The Sweetness of Doing Right

Four Treasures of Adventism

A lecture series for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Lecture Three: The Sweetness of Doing Right

Sabbath morning sermon, April 6, 2013

Text: Matthew 7:24-27

For forty-two years my life has been better because of Bill Shelly. When we first met, I weighed thirty pounds more than I do now. I carried a deep sense of inadequacy. I was a freshman at Southern Adventist University. Awkward. Nerdy. Uncool. Bill was also a freshman. But he was smooth, charismatic, cool. Women flocked around him. I was completely out of his league socially. But for some reason he decided I was going to be his friend. He actively drew me into his world. Hanging out with Bill meant I got to meet all sorts of cool people, big names on campus. I was flattered beyond words. Bill had a magic power to make ordinary people sparkle.

Our friendship deepened through college and seminary. His confidence in me prompted me to attempt things I would have never tried on my own. His friendship made me a larger, richer, better person. He changed my life.

Bill was a wonderful model of the transforming power of Jesus. He did not search for people worthy of his love. Bill loved people into a greatness they did not know they possessed.

If you've tracked with me so far, the term “unconditional love” might come to mind. But with Bill that got a little tricky. Bill was loyal and forgiving, yes. But if by unconditional love you imagine someone who makes no demands, well didn't quite fit the picture. Bill always had ideas about how you could improve your life.

A few months into our friendship Bill invited me to the track to go running. I laughed and said, “No way.” I hated running. Running bases in baseball or going out for a pass, that was fun, but to run hundreds of yards merely for the sake of running? That was masochism.

But Bill cajoled, teased, insisted until I joined him on the track. We did a very slow jog together. Four laps. A mile. Then I collapsed on the bleachers while he ran another mile. I remember sitting there thinking, that's incredible. I have a friend who can run two whole miles. That's almost superhuman.

Most afternoons, Bill dragged me out to the track for my one mile and his two miles. Then he decided we should try running the hills behind the university. This was sheer lunacy. Run uphill????? A long ways up hill????

I protested. Bill insisted. We started running hills. And somewhere, some afternoon on a downslope run on White Oak Mountain I experienced the secret. I was floating down the hill in sheer euphoria. I had become a runner. Over the next few years Bill I ran together on the dunes of Lake Michigan and in the hills of east Tennessee. We ran through the golden foothills of the Sierras and the mountains of southern France. Bill died twenty-five years ago. His death created a wound that is never entirely healed. But his gift of running has been a continual source of healing and happiness. When I am struggling with depression, the unfailing cure is get out of the house and run.

I mean no disrespect, but if I had to choose between the two gifts Bill gave me—affirmation and affection or the kick in the pants that got me started running—I don't know which I would rank most highly.

I used to imagine that my friendship with Bill was unique. But I've told this story in other places and several times, afterward, someone has come up to me and told their own Bill story. They were Bill's best friend. Bill used to take them running. He would run ten miles at dawn then jog a slow mile with them later in the morning. Bill added sparkle to their lives with his laughing and generous affection. Bill enriched their lives by turning them into runners.

The ministry of Jesus was a lot like Bill's. Jesus overflowed with rich affection, compassion, generosity. He couldn't let people leave a campmeeting hungry because he was afraid they might faint on the way home. He fed them. He couldn't allow a woman accurately accused of adultery to experience the customary punishment. People filled with demons screamed insults at Jesus. He paid no attention to their words. Instead he read the hidden hunger of their hearts and set them free. He publicized the astonishing richness hidden in a poor woman's two penny offering.

Like Bill, Jesus overflowed with affection and the power to see a beauty in people they did not see in themselves. This part of the Jesus story is appropriately celebrated by Christians. It is highlighted in the official mission statement of the Green Lake Church.

Our mission statement speaks of “providing ‘safe territory’ for all people.” It mentions “openness,” which “creates a healing environment where people worship, study, play, and celebrate each person’s individuality and unique expression of Divine grace.” These words capture Bill's laughing affection. If we do this well, we will be a blessing in the world. We will be carry forward a vital element of the ministry of Jesus.

However, there is a glaring omission in our mission statement. We say nothing about our obligation to one another to encourage change and growth. Jesus and Bill loved people just the way they were. They were extravagant in their affirmation and affection. But, they could not help themselves, they also pushed people to get off their couches. Jesus and Bill loved people too much not to prod them to live closer to their potential.

This is also our mission as a church.

Jesus began his “Sermon on the Mount” with the rich assurance, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Blessed are the spiritually destitute, the people who are religiously, morally, psychologically, ethically bankrupt. God's plans, God's dreams still include them. God cannot complete his manuscript of the symphony of the ages without writing their part in it.

The first beatitude is the most radical, daring statement of the graciousness of God in all of Scripture. Then without the least apology or hesitation, Jesus goes on to summon his audience to join him in a wildly audacious holiness.

Jesus assumes the validity and force of the ten commandments. That's getting chubby Johnny out of the dorm to stagger four times around the quarter mile track before collapsing on the bleachers. But when Jesus looks you, he sees the ten commandments is way below your potential. He wants you to run White Oak Mountain.

“You have heard,” Jesus said, “'Don't murder.' That's way too meager. I call you to live above anger.”

“You have heard, 'Don't commit adultery.' Stay out of the wrong bed. Is that your idea of intimacy? Come on, you can do better than that!”

“You have been told, 'Don't renege on contracts you've signed.' I challenge you to be so honest, so transparent and straightforward, that a contract is superfluous except as an aid to memory.”

Most of the ten commandments are stated as limits on our dysfunctional impulses. Jesus calls us to a vastly more exalted ethic: “Don't just resist the urge to kill, harm and steal. Love your enemies. The enemies you sleep with. The enemies you go to church with. The enemies you compete with at work. The enemies you go to school with. Love them. Seek to do them good. Pray for them.”

An essential part of the mission of the church is to prod us in the pursuit of holiness, to encourage us to run the mountains of compassion, generosity, peacemaking, world-mending. As a congregation, we welcome everyone. But we offer more than solace, consolation, acceptance. We begin there, yes. We want to extend a rich welcome to all. Then, having welcomed one another, having offered a warm embrace, we then attempt to fire dreams of holiness, visions of growth and change, ambitions to heal the world. We offer one another an occasional kick in the seat of the pants. We offer frequent affirmations of the value of pursing exalted ideals.

Especially for our younger members.

If you have been blessed by education, a strong mind, creative abilities, physical strength or attractiveness, musical abilities, the privilege of music lessons—we join Jesus in calling you to use those gifts to charm the world. To ease suffering, to increase happiness, to enlarge opportunities for people who have lived for generations in places that withered dreams.

It is not enough to graduate and join the work force, buy a house, drive a nice car or ride a three thousand dollar bicycle. That's way too small.

If you have experienced professional or academic success, we want to congratulate you. You have worked hard. That is commendable. Having blessed your success, we go on to ask, in what ways has your elevation brought beauty and healing to the world? Are you running the mountains and sand dunes of holiness or are you still on the couch watching TV?

Let's be clear, Jesus' summons to run the mountains of holiness is an invitation to joy, even to ecstasy and euphoria. Often when we first encounter the call to holiness it has all the attractiveness of Bill's initial invitation to go running on the track. It appears to be a summons to masochism, to drudgery and perpetual discomfort. If we allow Jesus to pull us off our couches and into the sustained, energetic pursuit of holiness we will eventually find ourselves caught up in the runner's high.

The summons to holy living is an invitation to joy. Doing right does not impoverish life. It enriches it.

Almolonga is famous. Not that I had ever heard of the place until last week, when it was featured in a report on NPR. But as my daughter occasionally points out, the fact that I am unaware of something likely says more about me than the particular cultural phenomenon under discussion. Almolonga is famous, at least among economists and anthropologists. It's been the subject of Ph. D. dissertations and scholarly articles.

According to the story on KUOW, Almolonga used to be your average, poor village in the Guatemala highlands. Now, it is famous for its middle class prosperity. Forty years ago, the town had four jails and they were usually full. Now the city has no jail at all. What happened?

One answer is, they changed their religion. Historically, the religion of Almolonga, like the rest of Guatemala, was Roman Catholicism tinctured strongly by folk religion rooted in the Mayan past. This traditional religion was completely integrated into the life of the community. The civic and religious calendars were the same. The annual cycle of festivities involved the entire community. The religion had centuries-deep roots. It offered an institutional way for people to pursue some measure of comfort and reassurance. It provided no effective challenge to any of the dysfunction that was endemic in the culture. A critic might argue that the religion had been reduced almost entirely to Marx's description: an opiate.

The new religion is radically different. It is Latin American charismatic Christianity. This religion makes radical demands. In the old religion, alcohol was an indispensable element of recurrent festivals. Alcoholism was rampant with all its usual accompaniments—domestic violence, dysfunctional commerce, poverty. The new religion fiercely opposed the use of alcohol. The new religion regulated dancing and entertainment. It demanded that people attend church every week, both on Sundays and during the week. Church members were expected to contribute money regularly and generously. These expectations were not just preached from the pulpit, they were reinforced by deliberately-cultivated social pressure.

Even to a casual observer, the contrast between the old religion and the new religion was stark. Quite apart from any specifically theological differences, the old religion appeared to be richest in its offer of consolation and reassurance. Through its liturgical year, it offered a sense of divine participation in the cycles of life. Against the backdrop of a hardscrabble life, it offered the promise of heaven. The new religion, by contrast, exhibited a restless, impatient drive for change, growth and improvement. In addition to ordinary religious content, the sermons of the charismatic preachers instructed the people to dream big, to work hard, to save their money, to spend strategically. God wanted his people to prosper. And an indispensable element of prosperity was hard work.

By the 1990s, most of the village population had joined one of these new churches. Alcoholism disappeared. Family incomes began rising. Farmers began exporting their produce to El Salvador and Mexico. The town became something of a distribution hub for produce. Some families began importing avocados and then distributing them regionally. Economists studying the town repeatedly invoked Max Weber's words about the “Protestant work ethic.” The jails closed.

Many of the Protestants see the present-day prosperity as a miracle, God's confirming blessing on their move from the realm of spiritual darkness into the truth. In the NPR piece, the local Catholic priest objected to this “miracle” interpretation. The prosperity, he said, was the result of hard work and fertile soil.

(A transcript of the radio program can be found here: http://www.prx.org/pieces/92206/transcripts/208030)

Of course, the priest was right about hard work. Good religion works miracles by fostering hard work. The “miraculous” impact of the Charismatic churches on the life of Almolonga has come as a natural consequence of deliberately creating a church community that prods people toward wise, energetic action. These churches do more than console people in hard times. These churches exhort their members to work to make things different.

When people live in a community that celebrates disciplined living, they are more likely to live disciplined lives. And discipline—ordering one's life according to wisdom and goals—is indispensable for living an optimal life.

God wants his children to live well.

The book of Deuteronomy is a series of sermons Moses preached at the end of his life. Near the beginning of the first sermon, Moses says:

"And now, Israel, listen carefully to these decrees and regulations that I am about to teach you. Obey them so that you may live, so you may enter and occupy the land that the LORD, the God of your ancestors, is giving you. Deuteronomy 4:1

If you obey all the decrees and commands I am giving you today, all will be well with you and your children. I am giving you these instructions so you will enjoy a long life in the land the LORD your God is giving you for all time." Deuteronomy 4:40

God gave Israel laws, rules, commandments—use whatever term works best for you—to foster their well-being. God wanted them to succeed. Near the end of the last sermon, Moses says,

If you listen to these commands of the LORD your God that I am giving you today, and if you carefully obey them, the LORD will make you the head and not the tail, and you will always be on top and never at the bottom. Deuteronomy 28:13.

Interestingly, researchers looking at the religious life of Almolonga noted that this is perhaps the Bible text most frequently referenced by the Charismatic Christians. They live in communities where there is a high expectation. This passage expresses profound wisdom. It is a bedrock foundation of healthy religion. God wishes you well. A central purpose of church—the household of God, as Paul calls it—is to foster human well-being. And absolutely crucial for well-being is good habits, self-control, intentional living. Life according to wise rules.

Good religion, authentic Christianity, makes an observable, measurable difference in people's lives. One way it does this is by urging people to adopt good behaviors, smart behaviors. Not to avoid damnation, but because holy living promotes happy lives.

Almolonga is a good example of the kind of effect we should expect from the religion of Jesus. If our religion is not enriching lives, we ought to reexamine it. Something's wrong.

Historically the Adventist Church has emphasized the importance of right behavior. Unfortunately, this emphasis got linked with our fear of damnation. But even with that dysfunctional connection, the emphasis on right behavior has paid rich dividends for many of us. Adventists who follow church rules live longer, healthier lives. Families that keep Sabbath together experienced a sweeter, richer home life. Kids who pick up our antipathy to drugged living are less likely to practice binge drinking in college. Kids who grow up in the church pick up our expectation that they will pursue higher education.

Young people who develop a routine of daily devotional practice are more likely to do well academically. Families that practice tithing set themselves up for the rational management of their money and thus are more likely to avoid the tyranny of debt. Good behavior pays off. Here and now. In this world. It is the key to the sweetest life. So, as a church, we welcome everyone. We honor differences and individuality. And we goad each other, from wherever we are in our lives, to take the next step in the pursuit of holiness. Laughing at our failures and our inconsistencies, being gentle with one another no matter how effective or ineffective our efforts at goodness.

We pursue holiness together because we want the best for one another. Sometimes it pays off in ways we can see and touch.

A few summers ago, I ran the Pacific Crest Trail from Norse Peak to Chinook Pass under a blue sky and puffy clouds. The trail follows the ridge line. For several hours I loped along surrounded by grandeur, euphoric with the rich physicality of the running itself. Mt. Rainier glowed in the sun off to my right. The unspoiled expanse of the William O Douglas Wilderness spread out to the east. It was like flying. It was a gift from Bill. A gift that flowed from his friendship—yes. Just as importantly it was a gift that flowed from his refusal to accept my pudgy, lethargic self as my best self. I luxuriated in hours of running trail through a glorious northwest summer day because of the discipline Bill inspired.

Holiness is not a pursuit of heaven off in the future. Heaven is a gift you cannot earn. Holiness is the best life, the wisest life, ultimately the sweetest life now. It takes effort, of course, like making music, mastering a profession, pursuing a career, making a discovery or going for a run. The effort of holiness, the work of doing good, is never wasted and sometimes leads us directly into bliss here and now. In the long run, the practice of holiness will turn out to be the smartest, best preparation for luxuriating in eternal bliss.