Money: Tool of Happiness

Preliminary draft for a sermon on Sabbath, September 14, 2013

At Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

There was a little box on the front page of Tuesday's Seattle Times:

1 percent's share of household income:  [Need data]

1 percent's increase in household income 2012 over 2011:  [Need data]

The top of the economic pyramid here in the U.S. Is doing pretty good. If they have trouble knowing what to do with their money, Porsche is ready to help them out.

On Thursday a Seattle Times article carried this title: $845,000 Porsche hybrid gets better gas mileage than Prius.

Porsche’s $845,000 918 Spyder hybrid, unveiled at the International Auto Show in Frankfurt, can reach 62 miles per hour in 2.8 seconds and gets the equivalent of about 72 miles per gallon, based on European fuel-economy data. That tops the 50 mpg of the basic Prius hybrid.

http://seattletimes.com/html/businesstechnology/2021795781_porschehybridxml.html?cmpid=2628

Apparently, if you have enough money, you can pretend you care about the environment by spending most of a million dollars on a car that gets better gas mileage than a Prius. It also just happens to be able to reach 62 miles an hour in 2.8 seconds.

At the other end of the spectrum there is Hawo Abdi Farah. She came to Seattle 17 years ago from Somalia. She works as hard as she can and saves all she can so she can send money back to her family in Somalia. Her best efforts allow her to send between 100 and 200 dollars a month. Somalis all around the world are doing the same thing. Working hard. Scrimping and saving and sending money back home. Their money is absolutely essential for life to continue in Somalia.

Oxfam estimates these “remittances” total $1.3 billion a year. That's more than Somalia receives from foreign aid and foreign direct investment combined.

The newspaper reporter asked Farah what her relatives back in Somalia do with the money she sends

them. Farah's answer: “Food. They spend it on food. That's all”

http://seattletimes.com/html/localnews/2021812761_sarahcolumn13xml.html

Money is central to our lives.

Everything we do is intertwined with money. Our cars, our houses, our food, our clothes . . . Our romances and vacations . . . Our wars and lawsuits . . . . Everything. Every aspect of our lives is inseparable from money.

If our religion does not speak about money, it's irrelevant. If our spiritual practices fail to connect with our personal finances and our views of economics, then our kids may rightly judge our religion to be merely a quaint decoration, a nostalgic relic.

Money is life. If religion is going to engage life, our lives, inevitably it will speak of money and shape our actual practice of money management.

Of course, thinking about money quickly gets complicated. In the political realm, this complexity leaps into any conversation around the income disparity highlighted by the facts I mentioned about the income of the One Percent. Is this disparity a good thing or a bad thing? Is it a sign that the system is working or the system is broken? Is it an important fact or is it merely trivia? What does justice look like when you examine the play of intelligence, diligence, luck, families of origin, and tax code?

Get three people in a room to talk about it and you'll hear at least four opinions. Including the Bible in the conversation does not make it simpler. Reflecting the reality of real-life economics, the Bible's teachings about money are profoundly complicated. Is wealth a mark of ruthless, Darwinian triumph or a sign of the blessing of God? Is poverty a call for compassion or a mark of irresponsibility?

Did you catch the contrast in our scripture readings? The first passage, the one from Deuteronomy, celebrates prosperity. All through the book of the Bible, we read different versions of “Obey God and he will make you prosperous.” “Do the right thing and God will give you bountiful harvests and large flocks and herds. Life will be good.” The second passage, the one from James, imagines wealthy people as parasites and predators. Rich people get that way through deceit and violence. They are rich because of their skill in impoverishing others.

In Deuteronomy wealth is what God desires for his people. In James wealth is suspect. Its potential for seduction is far more prominent than its potential for good.

For today's sermon, I'm going to focus on the positive view of money and wealth presented in Deuteronomy. We'll deal with the cautions about wealth found in Amos and James another time.

Let's look again at the passage from Deuteronomy that was read earlier in our service: (Use one of the Bible's in the pew or call up one on your phone or tablet. I'm using the New Living Translation.)

You must set aside a tithe of your crops--one-tenth of all the crops you harvest each year. Bring this tithe to the designated place of worship--the place the LORD your God chooses for his name to be honored--and eat it there in his presence. Deuteronomy 14.

The Jewish people were expected to regard ten percent of their harvest as sacred. It belonged to God. They were not free to do with it just whatever they wanted. It could only be used for purposes specifically delineated by God.

The tithe belonged to God. What did that mean? What would God do with bushels of wheat, baskets of apples and jars of wine? According to this passage, God intended to use “his share” of the harvest as the foundation for a festival, a party for his children. The Jews were to take their tithe, the sacred ten percent of their harvest, to the special holy place and there they were to feast in the presence of God and in company with God's people.

Most of what they produced—ninety percent, in fact—was theirs to manage according to the ordinary demands and ambitions of life. They were responsible to make sure they produced enough food to supply daily meals through the entire year. They were free to produce surplus and sell it at market. It would make sense to turn some of their harvest into silver. If they were smart and hard-working and blessed with good luck, they could build wealth that included a larger house, increased acreage, servants, nice clothes.

The image of a successful, prosperous farmer lies behind the call in this passage for the practice of tithing—that is the devotion of ten percent of their harvest, ten percent of their increase or harvest to God.

The notion of tithe presumes financial success. God wants his people to do well. He expects that the normal human experience will be comfortable prosperity.

With that expectation in the background, God called for those Jewish farmers to devote ten percent of their harvest to God. Which raises the obvious question: What is God going to do with all that grain and produce?

The first purpose mentioned in this passage is a sacred party. The Jewish people were to take their tithe, go to the sacred place and eat their tithe together in a grand festival.

The passage goes on to broaden the purpose of the tithe.

At the end of every third year, bring the entire tithe of that year's harvest and store it in the nearest town. Give it to the Levites, who will receive no allotment of land among you, as well as to the foreigners living among you, the orphans, and the widows in your towns, so they can eat and be satisfied. Then the LORD your God will bless you in all your work.

Here we see that God's portion of the harvest, the tithe, is to be given to “the Levites.” I like that! The Levites were the clergy. They were specifically excluded from land ownership which in that society was the foundation of wealth. Since they were excluded from commerce, the society was to provide an alternative source of support for them. This much makes sense in the usual religious way. The clergy are specially linked to worship and other religious practices, so it makes sense that they would participate in the sacred money of the tithe.

The Adventist Church has built a very specific doctrine of tithing on this concept. When people give to the “Tithe Fund” in our denomination, their donation supports the work of the clergy.

In this passage, the appropriate use of God's portion is broader than just the support of the clergy class. Tithe is also to be given to

the foreigners living among you, the orphans, and the widows in your towns, so they can eat and be satisfied. Then the LORD your God will bless you in all your work.

One of the most emphatic teachings of the Bible regarding money is this: we ought to recognize Somali immigrants as part of the people we are to provide for from God's portion. And Mexicans and Eritreans and Russians. Deuteronomy declares that foreigners are to be served from the Tithe that is God's portion.

Widows—people who is Moses society would have had a status like single working moms in our society—were to be served from God's portion.

Orphans—kids whose parents for whatever reason were unable to provide for them—orphans were to be served from God's portion.

It seems to me that we could summarize the ideas in this passage this way: the highest purpose of money is to build a happy, equitable community. A bountiful harvest is a call for a bountiful feast. A feast that is shared in the presence of God. Wealth should express itself in community festivity. And our feasts should include the outsiders and the losers and those with bad luck and those with disabilities.

To put it another way: a bountiful harvest, i.e. wealth, confers a heightened obligation.

This passage and the repeated affirmation of hard work and wealth all through the book of Deuteronomy implies special honor is due to those responsible for the harvest. The bountiful harvest is evidence of God's blessing, God's favor. God is pleased with those who provide the feast.

In Deuteronomy, there is a wonderful, blended vision of wealth as a basis for honor and obligation.

Those who are successful are partners with God. The feast depends on the skill and diligence that produce the harvest. God depends on us to grow the food, to do the harvest, to preserve what is produced. God blesses us with physical strength, intelligence, social skills, drive and initiative. We did not create those things. They are gifts.

We cultivate our awareness of how utterly dependent we are on the gifts by practicing tithing—devoting ten percent of our income to God.

Did you produce your wealth by working hard? Good. Did you create the mental strength which you have employed in your pursuit success? How much credit do you deserve for choosing to be born in Seattle instead of in Haiti? Did you earn an MBA or an MD or a PhD? Good. That is to be commended. You deserve honor for that achievement. But if you get a big head about it, we can justly ask what teachers encouraged you along the way? How much tax money has gone into building the university where you studied? None of us is self-made.

Practicing tithing is a concrete, spiritual practice that connects us with the wisdom of interdependence.

Recently a young friend who is a teacher posted something on Facebook about the median incomes of people ten years out of college. What degrees gave the most bang for the buck? At the top of the list: petroleum mining engineers. Near the bottom of the list: counselors, social workers, ministers.

I read the comments responding to the initial article. They quickly degenerated into snarky attacks. “Petroleum engineers don't care about the environment or about people.” “Counselors don't understand that the cars they drive to work run on gasoline made available through the work of the petroleum engineers.” “Petroleum engineers are smart. Psychologists are wouldn't recognize a solution to an equation if they saw one.” “Petroleum engineers will produce the children who will need the services of the counselors to counteract the lousy parenting skills of the engineers.”

It was a stupid fight.

Engineering, manufacturing, finance create the wealth in our society that allows people to specialize in counseling, theology or music. The producers of wealth deserve respect for the foundational role they play in making a good society. On the other hand, would anyone want to live in a society that was flush with money and stuff and had no musicians, no art, no articulate preachers or writers? In a good society money moves around and links people with all sorts of gifts and skills and aptitudes. Money makes us all richer, not just by putting dollars in our pockets but by enabling this rich cultural development.

Understanding the power of money to enable this kind of goodness is a profound spiritual insight. One of the most powerful spiritual disciplines that supports this understanding is the practice of tithing—devoting ten percent of our income to God. When we tithe, we are deliberately using our money to cultivate our spiritual life.

Adventists have taken this ten percent principle and developed a particular doctrine around it. Some Christians have criticized Adventists for being so strict. They imagine themselves as more evolved. They are not legalistic, Old Testament believers. They are “New Testament Christians.”

I laugh when I hear this. It is true the New Testament does not explicitly teach the obligation to devote ten percent of our income to God. Instead, it tells us to sell everything we have and give it to the poor.

I have never met a critic of tithing who has come even close to this NT teaching.

I once knew a baronness who was rich. Compared to me, she was very rich. She explained to me the reason she did not practice tithing: “For ordinary, middle class people, tithe is a small amount of money. So they can afford to give it. But for me ten percent would be a lot of money. So I can't afford to do it.”

I realized then that I was richer than she was. Her income might have ten or a hundred times my income. But she had barely enough money. In fact, as I got to know her, I learned she was constantly worried about the fact that she was barely getting by. On the other hand, I was so rich I could give away 20 percent of my income and not worry about my financial survival.

One of the curious side effects of tithing is it's reflexive effect on those who practice it. When you devote ten percent (or twenty or thirty percent) of your income to God, over time you develop a deep sense of adequacy and wealth.

This week I made my monthly contribution to the church. I didn't agonize over how much to give. Since we are rich, we can do more than ten percent. Or maybe I should say the other way around. The fact that we give more than ten percent is proof that we are rich.

Part of our religion is giving. We teach people to give ten percent, because it is the only amount ever mentioned in the Bible besides selling everything. We give because we have been blessed. Then we are blessed because we give. Our handling of money becomes a rich spiritual practice and a source of pure joy.

This is part of what our religion teaches us about money.

If we are serious about cultivating spiritual life, we will give habitually. Occasional, spontaneous giving is okay. I'm sure it does good. But it has very little of the transformative power of regular, habitual, systematic giving.

We all understand that part of ordinary life is regularly paying utility bills, buying groceries, paying our mortgage or rent. If we are students or the parents of students, we pay tuition. These payments are an indispensable part of our life in a civil society.

Regular giving is similarly an indispensable part of fully participating in a spiritual society. As a church we welcome visitors. There is no expectation that people need to buy space in a pew or that any particular person buy the privilege of experiencing worship. All are welcome here. On the other hand, until you are practicing habitual giving, your spirituality will remain stunted. Since money flows through every aspect of our life, a fully developed spirituality necessarily includes the practice, the habit, of giving. Tithing is most form of giving with longest tradition in Jewish and Christian history.

Those who have practiced it nearly universally speak of its benefit. It is a practice that will provide a theoretical and experiential foundation for wise thinking about money. It makes us happy partners with God.

Romantic Logic

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

August 17, 2013

A few weeks ago, I watched the movie, The Mask of Zoro. My daughter assured me I would like it. It was swash buckling and romantic. It had a satisfying ending. I'd like it. So I settled down with my computer to watch. But in the first few minutes, I wondered if this time Bonnie had made a mistake. After a rollicking opening scene with Zorro riding to the rescue of some hapless peasants, the movie suddenly portrays a deep, heart-breaking, irremediable tragedy. Zorro is ambushed in his castle by the evil Governor Montero. Zorro's beautiful wife is killed and the despicable Governor Montero takes Zorro's daughter to raise as his own an ocean away. Zorro, himself, is consigned to a filthy dungeon.

I almost turned off the movie. Being sent to prison was dark and terrible, but I could imagine an escape, a parole, some kind of redemption. But Zorro's loss of love was unbearable. In the movie, Zorro and his wife were obviously deeply in love. Their affection for their daughter was naturally rich.

How could a man endure the loss of both his beloved wife and his precious daughter to the machinations of an evil man? What possible twists of plot could lift us above the soul-crushing ache of grief and loss? How could our sense of outrage at the horrific injustice be assuaged? I was tempted to turn the movie off, but Bonnie had assured me I would like it, so I kept watching.

The story sucked me in. It pulled me along. And sure enough, not only was justice done, but in the end, even Zorro's heart found a measure of rest. Finally, everything was all right.

The Bible tells a similar story. It's going to be all right. Goodness will triumph. God will triumph. No matter how chaotic, tragic, or cold the world seems to be, there is a story being written that will be so sweet, so grand and wonderful, that in the very core of our being we will find ourselves cheering.

This hope consoles us in the face of great loss. It fires our drive and determination as we work to ease suffering, to build a healthier, happier world. When we pour our lives into making things better we are cooperating with the grand goal of the cosmos. We are partnering with God.

One way the Bible tells this story of the triumph of God is to picture God as a lover pursuing his beloved. God is a great king seeking to win the affection of his beloved. Humanity—we, people like us—we are his beloved. Sometimes people respond to God's desire and God is happy. Other times people spurn him and God is grieved or gets angry. Then he rouses himself and again pursues his beloved. At times as you read the Bible story, you despair. There is no way this story can turn out right.

Then other times, it looks hopeful. We get caught up again in the promise of romance. Surely love will win. This is the central conviction of our church. It is the most precious claim of the Bible. In this view of the cosmos, there is a purpose, an intentionality permeating reality. Life and love are not accidents in a universe that could have gone many other directions. Rather they are expressions of God who ultimately shapes the universe.

In our scripture reading we heard the words from Revelation 19:

I heard what sounded like a vast crowd in heaven shouting, "Praise the LORD! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God. His judgments are true and just. . . . the twenty-four elders and the four living beings fell down and worshiped God, who was sitting on the throne. They cried out, "Amen! Praise the LORD!" And from the throne came a voice that said, "Praise our God, all his servants, all who fear him, from the least to the greatest." Then I heard again what sounded like the shout of a vast crowd or the roar of mighty ocean waves or the crash of loud thunder: "Praise the LORD! For the Lord our God, the Almighty, reigns. Let us be glad and rejoice, and let us give honor to him. For the time has come for the wedding feast of the Lamb, and his bride has prepared herself. She has been given the finest of pure white linen to wear."

Throughout the book of Revelation the language oscillates between pictures of doom and gloom and boisterous, ecstatic worship. The forces of evil harass and torment the people of God. The people themselves vacillate between loyalty and infidelity. But finally, here in chapter 19, we come to the grand turning point. The wedding is announced. The Great King has won the heart of his beloved. She is going to become his bride. It's going to happen. For sure. Sweetness engulfs us. Everybody is happy.

This vision of a happy ending is perhaps the most important difference between atheism and theism. Christianity, in particular, imagines a bright future. Not just the possibility of a bright future, but a definite, sure triumph of goodness and light. This glorious, triumphant future is not merely one of an infinity of possible futures. We claim that God guarantees the final cosmic celebration. We affirm a future that all creation will judge to be sweet, good and satisfying. The universe has a story that comes out “right.”

Atheism does not offer this kind of confidence. Certainly, a bright future is one of the infinite possibilities among the infinity of universes imagined by mathematicians. But its likelihood is vanishingly minuscule.

Atheism asks weighty questions. Those questions deserve our respect. Some of the questions atheism raises are the same questions we Adventists pose to conventional Christianity: How could a good God torture people, even really bad people, for billions of years? For an atheist, it's a rhetorical question. For Adventists, it's a good question and we answer it: A good God could not do such a thing. The notion of eternal hell fire is bad theology.

Atheists and Adventists together ask how God could have written the verse in Psalms that celebrates war time brutality against children (Psalm 137:9). Adventists answer the question: God did not write that verse. No such thought ever entered his mind.

Atheists ask difficult questions. We owe them a measure of respect for voicing out loud questions that occasionally haunt even the most devout among us. No matter how many different ways we try to explain the relationship between the goodness of God and the suffering of the world, in the end, our explanations fail to provide a rational map of the connection between a good God and a suffering world.

We run out of words. No formula works. We cannot answer the question using logic and rational analysis.

Still we are believers. We believe the story will come out right. We believe the troubles and pain, the injustice and tragedy of the human story will be more than matched by the glorious climax. We arrive at this conviction by paying attention to way our hearts respond to stories.

Some of us are more cerebral than others. But no one can live on reason alone. I have been reading Frans de Waal's book, The Bonobo and the Atheist. De Waal pokes gentle fun at philosopher Peter Singer who made great show of being ruthlessly logical in his ethical reasoning based on first principles. When Singer was challenged about the great inconsistency between his pompous claims about the rationality of his ethics and his emotionally-driven, exceptional care for his mother. Singer replied, “Perhaps it is more difficult than I thought before, because it is different with it's your mother” (de Waal, p.184).

To be human includes reason and rationality, of course. It also includes heart. And our truest response to stories comes from our hearts not through logical analysis.

One of the great stories in the Bible opens like the Zorro movie. The first scene is happy enough. There was a recession in Israel. Food became scarce. A Jewish man named Elimelech moved his family from Bethlehem to Moab.

It looked like a smart move. Elimelech found work. Things were going well. Then he got sick and died, leaving Naomi with their two sons to fend for themselves. Mom and boys did okay. They were making it. The boys, Mahlon and Kilion, got married. Naomi, loved her new daughters, Ruth and Orpah. She began hoping for grandkids. Then Mahlon and Kilion got sick. Real sick. It was scary. Then it wasn't scary. It was terrible. Both young men died, leaving the three women to fend for themselves.

Three women alone was not viable in that society. Naomi told her daughters-in-law that she was going back to her family in Bethlehem. She urged them to go back to their parents' homes. Maybe they could find husbands again. Both daughters-in-law insisted they would go with her. They loved her. She was a real mother to them.

Naomi insisted. “Look,” she said, “You are young and beautiful. You have your whole lives in front of you. And I can't help you. I cannot give you husbands. I have no money. I have nothing. God is against me. You better go.”

Orphah, finally, reluctantly, headed back to her parents' home. But Ruth was adamant.

"Don't ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the LORD punish me severely if I allow anything but death to separate us!" Ruth 1:16-17

So the two of them traveled to Bethlehem.

They arrived about the time of the barley harvest. Custom was that poor people could glean in the grain fields. That meant that after a harvesting crew had moved through a field, the poor folk could go and pick up any stray grain that had been dropped. They could cut any stalks that had been overlooked by harvesters moving efficiently and fast.

Ruth told Naomi she was going to go glean and off she went.

That night when Ruth came home, Naomi was there to ask how her day had gone. Ruth was full of news. First, she had brought home a full basket of raw grain, plus some roasted grain that had been left over from the lunch the owner of the field had given her.

Then Ruth, full of giggles and amazement, told how the rich man who owned the field had talked to her and urged her to work only in his field because he thought she, as a single woman, might be harassed in other fields. Oh, and he told the men to be kind to her. And he said she could glean right among the sheaves. He said he knew about her, that he had heard about her sticking with Naomi after the death of their husbands. He had invited her to rest in the shelter with the work crew and to help herself to water the men had drawn from the well. And he was so good looking.

Naomi was listening and nodding and smiling. When Ruth slowed down enough so Naomi could get a word in edge-wise, Naomi said, “That man is a relative of ours. He, too, is single.”

So Ruth worked through the barley harvest. Then she spent the wheat harvest also working in fields owned by Boaz.

Some time near the end of the wheat harvest, Naomi had a mother-daughter talk with Ruth. “Look,” she said. “It's time you got married again. You're not getting any younger. Neither am I. Here's what you do. You know that nice man Boaz you've been telling me about all harvest? Well, tonight he's going to be winnowing late. So here is what you do.

Now do as I tell you—take a bath and put on perfume and dress in your nicest clothes. Then go to the threshing floor, but don't let Boaz see you until he has finished eating and drinking. Be sure to notice where he lies down; then go and uncover his feet and lie down there. He will tell you what to do. Ruth 3:3-4

Ruth did just what Naomi told her. She waited until Boaz had sacked out, exhausted and full of food and drink. Then she sneaked up, pulled up the bottom of his robe and lay down at his feet.

About midnight Boaz roused and discovered there was a woman lying at his feet.

"Who are you?" he asked. "I am your servant Ruth," she replied. "Spread the corner of your covering over me, for you are my family redeemer. "The LORD bless you, my daughter!" Boaz exclaimed. "You are showing even more family loyalty now than you did before, for you have not gone after a younger man, whether rich or poor. Now don't worry about a thing, my daughter. I will do what is necessary, for everyone in town knows you are a virtuous woman. Ruth 3:10-11

Boaz told her to be sure and keep their secret. “Don't let anyone know you have been here with me at the threshing floor.” He gives us a large basket of grain as a present to Naomi and sends her off before daylight.

Boaz was obviously thrilled. But even though he was rich and single, there were still hurdles to be cleared related to the way that people and land were connected. But nothing was going to stop Boaz now. He worked out a deal. He bought Naomi's ancestral land and in the process gained legal right to marry Ruth.

So Boaz and Ruth got married. She became pregnant. The baby was born. Life was good.

Then the women of the town said to Naomi, "Praise the LORD, who has now provided a redeemer for your family! May this child be famous in Israel. May he restore your youth and care for you in your old age. For he is the son of your daughter-in-law who loves you and has been better to you than seven sons!" Naomi took the baby and cuddled him to her breast. And she cared for him as if he were her own. The neighbor women said, "Now at last Naomi has a son again!" And they named him Obed. He became the father of Jesse and the grandfather of David. Ruth 4:14-17

If you had been there and watched Naomi cuddling her grandson, you would have smiled. You would have felt the story came out right. That sense of happy ending in no way would have trivialized the pain and grief both Naomi and Ruth had suffered. They had carried years of grief. And in their new lives, I'm sure they would still sometimes feel the ache of their losses. But, their story is not about loss and grief. It is about the happy ending. It is about the triumph of love.

I am reminded of the words of a country song, “God bless the broken road that led me straight to you.”

In a romantic story, there are always obstacles, hindrances, disappointments, apparent impossibilities. Then when the lovers are finally together, all of that becomes faded memories, hazy behind the glow of the joy of their union.

And our hearts declare that this is right. This is how it should be.

As believers we declare our confidence that the entire human story will come out right. God, the great lover, will triumph. Somehow history will come right. God and his bride will host a grand wedding celebration and the cosmos will be glad.

As we are approaching the beginning of another school year, I encourage you students to remember the ultimate romance, the romance of the triumph of goodness. As you take classes, prepare yourselves professionally and engage with other students, ask how you can help move God's story forward this coming school year.

Parents, God is dreaming with you of the sweet ending of the broken and crooked road that sometimes trips up our kids. Work to respond to your kids in the light of the triumph of goodness. Sure, some of them will break your heart. Some may even do stupid things. (Is that a surprise?) Keep loving. Try not to freak out over the detours and mistakes that seem to be an inescapable part of the story.

The triumph of goodness is sometimes unbelievable. Atheism seems to agree with what we see around us. It asks good questions. Still every time your heart thrills at a movie that comes out right, listen to your heart. It may know something wiser and truer than can ever be contained in formulas

Love wins. And when we train ourselves to be skillful in love, when we practice compassion and justice, we are cooperating with God. We are moving with God in the grand triumph flow of history toward triumphant goodness.

The Remnant Church

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, July 27, 2013

First a story I have told before, and will probably tell again:

In the 1980s I pastored a church on New York's upper east side called Church of the Advent Hope. The neighborhood was decidedly upscale. The congregation was young and vibrant. Then there was Alex.

He was twenty-something, about six feet three. Alex struggled with schizophrenia. Sometimes you could see his brokenness on his face. Sometimes his behavior was erratic. Sometimes women working alone in the kitchen in the basement would turn to see Alex standing in the doorway watching them. That was spooky. I told him not to do that.

We did our best to include him, to make him at home among us while trying to provide adequate supervision for him.

Alex grew up in an Adventist home in the Bronx. He knew about prophecies and the end of the world and the Mark of the Beast.

When I first met him he still sometimes stayed the night at his mother and aunt's apartment. But that finally came to an end. They were afraid to let him in the door. So Alex was on the street full time. An Adventist business man, Rick Shorter, sometimes let Alex stay with him, when Rick was in town on business. Summers, Alex would sleep in the park. Winters he would ride the subway until dawn or until he was kicked off.

Social services placed him in an apartment with several other guys who struggled with mental illness. They provided various support, medication, the supervision of a social worker. But it wasn't enough. Not for Alex. Even with assistance, he couldn't manage to keep his place. He was back on the street in a couple of months.

Alex sometimes attended prayer meeting on Wednesday nights. When he learned that I often spent the night at the church, he began asking if he could sleep inside the church. I didn't mind. It was no skin off my back. I'd give him a pillow and blanket and settle him on a pew in the sanctuary. Which was far more comfortable than the subway.

Some winter mornings he'd come to the church at 4 or 5 in the morning and ring the bell, asking if he could come in out of the cold. Yes. Of course.

After this happened a few times, I explained to Alex that he was welcome to sleep in the church on nights I was there, but he needed to come by midnight. I didn't appreciate having to get up at 4 or 5 in the morning to let him in. My nights were often late. I needed my sleep. “Come before midnight or don't bother coming.” I said.

Alex promised. But he was unable to fulfill his promises. He'd ring the bell again at 4 or 5 in the morning. I would drag out of my sleeping bag in the basement, traipse upstairs and let him in. I'd give him a pillow and blanket, settle him on a pew, then go back to bed, fuming.

Finally, I decided to practice tough love. The next time Alex came at some unearthly hour in the morning, I would ignore him. He would have to learn.

A few weeks later, I was snug in my sleeping bag. It was raining and cold outside. It was fairly cold inside. The bell rang. I looked at my watch. 5 a.m. It was time to practice tough love. I pulled my sleeping bag tighter. The bell rang again. I remained steadfast. The bell again. And again.

Then I remembered that the doorbell rang not only in the basement where I slept. It also rang in the caretaker's apartment upstairs at the rear of the church. Their sleep was being assaulted by the same ringing that was tormenting me. I crawled out of my sleeping bag, dragged myself upstairs and opened the door. There was Alex with his goofy grin.

Even before he asked to come inside, before he had a chance to say anything, I started in on him. “Alex, why do you do this? I'm happy to let you sleep on a pew. But I've told you repeatedly, come in the evening. Why do you insist on waking me up?”

His goofy grin never left his face. He stood there with a look of pure innocence, like a dog trying to figure out why his master is not pleased that he has eaten the neighbor's chinchilla that came through the fence. Then he said, “I don't have anywhere else to go.”

Which reminds me of Peter's words to Jesus when crowds were offended by something Jesus said. Jesus said to his inner circle, “Will you also leave?” Peter replied, “To whom would we go?” (John 6:68)

For Alex, the Adventist Church was the one true church. It was God's remnant church, the visible, organized expression of God's community on earth. It was also home. So when he had nowhere else to go, when he was at the end of his rope, he came home. Of course.

Now some high brow theology:

We are the church of God. We—the Seventh-day Adventist Church—we are God's church. We are not just another denomination. Our church is the unique fulfillment of a prophecy in Revelation that describes God's people at the end of human history. This belief is written into our creed. The special name we have for this doctrine is “The Remnant Church,” taken from the King James translation of Revelation 12:17.

And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.

This claim by the Adventist Church is highly controversial. As you would expect, other churches think they are the true church. Most famously the Roman Catholic Church makes precisely this claim.

I have said, outside of the Catholic Church there is no divine faith. Some of the Protestant friends will be shocked at this, to hear me say that outside of the Catholic Church there is no divine faith, and that without faith there is no salvation, but damnation. I will prove all I have said. (In an article titled, “The One True Church,” by by Fr. Arnold Damen, S.J. (1815 - 1890)
Imprimatur: Michael Augustine, Archbishop of New York. http://www.drbo.org/church2.htm)

Molloy and others speak of the “full,” “complete,” “total,” and “exclusive” identity between the Catholic Church and the Church of Christ. Such language can easily mislead and is understandably offensive to non-Catholic Christians. The intention, however, is to underscore that the Catholic Church is nothing less than the Church of Christ and to counter any suggestion that the Catholic Church is—albeit the most fully and rightly ordered—only one church among other churches. Again, this is not a matter of boasting or of ecclesial rivalry, which should have no place among followers of Christ. It is a matter of being as faithful as possible to what Christ intended his Church to be. (In an article, “The One True Church” by Richard John Neuhaus. First Things, April, 2009. http://www.firstthings.com/article/2009/03/the-one-true-church-35)

As you might expect, the Lutheran Church which rose in opposition to the Catholic Church makes precisely the same claim. Here is a statement by a major Missouri Synod Lutheran theologian:

The Lutheran Church expects of you that you are moved to belong to the Church, not merely outwardly and by means of external circumstances, but from your heart. . . . Indeed, the Lutheran church expects of you that you would sooner part with life and limb than to become unfaithful to the service in the Evangelical Lutheran Church. The Lutheran Church expects you to be zealous for the Lutheran Church, . . . you will accomplish this only if you are by God's grace convinced that the Evangelical Lutheran Church, as it is presently called, is the orthodox church, or, what is the same thing, the true, visible Church of God on earth. Therefore, we will occupy ourselves in these evening hours with the proof that the orthodox, or the true, visible Church of God on earth, is the Evangelical Lutheran Church. (“Lectures on the Evangelical Lutheran Church, Lecture One: The True Visible Church of God on Earth” by Dr. F. Pieper - Translated by Bryce L. Winters. http://lutherantheology.com/uploads/works/pieper/tvcgod.html.) From Wikipedia: As a Systematic theologian, Franz Pieper's magnum opus, Christliche Dogmatik (1917-1924), translated into English as Christian Dogmatics (1950-1953), provided the modern world with a learned and extensive presentation of orthodox Lutheran theology. It continues to be the basic textbook of doctrinal theology in Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod. He was also the main author of the Missouri Synod's A Brief Statement (1932), an authoritative presentation of that church body's doctrinal stance.

Various groups that call themselves “The Church of Christ” naturally disagree with our claim to be “the one, true church.”

This from the web site of the Union Church of Christ, 919 E Jackson Rd, Union, MS 39365:

It is clear that those who are saved DO NOT BELONG TO A DENOMINATION because there is only ONE church ever mentioned in the entire New Testament and that is the church of Christ (Romans 16:16). (http://www.unionchurchofchrist.net/home)

Of course, the Union Church of Christ insists it is not a denomination like all those other groups that call themselves churches, but are, in fact, denominations. No, the Union Church of Christ, is merely the true church of Christ existing in the town of Union, Mississippi.

My favorite exemplar of the Church of Christ confidence is expressed in the name of the True Church of God in Christ, Incorporated. From their web site:

A personal message from Bishop Oprie Jeffries: We are the True Church of God in Christ and you can depend on us because we are watching out for you. We are interested in giving you the knowledge of God from the book of God so that you may become mature and perfect in the will of God.

A doctrinal statement on the same web site: We are the True Church of God in Christ, Incorporated of the Apostles' Faith and Doctrine. As such, we preach, teach, and live what the Apostles' left on record. (http://www.thetruechurch.org/index.html)

The Adventist claim to be the “one true church” is also strongly contested within the church itself. Many Adventist scholars question the traditional interpretation of the prophecy in Revelation that we have used as the foundation for our claim. Pastors have expressed concern that this doctrine often leads to arrogance. But whatever our personal opinions about the validity of this doctrine, there it sits, article 13 in our creed.

While we acknowledge that God is active among Christians outside the Adventist Church, we claim that the organized Adventist denomination is the “remnant church of Bible prophecy.” We base this on our interpretation of Revelation 12:17.

Roman Catholics base their claim to be the one true church on Matthew 16. Church of Christ denominations base their claims on verses in Acts or Romans. Lutheran claims are based on passages in Paul. We all have our favorite passages.

As a pastor I have no authority to alter the creed. I do have the responsibility to interpret the creed in ways that are helpful to our life together. The question is: how can we take the notion that our denomination, our church, is God's true church make it something beautiful and helpful?

How would this doctrine help Alex? What guidance would it give to me as a pastor in thinking about how to respond to Alex whose behavior was sometimes personally annoying and sometimes was disruptive in the congregation?

The passage in Revelation that serves as the primary reference for our doctrine of church describes the “remnant church” as those who keep the commandments of God and have the testimony of Jesus. What does this mean?

One place in the New Testament where Jesus explicitly testifies regarding regarding keeping the commandments is in Luke 10. In this chapter, a religious expert asks Jesus what is required for salvation. Jesus replies by asking the expert, “What do you think? How do you interpret Scripture?” The expert answers, “Love God and love people.” Jesus says, “Smart answer. Do that and you will live.” The expert didn't want to look like an idiot who asked a question he already knew the answer to, so he asked, what do you mean love my neighbor. Who is my neighbor? Jesus responds with the story of the Good Samaritan. A man is beat up and robbed and left for dead. A couple of good Jewish people come by without stopping to help.

"Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds with olive oil and wine and bandaged them. Then he put the man on his own donkey and took him to an inn, where he took care of him. Luke 10:33-34

Jewish people regarded Samaritans as having a seriously defective religion. In the gospel of John, Jesus agrees with this view. Still, here in Luke, Jesus pushes right past this man's liturgical, theological defectiveness and holds him man up as a model keeper of God's law.

The testimony of Jesus regarding keeping the commandments is this: do the obvious thing to help people in need. Include people rather than exclude. Heal rather than analyze.

Which brings me back to Alex. If my church is the church of Jesus, I am required to care for Alex. Alex will never get better. Alex is not going to “progress in sanctification.” Alex is not going to be led the Holy Spirit into an ever-closer resemblance to ideal of God embodied in Jesus Christ. Alex grew up in the church. He is part of our family. If we are Christ's church we cannot leave his care to others. We cannot send him down the road to a church that specializes in the care of the mentally ill. We must make room for him in this church.

And not just for Alex, but for all who struggle with mental illness. And for those who are developmentally impaired. Classic Adventist revivalism imagines a church composed solely of people who are perfect exemplars of balanced, wise spiritual maturity.

The doctrine of the remnant and the testimony of Jesus contradict that dream. The doctrine of the remnant—the notion that our church is not some specialized subdivision of God's church, but is God's church in its fullness—this doctrine requires us to include Alex in our vision of church. Someone who functions marginally, someone who all his life will not be able to function on his own. This man, too, is an indispensable member of God's church, the remnant church. We must serve him well.

Consider these additional examples of Jesus testimony:

In Matthew 19

One day some parents brought their children to Jesus so he could lay his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples scolded the parents for bothering him. But Jesus said, "Let the children come to me. Don't stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children." Matthew 19:13-14

In Luke 19:

Meanwhile, Zacchaeus stood before the Lord and said, "I will give half my wealth to the poor, Lord, and if I have cheated people on their taxes, I will give them back four times as much!" Jesus responded, "Salvation has come to this home today, for this man has shown himself to be a true son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost." Luke 19:8-10

Hungry people.

Then Jesus called his disciples and told them, "I feel sorry for these people. They have been here with me for three days, and they have nothing left to eat. I don't want to send them away hungry, or they will faint along the way." Matthew 15:32.

A woman caught in adultery.

"Neither do I condemn you; go and* sin no more." John 8:11

To a rich man:

Jesus told him, "If you want to be perfect, go and sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." Matthew 19:21

Regarding a poor woman:

While Jesus was in the Temple, he watched the rich people dropping their gifts in the collection box. Then a poor widow came by and dropped in two small coins. "I tell you the truth," Jesus said, "this poor widow has given more than all the rest of them. Luke 21:1-3

What is the testimony of Jesus: That his community includes children, hungry people, rich people, poor people, Samaritan people, people on the wrong side of cultural judgment of the church (Zacchaeus).

Catholics, Lutherans, Churches of Christ and Adventists all claim to be God's “one true church.” When any of us use this claim as a pretext for claiming superiority or authority over others, it is merely a religious basis for sinning. On the other hand, rightly understood, our sense that we are God's church becomes an exalted challenge to mirror the testimony of Jesus and declare God's welcome to the little ones, the condemned ones, those with defective theology, the poor and the rich.

Rightly understood this doctrine is about our obligation to welcome and serve people. Properly applied, we will forget the doctrine in our wholehearted service to people.

Our Bodies, God's Temples

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, July 20, 2013

Last Sabbath after church about thirty Green Lake Church people headed out to Snoqualmie Pass. We parked at a trail head off Exit 54, mounted our bicycles and headed west on the Iron Horse Trail. We rode for 22 miles to Rattlesnake Lake Park. Old people and kids, guys and gals, experienced riders and beginners.

It looked like an ordinary bike ride. People peddling, laughing, talking, swerving, crashing. Quinn riding in his trailer squealing with delight all the way through the two-mile long tunnel. The atheist, observing would have thought it was a one-off excursion, a random event. But then the preacher tells him, “Actually this is one of our secret sacraments.”

The atheist has visited Bahais and Methodists and Baptists. He is familiar with Jehovah's Witnesses and even knows a lot about Scientology. But bicycles are not sacramental vehicles in any of those religions. It's a mystery.

Then on Sunday morning, the atheist is back at Snoqualmie Pass, again with a bunch of Green Lake people. This time, not for a bike ride, but for a run. 26.2 miles, a marathon. The race was organized by Green Lake Church members. Some of the 450 runners were Green Lake people. A number of the volunteers supporting the race were Green Lake people.

You wouldn't blame the atheist if he was puzzled. What's with all this movement? Is exercise part of our religion?

This question is sharpened when you look a little more closely. On the bicycle ride who was at head of the pack? Out in front of the serious Seattle bikers? Ahead of the teenage guys? The minister's wife, peddling like the Energizer Bunny. And on Sunday morning which of the Green Lake Church people were actually running? The head elder and the senior pastor.

So, is exercise really a part of the Adventist religion?

Yes.

Why? Why would a religion that claims to trace its theological and spiritual roots to Jesus make exercise part of its culture?

This question was brought came into sharp focus for me a few weeks ago. I received an email from a pastor in Zimbabwe. He had read one of my sermons that spoke of the centrality of healing in the life of the church. (I think it was “Healing Vision,” December 29, 2012. http://liberaladventist.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-ministry-of-healing.html)

He wanted to know more about my views on healing in the life of the church. After exchanging a few emails, it became clear his primary interest was faith healing. What did I think of it?

The writer is an Adventist evangelist. He wants to do a good job converting people to the Adventist Church. More than that, he wants to be effective as a representative of Jesus. All across Africa, there are preachers drawing crowds of many thousands whose work prominently features faith healing. One church in Nigeria led by a Pentacostal faith healer seats 50,000 people.

I'm not surprised that the Adventist evangelist was fascinated by faith healing. He, too, would like to be able to gather crowds of thousands. Perhaps faith healing was a tool he could use to bring God's word to tens of thousands. What did I think?

I agreed with him that a concern for human well-being should lie at the very center of our life and mission as a church of Jesus. Jesus cared about people—about their down-to-earth, physical needs. In his day, he was more famous for healing than he was for teaching.

Which raises the question: if your goal is to improve the quality of life of your people, what is the best way to do that? If you want to reduce human suffering, if you want to improve people's health and happiness, what will strategy will make the most difference in that direction?

The answer, beyond any dispute, is changing the culture of people to include habits that are conducive to health. In many places in Africa, it would be improving the water supply infrastructure. Unfortunately, all across Africa, people are beginning to suffer from the same kinds of avoidable diseases that haunt us—diabetes, cancer, heart disease, emphysema. It is precisely those kinds of diseases that historic Adventist health rules help to prevent.

Nearly everywhere in Africa, the greatest need is for improved taxation and economic structures. These economic improvements would have a direct impact on nearly every measure of physical health. So, when an Adventist preacher talks to me about healing for Africa, I have a hard time thinking the most effective way to mimic Jesus' concern for people is to practice faith healing.

The example of Jesus' concern for human well-being ought to drive us to address the health habits and social structures which would reduce human suffering and enhance the quality of life.

It is easy to see the changes that need to be made in Africa. It is sometimes harder to see the solutions to problems that lie right under our noses. Something that receives very little attention in most of the acrimonious debate over health care here in our country is the reality that most of us can do something to improve our health, something that doesn't require going to a hospital or doctor's office, something that does not require insurance. We can embrace habits that will improve our health.

Just this week, I saw an article in the Seattle Times about longevity in the U.S. Accompanying the article was a map of longevity broken down by state. It was a haunting picture. It showed the worst conditions of life in the states with the highest percentage of Christian fundamentalists. People who think the essence of religion is merely believing in Jesus, end up living poorly.

From very early in our history, Adventists have made the advocacy of healthy practices a central part of our religion.

This concern for physical health is rooted in a several basic theological convictions.

First, we are creationists. We believe the physical world was willed into existence by God. The physical world is essentially good. Sure, it has been mucked up. It is broken. But it is broken goodness. Adventist spirituality does not dream of escaping the body, but mending the body. We don't imagine our bodies as impediments to spiritual life. Rather our bodies are the very temples of God. They are the tools of righteousness. Righteousness means using our bodies as instruments of compassion, justice, hope and love. (Texts: Genesis 1&2. Creed: Articles 3, 4, 5, 6)

Second, we see the ministry of Jesus as a model for contemporary spiritual life. Just as Jesus cared for the physical well-being of people, so should we. (Matthew 4:23-25; 28:19-20

Third, in our vision of the future, we don't imagine humans freed from their bodies to float like ghosts through eternity. Rather in the Adventist vision of the future, we see people enjoying perfect bodies. (Revelation 21-22)

These various theological convictions stand behind our radical embrace of Paul's statement that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. We regard human bodies as sacred.

Don't you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself for God bought you with a high price. So you must honor God with your body (1 Corinthians 6:19-20)

Which brings us back to the bicycle ride and marathon I mentioned at the beginning of the sermon. People who move tend to enjoy better life than those who don't. Bicycling, hiking, swimming, lifting weights, gardening, yoga, walking the dog—being active improves our quality of life. And when we are active, we influence those around us.

I hope one or two of you may still be wondering why I referred to the bicycle ride last Sabbath as a sacrament.

What is a sacrament? It is an earthly vehicle of the presence and favor of God. Classic Christianity regards the Lord's Supper as a sacrament. When we receive the bread and wine of communion, we are receiving the presence and favor God. Whether the bread and wine are understood as symbols or as magical incarnations, the spiritual meaning is the same: In our eating and drinking God is uniquely present.

Most Christians understand baptism in the same way: In this rite God is present in an extraordinary way.

In addition to the universally recognized sacraments of the Lord's Supper and baptism, Adventists have added our own special sacrament: The Sabbath afternoon walk.

Adventists believe the natural world is God's second book. When we go out to a park on Sabbath afternoon, we are deliberately putting ourselves in a place to experience God through his second book. We expect that the direct encounter of our children with rocks and dirt, flowers and trees, ducks and Stellar's jays will nourish them spiritually.

Further, we have a deep respect for the holy value of physical activity, the cultivation of health. For many of us, going for a walk in the park on Sabbath afternoon is as integral to our Sabbath practice as is going to church or praying.

Last Sabbath, we walked on wheels. Past massive, impressive talus slides. Across burbling, crystal clear creeks. Past giant hemlocks and Doug firs. Under a magnificent sky. I don't think the kids were consciously meditating on the wonders of God the creator as they rode. Probably the adults weren't either. But our conviction as Adventists is that in a natural setting where God's creation is on display, we are touched by God's artistry even when we are not aware. God is at work shaping our souls through the beauty, order, and vitality of nature, quite apart from our recognition. And God is honored through the movement of our bodies in exercise.

For most of classic Christendom—Roman Catholicism and American Protestant Christianity—the primary goal of spirituality is escaping damnation. The big question is, “What must I do to be saved?” Or in more blunt language, “How can I avoid being condemned to hell?” In these spiritualities, damnation is such massive disaster and it is so likely to happen that all other considerations are trivialized. A heart attack is a minor inconvenience. It will merely kill you. Obesity and diabetes are similarly inconsequential. They will merely decrease your quality of life for a few decades. What is that compared to the horrific pain of burning in hell for billions of years.

Adventism, on the other hand, rejects the threat of eternal hell fire. Mature Adventism rejects the notion that we live on the edge of damnation. The Bible uses metaphors for God like Father, shepherd, mother, doctor, mother hen. Without exception the paternal pictures of God used by Jesus pictured the Heavenly Father as compassionate and competent. He will save his children. The Heavenly Shepherd will find his sheep. The mother hen will safely gather her chicks. The divine physician will heal his people. The teacher will successfully instruct his pupils.

We do not live in fear of divine failure. We do not live in fear of divine condemnation.

Instead we live in confidence that God is present with us in our bicycling and running. God is with us on the days we are too tired to move.

I was coached for the marathon on Sunday by Brian Pendleton. He took me out on training runs. He gave me very strict instructions about my pacing. Especially for the first 20 miles of the race, I was to watch the clock and make sure never to exceed 12 minutes a mile.

After I had been running for ten miles or so, I was strongly tempted to ignore Brian's instructions. I was running slowly and easily. I wasn't breathing hard. I wasn't tired. Surely I could run a little faster than Brian said. But, for once, I did as I was told.

Then somewhere between mile 21 and 22 my legs began protesting. It became work. I walked about a quarter of each mile. Then it was the final mile. I caught up with a woman who was walking. She told me she was disappointed in herself. She had been hoping for a faster time, but she had run out of gas. I slowed to walk with her for a few feet, but after she told me this, I said, “Come on. Let's go.”

She picked up her feet and we pushed for the last half mile together.

It's a picture of our life together as a church. We dream together of the pursuit of holiness and health. Sometimes we get so tired we can hardly put one foot in front of the other. That's when it is most important for us to keep each other company. Sometimes we walk together. Sometimes we run together. Sometimes we keep company with a friend who has fallen and cannot run any longer. Whatever our competence and strength or lack thereof, the vital heart of our spiritual life is being together.

A Thousand Years of Answers

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, July 13, 2013

Texts: Revelation 20, Matthew 19:28; Luke 22:28-30

Robert Taylor grew up in South Africa in the days of apartheid. As a teenager, he got involved in anti-apartheid activism and fled the country to avoid compulsory military service under the apartheid regime. That early struggle for justice became a pattern for his life. He became a priest. From 1999 to 2008 he served as Dean of St. Marks Cathedral here is Seattle where he often made news with his bold, outspoken style.

Given Taylor's reputation as a bold, even brash, defender of the underdog and critic of established authorities who failed to meet his standards, I was keenly interested in one of his remarks in a radio interview I heard with him a few weeks ago.

Steve Scherr, the host of Weekday, was talking with Taylor about Nelson Mandella. They talked about the years Mandella spent in South African prisons—27 years, most of it in isolation from other prisoners.

At one point Sherr talked about the loss of opportunity. What might Mandella have been able to do for South Africa and the world if the evil apartheid government hadn't locked him away for almost three decades?

It was a good question. Over the last fifteen years Nelson Mandella has earned respect the world over for his wisdom, maturity, restraint. Surely his years in prison were an abject waste of human potential. Taylor himself had felt the evil wrath of the government that had incarcerated Mandella.

So what did Taylor say to Scherr's hypothetical question? What had the world lost because of those 27 years in prison.

Taylor agreed that that Mandella's imprisonment was the act of an evil, repressive regime. And yes, Mandellas accomplishments in his later years deserved all the praise and awards that he had been accorded. “But . . .” and here Taylor hesitated. These were not going to be easy words. . . “We have to keep in mind that when Mandella went to prison he was an angry revolutionary seduced into violence to overthrow the evil power of apartheid. If he had not gone to prison, who knows where his commitment to violence might have taken him. The Nelson Mandella who went to prison was not the same man who thirty years later was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Somewhere in those prison years the violent warrior became a peacemaker. Maybe incarceration was the only path to the wisdom and greatness Mandella demonstrated in his later years.” [This is a construction from my memory, not an actual verbatim.]

It was a sweet story, for my tastes the very best kind of story: Human suffering is dignified by a noble, glorious outcome. It is a model of one of the grand central claims of Christianity: God is working in all things to accomplish goodness. Ultimate, final, triumphant goodness. Even in the darkest suffering, in the greatest tragedies, in the most bizarre catastrophes there is operating a benevolent intention that will finally show itself. God is in control. God makes no mistakes.

So, of course, Nelson Mandella's 27 years in jail was the necessary preparation for his later work as a peacemaker and statesman. God didn't leave him in jail one day longer than was necessary.

Some people find this perspective comforting and reassuring. They do not fret in the face of evil because they are confident it is a mere prelude to the triumphant of goodness.

Others find this kind of thinking offensive. It disconnects from reality. It turns religion into an opiate in the worst sense—an addictive numbing against real pain, a self-induced passivity and inaction. God is going to fix things. Everything is going just as it should. There is nothing for us to do but pray.

It seems to deny the reality of injustice. It trivializes human suffering. For some people the claim that everything is going to turn out all right, that God is doing exactly the best that can be done, provokes questioning more than confidence.

Let me put the question as starkly as I can:

Classic Christian theology and devotional writing declares that the highest spiritual development is complete, unquestioning trust in God. A Bible passage that epitomizes this view is found in Romans 9:20. In response to a logical question about the justice of God, Paul writes:

Who are you, a mere human being, to argue with God?

Questioning God is seen as impudence. Logically applying principles of justice and equity to the actions or inaction of God is declared to be crass arrogance.

Who are you, a mere human being, to argue with God?

Christian theologians from Augustine to Calvin and Luther endorse this perspective. It is seconded by devotional writers like Oswald Chambers and Thomas a Kempis. It is celebrated in our hymns. A real Christian doesn't question. A real Christian trusts.

But what if your spiritual life is characterized more by questioning than by confidence? What if you can't bring yourself to this kind of sweet, unruffled confidence that everything is going just as it's supposed to? Is there any place for you in the kingdom of heaven?

Curiously, the next to last item in the Adventist creed addresses just this question. This article of our creed offers hope and “a place” to questioners. It's the Adventist teaching regarding “The Millennium.” The millennium is a thousand year period mentioned in Revelation 20. Adventist interpretation of this passage goes like this:

At the end of time, Jesus will come back to earth and dramatically interrupt the normal flow of human history. This is the Second Coming. Jesus will gather all his people—those who are alive at the time and all who have died over the millennia—and take them back to heaven with him. All humans not taken to heaven at this point will be dead. Back in heaven the people Jesus has gathered will spend a thousand years judging. Please note, these people are not themselves on trial. They are not being judged. They are the judges. For a thousand years.

At the end of the thousand years Jesus and all these people will return to earth. The damned, who have been in their graves during all this time, are resurrected and launch an attack on the Holy City. The attack fails when God blasts the attackers with fire.

Then God remakes the earth as an environmental and human paradise. And everyone lives happily ever after.

Notice several implications of this story from Revelation.

First, humans are not on trial in this story. They are judges. They are asking questions and rendering verdicts. They are NOT merely paying obeisance to the King of Heaven. Their judgment matters.

Of course, the presumption running all through the Book of Revelation is that God is perfectly just. John has no questions about the goodness of God. He is confident that every disaster, every plague is completely, totally justified by the highest standards of justice. That is the sweet, settled conviction of the author. But instead of insisting that we simply accept this statement as the last word, the indisputable conclusion, John writes that in the next world, in the realm of heavenly judgment, humans will not be forever suppliants of the heavenly court. Before the human story wraps up, humans will be on the throne. In John's telling, the story cannot be finished until humans are placed in a position where their judgment matters.

As long as human are standing on the floor of the heavenly court their hosannas are qualified by their inferior position. Perhaps they are merely kissing up to the Powerful One. Perhaps their praise of God is a sycophant's strategy. Say nice things to the boss.

What happens when they are in position to make real decisions? What happens when they have the authority to make independent judgments? How will God fare then?

In five different passages in the book of Revelation, John places God's people on the throne. (Revelation 2:26-28; 3:21; 5:10; 20:4-6; 22:5). God puts people in a position of power. He gives them a platform from which to pronounce significant verdicts. In the eyes of God, human opinion, human judgment matters. The highest development of human spirituality is not a mindless submission to whatever God says. Rather it is a mindful deliberation and analysis.

I am reminded of the words of Genesis 18:25. Abraham is celebrated as the Father of the Faithful. Note his words to God:

Surely you wouldn't do such a thing, destroying the righteous along with the wicked. Why, you would be treating the righteous and the wicked exactly the same! Surely you wouldn't do that! Should not the Judge of all the earth do what is right?"

Abraham assumes God is moral, but that assumption does not keep Abraham silent. Rather it fuels his challenge to God. Since you are moral, you must act in way that is moral. Since you are moral, I cannot keep quiet when I hear you propose some action that appears immoral. And God welcomed Abraham's challenge. God did not regard it was rude. Rather it was evidence of the highest level of respect.

The Adventist doctrine of the millennium offers encouragement to all the Abrahams among us. If you find yourself restlessly asking questions about God's justice, you are in good company. There is a place for you in God's kingdom. You have company in the person of Abraham, way back at the beginning of the story of faith. And God through the Bible has described a special place for you in the grand consummation. John in Revelation and Jesus in the gospels declare that thoughtful, questioning people committed to justice will be placed on thrones in heaven as God is working to bring about the final triumph of justice.

This story emphatically honors human reasoning. It honors our capacity to render meaningful judgment. The way I interpret this, God cannot get on with his plans for eternity until all our questions have been answered. Our questions about justice are not irrelevant.

I do not mean to imply that questioning God is superior to confidence in God. Questioning that merely leaves us paralyzed with angst is not noble. It is not an elevated human state.

A long time ago when I was a young preacher back in New York City, I was attending a ministers conference. At supper one evening, I was expounding on some problem in the church. I vehemently protested some action or policy of the corporate church. I spouted my proposed solutions. I finally wound down a bit and returned to eating. The pastor sitting next to me, Israel Gonzalez, had been rather silent. So I asked him what he thought.

“Well, John.” he said. “I know there are problems in the church. There are injustices. Church leaders sometimes give Jesus a bad name. But that's God's problem. I devote myself to doing what I can to serve people close around me and trust God will take care of those people and those problems. ”

I was annoyed that this pastor would be so politically uninterested. How would the church ever improve if everyone followed his example? There would be no pressure for change. On the other hand, watching this guy's face, it was abundantly clear that he really was at peace. He was not riddled with angst. I knew he was a beloved and respected pastor. He brought peace and tranquility into every room he entered. He carried light and his light brightened every place he went.

If we were to call his confidence in God an opiate, it would have to be in the sweetest sense. His faith brought ease and relief to hurting people. People tied in knots with anxiety and fear, in his presence were set at ease. His confidence that God was working, that God would be successful, that every injustice would be righted, every loss balanced by ineffable glory, gave him almost magical power to bless others. No, he would not be your candidate to lead a revolution. He would not be fixing the church system. He would not reform the denomination's outdated policies or broken traditions. But Pastor Gonzalez did real good for real people. His faith worked. For himself and for others.

It would be silly to attempt to argue that intellectual was in any sense superior to this kind of rich, active faith.

Still questioning intellectuals have an important role to play in the kingdom of heaven. They are an important feature of the story of Revelation. They are vital to our present performance of the work God has assigned his church.

The fact that Revelation gives judging, questioning, analyzing people 1000 years on the stage of heaven, clearly implies that our questions are not trivial. Even in the light of heaven, in the light of the immediate presence of God, figuring out our deepest questions about justice and forgiveness, vengeance and pardon will not be a routine, matter-of-fact process. Even in that glorious setting, our deepest questions will still be deep. Complexities will still be complex. Our minds will still be challenged.

It is our claim as Christians that it will turn out right. We are anticipating a good answer. But we do not trivialize the quest for understanding.

There is a practical application of this vision of God's people on thrones in heaven: It is those who have asked questions of justice who have been most effective in changing the world. It was people—Christians and non-Christians—who overturned apartheid because it was unjust. In both South Africa and the United States, the Christian church has often been on the wrong side of the struggle for racial justice. Individuals have had to stand with Abraham's courage and say to the church powers: Will not the church of God do right?

Usually the church has been much slower than God to acknowledge the merit of the question. So we must keep asking, keep pushing. Understanding that God has destined us for the throne should give us courage and determination in our present day pursuit of higher, nobler ideals.

I challenge you young people: What are you doing to prepare yourself for sitting on thrones? Are you working for justice in your schools and among your friends? Those of you immersed in the corporate world: What are you doing in light of your destiny as judges on the thrones of heaven? You who are in academia?

Parents, do you remember that your children are going to take the throne? That future ought to shape the reading and entertainment we supply to our children. It should affect our discipline. (Do we really think that spanking future judges is going to heighten their moral sensibility? The answer is no, it won't.)

A thousand years. That's how much respect God shows to the questions of justice. We will get our chance to ask. Let's remember, too, that we are part of the story that will be investigated. Let's make our lives count for justice and goodness.