Kindness of Barbarians

Kindness of Barbarians

Sermon Manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, October 4, 2014

Texts: Joshua 6:16-23

Matthew 1:1-6a

And Joshua saved Rahab the harlot alive, and her father's household, and all that she had; and she dwelleth in Israel even unto this day; because she hid the messengers, which Joshua sent to spy out Jericho. Joshua 6:25

By faith the harlot Rahab perished not with them that believed not, when she had received the spies with peace. Hebrews 11:31

Likewise also was not Rahab the harlot justified by works, when she had received the messengers, and had sent them out another way? James 2:25

About three thousand years ago, a woman named Rahab ran a hotel/brothel in the city of Jericho. Jericho is perched in the hills on the west side of the Jordan River. And the town was buzzing with rumors about a wild bunch of people called the Hebrews who were moving north on the east side of the river. The Hebrews had been slaves in Egypt, the world super power of the time. Some forty years ago, their God had rescued them from Egypt through a series of astounding miracles. Now these Hebrews were not far away on the other side of the Jordan River.

So far, no one had been able to resist them. Not the super power, Egypt, or the smaller desert kingdoms.

Jericho was ready. Their army was on full alert. They had impregnable walls. Still, given the success of the Hebrews and the rumors about their terrible power, the whole city of Jericho was on edge.

So one evening when a couple of strangers showed up at Rahab's establishment, it didn't take Rahab long to figure out they must be Hebrews. Others suspected the same and the authorities were notified. Rahab knew the police were coming and she managed to get the men away from the other guests without creating a scene and sneaked them into hiding up on her roof just before the police showed up.

“Yes, the men were here,” she told the police. “They left just a little while ago headed back out of town. If you hurry you will probably catch them.”

The police believed her and took off after the fugitives.

Later that evening when things had calmed down, Rahab went back up on the roof to talk to her visitors.

“I know the LORD has given you this land,” she told them. “We are all afraid of you. Everyone in the land is living in terror. For we have heard how the LORD made a dry path for you through the Red Sea when you left Egypt. And we know what you did to Sihon and Og, the two Amorite kings east of the Jordan River, whose people you completely destroyed. No wonder our hearts have melted in fear! No one has the courage to fight after hearing such things. For the LORD your God is the supreme God of the heavens above and the earth below. “Now swear to me by the LORD that you will be kind to me and my family since I have helped you. Give me some guarantee that when Jericho is conquered, you will let me live, along with my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all their families.”

“We offer our own lives as a guarantee for your safety,” the men agreed. “If you don’t betray us, we will keep our promise and be kind to you when the LORD gives us the land.” Joshua 2

The Hebrews crossed the Jordan River. They marched around Jericho every day for a week. Then on the seventh day, the walls miraculously fell down. Joshua, the Hebrew leader, had given very strict instructions: slaughter everybody. Destroy everything. Except for Rahab and Rahab's house. And everybody in Rahab's house.

Curiously, later Bible writers ignore the genocide. They do not remind us of what the Hebrew army did to the people and animals of Jericho. The prophets do invite us to remember the fierceness of God's wrath toward Jericho or the savagery of the Hebrew army. The prophets draw no lessons from the stories of slaughter in the books of Joshua and Judges. The stories remain. They are part of the history of the people of God. It is a dark history, a caution against pride. Our religion came from a people who at one time made genocide part of their religion. We are not proud of that, but it is the truth. So the stories remain in the Bible, but the prophets of the Old Testament and Jesus and the apostles in the New Testament find no inspiration in them, no wisdom.

Except for the part about Rahab—her story is a source of bright, exalted theology.

She was a barbarian, a Philistine, a pagan, a prostitute. She has become of the richest examples of the work of the Messiah!

And there's more.

Rahab is introduced at the beginning of the story as a prostitute. According to Jewish law, that made her worthy of being stoned to death. Identifying Rahab as a prostitute makes a strong point: Rahab comes into the story with an ignominious reputation. No glory. No honor. Shameful.

Then she saved the spies. A single act of heroic kindness. After that prostitution is never mentioned. Instead, she is accorded the highest honor a Jewish woman could think of: She is identified as one of the “mothers” of the Messiah. The Messiah, the hope of Israel, the Son of God, will come from her descendants.

Rahab begins the story as twice condemned—Canaanite and prostitute. Her kindness creates a new identity. She now has full citizenship among the people of God and the exalted status of mother of the Son of God.

And there's more.

Rahab was a woman, obviously. In classic Jewish legal thought a woman's legal standing flowed from her father or husband. Rahab has no father and no husband in this story. She is a single woman, running her own business.

Because of her one act of heroic kindness, she is given the status of head of household. Joshua does not spare Rahab merely as an individual. Everyone who comes under her roof is granted protection as a member of her family. She becomes perhaps the most exquisite model of the work of Christ in all of Scripture. King David is viewed as a model of the royal identity of the Messiah. The high priest is viewed as the model of the priestly function of the Messiah.

Rahab is the model of the role of the Messiah as the head of the church. Just as she created a refuge, a sanctuary, a safe place in a dangerous and doomed city, so Jesus calls his church to be a refuge, a sanctuary, a safe place in a dangerous and doomed world. Rahab's kindness saved not only the spies, it saved her family and friends and neighbors and continues to save people through the inspiration her kindness gives.

Rahab becomes a model of the heart of God.

What is the purpose of God's house? To be a beacon of hope. Here, we practice being kind, confident that the better we learn the lessons of kindness, the better we will understand God.

The story of Rahab cautions against becoming so enamored with our religious or national identity that we are blind to the obligations of kindness.

This weekend, there is a group of men meeting in Fresno, California, with the specific intent to oppose the ordination of women to serve in church leadership. They are sincere, of course. But they have failed to learn the lesson of Rahab.

They would have opposed honoring Rahab for her work in saving the spies. They would have opposed treating her as the head of household, capable of providing sanctuary for all who came under her roof. They have fallen for the most seductive temptation in religion—the notion that defending particular religious traditions is more important than showing kindness. They are attempting to use all the power of their religion to protect the privilege they enjoy.

It is a tragic failure of moral vision.

On the other hand, there are health professionals from Loma Linda University working to save people from the Ebola virus in Africa. Their kindness is the very highest testimony to the God we worship.

The highest truth is not the particular details of theology in our particular religion. Those details, those distinctive beliefs have value. I happily preach them and teach them. They find their highest validity when they fuel our kindness, our radical commitment to human well-being. When our religion fuels kindness for strangers, when kindness is the inevitable, natural outgrowth of our religion, then we can have high confidence in the validity of our religion.

Kindness is God's highest value. Don't believe those who imagine that God is more concerned with his glory or authority than he is with the blessedness of his children—all his children.

Let's practice kindness and remind ourselves that the more thoroughly kindness pervades our outlook, the closer we are to knowing the heart of God.

Born again

Sermon manuscript (final) for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Communion Sabbath, September 27, 2014

Texts: Psalm 87 and Luke 3:23-38

There was a bear cub up a tree near Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park, and it was crying. It cried for hours, bawling, calling its mother. Mom did not show up. It's crying broke the heart of park rangers, but they have a strict hands-off policy. There was nothing they could do but observe.

Eventually the cub climbed down from the tree and began foraging for food.

This was not good. Bear cubs are very cute. People like to rescue bear cubs. Unfortunately, adult male bears are immune to the cuteness factor. Old males tend to see cute little cubs as dinner. And Katmai National Park is crawling with bears, including grumpy, hungry old males.

This particular cub was in a bad fix. His mother had been vigorously pursued by an amorous male. Eventually, she sent her cub up a tree and took off with the male bear. And never came back. The cub was doomed. With no mom, he was likely to be eaten by a male bear. Or if that didn't happen, he would starve to death come winter.

Then something miraculous happened. A mama bear named Holly took the orphan under her wing. Holly had a nine-month old cub of her own. She added the orphan cub to her family. When rangers first saw the orphan with Holly and her cub, they thought maybe she was just tolerating it. Then they saw Holly nursing both cubs. Since then they've observed Holly protect the cubs from old male bears. They've seen the two cubs sharing a fish together. The erstwhile orphan is an orphan no longer. He has been born again. He is now Holly's cub.

One of the richest treasures of Christian theology is this truth: we can be born again.

Our first birth gives us many treasures: a family name, a genetic inheritance, nationality, ethnicity. Birth determines or influences every aspect of our lives—whether we are tall or short, skinny or fat, smart or not so smart, rich or poor, musical or can't carry a tune, color blind or sensitive to colors.

When we are born again, none of this changes. We have the same family of origin, the same cousins, the same BMI. We can still sing . . . or not. We are still American or Canadian or Eritrean or Brazilian. We are still Scot or Alaskan or Southerner. We still take pride in our ethnic or national heritage. We will still open presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day depending on how it was done in the home we grew up in.

These elements of our identity that flow from our birth are treasures. Being born again does not erase them. Being born again does put them in their proper place. All of these identities become subordinate to our supreme identity as children of God.

Because we have been born again we recognize all of the rest of God's children as our brothers and sisters.

Republicans and Democrats have differing views on how to rank values in shaping legislation. And even when they agree on underlying values, they will frequently differ on the best approach to embodying those values in civic life. But as Christian Democrats and Christian Republicans, we see our political opponents as brothers and sisters. They are part of our family. We are part of their family. We see one another as dearly-loved children of God.

Similarly, when we have theological disputes, those who have been born again see the people with “wrong” views as dearly loved children of God. The status my opponents enjoy as children of God imposes on me the obligation to show them respect. To listen carefully to their arguments.

One of the fascinating aspects of the bear cub story is the interaction between the two cubs. According to rangers, the aggressive behavior of old male bears begins very early. Male cubs fight. They don't share. But in Holly's household they do. Holly's natural-born cub and the orphan have been observed sharing fish together. The generosity of Mama Bear has created a new kind of bear culture.

In the same way, as born again Christians, people adopted into the family of of God, we are called to mimic God in forming a new kind of human community, a community where people show to one another the same grace we have received from God.

Have you ever felt bereft? Have you been excluded, shunned? Parents are not perfect. Some dads are like old male bears. They are dangerous for their children. Some moms are like the delinquent mother bear in this story. They abandon their children or worse. It's not common, but it happens. Sometimes our parents fail us. Sometimes we who are parents fail.

When these things happen, when biological parents fail us, Christianity offers another path to the security of belonging to safe, secure family: We are born again. This new, secure identity is one of richest gifts of the ministry of Jesus.

God is like Holly, the mama bear, prowling Katmai National Park looking for orphan cubs to adopt, orphans to feed and protect and teach. God is looking for us. Holly looks dangerous. She is fully equipped with the massive claws and teeth that make brown bears such formidable carnivores. For a little orphan cub Holly's formidable teeth and claws and bulk are marks of her capacity to allow an orphan cub to be born again, to be a happy, secure member of a new family.

Years ago, my wife got a call from our daughter who was in eighth grade at the time. “Mom, there's a dog here that's been abandoned. She is sitting under a bush out by the street. She watches every car that goes by on the street or comes into the school drive. She pays no attention to any of the people. She just watches the cars. I think she's looking for the car that dumped her. She's been here all day.”

When Karin came to pick Shelley up after school, the dog was still there. Still intently watching every car. Karin was reluctant, but Shelley persuaded her they had to rescue the dog. They got the dog into the car and brought it home. She was well-mannered, but clearly not happy. They put up posters. They advertised on Craig's List. No response. No one claimed the dog.

So Gypsy lived with us.

It appeared to us the dog had been in a pretty rough environment. If I picked up the broom, the dog would run hide in the farthest corner she could find.

My purpose in picking up the broom was to sweep the floor.

But Gypsy, back in those early days when she had first arrived at our house, if she saw me pick up the broom, she would cower in the farthest corner she could find. The terror evoked by the broom diminished over time, but for years the mere sight of the broom would make her nervous.

Which means she experienced a lot of nervousness. Because at our house, with all the traffic—animal and human—in and out, our kitchen floor constantly needs sweeping. Every morning, the very first thing I do, before I sit down at the table before I eat anything, before I go outside, the first thing I do is sweep the floor, to make a welcome environment. I have no hostile intentions. Still, for years in the morning Gypsy would need to find a hiding place while I swept, lest I attack her with the broom.

But not any more. The other day I was sweeping the floor. Gypsy was lying in the middle of the floor. I swept closer and closer. She didn't move. Didn't lift her head. Barely opened one eye. I swept between her legs. She closed her eye. I swept along her back. She didn't stir.

The transformation was complete. She was at home. She knew the broom master. She had no fear.

Sometimes being born again is a magic moment of ecstatic transformation. In a moment our view of God and the world is radically renewed.

For most of us, however, being born again is like Gypsy's transformation. We live with God for a long time and through the years of living with God we come to a deep-seated confidence that the being in charge of sweeping the dirt out of the universe has only kindly intentions toward us. We are at home. We are beloved. We are no longer orphans. It takes a life time to become fully-assimilated members of the household of God. At home with God and with God's family. This is what it means to be born again.

In the New Testament we read that Jesus gave himself to humanity. And through Jesus, God, the Almighty, the King of Heaven, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, was present and giving as well.

Jesus dramatically epitomized this divine presence and kindly regard at the Last Supper with his disciples. He gave them bread and said, “This is my body.” He gave them wine, outflow from crushed grapes, and said, “This is my blood.” When we eat and drink, we are remembering the self-giving of Jesus, the self-giving of God. We are taking in the life of God and are pledging to pass it on.

Sharing Communion together is an affirmation that all of us are no longer orphans. We are at home in the household of God. We have been born again.

Joy to the World

Joy to the World

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

For Sabbath, September 12, 2014

Texts: Psalm 150, Mark 1:1-12

Thursday morning I wheeled my bicycle out of my office. Before heading outside I stuck my head in the door of the day care room across the hall. I waved to my favorite little guy in the room. (He's my favorite because he knows my name and always waves.) One of the staff people, Kate, came over to say good morning. She was holding a little girl, Ava. Ava is new to day care and she was crying. Kate explained that saying good bye in the morning was sometimes difficult. Little people wanted to stay with mom.

What do you do when you see a little girl crying? You do what you can to cheer her up. I took my helmet off, so I would be less scary. She turned her head to watch this funny old man. She was still sniffling, but at least I hadn't made things worse. Since she was looking my direction, I explained I was going to ride off on my bicycle. Kate carried her out into the hall to show her my bike. I asked Ava if she wanted to ride in the panier on the back of my bike. She shook her head, but I could see she was slowly coming away from the pain of saying goodbye to mom. Kate asked if Ava had a bike at home. She nodded her head. I asked if she had a green bike? She shook her head no. A blue bike? No. A pink bike? She almost smiled. And slowly nodded her head yes.

It was the beginning of joy. A small beginning. Mom was still absent. But there were other facts deserving of her attention. Like pink bicycles and funny old men and a nice woman named Kate who would hold you and let you cry when you needed to.

The sniffles stopped. We talked for a few more minutes. How tall was her bike? Did her brother have a bicycle? Kate talked about her new yellow bike. Someone who was moving out of state had given it to her. Ava finally managed a little bit of smile. Her cuddling in Kate's arms expressed satisfaction rather than grief.

I headed off to work on my sermon rather proud of myself. I had helped put a smile on a little girl's face. That's not bad for a morning's work. Jesus did things like that. He was famous for making people smile.

Once he was teaching in Peter's house in Capernaum. The placed was jammed with people. People eager to learn from this master rabbi. Other people eager to detect error and heresy in Jesus' words. But critic or fan, Jesus mesmerized them all.

Well, he did until there was a commotion on the roof. Dust started drifting down from a spot in the center of the ceiling. People began crowding away from a rain of dust and clods and sticks. Whatever Jesus had been saying was forgotten. What was happening? A minute or two later you could see hands reaching into the growing hole in the ceiling. Hands ripping up the ceiling. The hole got larger. You could see the heads silhouetted against the blinding light of the Mediterranean sky. Finally the destruction stopped. The hole was filled with a lumpy shape as the people on the roof lowered something into the room.

Once the shape was below the ceiling, people could see it was a litter with a person on it. The people on the roof continued feeding rope until the litter was on the floor. On the litter, a paralyzed man.

Jesus stepped over, and said, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”

The words surprised the crowd. The man's obvious problem was that he was not ambulatory. He was lying on a litter, apparently carried here by his friends. The man needed healing of some sort. But forgiveness? Where did that come from. The crowd may have been puzzled by this direct, immediate statement by Jesus, but perceptive people in the crowd could see it touched a deep chord in the man.

The man visibly relaxed. A smile spread on his face. The crowd murmured approval.

We love it when we see someone go from tight and pained to ease and comfort. We love it when people are happy.

But not everyone there at Peter's house was happy. The experts in the crowd, the scholars, the brainiacs started muttering to each other: “Who does this guy think he is. Only God can forgive sins.”

Jesus didn't blink. He read the protest in their faces and immediately pushed back.

“What do you think?” he said. “Is it easier to say to someone, 'You're forgiven.' or to say, 'You're healed?'”

It's a fun question full of double meanings.

You could take it to be a simple question about words: In which case, both statements are equally easy. You are forgiven. You are healed. Either way, easy to say. But clearly Jesus meant something more than this.

It could be a question about power. Which takes more power, forgiving someone or healing someone? You could spend all day arguing that. Plus you could argue whether healing and forgiveness are sides of a single coin of human need. Is it easier to heal physical maladies or to lead someone to the full experience of radical forgiveness?

Or it could be a question of authority. If a person has the power to heal, does that confer the authority to forgive? Do humans have the authority to speak forgiveness?

Jesus deliberately stirs all these questions together and throws down his challenge:

I have just announced to this man divine forgiveness. You scholars dispute my authority to pronounce forgiveness. You think only God can do that. Well, watch me do something else only God can do: And he says to the man on the litter. “Get up, pick up your bed and get out of here.”

The man blinked his eyes. Then just like that, he jumped up, grabbed the litter and pushed his way through the crowd out into the sunshine.

Leaving behind a thrilled, happy crowd and some very annoyed brainiacs.

Even after the excitement died down a bit and people were again listening to Jesus teach, the conservative religious leaders were muttering among themselves. “He has no right! That was blasphemous!”

They had a carefully constructed description of reality. Jesus violated that construct. Jesus' words and actions spread contagious joy in a world of pain and hopelessness. The happy effect of the ministry of Jesus was obvious. But these scholars were so committed to their ideological construct, they were blind to the waves of joy swashing around them. They paid more attention to the scowls on the faces of their fellow experts than they did to the smiles on the faces of the crowds of ordinary people who found new life and joy in the ministry of Jesus.

In the past year or so, I've had conversations with two different people who told me they were deeply suspicious of happy people and happy churches because they were afraid these happy people and happy churches were not sufficiently attuned to “the truth.”

We are Christians. The dominant emotion stirred by the ministry of Jesus 2000 years ago was joy. Authentic Christian ministry today should also be characterized by joy. Christian ministry is supremely a message of mercy, grace, welcome, healing, wholeness and hope. Jesus' ministry today is a ministry of joy. It is not the bad news about evil people conspiring to take over the nation or the world. Our message is not that the world is getting worse and worse. If that's true, there's no call for us to announce it. Rather we are called to step into the tears of this world and whisper hope and healing. Our message is the good news that no matter what happens, no matter who wins elections, no matter what calamities erupt, God is at work to bring about the establishment of the kingdom of heaven. And a salient trait of his kingdom is joy.

When is the last time you heard someone tell their story of religious conversion? Was a story of darkness or light? Sadness or happiness? Over and over when I hear these stories, I catch the notes of joy.

On Thursday, I was visiting with someone because a mutual friend wanted us to meet. After we had visited a while I asked this person if she had any interest in church. Nope. She said. Any interest in God? Nope. She said again.

A little later I asked, “Has God ever showed up in your life?” “No,” she said. Then paused, “Well, there was one time.” She told about a crisis that ended with joy. That seemed to her to be God showing up in her life. That story prompted her to think of another, again a tale of crisis and unexpected aid. The mere memory put a smile on her face.

The essence of authentic Christianity is joy

Now let me turn this story about Jesus on its head. The villains in this story are religious conservatives. They are so obsessed with their doctrines, they are blind to the wonder and joy erupted by Jesus' ministry. Using these frowning Pharisees as a negative example, for 2000 years preachers have cautioned against falling into the trap of valuing our religious traditions more than the joy and freedom of Jesus.

But here in Seattle, the greatest risk is that we will be blinded to wonder and joy by fundamentalist scientism. Thorough-going atheism dismisses the ecstasy and bliss of believers as magical thinking. Wishful thinking. Fundamentalist scientism is the gloomy perspective that insists there is no goodness at the heart of reality. Stuff happens. Period. Some of it's pleasant. Some of it's unpleasant.

That's all.

Some of these gloomy atheists sound just like the Pharisees. They are so committed to their ideology they can walk right through the middle of joy and not be touched.

This is tragic. Jesus offers better.

Believers are real people. We know the full range of human experience. Joy and grief. Confidence and fear. Hope and despair. We still live here in this world with all its complications. But when you listen to believers you will find us coming back again and again to the bedrock of faith in God. And when we get there, when faith fills our vision, we experience joy.

Like the little girl at day care, we are grief stricken at times. We are heart broken. Just this week two people closely connected with our church lost parents. That hurts. We keenly feel the pain of loss, of disappointment, of injustice. These things are as real as mom's absence while Ava is at day care. But faith is also a connection with reality.

Faith becomes the bicycle, the vehicle of joy, that takes from grief to joy, from shadows to light. Faith assures us that just as Kate held Ava until she could find a new focus for her life, God holds us in our hard times. Faith is aware of the pain of this world and points to other realities, realities as durable and solid as the things of this world that break our hearts and crush our spirits.

There is no “scientific” proof of the realities seen by faith. That's okay. When we have tasted the joy of the kingdom of God, the cold, rigid structures of Phariseaism and scientism have little appeal. We happily join the crowds cheering the wonders and sweetness of Jesus.

Sermon for Sabbath, September 6

Below are two posts. One is an editorial I published in October 2002. The other is the manuscript for today's sermon. The two are related.

The General Conference president is declaring spiritual war on Adventist scientists who point out inconvenient truth in the realm of geology and paleontology. The president thinks the church can solve the  problem by getting rid of the scientists. I think history and the religion of Jesus say otherwise.

First Strike

Note: The editorial below regarding the Iraq War was first published in the October, 2002, Adventist Today. I was editor of the journal at that time. As we respond to the recent, horrific actions of ISIS, we Americans need to keep in mind it was our choice to go to war in Iraq that set up the circumstances which allowed the beheading of journalists by ISIS. The Iraq war resulted in the decimation of the previously thriving Christian community in Iraq and the death of scores or hundreds of thousands of Iraqis and a few thousand Americans. Saddam Hussein was a monster, but a lesser monstrosity than that unleashed by our military action.

The Editorial

Through the early months of 1994, the government of Rwanda prepared their people for violent action by an intense information campaign. Through radio station RTLM the Hutu population was reminded of all the bad things Tutsis had done in the past and were warned of Tutsi plots of future hostile action. If the Hutus didn’t eliminate the Tutsis, then surely eventually the Tutsis would harm the Hutus. It was either strike first or be a victim.

The Hutus chose to strike first. In four months, they killed 800,000 Tutsis. With machetes.

This kind of violence is repulsive, repugnant. For Adventists, it is particularly haunting because many of the killers and the killed were Adventists. One of the men accused of taking part in the genocide was a conference president. He is charged with cooperating in the killing of his own pastors and church members who were seeking sanctuary on church property.

In Rwanda, the largest religious body is the Roman Catholic Church. Second largest is the Seventh-day Adventist Church. Both are world-wide communions that claim a spiritual identity transcending national, political and tribal identities. Both affirm the teaching of Jesus: “This is how everyone will know you are my disciples: if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). But while there were individual acts of great heroism motivated by Christian principle and spiritual identity, in general members of both dominant denominations readily cooperated in the killing of their co-religionists. Adventists who had been baptized together, shared the Lord’s supper and engaged in evangelism together were united in the horror of bloodshed, some as killers, some as victims.

That was 1994 in Africa. Now the president of the United States is doing everything he can to convince the American tribe that we face immediate and dire threats from Saddam Hussein and his tribe of Republican Guards. We are repeatedly reminded of Hussein’s past cruelties. If we do not strike first, we will be struck.

The remedy is to launch a war.

In recent years growing numbers of Adventist young people have been attracted to the US military by its offers of income and education. There are about 200 Seventh-day Adventists in Iraq who enjoy more religious and political freedom than Christians in surrounding nations, some of which are regarded as American allies. So when the United States invades Iraq, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Adventists will be shooting guns, laying mines, dropping bombs. And tragically, Adventists will probably be among their victims. I wonder what will happen to the Adventist churches in Iraq, and to the Adventist children and grandmothers, when the bombs begin to fall?

The United States will not attack Iraq with the blunt edges of machetes. We will use the precise weaponry of modern technology. But the transition from knives to smart bombs is not a moral advance. Of course, the US will attempt to minimize civilian casualties. Even Mr. Bush, in his rhetoric, makes a distinction between the Iraqi people and their evil leader. But war is a terribly blunt instrument, no matter whose hand wields it.

And if the United States attacks Iraq, Adventists will be bombing Adventists.

What can we do? We can implore our president to back away from the rhetoric of war and especially the strong doctrine of first strike. We can renew our historic witness for peace by encouraging our young people to find education and careers outside the military, especially as the nation moves toward an unabashed militaristic stance. We can call our church community to reckon with the teachings of Jesus when debating political issues.

There is plenty of room for argument about just what Jesus meant when he spoke of turning the other cheek when we are struck. But I don’t see how there can be any serious debate among followers of Jesus over whether we should strike first.  

Friends of Jeremiah

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, September 6, 2014

(Note: this is the manuscript that was the basis for my sermon. It is different from what I put in the bulletin. Sorry about that.)

In October of 2002, six months before the United States launched its Tomahawk cruise missiles against Baghdad, I wrote an editorial opposing the war. I pointed out that Adventist soldiers in the American Army would be bombing Adventist Iraq civilians. American Christian soldiers would be shooting Iraq Christian soldiers. I wondered what would happen to Christian children and grandmothers when the bombs began to fall.

Tragically, history has proven me right. Yes, the American army got rid of the monster named Saddam Hussein. But unfortunately our work in Iraq opened the door for the much greater monstrosities of ethnic and religious factionalism and ultimately for the horror of ISIS which demonstrated its true character by beheading two journalists recently.

In 2002, my anti-war stance was wildly unpopular, especially among Christians. Here in America the demographic most in most in favor of starting a war against Iraq was conservative, Protestant Christians. There were members of my congregation who were very troubled that I would challenge the judgment of the president of the county. If he wanted to go to war, then surely war was necessary.

In those days, opposing the war was seen as unpatriotic or even “unChristian.” After all, those Iraqis were Muslims.

Opposing the war was unpopular, “unpatriotic,” maybe “unChristian.” But it was right.

Opposing the American invasion of Iraq was unpopular, but it didn't cost me anything. I didn't lose my job. I didn't got to jail. But sometimes speaking the truth carries great risk.

Consider, the story of Jeremiah the Prophet. He spent most of his very long career saying unpopular things. At least twice that we know of, people tried to silence Jeremiah by killing him. The first time it was the religious leaders who were after him, the second time it was members of the nobility.

This second attempt on his life happened shortly before the nation of Judea was obliterated by the armies of Babylon.

The capitol city, Jerusalem, had been surrounded by the Babylonian army for several years. People were getting hungry. Army morale was flagging. With this as a backdrop, Jeremiah walked into the center of town and delivered this speech:

“This is what the LORD says: ‘Everyone who stays in Jerusalem will die from war, famine, or disease, but those who surrender to the Babylonians will live. Their reward will be life. They will live!’ The LORD also says: ‘The city of Jerusalem will certainly be handed over to the army of the king of Babylon, who will capture it.’” (Jeremiah 38:2, 3 NLT Accessed through Blue Letter Bible.com.)

Several influential nobles heard the speech, including Shephatiah son of Mattan, Gedaliah son of Pashhur, Jehucal son of Shelemiah, and Pashhur son of Malkijah. These guys, understandably, were outraged at what Jeremiah was saying. He was undermining morale. He was giving aid and support to the enemy. It was treasonous. They marched off to the king and demanded that he do something. Well, not just “something.” They wanted the king to order Jeremiah executed for treason.

King Zedekiah answered, “He's in your hands. Do what you think necessary. I can't stop you.”

It was not the execution decree they wanted. The only person who could legally order an execution was the king and he pointedly had not given the order. On the other hand, he made it clear he wasn't going to interfere with much else they might have in mind.

So these nobles had Jeremiah arrested and thrown in “jail.” The jail they chose was a cistern that had no water but did have a deep layer of viscous mire. This jail offered a perfect quarantine for containing the prophet's negative words. Jeremiah would be completely cut off from any contact with the people. In the past the prophet had written letters that had powerful impact. The cistern provided absolute containment. The nation would be safe from the dangerous ideas voiced by the prophet.

For the more sadistic of the nobles, the cistern also promised perfect torture. As Jeremiah weakened he would sink into the mud. Eventually he would die, without a mark on him. He would die from asphyxiation maybe, if he couldn't keep his head out of the mud. Or certainly die of starvation as the city ran out of food.

It was the end of the road for Jeremiah. If Jeremiah had been the prophet Elisha, we might wonder if he would work some kind of magic to escape. But in all the stories of Jeremiah's career there is never the least hint of a miracle. Jeremiah's job consisted of telling the truth, usually unpopular truth. He had survived this long only because he had powerful friends in the nobility. But it looked they had finally run out of political capital.

Back in those days, there were all sorts of prophets claiming to speak for God. They frequently contradicted each other. From our position today, we confidently honor Jeremiah as God's spokesperson. Jeremiah was a real man of God. To us it's crystal clear. But think for a minute what you would have thought if you had been living in Jerusalem in those days.

Jeremiah predicted the institutional death of Israel. The nation of Israel was going to suffer utter defeat. And God's will was to surrender to the forces of Babylon.

What would we think today, if a prophet were to stand up and announce, the church is going bankrupt. It cannot be saved as an institution. If you are following God, go join our critics.

How would we respond to a message like this? If a modern Jeremiah stood up and said something like this how long before we got rid of him—with a little torture thrown in, if we had a chance?

We need to understand how radically unpopular, how absolutely unattractive, Jeremiah's words were. If I had been living in Jerusalem back then, I'm afraid I would have been right there with those nobles asking the king to have Jeremiah executed. And I'm afraid many of you would have been there with me. Jeremiah's error would have been so obvious, so egregious, we would not even need any time to think about it. Silence that man! By any means possible.

But what happened in Jeremiah's story. According to the Bible, Jeremiah really was speaking for God. Jeremiah was telling the truth, even though it was a miserable, unpleasant truth.

God needed someone to rescue Jeremiah, but his latest message was so outrageous, so impossbile to believe that God couldn't find an Israelite to take action, so God called a foreigner, a Black man. A eunuch—which means he was not a volunteer. He was a slave.

This slave, named Ebed-Melech—heard about Jeremiah's situation and immediately went to the king.

My lord the king, these men have done evil in all that they have done to Jeremiah the prophet, whom they have cast into the dungeon, and he is likely to die from hunger in the place where he is. For there is no more bread in the city.” (Jeremiah 38:9. NLT Accessed through Blue Letter Bible.com.)

Now we see why the king had not ordered Jeremiah executed. The king knew Jeremiah was an honest prophet. Jeremiah's miserable words came from his absolute integrity. They were the words Jeremiah believed came straight from God. The king would not admit publicly Jeremiah was right. That would take far more guts than the king even dreamed of having. Still the king knew Jeremiah was telling the truth. So when someone else showed up willing to be the public face of Jeremiah's defense, the king was only too happy to cooperate. It appears that the courage of Ebed-Melech, the African slave, inspired the king to his own bit of courage.

The king gave a direct order: take thirty men and go rescue Jeremiah from the cistern. This is curious. The king did not simply issue a decree and leave Ebed-Melech, the African to try to persuade the guards at the cistern to let him rescue Jeremiah. The king give the African a force—thirty soldiers. When Ebed-Melech showed up at the cistern, there was no question about whether the jailers were going to allow him access to the prophet.

The rescue was a bit complicated. The cistern was too deep for a ladder. The muck at the bottom was extremely sucky and viscous. Ebed-Melech found old rags and clothing for the prophet to pad his arm pits then had him sling the rope under his arms so they could slowly extract him from terrible mud.

Because of Ebed-melech, the foreign-born slave, Jeremiah, the prophet of God, the person who spoke unpopular, even treasonous truth, lived to continue his ministry.

In this story, nothing is said about the faith of Ebed-melech. Ebed-melech is honored because of his courage and his energy in resisting injustice and saving life. The prophet Jeremiah—God's man—could do his work only because of the courage and force of a man with no religious pedigree.

In this story, the African slave and the Jewish prophet share the honors, with the foreigner getting the brighter glory.

Are you willing to act like Ebed-melech? Are you willing to speak up and take action when you see someone treated unjustly?

School is starting. One of the realities of school life is the development of cliques and in-groups. Some kids are in and some kids are out. Are you willing to speak up when you see another kid treated unfairly? This is the real test of your Christianity. Do you make it a point of being courteous to every student, every classmate?

When it comes to political matters, are we willing to see the humanity of people with whom we disagree? The Bible does not tell us that Ebed-melech agreed with Jeremiah's point of view. Ebed-melech just knew that it was wrong to imprison a man in a cistern because he spoke what he believed to be the word of God. Let's make sure we don't dehumanize people we disagree with politically. Let's make our arguments. Let's voice and vote our convictions. But let's remember those who have differing viewpoints are also motivated by a desire to see our community prosper.

I've been doing a series of sermons on the church and atheists. As I have said over and over, most of the atheists I know are driven by high ideals. Their atheism is driven by a radical commitment to justice and truth. These are values that live at the heart of the vision that gave birth to the church.

It is vital that we recognize that especially among young atheists, their distance from church is correlated to our distance from the ideals of Jesus. The closer we as a community come to living the ideals of the Master, the closer we will be to our young atheist friends. And the closer they will be to us.

It may well be that we will be able to hear God's truth—the new truth, the uncomfortable truth, the truth that is different from what we have always believed—only when we are confronted by “Ethiopians,” outsiders. Maybe our kids. Maybe our good friends. Maybe people who have not been Adventist for generations. Maybe people who are not Adventist at all.

Zedekiah was confronted by Ebed-melech and to his credit, even though he is infamous as a weak, vacillating character, he recognized the truth of Ebed-melech's defense of the prophet and supported Ebed-melech. Let's make sure we respond as well to the challenges of our children and friends.

If we will demonstrate courage and compassion, people sitting on the fence, people who secretly respect the truth, may themselves find courage to speak up, to take action. Our own actions will be multiplied. God's work will advance.

Special note regarding the life of the church beyond my own congregation:

At the recent Faith and Science Conference our General Conference president made very pointed remarks aimed at purging the church of people who point out inconvenient truth regarding geochronology and paleontology. Like King Zedekiah of old, he gave permission to the nobles in the Adventist Church—the bureaucrats and administrators—to eliminate the voices of faithful Adventists who speak or even think inconvenient truths. I pray that the work of any nobles who attempt to implement this immoral permission will be countered by courageous Ethiopians. Opposing the nobles is risky. But standing for truth is part of the essence of real nobility.

Faith and Science

Faith and Science

Sermon manuscript (final revision) for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, August 30, 2014

Synopsis: 
Science is the pursuit of information about what is and of the skills to change the world. Science is the source of the periodic table, the geologic column, improved crop yields, medicine, airplanes, and smart phones. 

Faith is a vision of how things ought to be. Faith is an enduring source of compassion, the pursuit of justice and peace and our reverence for the primacy of love and life. 

Science helps us increase crop production. Faith tells us to share the technology and our own increase. Science gives us medicine. Faith challenges us to make it available to everyone. If we squelch science we are robbing the world of the tools for doing good. If we squelch faith, we are robbing the world of moral and spiritual vision. Both faith and science are gifts from God. We honor God when we encourage the pursuit of both. 

I nearly became famous in the summer of 1971. I was building a fence around a hundred acres of scrub oak and eroded grass land in northern Mississippi. In places the clay was so hard that the tractor mounted auger we were using would simply spin on the surface. We'd have to dig the holes by hand with a digging bar and posthole diggers. We would dig a section then come back the next day to set the posts.

One day early on, as I prepared to drop a post into its hole, I noticed a critter in the bottom of the hole. I pulled it out. It was a shrew. Dead. I presumed starved to death because shrews have to eat all the time and there were no worms in the bottom of this clay-lined hole. At lunch I carried the shrew back to the trailer and got out my Peterson's Guide to North American Mammals. Nothing quite matched. I didn't think too much of it. Maybe it was an immature.

The next day, I found another shrew. It looked just like the first shrew. Again, I pulled out my Peterson's Field Guide, but I could not match up my shrew with any of those in the Field Guide. I found a third shrew. It looked just like the other two.

At this point, I started to get excited. Was it possible I had found a new species? No. Not possible. But just maybe. On the weekend I took my specimens home and gave them to a church member who was on the faculty of the biology department at the University of Memphis.

When I got back to town the next weekend, I called him. (This is in the days before cell phones.) He reported back to me that I was correct. My shrews were not in the Peterson Guide. However, it was not a new species. It was a rare, obscure species no one had studied, so almost nothing was known about it. But it did have a name. It had been catalogued. Still, the department would be happy for any more specimens I could provide.

I was thrilled. It was exciting to be part of science, to be part of the enterprise of expanding our knowledge of mammals.

Confronted with a dead shrew in the bottom of my post hole, my first questions were scientific questions: What is it? What does it eat? What kind of habitat does it live in? (The ground cover and soil type determined whether I would find shrews in my holes or not.)

But after my initial excitement about being part of science, other questions intruded. What about the poor shrews? How much pain and suffering in the shrew world could be justified by human scientific curiosity? How high a price for knowledge could I justify? Once I had the specimens the biology department wanted should I put sticks in the holes to serve as ladders so shrews could climb out?

These are not science questions. They are questions of faith—values, morality, compassion. We are not fully human if we don't ask these questions.

The title of my sermon today is Faith and Science. I'm not going to try to give us precise definitions of the terms. Instead I'm going to explore the respective neighborhoods associated with these words. I see both as divine gifts. To be fully human we must live in both neighborhoods.

Let's leave my shrews for a minute a look at a Bible story that illustrates the difference between faith and science.

One day Jesus and his disciples were walking along. They saw a beggar who had been born blind since birth.

"Rabbi," his disciples asked him, "why was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his parents' sins?"

(John 9:2. NLT. Accessed through BlueLetterBible.com)

These are obviously questions of faith or religion. And Jesus gave the disciples a religious answer:

"It was not because of his sins or his parents' sins," Jesus answered. "This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.

[John 9:2-3,NLT. Accessed through BlueLetterBible.com]

Having said this, Jesus began mixing science and faith. He stooped down, spat in the dust, then with his finger spread the mud paste on the man's eyes. Then he told him, “Go, wash in the Pool of Siloam.”

Jesus' action grosses us out. Yuck. But in that culture spittle was regarded as therapeutic. And the spit of a miracle worker was a common vehicle for the power of healing. So Jesus was doing what a healer would do in that culture. Jesus was practicing medicine, doing applied science.

The man picked himself up and headed off to the spring. Jesus and his disciples kept walking the other direction.

The man got to the spring and washed the mud off his eyes. Then when he opened his eyes, he could see! The spit and mud worked! It was fantastic!

When he got back to his old neighborhood, pandemonium broke out. People shouting and hollering. How could this be? This guy had been blind for decades. They had never seen anything like this. How did it happen, people asked.

“Well,” the formerly blind man said, “The preacher named Jesus put mud on my eyes and told me to go wash my eyes in the Pool of Siloam. When I did, I could see!”

The neighbors were thrilled and a little nervous. This healing happened on the Sabbath and routine healing was prohibited on the Sabbath. So the neighbors and the healed blind man headed off to talk with some conservative religious experts—they were called Pharisees.

The religious experts quizzed the guy. “Tell us what happened.” So he told them.

The experts thought for a minute, then they began arguing. Some of them said, with grave and sober demeanor, “This man Jesus cannot be a man of God. No godly person would heal on the Sabbath.”

Others said, “But how could a sinner do such miraculous signs? He must be a godly man.” The gospel reports there was a deep division of opinion among them.

Then the Pharisees again questioned the man who had been blind and demanded, “What’s your opinion about this man who healed you?” The man replied, “I think he must be a prophet.”

Notice how this story flips back and forth between questions of science and questions of faith. What happened? That's a science question. How do we know that this is the same man who was born blind?These were questions of fact and observation. They are the kinds of questions a scientist would ask.

What kind of shrew is it? How long is it? How much does it weigh? What does it eat? How long can it survive in a hole without food or water.

Then came the question of faith: What do you think about the man who did this? The formerly blind man gave a statement of faith. “He is a prophet.”

This movement from science—concrete knowledge of the world—to faith—visions of purpose and meaning, obligation and morality is an essential element of being human.

Our Old Testament reading illustrated this. Consider the stars. What does the grand sweep of sky and stars say about the place of humanity and the power that brought us into existence and sustains our lives? Dogmatic atheists insist the meaning of that grand, expansive vista is that there is no meaning, no purpose. Believers insist the meaning of the stars is that infinite power cares about us and intends to do us good.

It is important that a denial of meaning and purpose in the universe is a statement of faith, not a statement of science. Science cannot even ask a question of meaning, much less answer it.

When we come to church and celebrate faith, we are offering one another a vital human service that cannot be provided by any form of service. We are worshiping. We are supporting one another in the grandest human enterprise possible: we are affirming that life—even suffering and pain—have a beautiful purpose. The blind man who declared his healing had been done by a good man, by a prophet, by a person who represented the purpose of God.

And we declare that the beauty of the world, that instances of love and compassion, that our drive for peace and justice—all this is an expression of the highest intent in the universe, the purpose of God.

The religious leaders did not appreciate the blind man's interpretation. They did not approve of his faith.

“The healer cannot be a good man!” the religious leaders insisted. “A prophet would not do such a thing on Sabbath. The healer broke the Sabbath. He must be a sinner.”

The man refused to get sucked into their religious arguments. He retreated to science: “Here's what I know. I was blind and now I see.”

The religious leaders got really annoyed. They tried arguing with the man. “Tell us again just how it happened.”

“Look, I told you already.”

When the religious leaders could not persuade the man to change his story, they kicked him out of the synagogue.

In this story we see the interplay of faith and science. In the end, the science was incontrovertible. A man had been blind for years and now he could see. His healing happened in connection with the activity of a man named Jesus. When the information of science—observable, demonstrable facts—conflicted with the faith of the religious leaders, they did their best to get rid of the inconvenient fact: They kicked the guy out of the synagogue.

We can see that the religious leaders were foolish.

Right now some leaders in the Adventist Church are attempting to repeat this strategy of the Pharisees. Over the last hundred years the scientific evidence of an old earth has become increasingly compelling. Adventist scientists have wrestled with this evidence. And some of them have been quietly pointing out this evidence. In response, some Adventist religious leaders are trying exile these scientists. They figure if they can get rid of most of the scientists in the church, we can keep our historic religion unchanged.

To outsiders, these church leaders look a lot like the Pharisees in John 9.

On the flip side there are strident voices in the world claiming that science is sufficient to answer all questions. Some atheists even go so far as to argue that questions that can't be answered by science are not important. This is just as foolish as the Pharisaical attempt to deny the scientific facts.

In the story of the blind man, the scientific questions were not the most interesting.

What happened?

An un-credentialed rabbi spat in the dust and rubbed the resulting mud on a blind man's eyes. When the blind man washed the mud off at the Pool of Siloam his blindness was cured.

Are you sure the man who can now see is the same man who had been blind for years?

Yes.

This is all true. There were witnesses. But all this is merely set up or context for the most interesting question of all: What about this healer? How do you explain the healer?

Even in the Gospel of John, this question is understood to be a question of faith. And for 2000 years people have been wrestling with THIS question. It's completely outside science. But if we don't ask it, that would be evidence of our own diminished humanity. It would not be evidence of higher intelligence.

Faith and science ask and answer different questions.

My daughter spent this summer at Rosario Marine Biological Field Station doing research on a sea creature called an isopod. They were barely into the summer when Shelley and her partner, JoAnna Cowles, made a scientific discovery. Current literature says this species of isopod grows to a maximum size of four centimeters. Shelley and JoAnna found one six centimeters long. The complete life cycle of these isopods is not known. Shelley and JoAnna observed babies.

When I visited Rosario, Shelley and Joanna showed me their isopod hotel. Each isopod had its own room, bathed in a constant flow of fresh sea water. I could almost see the smile on their faces. (Well, not exactly.)

Everything I've told you up to this point is scientific—well, except the part about smiles on the isopod faces!

But next comes something utterly non-scientific. At the end of the research instead of dumping the excess isopods on the ground or in the Sound down the beach from the isopod hotel, the women transported the isopods several miles and returned them to their native habitat. Why?

It's an expression of faith, an expression of a value for the natural world that is completely outside the realm of pure science.

Obviously many scientists care deeply about the critters they study. Returning unneeded specimens to their native habitat is standard practice. But the value that drives that kind of behavior is outside the realm of science. Science can answer the question what is likely to happen if an isopod is dumped into salt water that does not have eel grass growing in it. But science cannot tell us we ought to put the isopods in a place where they are likely to thrive. That kind of respect for the life and well-being of a little sea critter comes from faith.

To return to the shrews in my postholes—there is no scientific reason to worry about shrews falling in holes I've dug. Science can tell me how many hours a shrew can go before it starves to death. Science can tell me what shrews eat. Science cannot tell me whether or not I should put sticks in my holes so shrews can climb out and not starve. Science can measure all the specimens I could collect. Science could not make a statement about the value of the life of a shrew.

Or a statement about the value of the life of a human being.

A few years ago a couple of my friends got into a debate about the relative value of religion and science. One of them, a devotee of science, said “If you care about the hungry people of the world, you won't waste your time preaching, you'll give people a science education. It's scientific advances that led to the increase in crop production and the reduction of starvation over the last fifty years. Science feeds people, not religion.”

It was an interesting point. But only partially true. It is true that it is science and technology are the tools that people have used to increase crop production faster than the world's population. But science carries no imperative to share that increased food production with hungry people.

It is faith that teaches us compassion for shrews who fall into post holes and for humans who find themselves in hungry places.

Science is one of the most powerful tools we have for understanding and managing our world. Science gives us medicine and food. It also gives us bombs and IEDs.

It is faith that teaches us to use the tools of science for good. The religion of Jesus calls us to do all in our power to make the world a better place. Science is an indispensable tool in carrying out that mission.

Faith supplies the vision of what that better world looks like.

Faith teaches us to join with God in dreaming of a world beyond pain and suffering, a world where injustice and death has been replaced by harmony and life. It is faith that insists that love is the highest value, that love, in fact, is the best, highest description of God and his universe.

Let us aim for that perfect blend of science and faith that will make us skillful and effective in shaping the world according to the vision of God.