.
I don't know that a pastor is supposed to play favorites with Scripture passages... but I love this story. The first sermon I ever preached was about this woman at this well. It is, at its heart, a story about not being where you’re supposed to be; it’s about being off of the main highway, as it were. Jesus leaves the highway on purpose, here in Samaria: in the first line of chapter four, Jesus hears that the Pharisees have started keeping score between him and John the Baptist. Instead of hearing the Message, or even recognizing that something amazing is going on, they start counting baptisms between Jesus' and John's followers. So Jesus says something like, “I've got to step out for some fresh air,” and heads off for Galilee.
But even his departure from Judea gets sidetracked: the gospel says that Jesus had to go through Samaria. But Samaria wasn’t a place proper people really went. Proper people believed that Samaritans were, at best, only kind of Jewish. And the Samaritans didn’t really care for the Jews either: they kept making the audacious claim that the true place of worship was there in Samaria, and not in Jerusalem (the place Jesus just intentionally left). Samaria was a place of dispute; a place that proper people didn’t really go.
If they had trains back then, the whole of Samaria would be on the wrong side of the tracks. And yet the gospel writer tells us that Jesus had to go there, and I'm not entirely sure what John means by that: it could be that John is simply making some kind of excuse for this less-than-respectable act on Jesus part. In other words, it could be that he’s saying, “For what Jesus was up to and where he was going, he couldn't have done this trip without going through Samaria; after all, it was the quickest route.”
But maybe, it was like when the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted; maybe this was someplace Jesus just had to go. Maybe one morning Jesus looked at the disciples and said, “Boys, we've got to go to Samaria.” Now this is just speculation on my part, but I like that idea; that sounds like something my Jesus would do. That sounds like the Jesus who would go off the main road, into scandalous places, just to show us how to truly love.
But of course, Jesus is not the only one who's wandered from the main highway in this story, is he? Soon we meet a woman who is so out there, I have a hard time knowing where to start. Well, we meet her in Samaria, so why not start there: she is, of course, a Samaritan. We know this because it comes up kind of frequently in the story. The gospel writer brings it up a couple of times and even points out that there were specific rules about this kind of interaction. The women herself mentions it as well. And even the disciples, although they're smart enough to keep it to themselves, at least noticed when they got back from the store.
Whether we like to admit it or not, when we tell our kids not to talk to strangers, we usually have specific strangers in mind. And in Jesus' day, the Samaritans were those strangers. If at all possible, they should be avoided; and you certainly don't want to be sharing their water cups!
But she wasn't just a Samaritan, she was a woman. There were similar rules of propriety that kept respectable men from interacting with unknown women. But of course, Jesus breaks those rules too.
But then there is that one other thing too. Leaving behind the bigotries and silly customs of the day, she was still that kind of woman. This is a fact we don't learn about until later in the story, but Jesus seems to have known it all along. As the story goes on this point is made all the more scandalous because it's Jesus who starts up the conversation. He knows who she is. He knows that she’s a Samaritan. He knows that she is a woman. He even knows what kind of Samaritan woman she is… and it’s Jesus who breaks the ice. It’s Jesus who breaks all the rules of proper, acceptable behavior… and asks her for a drink.
At this point, I’d like to point out that he never does get his drink, does he? He never does get his drink of water, but then again, he wasn’t really after water in the first place. He asks her for a drink, but that’s not really what he wants. What he wants is really to offer her something. She came to this well, with all her baggage and a jar to draw water with; what she found was a deeper well with Living Water flowing freely from it. What she found was Jesus.
And then something happens: we might otherwise miss it because it seems to happen just about the same time the disciples come back, but something definitely happens. When this story starts out, these two are perfect strangers at a well. When it ends, this woman is so excited that she leaves without the very thing she came to the well for in the first place.
The way the Gospel writer puts it is, “Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, ‘Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did! Could this be the Christ?’”
She leaves behind what brought her there in the first place because she had found something she wasn’t actually looking for; and isn’t that just like Jesus? Isn’t it just like Jesus to find us, whether we’re looking for him or not? Isn’t it just like Jesus to find us, to know everything about us, and love us and accept us when we least expect it?
So she leaves the water, she leaves the jar and she heads back to town with the most compelling testimony any of us can ever offer: he knows me completely; come and see. And soon, this is no longer just a story about a woman who meets Jesus; it’s a story about a whole town full of people meeting Jesus. The implications for us are both terrifying and thrilling.
Christ sees us completely. Our Savior knows everything about us – it isn’t that he doesn’t see it, he just sees past it – and then he asks us for a drink in spite of all that. But what he’s really asking of us is that we drink of his Living Water and then take it with us to share with our thirsty neighbors. What he’s really asking is that we first see ourselves as fully known by him – and therefore fully accepted and fully forgiven – and then let us be fully used by him, calling all those around us to come and see the one who knows everything we’ve ever done. And when they ask you, “Everything?” You just answer, “Yeah, everything! Come and see.”
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
New Tricks
Genesis 12:1-4 & John 3:1-17
Second Sunday in Lent
As many of you probably already know: I have a dog, a cat, three children, and a degree in psychology. This to say: around my house, I’m always working some angle of the behavioral part of my undergraduate degree. There are rewards and there are punishments (we call them “consequences”), and they are all designed to keep everyone healthy and getting along.
If you also have an undergraduate degree in psychology, you know that the crowning achievement comes when you can teach a rat to push a button to get a treat. People have asked me, “Brian, does your degree in psychology help you in your ministry?” The answer is “no”; that’s not how God works; that might be how religion often pretends it works, but a life of faith is vastly more than learning to “pushing God’s buttons the right way.” But my degree in rat training has taught me this: the phrase “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” is probably not true.
As far as I know, you can actually teach an old dog a new trick. Even better: people can learn new tricks at any stage of life, old or not. We are God’s people; created, valued, and loved. We are not seen by God as dogs. In fact, according to our Scripture lessons today, we are loved so much that God is teaching us new tricks all the time; even if we're old! We don't know how old Nicodemus was, but he certainly calls himself old; and looking at Abraham, God doesn't establish this covenant with him until he's seventy-five! So yes, it does seem that God may have a trick or two for us whatever our age.
I love alliteration—the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of words. Some well-organized pastors do it on purpose: I’ve seen sermons or even an entire sermon series put together like that. When I do it, it’s usually an accident that I don’t notice until later. That being said, I totally meant to have a “T” theme going lately: two weeks ago we heard about the Transfiguration of Jesus; last Sunday we heard about his Temptation; and this week the theme is Trust. Abraham's whole story—as he is called to leave his home and family to an unknown land—is really about trust. And I think that it’s trust that leads Nicodemus to seek out Jesus as he is called to be reborn.
And “trust” is really what those “new tricks” God has for us are all about. Because, if you are going to teach your old dog a new trick, your old dog better know you pretty well. Learning a new thing is all about the proper motivation (again, you can thank my work with rats for that little insight).
For example, I’ve taught my cat a new trick; she’s not an old dog, but she’s certainly an relatively-old cat. She has something of an eating disorder. She was not a kitten when we got her, so it might stem from early trauma. With some cats, you can just leave out food and they’ll eat when they’re hungry. If you did that with my cat, she would eat all of it and then come crying that afternoon because her dish is empty. So, we feed her a measured amount twice a day… and apparently the first thing I taught her was tell time, because she never lets me miss it. And when I put the food in her dish, she attacks it like she’s never eaten before. So, to keep from getting my hand bitten off, I’ve started doing this new thing: I will kneel down near her dish, holding her food in one hand and holding out my other hand off to the other side of my body. She has learned that, if she wants the food to be dropped into her dish, she needs to push her head into that hand (a little like pushing a button). My point is: if you can, with the proper motivation, teach an old cat a new trick, you can probably teach an old dog… and maybe even us.
When Abraham was seventy-five, God asked him to leave just about everything he knew behind: God told him to go to a new, and unknown place and begin a new life. For a person (of any age) whose identity was grounded in specific place, among a specific people, and with a well-worn way of life, this was a risky move. Think about the trust it must have taken to obey what God said to do. Even more than that, we talk about Abraham's faith, but what about Sarah? One day Abraham announces that God has called them to leave their country, their land, and their family, and she doesn't seem to say a word about it. If your spouse came home and announced that God had called you to just up and leave our life here, you’d probably look into having some “special medicine” prescribed, right? But again, what is important is Abraham’s motivation. I hate to say it to you faithful church-goers, but I don’t think it was his religion.
Like I said, I also have a dog. If you also have a dog, you’ve probably noticed that we’ve had a rather extended muddy-season this year… which has led to us having a somewhat strained relationship between me and my dog. I wish I had the behavioral psychology skills to teach her to wipe her feet when she comes in the house. Instead, after I notice the mess she’s making I'll start yelling, “Ah! Crate! Crate! Crate!” (It’s what we call the mudroom.) Her response is almost a religious response: she’ll look at me with her head and tail down, looking guilty, as she trots back to her proper space. She assumes she’s in trouble, but the truth is, sometimes she has no idea what will make me happy.
Now my guess is, she'll get less “religious” as she gets older. I think that, as she becomes an older dog, she'll learn something better: she’ll start getting to know me. She may never learn how or why she should wipe her feet, but she may learn that it's not okay to run around the house with dirty paws. You see, even better that teaching an old dog a new trick is letting an old dog get to know you; and in that knowledge, trust you even when it doesn't understand why.
Abraham goes when he’s sent; not because he’s crazy, not because of some religious duty, but because he’s heard his Master’s voice—because he has a relationship with God.
One of my favorite parts of the Lenten season is hearing about the practices and disciplines that people take on. No one here requires you to so it shows a person's honest desire to deepen their relationship with God. These practices and disciplines, among other things, are ways that God can help us to become these kinds of old dogs. These things deepen our relationship with God, and by that deepened trust, we find a deeper obedience.
In away, Nicodemus seems to have a similar “old dog” attitude Abraham had. He comes to Jesus under the cover of night with curiosity: Jesus has just violently shaken things up in the temple; he called people names and knocked them around; he made a mess of their fellowship hall. So even though Nicodemus doesn’t seem to want anyone to know about it, he’s also not quick to call Jesus a criminal. And why do you suppose that is? I think its because his “old dog” relationship with the Master put him in an awkward spot: on the one hand he hears something familiar in what Jesus is saying; but on the other hand, this guy is dangerous; this Jesus could get him into trouble.
But with obedience that almost defies logic, he goes to hear more from this dangerous teacher. And of course his obedience pays off. He obeys and finds an even deeper knowledge of the God who so loved him that he would send his own son. He obeys and finds a deeper relationship with a Creator who is not interested in condemnation, but salvation and relationship. And although Nicodemus seems to have a hard time getting his head around the metaphors, I think he learns from Jesus some things he may have already suspected. Because it seems that this “old dog” already knew how to trust in the Master.
I suppose what I appreciate most about these “old dogs’” stories, even more than that their obedience paid off in their own unique ways, is that it couldn’t have been easy for either of them. The “new tricks” of trust and obedience that they were learning, must have been difficult and confusing. But no more so than the “new tricks” of trust and obedience that we are called to learn throughout our lives. As we seek godly ways of dealing with illnesses, loss, broken relationships, disappointments, and global tragedy and unrest, we see that it’s not a simple thing to trust that God knows what God is doing and to simply obey.
And so we seek to trust like “old dogs.” I think Lent teaches us something about this trust. If we take on this journey—ending at the foot of the cross—then we seek to discover that God can be trusted; that the promises of God are always kept. Of course the empty tomb at the end of Lent’s journey is the last word, but I think it makes more sense when we first seek this other, more difficult Lenten journey.
So as we continue to travel through this season, let us, like Abraham and Nicodemus, listen to the ways that God is calling us to learn new tricks. Let us make this difficult journey and learn that our trust can only continue to grow, as we follow where our Savior leads us.
Second Sunday in Lent
As many of you probably already know: I have a dog, a cat, three children, and a degree in psychology. This to say: around my house, I’m always working some angle of the behavioral part of my undergraduate degree. There are rewards and there are punishments (we call them “consequences”), and they are all designed to keep everyone healthy and getting along.
If you also have an undergraduate degree in psychology, you know that the crowning achievement comes when you can teach a rat to push a button to get a treat. People have asked me, “Brian, does your degree in psychology help you in your ministry?” The answer is “no”; that’s not how God works; that might be how religion often pretends it works, but a life of faith is vastly more than learning to “pushing God’s buttons the right way.” But my degree in rat training has taught me this: the phrase “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” is probably not true.
As far as I know, you can actually teach an old dog a new trick. Even better: people can learn new tricks at any stage of life, old or not. We are God’s people; created, valued, and loved. We are not seen by God as dogs. In fact, according to our Scripture lessons today, we are loved so much that God is teaching us new tricks all the time; even if we're old! We don't know how old Nicodemus was, but he certainly calls himself old; and looking at Abraham, God doesn't establish this covenant with him until he's seventy-five! So yes, it does seem that God may have a trick or two for us whatever our age.
I love alliteration—the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of words. Some well-organized pastors do it on purpose: I’ve seen sermons or even an entire sermon series put together like that. When I do it, it’s usually an accident that I don’t notice until later. That being said, I totally meant to have a “T” theme going lately: two weeks ago we heard about the Transfiguration of Jesus; last Sunday we heard about his Temptation; and this week the theme is Trust. Abraham's whole story—as he is called to leave his home and family to an unknown land—is really about trust. And I think that it’s trust that leads Nicodemus to seek out Jesus as he is called to be reborn.
And “trust” is really what those “new tricks” God has for us are all about. Because, if you are going to teach your old dog a new trick, your old dog better know you pretty well. Learning a new thing is all about the proper motivation (again, you can thank my work with rats for that little insight).
For example, I’ve taught my cat a new trick; she’s not an old dog, but she’s certainly an relatively-old cat. She has something of an eating disorder. She was not a kitten when we got her, so it might stem from early trauma. With some cats, you can just leave out food and they’ll eat when they’re hungry. If you did that with my cat, she would eat all of it and then come crying that afternoon because her dish is empty. So, we feed her a measured amount twice a day… and apparently the first thing I taught her was tell time, because she never lets me miss it. And when I put the food in her dish, she attacks it like she’s never eaten before. So, to keep from getting my hand bitten off, I’ve started doing this new thing: I will kneel down near her dish, holding her food in one hand and holding out my other hand off to the other side of my body. She has learned that, if she wants the food to be dropped into her dish, she needs to push her head into that hand (a little like pushing a button). My point is: if you can, with the proper motivation, teach an old cat a new trick, you can probably teach an old dog… and maybe even us.
When Abraham was seventy-five, God asked him to leave just about everything he knew behind: God told him to go to a new, and unknown place and begin a new life. For a person (of any age) whose identity was grounded in specific place, among a specific people, and with a well-worn way of life, this was a risky move. Think about the trust it must have taken to obey what God said to do. Even more than that, we talk about Abraham's faith, but what about Sarah? One day Abraham announces that God has called them to leave their country, their land, and their family, and she doesn't seem to say a word about it. If your spouse came home and announced that God had called you to just up and leave our life here, you’d probably look into having some “special medicine” prescribed, right? But again, what is important is Abraham’s motivation. I hate to say it to you faithful church-goers, but I don’t think it was his religion.
Like I said, I also have a dog. If you also have a dog, you’ve probably noticed that we’ve had a rather extended muddy-season this year… which has led to us having a somewhat strained relationship between me and my dog. I wish I had the behavioral psychology skills to teach her to wipe her feet when she comes in the house. Instead, after I notice the mess she’s making I'll start yelling, “Ah! Crate! Crate! Crate!” (It’s what we call the mudroom.) Her response is almost a religious response: she’ll look at me with her head and tail down, looking guilty, as she trots back to her proper space. She assumes she’s in trouble, but the truth is, sometimes she has no idea what will make me happy.
Now my guess is, she'll get less “religious” as she gets older. I think that, as she becomes an older dog, she'll learn something better: she’ll start getting to know me. She may never learn how or why she should wipe her feet, but she may learn that it's not okay to run around the house with dirty paws. You see, even better that teaching an old dog a new trick is letting an old dog get to know you; and in that knowledge, trust you even when it doesn't understand why.
Abraham goes when he’s sent; not because he’s crazy, not because of some religious duty, but because he’s heard his Master’s voice—because he has a relationship with God.
One of my favorite parts of the Lenten season is hearing about the practices and disciplines that people take on. No one here requires you to so it shows a person's honest desire to deepen their relationship with God. These practices and disciplines, among other things, are ways that God can help us to become these kinds of old dogs. These things deepen our relationship with God, and by that deepened trust, we find a deeper obedience.
In away, Nicodemus seems to have a similar “old dog” attitude Abraham had. He comes to Jesus under the cover of night with curiosity: Jesus has just violently shaken things up in the temple; he called people names and knocked them around; he made a mess of their fellowship hall. So even though Nicodemus doesn’t seem to want anyone to know about it, he’s also not quick to call Jesus a criminal. And why do you suppose that is? I think its because his “old dog” relationship with the Master put him in an awkward spot: on the one hand he hears something familiar in what Jesus is saying; but on the other hand, this guy is dangerous; this Jesus could get him into trouble.
But with obedience that almost defies logic, he goes to hear more from this dangerous teacher. And of course his obedience pays off. He obeys and finds an even deeper knowledge of the God who so loved him that he would send his own son. He obeys and finds a deeper relationship with a Creator who is not interested in condemnation, but salvation and relationship. And although Nicodemus seems to have a hard time getting his head around the metaphors, I think he learns from Jesus some things he may have already suspected. Because it seems that this “old dog” already knew how to trust in the Master.
I suppose what I appreciate most about these “old dogs’” stories, even more than that their obedience paid off in their own unique ways, is that it couldn’t have been easy for either of them. The “new tricks” of trust and obedience that they were learning, must have been difficult and confusing. But no more so than the “new tricks” of trust and obedience that we are called to learn throughout our lives. As we seek godly ways of dealing with illnesses, loss, broken relationships, disappointments, and global tragedy and unrest, we see that it’s not a simple thing to trust that God knows what God is doing and to simply obey.
And so we seek to trust like “old dogs.” I think Lent teaches us something about this trust. If we take on this journey—ending at the foot of the cross—then we seek to discover that God can be trusted; that the promises of God are always kept. Of course the empty tomb at the end of Lent’s journey is the last word, but I think it makes more sense when we first seek this other, more difficult Lenten journey.
So as we continue to travel through this season, let us, like Abraham and Nicodemus, listen to the ways that God is calling us to learn new tricks. Let us make this difficult journey and learn that our trust can only continue to grow, as we follow where our Savior leads us.
Tuesday, March 3, 2020
Testing in Progress
Matthew 4:1-11
First Sunday in Lent
My baby boy is turning six in a couple of weeks. He’s at that age where he loves to help… especially around the kitchen and especially if someone is making goodies. (There’s a story there that I’m not going to tell right now, but you can ask me privately.) Anyway, it reminds me of another story I heard once about a different boy who was turning seven. Like my kid, he was very interested in “helping” while his mother made cupcakes for his classroom.
He was interested, as she mixed and baked, but he seemed particularly interested when she was frosting the cupcakes. Knowing what goes through the mind of a soon-to-be seven-year-old boy, she reminded him that the cupcakes were for his class and he wasn’t supposed to touch them.
She needed to leave the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and when she returned, she saw her son staring intently at the cupcakes. He didn’t even seem to notice her come back into the kitchen so she just watched him for a while, but all he did was stare at those cupcakes. She asked him, “Do you need help remembering the right thing to do?”
And without turning his attention from the cupcakes, he said, “No. I need help doing it.”
Our theme today is obviously “temptation.” A word that can just as easily be translated as “testing.” And most of the tests that we receive in life are not complicated. In fact, most are true/false tests. Occasionally, we'll get a multiple-choice. But when you find yourself answering one of life’s tests in the form of an essay… there’s a good chance that you've already flunked it.
We are all tempted, we are all tested, so sermons about it seem almost pointless. We already know the right thing to do: obey God and don’t sin. The answer to temptation is obedience; end of sermon; amen; go in peace…
Except that knowing the right thing to do isn’t the end of the sermon, is it? Sometimes it’s more about doing what we know we should do; and sometimes don’t just hit us when we’re alone and staring at that proverbial plate of whatever is tempting you. Sometimes these tests, if you will, come at all of us together.
So how does one preach about an issue which won’t go away and whose point never changes? I thought about making this one of those “reminder sermons”: a sermon about a thing you already know about, but it’s good to be reminded of from time to time.
But then I thought: there is another angle here that we may not have thought about. What if we look at this story about the temptation of Christ from the perspective of the Body of Christ?
So first: in this very familiar story, after being baptized by John into the wilderness, Jesus goes out to be tempted… not something I’d recommend—why ask for trouble—but it’s what Jesus does.
The text tells us that Jesus was there for forty days… an important number in Scripture. In this case, I think the number forty is supposed to remind us of the forty years the Israelites were tested by God before they entered the Promised Land. It’s interesting: we are also reminded of their testing through that journey every time Jesus says, “it is written.” Because every time Jesus quotes Scripture here, it is from the same place: Deuteronomy. At every test, Jesus answers with a reminder of the Covenant. And at every one of his tests, the answers Jesus gives are not just answers given to individuals but answers to an entire faith community… like ours. And the answers that were learned through the testing of that community are the same answers for the testing of this community: trust in God… and in that trust obey.
So yeah, the answer to testing is still going to be obedience, but we’re also given a reason for that obedience: because God can be trusted. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We haven’t even talked about the test yet and here I am giving you the answers.
The first test Jesus is given is literally to the body of Christ: it comes after forty days of fasting… and guess what, he’s hungry. We should also not be surprised that the test he receives is about food. The tempter takes advantage of the most obvious source of weakness. The tempter uses Jesus’ obvious hunger to try to get him to turn stones into bread. Now this, like most temptations, doesn’t seem like such a bad thing until you look at it more closely… especially when you look at it as a lesson for us, the church.
What the tempter wants the Body of Christ to do is let circumstances dictate how the Body of Christ will use its resources. Now sure, there are times when the Body needs to be fed; but it's God, not the circumstances, that determines those times.
For example, if receiving new members were to be seen as one of the ways that the church is fed, then you might say our church is not exactly starving, but we’re certainly not overeating either. We receive new members from time to time, but not in great multitudes. So some might think we're hungry. And it’s probably good for us to be hungry; it’s good for us to want to grow. But here's the tricky question: how does God want us to be fed?
I know that sounds kind of strange, but how does God want us to grow? Are we trusting in what God wants for us, sharing the treasure of Christ's kingdom; or are our desires based on our circumstances? Perhaps we yearn for new members so that we can teach them how to tithe. But is that really why God wants people to be a part of this community of faith?
Jesus answers this temptation with the reminder that it is not simply by bread that the Body of Christ survives, but by the Word of God; which not only nourishes us but also inspires and guides us as well. If we let our circumstances determine when and how we are fed, then we are not trusting in God to meet our needs. And this test, as any test, is answered by trust and obedience.
The second test that the Body of Christ faces is much like the first, but from the other way around. Again, the tempter begins with the taunt, “if you are the Son of God.” But this time, rather than preying upon the Body’s circumstances, the tempter seeks to create a crisis. “Jump off this ledge,” he says. “God will take care of you.” And perhaps God would, but that's hardly the point, is it?
Sometimes the Body of Christ makes its own crises. Sure, we say and do things that hurt the members of Christ's Body all the time, but God would never let us actually break it, right? I honestly don't know. I like to hope that the work God has for us is more important to God than the damage we might do to it, but is that a risk we should take? Jesus says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” And the temptation here is to create a need for God to meet that wasn’t there before you created it. And this test, as with any test, is answered by obedience.
In the final temptation, we find the tempter has given up subtlety. He offers a deal: everything there is… for one low price. Not such a bad deal. I mean Jesus was going to be King of kings either way, right? With one small compromise Jesus can gain all this without all of the messiness of the cross… all right, it’s not such a small compromise. And maybe being the King of kings wasn’t the only reason Jesus came.
This test, like all the others that the Body of Christ faces, comes down to trusting God. Trusting that the plan God has for this Body, with all its messiness, is really what is best. In this test we are faced with a compromise that seems to get things done quickly and efficiently. But in that compromise, we not only forget that there is a purpose in the messiness, but we also turn our worship and service away from God.
When Jesus says, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only,” we are reminded that there can be no compromise. No matter what splendor we are shown, our calling is to worship and serve God alone. Which sounds simple enough, but this is a nasty little temptation. Because there’s a lot of splendor out there and we want it… presumably for God’s glory. We look out at a world more prosperous and efficient than the church and we think, “Why can’t that be us?” Sometimes we even look out at the success of other churches and wonder, “Why can’t that be us?”
Except that is idolatry. When we turn our attention away from the worship and service of God and set plans for ourselves that may not be from God, that is idolatry. When we are tempted to compromise who God has called us to be, we are tempted to worship things other than God. But this, like all temptations, can only be answered by obedience.
Friends, the tests that are put to the Body of Christ all try to draw our trust away from our trust in God. Rather than being distracted by our circumstances, let us obey the God that does meet our needs. Rather than creating needs where there are none, let us trust in God to guide our ministry. Rather than compromising who we are as the Body of Christ, let us trust in God’s plan for us. And, trusting in the God who meets our needs, let us respond to all temptations with the answer we knew when we started: let us answer with trust and obedience.
First Sunday in Lent
My baby boy is turning six in a couple of weeks. He’s at that age where he loves to help… especially around the kitchen and especially if someone is making goodies. (There’s a story there that I’m not going to tell right now, but you can ask me privately.) Anyway, it reminds me of another story I heard once about a different boy who was turning seven. Like my kid, he was very interested in “helping” while his mother made cupcakes for his classroom.
He was interested, as she mixed and baked, but he seemed particularly interested when she was frosting the cupcakes. Knowing what goes through the mind of a soon-to-be seven-year-old boy, she reminded him that the cupcakes were for his class and he wasn’t supposed to touch them.
She needed to leave the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and when she returned, she saw her son staring intently at the cupcakes. He didn’t even seem to notice her come back into the kitchen so she just watched him for a while, but all he did was stare at those cupcakes. She asked him, “Do you need help remembering the right thing to do?”
And without turning his attention from the cupcakes, he said, “No. I need help doing it.”
Our theme today is obviously “temptation.” A word that can just as easily be translated as “testing.” And most of the tests that we receive in life are not complicated. In fact, most are true/false tests. Occasionally, we'll get a multiple-choice. But when you find yourself answering one of life’s tests in the form of an essay… there’s a good chance that you've already flunked it.
We are all tempted, we are all tested, so sermons about it seem almost pointless. We already know the right thing to do: obey God and don’t sin. The answer to temptation is obedience; end of sermon; amen; go in peace…
Except that knowing the right thing to do isn’t the end of the sermon, is it? Sometimes it’s more about doing what we know we should do; and sometimes don’t just hit us when we’re alone and staring at that proverbial plate of whatever is tempting you. Sometimes these tests, if you will, come at all of us together.
So how does one preach about an issue which won’t go away and whose point never changes? I thought about making this one of those “reminder sermons”: a sermon about a thing you already know about, but it’s good to be reminded of from time to time.
But then I thought: there is another angle here that we may not have thought about. What if we look at this story about the temptation of Christ from the perspective of the Body of Christ?
So first: in this very familiar story, after being baptized by John into the wilderness, Jesus goes out to be tempted… not something I’d recommend—why ask for trouble—but it’s what Jesus does.
The text tells us that Jesus was there for forty days… an important number in Scripture. In this case, I think the number forty is supposed to remind us of the forty years the Israelites were tested by God before they entered the Promised Land. It’s interesting: we are also reminded of their testing through that journey every time Jesus says, “it is written.” Because every time Jesus quotes Scripture here, it is from the same place: Deuteronomy. At every test, Jesus answers with a reminder of the Covenant. And at every one of his tests, the answers Jesus gives are not just answers given to individuals but answers to an entire faith community… like ours. And the answers that were learned through the testing of that community are the same answers for the testing of this community: trust in God… and in that trust obey.
So yeah, the answer to testing is still going to be obedience, but we’re also given a reason for that obedience: because God can be trusted. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We haven’t even talked about the test yet and here I am giving you the answers.
The first test Jesus is given is literally to the body of Christ: it comes after forty days of fasting… and guess what, he’s hungry. We should also not be surprised that the test he receives is about food. The tempter takes advantage of the most obvious source of weakness. The tempter uses Jesus’ obvious hunger to try to get him to turn stones into bread. Now this, like most temptations, doesn’t seem like such a bad thing until you look at it more closely… especially when you look at it as a lesson for us, the church.
What the tempter wants the Body of Christ to do is let circumstances dictate how the Body of Christ will use its resources. Now sure, there are times when the Body needs to be fed; but it's God, not the circumstances, that determines those times.
For example, if receiving new members were to be seen as one of the ways that the church is fed, then you might say our church is not exactly starving, but we’re certainly not overeating either. We receive new members from time to time, but not in great multitudes. So some might think we're hungry. And it’s probably good for us to be hungry; it’s good for us to want to grow. But here's the tricky question: how does God want us to be fed?
I know that sounds kind of strange, but how does God want us to grow? Are we trusting in what God wants for us, sharing the treasure of Christ's kingdom; or are our desires based on our circumstances? Perhaps we yearn for new members so that we can teach them how to tithe. But is that really why God wants people to be a part of this community of faith?
Jesus answers this temptation with the reminder that it is not simply by bread that the Body of Christ survives, but by the Word of God; which not only nourishes us but also inspires and guides us as well. If we let our circumstances determine when and how we are fed, then we are not trusting in God to meet our needs. And this test, as any test, is answered by trust and obedience.
The second test that the Body of Christ faces is much like the first, but from the other way around. Again, the tempter begins with the taunt, “if you are the Son of God.” But this time, rather than preying upon the Body’s circumstances, the tempter seeks to create a crisis. “Jump off this ledge,” he says. “God will take care of you.” And perhaps God would, but that's hardly the point, is it?
Sometimes the Body of Christ makes its own crises. Sure, we say and do things that hurt the members of Christ's Body all the time, but God would never let us actually break it, right? I honestly don't know. I like to hope that the work God has for us is more important to God than the damage we might do to it, but is that a risk we should take? Jesus says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” And the temptation here is to create a need for God to meet that wasn’t there before you created it. And this test, as with any test, is answered by obedience.
In the final temptation, we find the tempter has given up subtlety. He offers a deal: everything there is… for one low price. Not such a bad deal. I mean Jesus was going to be King of kings either way, right? With one small compromise Jesus can gain all this without all of the messiness of the cross… all right, it’s not such a small compromise. And maybe being the King of kings wasn’t the only reason Jesus came.
This test, like all the others that the Body of Christ faces, comes down to trusting God. Trusting that the plan God has for this Body, with all its messiness, is really what is best. In this test we are faced with a compromise that seems to get things done quickly and efficiently. But in that compromise, we not only forget that there is a purpose in the messiness, but we also turn our worship and service away from God.
When Jesus says, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only,” we are reminded that there can be no compromise. No matter what splendor we are shown, our calling is to worship and serve God alone. Which sounds simple enough, but this is a nasty little temptation. Because there’s a lot of splendor out there and we want it… presumably for God’s glory. We look out at a world more prosperous and efficient than the church and we think, “Why can’t that be us?” Sometimes we even look out at the success of other churches and wonder, “Why can’t that be us?”
Except that is idolatry. When we turn our attention away from the worship and service of God and set plans for ourselves that may not be from God, that is idolatry. When we are tempted to compromise who God has called us to be, we are tempted to worship things other than God. But this, like all temptations, can only be answered by obedience.
Friends, the tests that are put to the Body of Christ all try to draw our trust away from our trust in God. Rather than being distracted by our circumstances, let us obey the God that does meet our needs. Rather than creating needs where there are none, let us trust in God to guide our ministry. Rather than compromising who we are as the Body of Christ, let us trust in God’s plan for us. And, trusting in the God who meets our needs, let us respond to all temptations with the answer we knew when we started: let us answer with trust and obedience.
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Super
2 Peter 1:12-18 & Matthew 17:1-9
Transfiguration of the Lord
We don’t usually notice it, but we are constantly being transformed into someone else. We start life with a certain genetic code and then start changing immediately. From a word our parents said to us as children, to the friendships we make, to what we eat and drink, to how we slept the night before; everything has subtly shaped us into the people we are this morning.
And yet, there are some things shape us more than others. There are those moments we can name; moments in our lives that we look back on, and know that we are no longer who we once were. We each have those moments in our lives (some good, some bad) when we see how we have been changed forever. Perhaps those around us don’t see it as well as we do–things others can’t perceive them just by looking at us—but we know that inside, we are not the same.
I’ve shared the story of my daughter’s birth before (if you haven’t heard the story, ask me about it, it’s a good one). Her birth was an event like that for me. I know that I am not the same because of it. I have a very different perspective on God's plan than I did before. If I seem sometimes unusually confident that God loves us and cares for us forever, it might have something to do with that event.
But my point is this: suppose you were on that mountain with Jesus—suppose you saw his radiance and the appearance of Moses and Elijah—do you think that be one of those moments for you? Do you suppose there is any way that you could walk back down that mountain the same person you were on the way up? Would that be a memory you carried with you everywhere you went?
I believe that God gives us those moments for that very reason. I believe that God gives us these life-changing moments, so that our lives will be transformed and that we will go out into the world sharing this transformation in what we do and say.
So, to answer my own question, “Would this experience of witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus change you as a person?” The answer is clearly, “yes.” We read this morning the words of that same Peter who was one of the three with Jesus that day. Many years later (now looking at the very-soon end of his ministry) we see that he is still looking back to that amazing day. Eugene Peterson, from the Bible translation The Message, says: “We weren't, you know, just wishing on a star when we laid the facts out before you regarding the powerful return of our Master, Jesus Christ. We were there for the preview!”
Of course this event changed Peter! Of course this was a day that he would look back on as a day that shaped who he would then become. The gospel writers tell us that the three disciples kept this event a secret until after the Resurrection, but you know they talked about it after that! Wouldn't you? I know you would! Some of us repeat the same stories to each other again and again. Part of it is probably age, but part of it is that they’re good stories. I know you’ve heard some of my better stories in sermons more than once, but none of them are anywhere near as interesting as the story of the transfiguration! Maybe that's why it comes up in the seasons of the church every year: to remind us, as Peter says, of things we already know; to remind us that this Jesus, that we worship and follow, was the very glory of God; that by his transfiguration we know that we are transformed as well.
I’m noticing that Hollywood has figured out that they can make money, hand over fist, with superhero movies. I don’t know your feelings on the genre, but clearly somebody is watching these films. For me, I’m not as interested in the explosions and the fighting as I am in the characters themselves. What would it be like to be one of these superheroes?
I’ve noticed that there are two major types of superheroes: those that put on a costume and those who take one off. Here’s what I mean: look at superheroes like Batman or Spiderman. Batman is really Bruce Wayne… he puts on a costume to become Batman. Spiderman is really Peter Parker… he puts on a costume to become Spiderman. But then you have heroes like Superman: Superman is Superman… he’s got to put on a costume to become Clark Kent. Wonder Woman is Wonder Woman… she’s got to put on her Diana Prince costume to blend in and hold down a job.
So what kind of superhero is Jesus? Is his glorious appearance on that mountain the superhero costume that Jesus put on for that moment, or was that Jesus taking off his alter ego and revealing who he truly was? Was the Jesus that the disciples walked with every other day the real Jesus or was that the costume that he wore to hide his true identity?
As I think about it, I’m not sure it’s either: I don't think the transfigured Jesus is Jesus in a superhero costume and neither do I think that the everyday Jesus was his mild-mannered alter-ego. In fact, what I think this shows us about Jesus, is a little mind blowing. Because I think that when Jesus was transfigured, we saw him for who he truly was. This was the glory of God, shining into the world in order to save us from ourselves. But unlike Superman, this was not his superhero costume! Jesus didn't do his work in spandex and a cape, his outfit... actually blended into a crowd pretty well. He dressed like everybody else. He lived where normal people lived. He did many of the things that normal people do. In many ways, he didn't look very much different than anyone else. And yet, it was in that outfit that he did the most for us.
I am struck this morning by the fact that although Jesus at the Transfiguration was Jesus at his most impressive (aside from the resurrection), this is not Jesus saving the world. This vision of Jesus was so impressive that Peter wants to move in—so impressive that Peter never forgets the vision, yet this is not the Jesus that does the most good. That Jesus—the Savior Jesus—frankly looked a lot like us.
Now why do you suppose that was? Why do you think Jesus' Superman costume... looks a lot like our costumes? Do you think that it might have something to do with the fact that Jesus calls people who look quite a bit like us, to carry on his work? Maybe this story of his transfiguration does more than just remind us that we have been changed too. Maybe it also reminds us that, as we get dressed in the morning, we're really putting on our superhero outfits before we go out and save the world.
Now, you may not be stronger than a locomotive or faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but you can do things that the people in this world need quite a bit more. You can bring that same healing and hope that Jesus brought to us. For we are no ordinary people: through Jesus our Savior we are transformed into the Body of Christ himself.
And so he now calls us to put on our superhero suits (which look surprisingly like our own clothes) and go out and be the transfigured people that we truly are.
Transfiguration of the Lord
We don’t usually notice it, but we are constantly being transformed into someone else. We start life with a certain genetic code and then start changing immediately. From a word our parents said to us as children, to the friendships we make, to what we eat and drink, to how we slept the night before; everything has subtly shaped us into the people we are this morning.
And yet, there are some things shape us more than others. There are those moments we can name; moments in our lives that we look back on, and know that we are no longer who we once were. We each have those moments in our lives (some good, some bad) when we see how we have been changed forever. Perhaps those around us don’t see it as well as we do–things others can’t perceive them just by looking at us—but we know that inside, we are not the same.
I’ve shared the story of my daughter’s birth before (if you haven’t heard the story, ask me about it, it’s a good one). Her birth was an event like that for me. I know that I am not the same because of it. I have a very different perspective on God's plan than I did before. If I seem sometimes unusually confident that God loves us and cares for us forever, it might have something to do with that event.
But my point is this: suppose you were on that mountain with Jesus—suppose you saw his radiance and the appearance of Moses and Elijah—do you think that be one of those moments for you? Do you suppose there is any way that you could walk back down that mountain the same person you were on the way up? Would that be a memory you carried with you everywhere you went?
I believe that God gives us those moments for that very reason. I believe that God gives us these life-changing moments, so that our lives will be transformed and that we will go out into the world sharing this transformation in what we do and say.
So, to answer my own question, “Would this experience of witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus change you as a person?” The answer is clearly, “yes.” We read this morning the words of that same Peter who was one of the three with Jesus that day. Many years later (now looking at the very-soon end of his ministry) we see that he is still looking back to that amazing day. Eugene Peterson, from the Bible translation The Message, says: “We weren't, you know, just wishing on a star when we laid the facts out before you regarding the powerful return of our Master, Jesus Christ. We were there for the preview!”
Of course this event changed Peter! Of course this was a day that he would look back on as a day that shaped who he would then become. The gospel writers tell us that the three disciples kept this event a secret until after the Resurrection, but you know they talked about it after that! Wouldn't you? I know you would! Some of us repeat the same stories to each other again and again. Part of it is probably age, but part of it is that they’re good stories. I know you’ve heard some of my better stories in sermons more than once, but none of them are anywhere near as interesting as the story of the transfiguration! Maybe that's why it comes up in the seasons of the church every year: to remind us, as Peter says, of things we already know; to remind us that this Jesus, that we worship and follow, was the very glory of God; that by his transfiguration we know that we are transformed as well.
I’m noticing that Hollywood has figured out that they can make money, hand over fist, with superhero movies. I don’t know your feelings on the genre, but clearly somebody is watching these films. For me, I’m not as interested in the explosions and the fighting as I am in the characters themselves. What would it be like to be one of these superheroes?
I’ve noticed that there are two major types of superheroes: those that put on a costume and those who take one off. Here’s what I mean: look at superheroes like Batman or Spiderman. Batman is really Bruce Wayne… he puts on a costume to become Batman. Spiderman is really Peter Parker… he puts on a costume to become Spiderman. But then you have heroes like Superman: Superman is Superman… he’s got to put on a costume to become Clark Kent. Wonder Woman is Wonder Woman… she’s got to put on her Diana Prince costume to blend in and hold down a job.
So what kind of superhero is Jesus? Is his glorious appearance on that mountain the superhero costume that Jesus put on for that moment, or was that Jesus taking off his alter ego and revealing who he truly was? Was the Jesus that the disciples walked with every other day the real Jesus or was that the costume that he wore to hide his true identity?
As I think about it, I’m not sure it’s either: I don't think the transfigured Jesus is Jesus in a superhero costume and neither do I think that the everyday Jesus was his mild-mannered alter-ego. In fact, what I think this shows us about Jesus, is a little mind blowing. Because I think that when Jesus was transfigured, we saw him for who he truly was. This was the glory of God, shining into the world in order to save us from ourselves. But unlike Superman, this was not his superhero costume! Jesus didn't do his work in spandex and a cape, his outfit... actually blended into a crowd pretty well. He dressed like everybody else. He lived where normal people lived. He did many of the things that normal people do. In many ways, he didn't look very much different than anyone else. And yet, it was in that outfit that he did the most for us.
I am struck this morning by the fact that although Jesus at the Transfiguration was Jesus at his most impressive (aside from the resurrection), this is not Jesus saving the world. This vision of Jesus was so impressive that Peter wants to move in—so impressive that Peter never forgets the vision, yet this is not the Jesus that does the most good. That Jesus—the Savior Jesus—frankly looked a lot like us.
Now why do you suppose that was? Why do you think Jesus' Superman costume... looks a lot like our costumes? Do you think that it might have something to do with the fact that Jesus calls people who look quite a bit like us, to carry on his work? Maybe this story of his transfiguration does more than just remind us that we have been changed too. Maybe it also reminds us that, as we get dressed in the morning, we're really putting on our superhero outfits before we go out and save the world.
Now, you may not be stronger than a locomotive or faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but you can do things that the people in this world need quite a bit more. You can bring that same healing and hope that Jesus brought to us. For we are no ordinary people: through Jesus our Savior we are transformed into the Body of Christ himself.
And so he now calls us to put on our superhero suits (which look surprisingly like our own clothes) and go out and be the transfigured people that we truly are.
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
You Belong
1 Corinthians 3:1-9
6th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sometimes, when I preach from one of the letters of Paul, I have the urge to qualify it first. As in our lesson today, I feel I need to remind everyone that Paul was writing to a specific group of people (that aren’t you), in a specific place (that isn’t here), about specific issues (that you may or may not be dealing with). In other words, today’s lesson isn’t necessarily about you. The letters of Paul can feel scolding sometimes, so remember: it may not be about you. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the reason he is writing this letter to the Corinthians is not something I think he would say to you.
The problem that the church in Corinth was dealing with was their divisiveness. From our text today, it seems that they had divided themselves up amongst various Christian teachers, Paul being one of them. That problem is not really a thing you are struggling with right now: not only are you not fighting over Christian theology, you seem to get along pretty well. In fact that may be one of this church’s best attributes: we genuinely like each other and this is an environment where we can have different opinions and ideas and still be welcomed; that’s not something all churches can claim.
But just because you are not fighting with each other doesn’t mean there isn’t a Word from God here for us. So no, you don’t get a complete pass this morning; neither do you need to start quarrelling in order to receive this Truth.
Today Paul also tells the church in Corinth something that every disciple of Christ in every church needs to remember. Paul’s answer to their arguments over who it was they followed, was to tell them that they were missing the point. Namely, that it’s not so much about whose teachings you follow or even about being right; it’s about remembering to whom you belong. And you belong to God: in Jesus, you have been bought and paid for; it is the Spirit of God who causes you to grow; and it is that same Spirit that calls you to continue God’s kingdom-work in this world. But before you go, remember that you belong to God.
I don’t believe that, when Paul was writing his letters, that he thought of it as “writing the Bible.” To Paul, I’m sure this was just a letter; he wasn’t thinking, “Hey, this stuff’s pretty good. Someone should save it as Scripture and pass it along from generation to generation.”
But at the same time, Paul’s writings are not “just letters;” this is no casual text you send off to your friend to ask her if she wants to go for lunch. No, as I said before, there were serious issues going on if Paul sent you a letter. Having been through a few, I can tell you that church conflict is no small matter. Paul cared about these people and he cared about the continuation of the gospel that he had personally proclaimed there. I’m sure he thought deeply about how to address these issues; I’m sure he chose his words very carefully; and I’m sure he sought the Spirit of God to guide him as he set out to write these letters. And of course it’s that same Spirit that makes books like First Corinthians so much more than just a letter. In these letters we also find a Word of God that is eternal.
Now I mentioned before that I don’t think we are a conflicted congregation like the Corinthian church was. But at the same time, there is a strange comfort in knowing that, when churches do become divided, it’s nothing new. Even in the earliest of churches, they were already arguing and dividing themselves up. Personally, I think the early church had more-interesting reasons for fighting than we do; I mean you don’t read about them arguing over things like worship music style, or new carpet color, or who gets to use the vacuum cleaner (I have actually seen all of those split churches). But there is a comfort in knowing that church leaders like Paul have always been battling the spirit of division that afflicts so many churches still today.
We still divide ourselves over so many things: we divide ourselves over theology and church government into separate denominations; even within our community, we divide ourselves into smaller congregations by worship styles, age, probably even politics, and so much more. If we’re not careful, any number of things can still divide us.
I appreciate how Paul seems to say that this kind of unity is not something we reach overnight: he says this kind of quarrelling is a sign of spiritual immaturity. And what is “immaturity,” if we’re doing it right, except a series of steps toward “maturity?” It is a journey; we will get caught up in other peoples’ factions; and hopefully we will repent and—by God’s help—we will continue to grow. But spiritual maturity is not an accident; it’s a thing we work towards on purpose. There’s a reason why, in the Pastoral Prayer I pray every week, that I include a prayer for the larger Church, not just our church: The Church, both in this room, throughout this community, and throughout the world. I pray this mostly as a reminder to myself. I want to remember that I am not divided even from the other followers of Christ, both here and throughout the world.
I was introduced to another pastor named Brian by a mutual friend a while back. Unfortunately, because of that same spirit of divisiveness, the church he was at decided they no “longer required his services.” So, instead of uprooting his family in search of another calling, he decided to stay here and start something new. It’s not exactly a church, but it’s not exactly not a church. He’s seeking to do the work of Jesus. So do you know what I do? I pray for him. He’s not competition, he’s a fellow-worker in the fields of Jesus. I see how many people are lost in our community and I pray he plants.
So we strive to be unified, not only with each other, but also the followers of Jesus everywhere. If nothing else, this passage reminds us not only how we struggle to for unity, but why. This is a good reminder, but there is also a Truth to remember here that is even more important than the unity: it reminds us of who we are. We belong to Christ. Above all else, we belong to God through our Savior.
In verses six and seven, Paul reminds us that people and ideas don’t cause us to grow, God does that. Paul says, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.” Now, we don’t know a lot about this Apollos—spoken well of in the Book of Acts and it perhaps a convert of Paul—but it seems that his message was just different enough from Paul’s that it caused some debate.
And so Paul’s answer to this argument is to remind them that they belong to God first. Because belonging to God is even more important than being right. Because belonging to God is why we live and why we have eternal life. Belonging to God defines who we are as servants. Belonging to God defines what we are called to do and be in this world as we seek to grow in our maturity and serve our Savior ever-more faithfully.
And so let us strive to remember that we do not belong to ideas or teachers or denominations or even churches; but we belong to God. And by the Spirit of our Risen Savior, may we continue to grow in him; even as he uses us to share his Truth throughout our lives.
6th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sometimes, when I preach from one of the letters of Paul, I have the urge to qualify it first. As in our lesson today, I feel I need to remind everyone that Paul was writing to a specific group of people (that aren’t you), in a specific place (that isn’t here), about specific issues (that you may or may not be dealing with). In other words, today’s lesson isn’t necessarily about you. The letters of Paul can feel scolding sometimes, so remember: it may not be about you. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the reason he is writing this letter to the Corinthians is not something I think he would say to you.
The problem that the church in Corinth was dealing with was their divisiveness. From our text today, it seems that they had divided themselves up amongst various Christian teachers, Paul being one of them. That problem is not really a thing you are struggling with right now: not only are you not fighting over Christian theology, you seem to get along pretty well. In fact that may be one of this church’s best attributes: we genuinely like each other and this is an environment where we can have different opinions and ideas and still be welcomed; that’s not something all churches can claim.
But just because you are not fighting with each other doesn’t mean there isn’t a Word from God here for us. So no, you don’t get a complete pass this morning; neither do you need to start quarrelling in order to receive this Truth.
Today Paul also tells the church in Corinth something that every disciple of Christ in every church needs to remember. Paul’s answer to their arguments over who it was they followed, was to tell them that they were missing the point. Namely, that it’s not so much about whose teachings you follow or even about being right; it’s about remembering to whom you belong. And you belong to God: in Jesus, you have been bought and paid for; it is the Spirit of God who causes you to grow; and it is that same Spirit that calls you to continue God’s kingdom-work in this world. But before you go, remember that you belong to God.
I don’t believe that, when Paul was writing his letters, that he thought of it as “writing the Bible.” To Paul, I’m sure this was just a letter; he wasn’t thinking, “Hey, this stuff’s pretty good. Someone should save it as Scripture and pass it along from generation to generation.”
But at the same time, Paul’s writings are not “just letters;” this is no casual text you send off to your friend to ask her if she wants to go for lunch. No, as I said before, there were serious issues going on if Paul sent you a letter. Having been through a few, I can tell you that church conflict is no small matter. Paul cared about these people and he cared about the continuation of the gospel that he had personally proclaimed there. I’m sure he thought deeply about how to address these issues; I’m sure he chose his words very carefully; and I’m sure he sought the Spirit of God to guide him as he set out to write these letters. And of course it’s that same Spirit that makes books like First Corinthians so much more than just a letter. In these letters we also find a Word of God that is eternal.
Now I mentioned before that I don’t think we are a conflicted congregation like the Corinthian church was. But at the same time, there is a strange comfort in knowing that, when churches do become divided, it’s nothing new. Even in the earliest of churches, they were already arguing and dividing themselves up. Personally, I think the early church had more-interesting reasons for fighting than we do; I mean you don’t read about them arguing over things like worship music style, or new carpet color, or who gets to use the vacuum cleaner (I have actually seen all of those split churches). But there is a comfort in knowing that church leaders like Paul have always been battling the spirit of division that afflicts so many churches still today.
We still divide ourselves over so many things: we divide ourselves over theology and church government into separate denominations; even within our community, we divide ourselves into smaller congregations by worship styles, age, probably even politics, and so much more. If we’re not careful, any number of things can still divide us.
I appreciate how Paul seems to say that this kind of unity is not something we reach overnight: he says this kind of quarrelling is a sign of spiritual immaturity. And what is “immaturity,” if we’re doing it right, except a series of steps toward “maturity?” It is a journey; we will get caught up in other peoples’ factions; and hopefully we will repent and—by God’s help—we will continue to grow. But spiritual maturity is not an accident; it’s a thing we work towards on purpose. There’s a reason why, in the Pastoral Prayer I pray every week, that I include a prayer for the larger Church, not just our church: The Church, both in this room, throughout this community, and throughout the world. I pray this mostly as a reminder to myself. I want to remember that I am not divided even from the other followers of Christ, both here and throughout the world.
I was introduced to another pastor named Brian by a mutual friend a while back. Unfortunately, because of that same spirit of divisiveness, the church he was at decided they no “longer required his services.” So, instead of uprooting his family in search of another calling, he decided to stay here and start something new. It’s not exactly a church, but it’s not exactly not a church. He’s seeking to do the work of Jesus. So do you know what I do? I pray for him. He’s not competition, he’s a fellow-worker in the fields of Jesus. I see how many people are lost in our community and I pray he plants.
So we strive to be unified, not only with each other, but also the followers of Jesus everywhere. If nothing else, this passage reminds us not only how we struggle to for unity, but why. This is a good reminder, but there is also a Truth to remember here that is even more important than the unity: it reminds us of who we are. We belong to Christ. Above all else, we belong to God through our Savior.
In verses six and seven, Paul reminds us that people and ideas don’t cause us to grow, God does that. Paul says, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.” Now, we don’t know a lot about this Apollos—spoken well of in the Book of Acts and it perhaps a convert of Paul—but it seems that his message was just different enough from Paul’s that it caused some debate.
And so Paul’s answer to this argument is to remind them that they belong to God first. Because belonging to God is even more important than being right. Because belonging to God is why we live and why we have eternal life. Belonging to God defines who we are as servants. Belonging to God defines what we are called to do and be in this world as we seek to grow in our maturity and serve our Savior ever-more faithfully.
And so let us strive to remember that we do not belong to ideas or teachers or denominations or even churches; but we belong to God. And by the Spirit of our Risen Savior, may we continue to grow in him; even as he uses us to share his Truth throughout our lives.
Lightly Salty
Matthew 5:13-20
5th Sunday in Ordinary Time
In my preparation for this morning, I read a commentary that took the first part of our Scripture lesson to mean that we are to strive to be the salt of the earth; that we are to strive to be, in our daily living, the light of the world; and that’s how I’ve always tended to read this passage. But when I read it in this commentary this week, it occurred to me: that’s not what the text actually says. I know it’s a small distinction, but Jesus doesn’t tell us to try to do anything here; he says you are the salt of the earth; he says you are the light of the world.
Now clearly, when Jesus calls us salt and light, it’s a parable. And like any parable, it can have a variety of meanings: for example, both salt and light are both valuable to other human beings and even essential for keeping us alive. But similarly, like any parable, there are limits to how many meanings you can take from this metaphor as well: for example, even though too much salt and too much light will also kill you, I don’t think that was what Jesus was getting at.
No, it seems the most obvious meaning is that we’re to draw from this parable is that you are important to God; you were made for a purpose. And unlike actual salt and light, you have a choice: you can choose not to be the people you were created to be. You can deny your saltiness, if you want to; you can hide away your light. But why would you want to? That’s not who you are. You are salt and you are light; so go and be the salty lamps you were made to be. Okay, it sounds weird when you put it like that, but I think you get the point: Jesus isn’t calling us to be anyone other than who we were created to be. You are made to show the goodness of God, so let us learn to be ourselves.
Our lesson today is an excerpt from the Sermon on the Mount. In fact, it’s rather early-on in the sermon: Jesus has only just finished the Beatitudes; he has merely set the tone of the sermon by turning common-sense on its head. He began by telling his disciples and this great crowd of people that – in the kingdom of heaven – those that they would regard as “cursed” are actually “blessed” by God. “Blessed are the poor in spirit;” “Blessed are those who mourn;” “Blessed are the meek;” “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” You get the point: those who are lowly in this “kingdom” are the blessed ones in God’s. And it seems that the opposite might be true as well.
Jesus often goes after the religious leaders of his day so we almost don’t notice it when he takes a shot at them in our lesson today. “For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven;” that line would have caught the attention of crowd… especially the scribes and Pharisees in the crowd.
The scribes and Pharisees, of course, get a bad reputation in the Gospels; and they probably deserve it. But I also feel I need to defend them sometimes: because they meant well. You see, at this point in Israel’s history, they people of God have been occupied and dominated and oppressed ever since the Babylonians conquered them. For generation upon generation they have been a subjugated and conquered people; and in Jesus’ day, it was more of the same under the Romans. It’s not hard to imagine how this might begin to affect you as a people once called “Chosen” by God.
In Jesus’ day, there were three general responses to this national crisis. First, here was the pragmatic approach: simply cooperate with the Romans; go along and make the best of it; and who knows, maybe your cooperation will get you a profit while you’re at it. This was the response of people like the temple priests and those they called the Herodians.
A second response was kind-of the opposite of that: to rebel; to fight the powers that be, even though you know they are a lot more powerful than you. And who knows, maybe God will finally notice your struggle and crush your enemies like in the good-old-days. They called these kinds of people “zealots” (and, by the way, Jesus had one or two as his followers). And although there were a lot of different kinds of zealots, they all wanted the same thing and they wanted to fight for it.
And then there were people like the scribes and the Pharisees: their response to the Roman occupation was a kind of spiritual “circling of the wagons.” They saw the sin of conspiring with the Romans, but they also saw the futility of fighting against them. And so they walled themselves off spiritually and followed the letter of the law. And in so doing, they sought to keep the sin of the world at bay while – at the same time – keeping their own identity as God’s people.
So you can see that these were tough times for the Israelites. There was no perfect response to their current situation, but at least they meant well. In fact, it kind of reminds me of what it’s like to be a Christian in America these days: but I suppose it’s not always easy to be the people of God in any day; leading us to the question that the followers of Christ have always asked; “How do we live both in this ‘kingdom’ and God’s at the same time?” Do we compromise; do we try to relate the gospel to the world by trying to be like the world? Do we revolt; do we – in a sense – go to war with the world; finding our identity in opposition to the world around us? Or do we, like the scribes and Pharisees, seek a holier path? Do we mind our own business, focus our attention on being holier than the world around us, and then wait for Christ to come back and rescue us?
I admit that, even though I know that last one is the wrong answer, I find it appealing. I know the next part of this sermon so I already know they’re wrong, but I respect what the scribes and Pharisees were trying to do: while waiting for God to do something about the sin of the world, they sought live as righteously as they could. What they didn’t realize, though, is that God was already doing something about the sin of the world.
Now of course, when we talk about possible responses the Roman oppression and the sin of the world, you can probably guess that Jesus will take a totally different approach: Jesus will not compromise the righteousness of God like the Herodians do; God’s law is God’s and there is no compromising God’s law. And not only will he not fight against the powers that be – like the zealots do – he calls his followers to love their enemies and pray for them. And unlike the scribes and Pharisees – whose righteousness is about isolating themselves and waiting for God to arrive – Jesus shows us that God is already here; that righteousness isn’t about waiting it out, but it’s about living in the kingdom of God right here, right now.
In other words, simply living right is not enough. It’s not enough that we be upright, moral, and righteous people. It’s not enough that we hold up here with other pious people, preserving our Christian heritage. That’s the righteousness of scribes and Pharisees and it’s a righteousness that our Savior calls us to exceed. Their righteousness is not what Christ calls us to do and it’s not what we’ve been created to be. Theirs is a so-called righteousness that loses its saltiness; theirs is a righteousness that hides itself under a basket. The righteousness that our Savior taught – the righteousness of the kingdom of heaven – is one that lives out the law as it was meant to be lived out: in the world, making the world a better place, and living like God’s kingdom has come and we are living in it.
Jesus calls us the salt of the earth and the light of the world; and as I’ve said, there are a lot of ways we might interpret this parable. But for today I would offer just this observation: one thing we often overlook when we talk about salt and light is that, not only are these things essential for our survival, they also make life better. I mean, how great is salt! We put it on everything for a reason. And light! Have you ever considered how much better life is because there’s light? Sure, you’d have a hard time getting around without it, but light is so pleasant. Just ask my pets as they’re fighting for the last sunny spot by the window every afternoon; light is great.
God hasn’t simply put us in this world to bring life to it as salt and light do; God has made us to make the world better like salt and light do. One thing we often overlook is that salt and light are also quite pleasant. So let us live out the true righteousness of God; living today in the very kingdom of heaven that our Savior proclaimed; and let us remember that when we do, we are being the people that we are created to be.
5th Sunday in Ordinary Time
In my preparation for this morning, I read a commentary that took the first part of our Scripture lesson to mean that we are to strive to be the salt of the earth; that we are to strive to be, in our daily living, the light of the world; and that’s how I’ve always tended to read this passage. But when I read it in this commentary this week, it occurred to me: that’s not what the text actually says. I know it’s a small distinction, but Jesus doesn’t tell us to try to do anything here; he says you are the salt of the earth; he says you are the light of the world.
Now clearly, when Jesus calls us salt and light, it’s a parable. And like any parable, it can have a variety of meanings: for example, both salt and light are both valuable to other human beings and even essential for keeping us alive. But similarly, like any parable, there are limits to how many meanings you can take from this metaphor as well: for example, even though too much salt and too much light will also kill you, I don’t think that was what Jesus was getting at.
No, it seems the most obvious meaning is that we’re to draw from this parable is that you are important to God; you were made for a purpose. And unlike actual salt and light, you have a choice: you can choose not to be the people you were created to be. You can deny your saltiness, if you want to; you can hide away your light. But why would you want to? That’s not who you are. You are salt and you are light; so go and be the salty lamps you were made to be. Okay, it sounds weird when you put it like that, but I think you get the point: Jesus isn’t calling us to be anyone other than who we were created to be. You are made to show the goodness of God, so let us learn to be ourselves.
Our lesson today is an excerpt from the Sermon on the Mount. In fact, it’s rather early-on in the sermon: Jesus has only just finished the Beatitudes; he has merely set the tone of the sermon by turning common-sense on its head. He began by telling his disciples and this great crowd of people that – in the kingdom of heaven – those that they would regard as “cursed” are actually “blessed” by God. “Blessed are the poor in spirit;” “Blessed are those who mourn;” “Blessed are the meek;” “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” You get the point: those who are lowly in this “kingdom” are the blessed ones in God’s. And it seems that the opposite might be true as well.
Jesus often goes after the religious leaders of his day so we almost don’t notice it when he takes a shot at them in our lesson today. “For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven;” that line would have caught the attention of crowd… especially the scribes and Pharisees in the crowd.
The scribes and Pharisees, of course, get a bad reputation in the Gospels; and they probably deserve it. But I also feel I need to defend them sometimes: because they meant well. You see, at this point in Israel’s history, they people of God have been occupied and dominated and oppressed ever since the Babylonians conquered them. For generation upon generation they have been a subjugated and conquered people; and in Jesus’ day, it was more of the same under the Romans. It’s not hard to imagine how this might begin to affect you as a people once called “Chosen” by God.
In Jesus’ day, there were three general responses to this national crisis. First, here was the pragmatic approach: simply cooperate with the Romans; go along and make the best of it; and who knows, maybe your cooperation will get you a profit while you’re at it. This was the response of people like the temple priests and those they called the Herodians.
A second response was kind-of the opposite of that: to rebel; to fight the powers that be, even though you know they are a lot more powerful than you. And who knows, maybe God will finally notice your struggle and crush your enemies like in the good-old-days. They called these kinds of people “zealots” (and, by the way, Jesus had one or two as his followers). And although there were a lot of different kinds of zealots, they all wanted the same thing and they wanted to fight for it.
And then there were people like the scribes and the Pharisees: their response to the Roman occupation was a kind of spiritual “circling of the wagons.” They saw the sin of conspiring with the Romans, but they also saw the futility of fighting against them. And so they walled themselves off spiritually and followed the letter of the law. And in so doing, they sought to keep the sin of the world at bay while – at the same time – keeping their own identity as God’s people.
So you can see that these were tough times for the Israelites. There was no perfect response to their current situation, but at least they meant well. In fact, it kind of reminds me of what it’s like to be a Christian in America these days: but I suppose it’s not always easy to be the people of God in any day; leading us to the question that the followers of Christ have always asked; “How do we live both in this ‘kingdom’ and God’s at the same time?” Do we compromise; do we try to relate the gospel to the world by trying to be like the world? Do we revolt; do we – in a sense – go to war with the world; finding our identity in opposition to the world around us? Or do we, like the scribes and Pharisees, seek a holier path? Do we mind our own business, focus our attention on being holier than the world around us, and then wait for Christ to come back and rescue us?
I admit that, even though I know that last one is the wrong answer, I find it appealing. I know the next part of this sermon so I already know they’re wrong, but I respect what the scribes and Pharisees were trying to do: while waiting for God to do something about the sin of the world, they sought live as righteously as they could. What they didn’t realize, though, is that God was already doing something about the sin of the world.
Now of course, when we talk about possible responses the Roman oppression and the sin of the world, you can probably guess that Jesus will take a totally different approach: Jesus will not compromise the righteousness of God like the Herodians do; God’s law is God’s and there is no compromising God’s law. And not only will he not fight against the powers that be – like the zealots do – he calls his followers to love their enemies and pray for them. And unlike the scribes and Pharisees – whose righteousness is about isolating themselves and waiting for God to arrive – Jesus shows us that God is already here; that righteousness isn’t about waiting it out, but it’s about living in the kingdom of God right here, right now.
In other words, simply living right is not enough. It’s not enough that we be upright, moral, and righteous people. It’s not enough that we hold up here with other pious people, preserving our Christian heritage. That’s the righteousness of scribes and Pharisees and it’s a righteousness that our Savior calls us to exceed. Their righteousness is not what Christ calls us to do and it’s not what we’ve been created to be. Theirs is a so-called righteousness that loses its saltiness; theirs is a righteousness that hides itself under a basket. The righteousness that our Savior taught – the righteousness of the kingdom of heaven – is one that lives out the law as it was meant to be lived out: in the world, making the world a better place, and living like God’s kingdom has come and we are living in it.
Jesus calls us the salt of the earth and the light of the world; and as I’ve said, there are a lot of ways we might interpret this parable. But for today I would offer just this observation: one thing we often overlook when we talk about salt and light is that, not only are these things essential for our survival, they also make life better. I mean, how great is salt! We put it on everything for a reason. And light! Have you ever considered how much better life is because there’s light? Sure, you’d have a hard time getting around without it, but light is so pleasant. Just ask my pets as they’re fighting for the last sunny spot by the window every afternoon; light is great.
God hasn’t simply put us in this world to bring life to it as salt and light do; God has made us to make the world better like salt and light do. One thing we often overlook is that salt and light are also quite pleasant. So let us live out the true righteousness of God; living today in the very kingdom of heaven that our Savior proclaimed; and let us remember that when we do, we are being the people that we are created to be.
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