Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists for April 1, 2017
Texts: Deuteronomy 15:7-11, Luke 18:18-22
Synopsis:
Thursday, I listened
to a speech by an old lawyer to a group of lawyers. He began by
reminding them of their core values--law and justice—and then told
stories of times when brave lawyers had used the law to provide
justice for the vulnerable and disadvantaged. I was reminded of our
core values—Law and Love. The very best stories in Christian
history feature brave people who have used the Bible (divine law) in
support of love. The Fernando and Anna Stahl, Adventist missionaries
who stood on the Bible to fight for justice for the miserably
oppressed Indians in the Andes. Martin Luther King, Jr. who cited the
Old Testament prophets in fighting against the oppression of his
people and American brutality in Vietnam. The Quakers who listened to
the inner voice of God and cited the words of the Bible in their
struggle to secure better treatment for the insane and liberty for
slaves. It is never enough to be only “people of the Book.” We
must also be people of God—whose most noteworthy attribute is love.
The highest form of obedience to the commandments is mercy.
Sermon:
Thursday morning I
was in a room with a thousand lawyers. The annual breakfast of the
King County Bar Foundation to raise money in support of pro bono
work. The speaker was Morris Dees. One of the co-founders of the
Southern Poverty Law Center in Montgomery, Alabama. One of his great
accomplishments was bankrupting the KKK.
He began his by
reminding his audience of their core values—law and justice. He
remembered standing in the school yard as a kid in the rural south.
Every day he stood there with his hand over his heart and pledged,
I pledge allegiance
to the flag of the United States of America,
One nation,
indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
(Dees is old enough
that his schools pre-date the addition of the phrase “under God.”)
Liberty and justice
for all. Dees says that his teacher, even then, even in that place,
the rural south where segregation was beyond question, his teacher
quietly insisted that “colored folks” to use the polite language
of that time and place, the “colored folks” did not enjoy liberty
and justice. And that wasn't right.
She did what she
could. She could not change the system. She could not single-handedly
change the culture. But she could speak the truth. She could plant
the seed of truth in her students.
Dees says he went to
law school just to escape working on the farm. Somewhere along the
way he became deeply infected with a vision of justice. Justice for
all. That vision has shaped the rest of his life. He has been a
master of using the law as a weapon for fighting injustice. He is a
master craftsman using the tool of law to fashion a more just world.
One of his greatest accomplishments was bankrupting the KKK. In
another landmark case he made it possible for Vietnamese immigrant to
fish in peace off the coast of Texas.
Sitting there
listening to Mr. Dees talk I was reminded of our twin commitments as
Seventh-day Adventists. We have long prided ourselves on being people
of the Book. We are Bible people. We teach our children to memorize
Bible passages. We pride ourselves on reading through the entire
Bible. Our most prominent distinctive trait—Sabbath keeping—flows
directly from a fierce loyalty to the literal, concrete words of the
Bible. The Bible says “the Sabbath is the seventh day,” and that
Jesus rose on the first day. So, we start at Easter Sunday and count,
one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—Saturday. That's the
seventh day so it must be Sabbath. It is simple, straighforward
application of the words of the Bible to actual life.
We are people of the
Book.
But there is another
pillar in our life. That is a bedrock conviction that God is love.
For 1800 years
Christians took the words of Paul very literally. Paul wrote that God
arbitrarily loved Jacob and hated his older brother, Esau. The
theological label for this is predestination. For 1800 years most
Christians believed in predestination, that is, that God picked some
people to be saved and other people to be lost. This was especially
prominent among the Protestants—people like Martin Luther and John
Calvin who insisted that theology must be based on the Bible and the
Bible only. There are a number of passages in the Bible that talk
about God's sovereignty. God does what God wants—even going so far
as to arbitrarily decide, even before they are born, that some people
are going to be saved and some are going to be damned.
Adventists looked at
that and said, “That's not right. That cannot be right. How could a
loving God create people for the very purpose of torturing them in
hell? No way.” Recognizing the profound contradiction between this
doctrine and our conviction that God is love, we searched out other
Bible passages that support a different interpretation. Instead of
using the Bible to support the immoral doctrine of predestination, we
used the Bible to support the moral doctrine of freedom and choice.
It was the same with
the doctrine of eternal hell fire. For 1800 years most Christians
believed that people who did not go to heaven would be tortured alive
in the fires of hell for ever and ever and ever. Preachers would cite
Bible verses in support of this horrible idea. They still do.
Adventists said, “No
way. A loving God could not do that.” No amount of explaining could
ever bring us to agree with a just and loving God could practice
eternal torture. And we found Bible verses to support our conviction.
Law is a necessary,
good thing. Bible texts are necessary and good things. But none of
that can overturn the dictates of love. Instead, we read the Bible
through the lens of love. When we confront injustice that seems to be
supported by the Bible, we look for other texts, counter principles
in the Book. When we read through the lens of love, the Bible becomes
a priceless tool in our effort to cooperate with God in the cause of
mercy and humanity.
In Luke 10, a
theologian asks Jesus, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal
life?”
“That's easy,”
Jesus answered. “What does the law say?”
“Love the LORD
your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and
all your mind.’ And, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
Right, Jesus said.
“Do that and you will live.”
But it can't be that
simple, can it? In my mind, I can hear the theologian protesting, But
what about circumcision and Sabbath-keeping and sacrifices and
avoiding adultery and not stealing? What about the sabbatical and
jubilee years? I could imagine a theologian in that time and place
asking those kinds of questions. But he doesn't. Instead, he asks the
kind of question I would ask. “Who is my neighbor?”
I know the Bible
tells me to love, to love God and to love my neighbor. And I
understand loving God. But this neighbor thing. Who is my neighbor?
How far are you going to push?
This is where the
parallel between civic law and the Bible shows up.
If you search the
Old Testament looking for an answer to this question you can easily
find support for two very different answers to this question.
There are many
passages that warn about the dangers of foreigners and outsiders and
even Jewish people with wrong ideas. A couple of weeks ago we read
here in this church, the passage in Deuteronomy 13 that says if you
hear anyone suggest participation in false worship, it is your solemn
obligation to out them and then to join the entire community in
stoning them to death. You must do this even if the person in error
is your spouse or your child or your best friend. The point of this
command was to keep Israel pure, to prevent any contamination from
outsiders. If we take this passage as definitive, our neighbors are
only those who share with us in pure, true theology. Everyone else is
an enemy.
On the other hand,
we have passages like our Old Testament reading today. “You will
always have poor people among you. So always be generous.”
The people of Israel
were directed to set up six cities as special court cities. These
courts were to provide ready access to judicial protection to any
one—Jews and non-Jews, foreigners who had settled in the land and
foreigners just passing through. Everyone was to have equal access to
justice. (See Numbers 35).
So who is my
neighbor? Whom am I obligated to love? Jewish people with pure lives
and proper theology? Or all the people in the land—including poor
people and foreigners? Which is it?
Jesus answered the
theologian with a famous story.
A Jewish man was
traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. Somewhere along the road,
thieves jump the man, rob him, beat him, and leave him for dead. Two
Jewish people pass, both clergy. They do not render aid. They do not
stop.
Then a Samaritan
stops.
For his Jewish
audience, this is a surprise. Samaritans are a despised people.
The Samaritan
dresses the victim's wounds, loads him onto his donkey, and carries
him to Jericho where he cares for him through the night and pays for
his ongoing care at the inn.
When the theologian
asked who is my neighbor, he was acknowledging the weight of the
commandment. The divine law obliges us to love our neighbors as
ourselves. True religion obliges us to devote ourselves to God in
worship and to devote ourselves to our neighbors in service. But how
far are we supposed to take that? It is a reasonable question.
On one of my desert
trips, my car developed a heating problem when I was fifty miles from
the nearest pavement. I could go only four or five miles before it
would overheat. I had plenty of water with me. I would drive until
the engine got hot, then stop and wait for it to cool off, then go
again.
In the hours it took
to reach the pavement, seven or eight cars passed me. Every car
stopped. “You okay?” I laughed and explained. “You sure you
have enough water?” they would always ask. “Yes. I'll be okay. I
just have to take it slow.”
Now let's imagine
this same problem developed on a busy highway. How many cars would
stop? How many cars would pass? If we see a car stopped, we know we
can't stop for every stop car or we would never get any where.
We cannot save
everybody. So the theologian's question is reasonable. Who is my
neighbor? Whom am I obliged to love?
It is a reasonable
question, but it is not spiritually transformative.
The transforming
question is: whom can I help? What can I do to help? Can I be a
neighbor?
This applies to
church. Who is worthy to be part of our church? It is a reasonable
question. But it is not transformative.
A better question is
how far can we go in extending the welcome of God? Whom can we serve,
given our vision of love and our loyalty to the book. Are we going to
use the book as a tool to exclude unworthy people or will we use the
book to stretch ourselves, to be more radical as partners of God.
When the Fugitive
Slave Act was passed in 1850, the early Adventists faced the reality
that sometimes law can be used to further injustice. The fugitive
slave act required people in the north, both local law enforcement
officials and ordinary citizens to assist in the apprehension of
slaves who escaped from bondage in the South. The Bible supported
slavery. The official law of the land defended slavery. But the
principle of love said otherwise. What would Adventists do? I'm
pleased to say Adventists publicly declared their intention to defy
the law. They aided the slaves in their escapes. They refused to
cooperate with the law and law enforcement officials in the practice
of injustice.
May God give us
courage and wisdom to continue to push forward in our twin devotions
to the book and to God, to the law and to love. Let's pledge
ourselves to cooperate with God in his radical generosity. Let's use
law and the Bible as instruments of righteousness and never as
weapons against the vulnerable and disadvantaged.
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