Sermon preached at North Hill Adventist Fellowship
Sabbath, Christmas, 2010
If you had been at my house early this morning you would have been amazed at the transforming power of Christmas. Just before dawn, I was out feeding the animals. Since we live on a hobby farm you might think this quite unremarkable. After all, farmers are famous for getting up early to do chores.
It has long been my habit to get up early. However, I do not get up and feed animals.
The reason we live on a farm is because my wife and kids love animals. I have supported their hobby by maintaining the farm infrastructure. My days off are spent building horse shelters, constructing fences, installing water lines, running electric. Or repairing horse shelters, fences, water lines or the electric fence. If fix horse trailers, replace the roof on the dog house after the wind rips it off, fix the roof on the chicken house and battle noxious weeds. I'm a farmer. However, I have my limits.
We have animals because my wife and kids are animal lovers. I'm a people lover. When it comes to the farm—I'm the hired hand. I do not feed the animals. Maybe in an emergency. Certainly if everyone else is out of town. But regular morning and evening feeding is their responsibility not mine. If I feed the animals, I own them. And if I own them I can sell them. And then my life would be simple and easy.
It has been an iron-clad rule, an unchangeable principle—I do not do regular feeding. Covering in emergencies when people are sick or gone—maybe. But no way was I going to get sucked into the drudgery of regular animal feeding.
So my going out early on Christmas morning and feeding the animals while everyone else was still asleep—a Sabbath morning, no less, with the responsibility of a sermon hanging over my head, and having been up really late last night for our Christmas eve service—this would surely be evidence of an overflow of Christmas spirit.
Actually, it's more complicated than that.
While I constantly complain about the hassles of living on a farm—the endless repairs, the battles with weeds and mud, the animal emergencies that disrupt everything, the expense (Hobby farms like ours do not produce income. They only produce expenses.)--there are some benefits. One of the richest blessing our farm offers is the view east from the backyard. A sweep of pasture, beyond that a ragged, picturesque line of Doug fir, Sitka Alder and maples set against a backdrop of the west edge of the Cascades. If I sit in just the right spot in the predawn darkness I have a 180 degree view unspoiled by lights. The view is so wonderful that for the last couple of years, I have spent an hour every morning sitting on a stool out behind the barn praying and meditating. No matter how cold. When it is raining I sit just inside the barn door where I can still see the sky and trees.
My habit was so fixed, the animals ignored me. If anyone else in the family came outside in the morning, the dogs would bark, the chickens would gather, the horses neigh, the cows moo. If I came outside later in the morning, the animals would do the same song and dance for me trying to get me to feed them. But when I came out early for my quiet time, they knew it was pointless to bother me. They just watched me walk past.
Then sometime this fall, Tanya the cat decided to change things.
I would be sitting on my stool, my mind full of the richness of God's love and the glory of the brightening sky when Tanya would climb up my back and and crawl around on my shoulders meowing. I'm reasonably practiced in the disciplines of prayer and meditation, however, Tanya the cat is able to overwhelm all my years of practice. I cannot effectively focus my mind on God while a Siamese cat is prowling about my shoulders, meowing in my ears and sticking her hind end in my face.
So, in order to have an undisturbed time of prayer and meditation, I learned to feed her when I went into the barn to get my stool.
Then the chickens started following me into the barn when I fed the cats. So I would toss some feed out for them. That sometimes got the dogs excited, which means Teddy started barking his head off. So, I would feed the dogs to keep them quiet. It wasn't far from there to feeding the horses and cows.
So, for several months now, I have been feeding the animals in the morning. I realize this is a startling admission. After twelve years of resolute insistence that I do not feed animals, I have been voluntarily feeding dogs, cats, chickens, horses and cows. Every morning. Before the sun comes up. Even on days when it's 35 degrees and raining. Even when it meant walking a quarter mile to the back pasture where the cows were.
I have an even more astounding confession to make.
I enjoy it.
Jack, the barn cat cannot meow. Instead he croaks. When I come into the barn in the morning, he runs to his shelf, stands beside his bowl and croaks at me reaching his nose as far forward in my direction as he can without falling off the shelf. I grab his head with both hands and scruff him up for a few seconds. He purrs.
Which is rather remarkable because Jack was a feral cat who was tamed by my daughter. He is skittish around people. Jack will not allow me to touch him if he's on the ground. If I get anywhere near him, he scoots out of sight in his unique awkward gait. But in the morning, when he's up on his shelf, he doesn't just tolerate my presence. He begs me to rough him up. And purrs like a motor when I do.
I get a kick out of that.
Usually, when I turn around from feeding the cats, there are ten to fifteen chickens standing in the door of the barn staring at me with bright eyes. If I pick up a scoop of chicken feed, they crowd in so close I can scarcely walk. I have to shuffle forward, shoving them out of the way with me feet, being careful not to trip or step on them.
They are excited. If it's not raining I pour the food into a couple of very large rubber bowls out in front of the barn. The hens immediately attack the food, and sometimes each other. (The phrase pecking order comes from real life in the chicken yard.) George, the rooster, does not immediately begin to eat. Instead he parades around for a few minutes calling all the rest of the hens, announcing breakfast is served.
I feed the dogs in their pens, then the horses. Jericho is first. When I walk into his paddock, he typically stands in my way and tries to grab a bite of hay before I can put it in the feeder in his stall. So lately, I've taken to kicking him in the chest when he grabs for the hay in my hands. He whirls around, clearly throwing a bit of a temper tantrum, then follows me into his stall. After I toss the hay into his feeder, I scratch him on his chest, the same place where I kick him. He's always happy to make up.
Jericho's funniest behavior comes next. After feeding him, I go back to the hay room for more hay for the two horses that live in the stall next to Jericho's. There is no feeder in their stall, I just throw their hay into the center of their stall. The easiest, most direct way to do this is to carry the hay through Jericho's paddock and toss it over the fence.
Jericho hates it when I feed those horses. He will try to get in my way. He will try to grab the hay out of my arms. He sometimes throws a bit of a temper tantrum, bucking around his paddock. He does all of this even though his feeder is full of hay. In fact, it has higher quality hay than what I feed his neighbors. I always feed him first. But that is not enough. He thinks I have no business giving hay to his neighbors.
I wish I could explain to him that my giving them hay does not imply any lack of affection on my part for him. do it any way. I wish he would join me in the pleasure of sharing happiness in the morning. But for now, all the pleasure he gets is the direct attention I give him—the hay I put in his feeder, the petting I give him before I go to feed his neighbors.
His neighbors, two Halflingers, appear to enjoy life much more. Before I feed them they trot back and forth in their paddock making incredibly low rumbling sounds. Their running expresses excitement and anticipation, not agitation. When I feed Jericho they don't get jealous. They appear to merely get more excited. Breakfast is almost here. Just another minute or two and our hay is going to come flying in over the fence.
Then I go feed Samson. As soon as he sees me headed his direction he walks into his stall and stands with his head over the large tub I feed him in. If the tub has gotten scooted out of its usual place, he'll back up so I can put it where I want it. I drop his hay and scratch his chest, run my hand over his back and scratch his hindquarters. On cold mornings I delight in the magic warm of his fur as I run my hands over him. I wonder how a mammal can generate enough heat to stay comfortable living outside when the temperature is in the teens.
Then I feed Mr. Bojangles. That's not his real name, but it's what I call him because he's always dancing around. He's a young horse, my wife's “baby” that she plans to begin training this coming summer. I feed him by throwing his hay over a fence into the center of his stall. Usually about the time I'm ready to throw the hay, he goes into a long stretch, reaching forward with his head and front feet. It reminds of a person trying to touch their toes. I'm afraid that if I throw the hay over his back while he is all stretched out like that it might startle him and he might do something weird and pull a muscle. So I wait until he has finished his stretch and moved before I throw the hay. He spins a couple of circles then noses into his hay.
Finally, I grab about half a bale and head out to the back pasture to feed the cows. It's inconvenient. It's a long way. Part of the way is boot sucking mud where the cows have churned up the ground. If all I was doing was providing calories for needy livestock, this last part of my morning chores would be the worst part of an annoying job. Instead, it's one of the best parts. While feeding horses and chickens and dogs I constantly glance east watching the fading stars and brightening sky. Carrying the hay back to the cows is a five minute walk due east. Straight into the sunrise. Straight toward the skyline of trees and hills. Straight into beauty. And I am not blind.
More than that. I have discovered a wonderful sense of connection with all these animals. The cows are eager for the hay. They do not evince any particular interest in me. Samson, the horse, is my friend. Teddy, the dog, and Jack the cat, take obvious, demonstrable pleasure in the attention I give the for a fe minutes when I feed them. With these animals, there is a lively sense of mutuality. I enjoy them. They enjoy me. We enjoy each other.
With the cows, the enjoyment is pretty much one way. They tolerate me, because I bring food. I enjoy them because of the mysterious dignity of their enormous bodies. They are huge and ponderous. They usually move with slow, very deliberate motion. The spread of their horns is pushing four feet, tip to tip. They wear long shaggy fur. On cold morning their breath steams out like smoke from the nostrils of dragons. I delight in standing in their presence, watching them eat, laughing at their jostling one another before they decide just who is going to get to each which pile of hay. Their life, their sheer existence in this wild field at dawn, gives me exquisite pleasure.
It's a deep, dark secret. But it's true.
And I think the heart of the meaning of Christmas is a secret like this about God.
The heart of Christian conviction is this: In Jesus, God became flesh. Out of his own pleasure and intention God is with us.
Too often conservative Christians talk about the coming of Jesus as if the only thing that matter to God was dealing with our guilt. Jesus came to die for our sins. Which if you push it too far implies that Jesus would not have come if we had not sinned. Which means that sin is what brings us Jesus.
For those who are tortured by feelings of guilt, the message of forgiveness, reconciliation and redemption is wonderful beyond words.
Christmas has something even more wonderful to tell. God delights in humanity. Forgiveness, reconciliation and redemption are just some of the ways God demonstrates his regard for humanity. These fixes for human problems are not the grandest truths. They are not the ultimate purpose of heaven. Humans were God's idea in the first place. That's the message of Genesis. And even given our history of failure and brokenness God still has such high regard for humanity that two thousand years ago, God joined the human race. He became one of us so he could be with us. The ultimate dream of heaven is free, happy communion, cooperation, coordination with humans.
God's greatest enjoyment comes when we are fully aware of him and respond to his love with love of our own. In my clandestine relationship with the animals at our farm, Samson the horse, Teddy the dog and Jack the cat are special because they reciprocate my affection. They like me. They like it that I like them. That's valuable to me. However, I also take real pleasure in the life of the cows who care nothing about me and pleasure in the life of the chickens, even the ones who never enter the barn, who never come when I call, but only show up to eat when George the rooster calls them.
This birds may not have even made the connection between me and food. They only know to come when George calls. Their lack of awareness does not erase my pleasure in their existence, their unique lives.
So with God. Even those people who are unaware of him, even oblivious to his gifts---even these people bring pleasure to God by their lives.
This morning, after feeding everyone, I took my thermos and a muffin and sat for a few minutes to pray. George the Rooster came over. I dropped a big crumb from my muffin for him thinking he and I would share a Christmas treat. He eyed it. Pecked at the ground beside it, then instead of eating it, lifted his head and called a hen. She came over. He pecked again at the ground beside the crumb to show her the treat. She instantly snapped it up. George threw back his head and crowed. What a fine morning, I found a treat for my hen.
I laughed. That early in the morning there was only one creature on the farm that shared with me the joy of giving, the ultimate spirit of Christmas—George the Rooster. Of course, for himas for me, the date actually had nothing to do with his behavior. I fed on Christmas morning because I had discovered already the joy of communion with our animals through feeding. And George fed his hen that prize crumb because that's what he always does.
And God sent Jesus because giving and seeking communion with humanity is at the very heart of who God is.
The meaning of Christmas is that given the entire universe of possibilities, God chose getting close to you, to us. Jesus became human, dramatically establishing an everlasting connection between God and us. God with us.
I got into feeding animals, and thus into this intimacy with the residents of our farm because of the stubborn persistence of a cat. I never suspected I would experience such enjoyment from engagement with these critters, critters that I had previously known mostly as the producers of problems for me to solve, emergencies for me to handle.
In contrast to my reluctant discovery, the Bible declares emphatically that God's engagement with humanity was not something he was grudgingly persuaded of. Jesus did not become human only because there was no other way for God to fix the mess people had created. Jesus became human because intimacy with humans was and is the grand, ultimate desire of heaven.
We are precious to God. You are precious to God. Whether you are given to jealousy like Jericho or are oblivious like the cows or happily engaged in mutual intimacy like Samson, Teddy and Jack or share with God in the habit of giving.
So, Merry Christmas. Love from heaven to you. Love from heaven through you. Love from you to heaven.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Jesus' Replacements
Sermon at North Hill Adventist Fellowship, December 11, 2010
Today's sermon arises out of the intersection (or maybe I should say, the collision) of the dread, fear and anger I perceive among many conservative American Christians and the confidence, hope and amazing affection Jesus expressed in his farewell remarks in John 13-16.
John 13 begins with Jesus at the table with his closest followers. He gets up from the table, wraps a towel around his waist and washes his disciples' feet.
It was a shocking breech of etiquette. In first century Judaism, it was common for rabbis to have a company of disciples who acted as gofers. The whim of the rabbi was their command. But washing their rabbi's feet was a step too low. Not even the greatest rabbi would require this of the lowliest disciple. Footwashing was done only by slaves and women. So when Jesus got up from the table and began washing the disciples' feet, he had their attention! They were listening.
“You call me master and teacher,” Jesus said, “and rightly so. That's who I am. Now that I, your Master and Teacher, have washed your feet, I expect you to wash each others' feet.
Jesus had taught love throughout his ministry. He called people to seek reconciliation with their brothers, to practice forgiveness, to love even their enemies. So, while Jesus' behavior was shocking, the point he was making was congruent with what the disciples had been hearing for three years. But Jesus went on to say things that were as shocking as was his action of washing their feet.
For three years the disciples had served as Jesus' assistants. Jesus had been the point man, the preacher, the healer. When critics challenged the mission, Jesus was the one they attacked. Even when the Pharisees addressed their questions to the the disciples, “Why does your Master . . . .?” Jesus stepped in and answered.
For three years, the disciples enjoyed the luxury of hiding behind the wisdom, courage and power of their master. Now, all that was about to change. Jesus was not going to be available for throwing stones at, for challenging with unanswerable questions. Jesus was no longer going to be around to touch or preach to sinners. It was going to be up to the disciples. They were going to be the point men of the Kingdom of Heaven.
At the Last Supper, Jesus made it crystal clear that this switch from himself to the disciples as the earthly face of the Kingdom of Heaven was not some ad hoc arrangement for dealing an unforeseen or unavoidable catastrophe. No, this switch was Jesus' (and thus the Father's) preferred way forward.
When the Devil had done his damnedest and Judas had betrayed the Lord of Glory and Peter had denied his friend and the religious leaders had employed the power of the state to eliminate the clearest, purest voice of virtue and God-in-the-Flesh in the flesh was dead . . . at that point the Kingdom of Heaven would be ready to really get rolling. “It is for your good that I am going away” (John 16:7). “You will do even greater work than I have been doing!” (John 14:12).
There was work God needed done that could not be done until after Jesus left. Note the verb “leave” here is a euphemism for betrayal, denial and crucifixion. The ending was going to be excruciatingly painful. Let's be honest about that. The disciples were going to be devastated by the horrors of crucifixion weekend. Jesus himself was deeply troubled by Judas' betrayal (14:21). But from the point of view of heaven, the disaster of crucifixion weekend was just one more step in the forward movement of the Kingdom of Heaven. Jesus was getting out of the way so the disciples could take on the work God had in mind for them.
I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it. John 14:12-14.
You will do what I have been doing! And even greater things? Wow!
If Jesus had this kind of confidence in the face of the crucifixion, why should we be terrified in the face of prognostications about economic and political collapse? Why all the hand-wringing and gloominess among Christians over the predictions by dealers in gold and silver that our paper will become worthless? Why the terror at the prospect of socialism? Is financial loss or the alteration of the political system really sufficient to rob us of our confidence or our mission? I don't think so. If we can do something to strengthen national or global financial stability, let's get busy and do it. If we have strong opinions about optimal about government structure, we ought to work to see them implemented. But don't get caught up in the whirlwind of fear, gossip and anger characteristic of so much of the political right. Christians are to be known for their love not their anger.
Repeatedly in these chapters, Jesus speaks of obedience.
I grew up hearing statements like these as descriptions of hopelessly remote standards. They were statements of the magnitude of the condemnation I deserved. However, this was a perversion of Jesus' intention. Jesus was describing not a standard (with its inevitable implication of condemnation) but an ideal with its implication of hope, growth, and progress.
Notice how Jesus himself interpreted his own words.
Just after he told the disciples, “A new commandment I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Jesus predicted Peter's egregious failure of denying his Master.
Then, immediately following this exchange, without even a transitional phrase, Jesus told Peter and company about his happy plans for spending eternity with them.
“Do not let your heart trouble you. [Hey, Peter, you're going to screw up. Big time. But don't fret. We are friends. Tonight's coming failure is an anomaly. I know you really are a lover. Our friendship is sturdy enough to survive tonight's failure.]
How does Jesus deal with your failure? Even your egregious, blatant, public failures? Hear his words: “Let not your heart be troubled.” “Turn again and strengthen your brothers and sisters” (Luke 22:32).
Jesus is going to heaven to prepare for this bright future. What is our work?
If you love me, you will obey what I command. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever—the Spirit of truth . . . [whom] you know for he lives with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you. . . . On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me. He who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love him and show myself to him. . . . If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My Father will love him and we will come to him and make our home with him.
John 14:15-23
We find the center of our work for God in love. Love for God. Love for people. Love is not always gentle and compliant. Love always seeks the good of others before my own good. Love respects others, even when they are wrong. Even when they are annoying.
When we obey Jesus' command to love like God does, to love our brothers and sisters and enemies, Jesus keeps us company. Jesus and the Father make themselves at home in our lives when we engage in the work of love.
Note Jesus' description of the “how-to” for the initiation of the work of the Holy Spirit: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor. . . . forever.” This is in stark contrast to the teaching of countless seminars that stress various conditions believers have to meet before the Holy Spirit can become fully active in their lives. Jesus does not tell the disciples to pray or repent or meditate or ask for the Holy Spirit. In this passage, the Holy Spirit works in the lives of the disciples because of Jesus' initiative.
Certainly there is a place for human action, but here in John 13-16, Jesus never suggests that the work of the Holy Spirit is contingent on prayer meetings or fasting or any of the other techniques people teach as the key to compelling the Spirit to be more active in our lives. Jesus announces the Spirit will act because he, Jesus, is going to request action.
In these chapters, Jesus repeatedly urges his disciples to pray. The point of their prayer is to ask for big assignments and significant power so their work might bring glory to God.
If you are working on your Ph. D. don't settle for research that will merely get you the degree, reach for the moon.
If you are a spouse, don't settle for surviving in your marriage, ask God for the power to cultivate enviable, wonderful intimacy.
If you preacher, ask for the capacity to speak of God's love so persuasively that people forget their condemnation, shame and fear and become suffused with hope, confidence and joy.
Do good. Show love. Practice mercy. Speak the truth. Shun fear, anger and disdain. Even for your enemies. Even for the faceless cabals you think are manipulating the world. Do the good Jesus would, if he were still the point man.
Jesus has turned over the earthly representation of the Kingdom of Heaven to his disciples, to you. He has full confidence his disciples are going to be lovers and that the Holy Spirit is going to be active in their lives. Jesus was quite happy to switch roles with his disciples. For three years, he was the point man and they were the helpers. Now they were going to be the point men and women and Jesus was going to be the Helper. We are the point men and women. Jesus is our helper. Happily.
And this arrangement is going to accomplish God's work. It's going to succeed.
So you, whoever you are, are engaged in work of dazzling significance. Parents, lovers, employers, employees, students, teachers, preachers, IT professionals, medical professionals, concrete finishers—all of us who are Christians carry the face of God in our world. When we are lovers, Jesus becomes visible in us.
Let's conclude with the final words of Jesus' dinner sermon:
Amen.
A couple of random comments:
Note 1.
In contrast to the Synoptics, John says nothing about the food. Instead he tells us about the foot washing and gives an extended report on Jesus' words. John explicitly separates this last supper chronologically from the Passover supper, highlighting the truth that the importance of this evening is not its connection with Passover and thus with Jewish history and identity, rather what matters are the actions and words of Jesus. Jesus' life and words and death and resurrection have created a new reality, utterly eclipsing Jewish and Roman and Greek “truths.”
Note 2.
I recently read a commentary that reasserted the traditional view that John the Apostle is the author of the gospel. Further this commentary argued for an early date for the writing—at least prior to 70 A.D. And for full independence of the gospel as a historical witness. To my surprise, I found the arguments quite persuasive. http://bible.org/series/commentary-gospel-john. I shouldn't have been so surprised because I have long been profoundly skeptical of "the assured results of scholarship" in several areas of biblical criticism which proceed in the absolute absence of documentary evidence.
Today's sermon arises out of the intersection (or maybe I should say, the collision) of the dread, fear and anger I perceive among many conservative American Christians and the confidence, hope and amazing affection Jesus expressed in his farewell remarks in John 13-16.
John 13 begins with Jesus at the table with his closest followers. He gets up from the table, wraps a towel around his waist and washes his disciples' feet.
It was a shocking breech of etiquette. In first century Judaism, it was common for rabbis to have a company of disciples who acted as gofers. The whim of the rabbi was their command. But washing their rabbi's feet was a step too low. Not even the greatest rabbi would require this of the lowliest disciple. Footwashing was done only by slaves and women. So when Jesus got up from the table and began washing the disciples' feet, he had their attention! They were listening.
“You call me master and teacher,” Jesus said, “and rightly so. That's who I am. Now that I, your Master and Teacher, have washed your feet, I expect you to wash each others' feet.
Jesus had taught love throughout his ministry. He called people to seek reconciliation with their brothers, to practice forgiveness, to love even their enemies. So, while Jesus' behavior was shocking, the point he was making was congruent with what the disciples had been hearing for three years. But Jesus went on to say things that were as shocking as was his action of washing their feet.
For three years the disciples had served as Jesus' assistants. Jesus had been the point man, the preacher, the healer. When critics challenged the mission, Jesus was the one they attacked. Even when the Pharisees addressed their questions to the the disciples, “Why does your Master . . . .?” Jesus stepped in and answered.
For three years, the disciples enjoyed the luxury of hiding behind the wisdom, courage and power of their master. Now, all that was about to change. Jesus was not going to be available for throwing stones at, for challenging with unanswerable questions. Jesus was no longer going to be around to touch or preach to sinners. It was going to be up to the disciples. They were going to be the point men of the Kingdom of Heaven.
At the Last Supper, Jesus made it crystal clear that this switch from himself to the disciples as the earthly face of the Kingdom of Heaven was not some ad hoc arrangement for dealing an unforeseen or unavoidable catastrophe. No, this switch was Jesus' (and thus the Father's) preferred way forward.
When the Devil had done his damnedest and Judas had betrayed the Lord of Glory and Peter had denied his friend and the religious leaders had employed the power of the state to eliminate the clearest, purest voice of virtue and God-in-the-Flesh in the flesh was dead . . . at that point the Kingdom of Heaven would be ready to really get rolling. “It is for your good that I am going away” (John 16:7). “You will do even greater work than I have been doing!” (John 14:12).
There was work God needed done that could not be done until after Jesus left. Note the verb “leave” here is a euphemism for betrayal, denial and crucifixion. The ending was going to be excruciatingly painful. Let's be honest about that. The disciples were going to be devastated by the horrors of crucifixion weekend. Jesus himself was deeply troubled by Judas' betrayal (14:21). But from the point of view of heaven, the disaster of crucifixion weekend was just one more step in the forward movement of the Kingdom of Heaven. Jesus was getting out of the way so the disciples could take on the work God had in mind for them.
I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it. John 14:12-14.
You will do what I have been doing! And even greater things? Wow!
If Jesus had this kind of confidence in the face of the crucifixion, why should we be terrified in the face of prognostications about economic and political collapse? Why all the hand-wringing and gloominess among Christians over the predictions by dealers in gold and silver that our paper will become worthless? Why the terror at the prospect of socialism? Is financial loss or the alteration of the political system really sufficient to rob us of our confidence or our mission? I don't think so. If we can do something to strengthen national or global financial stability, let's get busy and do it. If we have strong opinions about optimal about government structure, we ought to work to see them implemented. But don't get caught up in the whirlwind of fear, gossip and anger characteristic of so much of the political right. Christians are to be known for their love not their anger.
Repeatedly in these chapters, Jesus speaks of obedience.
“If you love me, you will obey what I command.” “Those who have commands and obey them are the ones who love me. And they will be loved by my Father and I will love them and show myself to them.” “A new command I give you: Love one another.” (John 14:15; 21; 13:34).It's clear Jesus made these statements in full confidence that his disciples were actually going to do the loving he talked about.
I grew up hearing statements like these as descriptions of hopelessly remote standards. They were statements of the magnitude of the condemnation I deserved. However, this was a perversion of Jesus' intention. Jesus was describing not a standard (with its inevitable implication of condemnation) but an ideal with its implication of hope, growth, and progress.
Notice how Jesus himself interpreted his own words.
Just after he told the disciples, “A new commandment I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Jesus predicted Peter's egregious failure of denying his Master.
Then, immediately following this exchange, without even a transitional phrase, Jesus told Peter and company about his happy plans for spending eternity with them.
“Do not let your heart trouble you. [Hey, Peter, you're going to screw up. Big time. But don't fret. We are friends. Tonight's coming failure is an anomaly. I know you really are a lover. Our friendship is sturdy enough to survive tonight's failure.]
“Trust God. Trust me. [Really, we are big enough to handle your failure.] God has a place for you in his house, a place for you at his table. In fact, the very reason I'm leaving is to make sure the place is ready . . . so we can be together forever.”How did Jesus deal with the failure of his friends, even egregious failure like Peter's blatant, public denial that he ever knew Jesus? Jesus busied himself preparing their places in heaven.
How does Jesus deal with your failure? Even your egregious, blatant, public failures? Hear his words: “Let not your heart be troubled.” “Turn again and strengthen your brothers and sisters” (Luke 22:32).
Jesus is going to heaven to prepare for this bright future. What is our work?
If you love me, you will obey what I command. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever—the Spirit of truth . . . [whom] you know for he lives with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you. . . . On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me. He who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love him and show myself to him. . . . If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My Father will love him and we will come to him and make our home with him.
John 14:15-23
We find the center of our work for God in love. Love for God. Love for people. Love is not always gentle and compliant. Love always seeks the good of others before my own good. Love respects others, even when they are wrong. Even when they are annoying.
When we obey Jesus' command to love like God does, to love our brothers and sisters and enemies, Jesus keeps us company. Jesus and the Father make themselves at home in our lives when we engage in the work of love.
Note Jesus' description of the “how-to” for the initiation of the work of the Holy Spirit: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor. . . . forever.” This is in stark contrast to the teaching of countless seminars that stress various conditions believers have to meet before the Holy Spirit can become fully active in their lives. Jesus does not tell the disciples to pray or repent or meditate or ask for the Holy Spirit. In this passage, the Holy Spirit works in the lives of the disciples because of Jesus' initiative.
Certainly there is a place for human action, but here in John 13-16, Jesus never suggests that the work of the Holy Spirit is contingent on prayer meetings or fasting or any of the other techniques people teach as the key to compelling the Spirit to be more active in our lives. Jesus announces the Spirit will act because he, Jesus, is going to request action.
In these chapters, Jesus repeatedly urges his disciples to pray. The point of their prayer is to ask for big assignments and significant power so their work might bring glory to God.
If you are working on your Ph. D. don't settle for research that will merely get you the degree, reach for the moon.
If you are a spouse, don't settle for surviving in your marriage, ask God for the power to cultivate enviable, wonderful intimacy.
If you preacher, ask for the capacity to speak of God's love so persuasively that people forget their condemnation, shame and fear and become suffused with hope, confidence and joy.
Do good. Show love. Practice mercy. Speak the truth. Shun fear, anger and disdain. Even for your enemies. Even for the faceless cabals you think are manipulating the world. Do the good Jesus would, if he were still the point man.
Jesus has turned over the earthly representation of the Kingdom of Heaven to his disciples, to you. He has full confidence his disciples are going to be lovers and that the Holy Spirit is going to be active in their lives. Jesus was quite happy to switch roles with his disciples. For three years, he was the point man and they were the helpers. Now they were going to be the point men and women and Jesus was going to be the Helper. We are the point men and women. Jesus is our helper. Happily.
And this arrangement is going to accomplish God's work. It's going to succeed.
So you, whoever you are, are engaged in work of dazzling significance. Parents, lovers, employers, employees, students, teachers, preachers, IT professionals, medical professionals, concrete finishers—all of us who are Christians carry the face of God in our world. When we are lovers, Jesus becomes visible in us.
Let's conclude with the final words of Jesus' dinner sermon:
I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world (John 16:33).
Amen.
A couple of random comments:
Note 1.
In contrast to the Synoptics, John says nothing about the food. Instead he tells us about the foot washing and gives an extended report on Jesus' words. John explicitly separates this last supper chronologically from the Passover supper, highlighting the truth that the importance of this evening is not its connection with Passover and thus with Jewish history and identity, rather what matters are the actions and words of Jesus. Jesus' life and words and death and resurrection have created a new reality, utterly eclipsing Jewish and Roman and Greek “truths.”
Note 2.
I recently read a commentary that reasserted the traditional view that John the Apostle is the author of the gospel. Further this commentary argued for an early date for the writing—at least prior to 70 A.D. And for full independence of the gospel as a historical witness. To my surprise, I found the arguments quite persuasive. http://bible.org/series/commentary-gospel-john. I shouldn't have been so surprised because I have long been profoundly skeptical of "the assured results of scholarship" in several areas of biblical criticism which proceed in the absolute absence of documentary evidence.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Making God Happy
Sermon for North Hill Adventist Fellowship
December 4, 2010
(This is a revised version of the manuscript I published here earlier. This is closer to the actual sermon.)
The Gospel of John.
Notice how it begins. (This is a loose translation of selections from John 1:1-18.)
When John looks back at the beginning of human history he sees the Word. In John's culture, this was a common term used by philosophers and thinkers as they struggled to put into words their understanding of the origin and supernatural character of reason and language and personhood and order and life itself. When you look back at pure life, the brilliant, throbbing origin of everything, you see the Word. The Word was with God. The Word was God. Nothing exists apart from the creative power of God. And that creative power demonstrated its gladness and satisfaction with humanity by itself becoming human in the person of Jesus.
Here at the beginning of his book, John makes the point that the universe is an expression of the pleasure of God. Life is not something that God is “dealing with.” Oops. Life happened. Now what are we going to do?
A few weeks ago, four boxes holding a total of twelve cats was dumped here at the church. As soon as I was told about it, I knew what was going to happen. We were not going to take them to animal control. We were going to take care of them—because that's the way it is with Karin and Bonnie (my wife and daughter respectively). We loaded them up, took them home, doctored them, fed them and found homes for them. It cost a lot of money, a lot of time and effort. It called on Karin's and Bonnie's special skills and knowledge and compassion. But there was never any question about whether we were going to do it or not. We didn't choose the cats. We didn't ask for them. But cats happened and given who they are, we took care of them.
It is also the case that we have horses at our house. Karin's favorite horse Bolero was completely intentional. She bought a pregnant mare with just exactly the blood lines she wanted. She has carefully babied this horse for two and a half years now and looks forward to decades more of caring for it. It is a LOT of work. It costs a LOT of money—more than all the cats put together. But this is not a mess that happened to Karin. She freely chose it. And even when the horse is sick and we're spending hours and dollars on vet care and multiple trips a day to the his stall to administer medicine, she never regrets bringing that horse into our world. She loves horses in general. She loves this horse in particular so every bit of work and time and money is worth.
That's how it is with you and God. You were imagined by God. Birthed with his blessing. And he delights in your care.
Humanity is not an unexpected mess that God has to deal with. God is not taken aback by your existence, not even by the messy parts of it. God looked forward to your life. Life is an expression of the desire and pleasure of God. Your life is an expression of the desire and pleasure of God.
Now notice the concluding words of this passage from the Gospel of John.
The Word became human and made his home among us and perfumed our lives with the glory of God. Jesus came and lived among us. His very existence giving off glory like a lily or hyacinth gives off fragrance.
Jesus came and lived with us. If you asked him for his address, he would say, earth, third rock from the sun, Milky Way Galaxy. He lived here. With us. Because he likes us. He likes you. He likes your neighborhood. You matter to him.
After establishing the truth that humanity was the desired creation of God, John makes the point that God—in the person of the Word—gave even further proof of his regard for you by moving into your neighborhood. Jesus joined your tribe. Became a member of your clan.
God liked people and sent Jesus to live among us. John writes that he came to his own—meaning the Jewish people, the nation God had carefully cultivated to provide launching pad for the work of the Messiah. They turned their backs. There is a clear implication here that this was a great disappointment. Jesus came to his own. He came and knocked on their door hoping they would open and invite him in. He wasn't just knocking to see if someone would bother coming to the door. He wanted inside. He came to his own—seeking connection and communion with them. They disappointed him.
This morning you did not disappoint God. He sent you an invitation and here you are. He's pleased.
You are the people described in the second half of this verse. “He came to his own and they did not receive him. Still to those who did receive him—that's you—he gave the right to become the children of God.”
God wants kids. God likes kids. And here you are, making God happy this morning.
In the following chapters, John focuses on Jesus ministry to the people “out there,” the people in darkness. In chapter 3, Jesus meets with a Pharisee who needs to be born again.
In chapter 4, he meets a woman with a very scandalous history and gives her new hope and meaning.
In chapter 5, he finds the man lying helplessly beside the pool. He doesn't know who Jesus is. Jesus doesn't reveal his identity. He simply tells the man to get up and leave. The man obeys and in the obeying experiences the miraculous healing power of God.
Then in chapter 9, Jesus finds a man who has been blind since birth. Jesus spits in the dust, makes a mud paste and spreads it over the guy's eyes, then tells him to go wash in the pool of Siloam. The does and is able to see!
In these stories the disciples are practically invisible. They are conversion stories, stories about people coming to faith, coming from darkness into the light. Which is only marginally helpful for many of us because we have been believers for years, for decades, for scores of years.
We know Jesus delights in rescuing sinners. In the case of the man who had been lame beside the pool for 38 years, after healing him, some days later, Jesus finds him again and warns him, “Quit sinning or something worse is going to happen to you!” This strongly suggests that the man was not a paragon of virtue. But then we tell ourselves that's just perfect. Jesus heals a scoundrel, then helps him grow in his relationship with God.
But we sometimes have a hard time seeing how this applies to us. We were not healed yesterday. We were not converted last week. We were not baptized last year. We've been followers of Jesus for most of our lives and are painfully aware of how far we are from our ideal of what a mature follower of Jesus should be like. What does Jesus think of us?
Fortunately in chapters 13 through 17, John specifically addresses just this question.
At the beginning of chapter 13, John writes, “Jesus knew it was time for him to leave this world and go to the father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love.” (John 13:1)
You like that? “He showed them the full extent of his love.” How did he do that? He washed their feet. Jesus had called his disciples to come work with him as his assistants. They were his servants, his helpers. Now, Jesus takes the role of their servant. They have served him. Now, he serves them. The relationship Jesus wants with his disciples is a partnership, a friendship.
Jesus persists in seeking this connection with us even when we blow it.
At some point that last evening before his arrest, Jesus told Peter, “You will deny me three times tonight.”
Peter, of course, was horrified. He would never do such a thing. But, of course, he did. Jesus knew ahead of time that Peter was going to let him down, horribly, painfully, publicly, egregiously. Still he was delighted that Peter was there that night to share supper with him.
Jesus was pleased to serve Peter that evening. In fact, when Peter protested that he was not good enough to have Jesus serve him, Jesus said, in effect, if you are not good enough for me to serve you, you are not good enough to be in my kingdom.
Jesus was saying that he wanted the “real Peter” in his inner circle. The crazy, inconsistent, bombastic, bold, flaky Peter.
And Jesus wants you in his inner circle as well. The real you. Without make up, without the suit. He wants you with all of your history, your failings and weaknesses and inabilities. The actual you. That's who he invited to the sacred party this morning. And you came.
Thanks.
God is just as glad you are here as Jesus was glad that Peter was there for the last supper.
Jesus said some remarkable things to his disciples that night. In chapter 14:12, he told the disciples their ministry would be even greater than his own.
He told them he no longer called them servants. Now, he was going to call them friends. And friends don't quit being friends even when one of them blows it.
Jesus was loyal to his friends even when they stumbled and made huge mistakes. He still trusted them with the life and future of his church. And Jesus is loyal to you, too. He is not ignorant about your failures, your inconsistencies. He looks beyond them to the mutual pledge of friendship. Are you his friend? He knows. It's okay. He is delighted you are his friend. He's delighted you are alive. He is delighted you came this morning to affirm that friendship.
In John's stories Jesus gave people something to do to express their faith. The lame man was told to walk. The blind man was told to go and wash his eyes. The servants at the feast were told to fill the jars with water then pour a cup for the master of the feast. The disciples were asked to bring the seven five loaves and two fish.
In the Gospel of John, faith is something people do. It is some small movement in God's direction, a movement so small it is within their grasp.
Coming to church is an expression of faith. Sure, you can fake it. But if you came seeking God, coming to church is an expression of faith.
Reading your Bible.
Smiling at customers.
Hoping with a patient.
Taking a couple of extra minutes with a customer.
These can all serve as vehicles of faith, outward signs of your commitment to your friendship with Jesus.
And he is glad.
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. All things were made by him and apart from him not a single thing came into existence.
From there the story gets complicated. The creator is a lover. He is hoping for response. He's looking for friends. So if God prays, you are the answer to his prayers. You showed up this morning, saying by your attendance, yes, I want to be friends.
That makes God happy.
In chapter 14, Jesus tells the disciples: I'm leaving, but don't worry. The reason I'm leaving is to prepare a place where we can be together forever.
That's what God is looking forward to. Your attendance at church this morning is a promise to God, “I'll be there.” He'll work with that. Even if you blow it big time like Peter, showing up is enough. God will take your attendance here as permission to keep working in your life. He's going to hold onto your friendship, he's going to hold onto you.
He has a place set for you at the eternal table. He's really glad you're going to be there.
December 4, 2010
(This is a revised version of the manuscript I published here earlier. This is closer to the actual sermon.)
The Gospel of John.
Notice how it begins. (This is a loose translation of selections from John 1:1-18.)
In the beginning was the word. And the word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and apart from him not one single thing was made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all humanity. The light shines in the darkness—untouched by the darkness. . . . This light lightens every human.
The world did not recognize him even though he came to his own. Still to those who did received him he gave the right to become the children of God—children born out of the desire and pleasure of God.
The Word—this divine wisdom who lightens every human, this divine person who seeks access to every person—the Word became human and made his home among us. And we saw the glory of God, the radiance of grace and truth.
When John looks back at the beginning of human history he sees the Word. In John's culture, this was a common term used by philosophers and thinkers as they struggled to put into words their understanding of the origin and supernatural character of reason and language and personhood and order and life itself. When you look back at pure life, the brilliant, throbbing origin of everything, you see the Word. The Word was with God. The Word was God. Nothing exists apart from the creative power of God. And that creative power demonstrated its gladness and satisfaction with humanity by itself becoming human in the person of Jesus.
Here at the beginning of his book, John makes the point that the universe is an expression of the pleasure of God. Life is not something that God is “dealing with.” Oops. Life happened. Now what are we going to do?
A few weeks ago, four boxes holding a total of twelve cats was dumped here at the church. As soon as I was told about it, I knew what was going to happen. We were not going to take them to animal control. We were going to take care of them—because that's the way it is with Karin and Bonnie (my wife and daughter respectively). We loaded them up, took them home, doctored them, fed them and found homes for them. It cost a lot of money, a lot of time and effort. It called on Karin's and Bonnie's special skills and knowledge and compassion. But there was never any question about whether we were going to do it or not. We didn't choose the cats. We didn't ask for them. But cats happened and given who they are, we took care of them.
It is also the case that we have horses at our house. Karin's favorite horse Bolero was completely intentional. She bought a pregnant mare with just exactly the blood lines she wanted. She has carefully babied this horse for two and a half years now and looks forward to decades more of caring for it. It is a LOT of work. It costs a LOT of money—more than all the cats put together. But this is not a mess that happened to Karin. She freely chose it. And even when the horse is sick and we're spending hours and dollars on vet care and multiple trips a day to the his stall to administer medicine, she never regrets bringing that horse into our world. She loves horses in general. She loves this horse in particular so every bit of work and time and money is worth.
That's how it is with you and God. You were imagined by God. Birthed with his blessing. And he delights in your care.
Humanity is not an unexpected mess that God has to deal with. God is not taken aback by your existence, not even by the messy parts of it. God looked forward to your life. Life is an expression of the desire and pleasure of God. Your life is an expression of the desire and pleasure of God.
Now notice the concluding words of this passage from the Gospel of John.
The Word—this divine wisdom who lightens every human, this divine person who seeks access to every person—the Word became human and made his home among us. And we saw the glory of God, the radiance of grace and truth.
The Word became human and made his home among us and perfumed our lives with the glory of God. Jesus came and lived among us. His very existence giving off glory like a lily or hyacinth gives off fragrance.
Jesus came and lived with us. If you asked him for his address, he would say, earth, third rock from the sun, Milky Way Galaxy. He lived here. With us. Because he likes us. He likes you. He likes your neighborhood. You matter to him.
After establishing the truth that humanity was the desired creation of God, John makes the point that God—in the person of the Word—gave even further proof of his regard for you by moving into your neighborhood. Jesus joined your tribe. Became a member of your clan.
God liked people and sent Jesus to live among us. John writes that he came to his own—meaning the Jewish people, the nation God had carefully cultivated to provide launching pad for the work of the Messiah. They turned their backs. There is a clear implication here that this was a great disappointment. Jesus came to his own. He came and knocked on their door hoping they would open and invite him in. He wasn't just knocking to see if someone would bother coming to the door. He wanted inside. He came to his own—seeking connection and communion with them. They disappointed him.
This morning you did not disappoint God. He sent you an invitation and here you are. He's pleased.
You are the people described in the second half of this verse. “He came to his own and they did not receive him. Still to those who did receive him—that's you—he gave the right to become the children of God.”
God wants kids. God likes kids. And here you are, making God happy this morning.
In the following chapters, John focuses on Jesus ministry to the people “out there,” the people in darkness. In chapter 3, Jesus meets with a Pharisee who needs to be born again.
In chapter 4, he meets a woman with a very scandalous history and gives her new hope and meaning.
In chapter 5, he finds the man lying helplessly beside the pool. He doesn't know who Jesus is. Jesus doesn't reveal his identity. He simply tells the man to get up and leave. The man obeys and in the obeying experiences the miraculous healing power of God.
Then in chapter 9, Jesus finds a man who has been blind since birth. Jesus spits in the dust, makes a mud paste and spreads it over the guy's eyes, then tells him to go wash in the pool of Siloam. The does and is able to see!
In these stories the disciples are practically invisible. They are conversion stories, stories about people coming to faith, coming from darkness into the light. Which is only marginally helpful for many of us because we have been believers for years, for decades, for scores of years.
We know Jesus delights in rescuing sinners. In the case of the man who had been lame beside the pool for 38 years, after healing him, some days later, Jesus finds him again and warns him, “Quit sinning or something worse is going to happen to you!” This strongly suggests that the man was not a paragon of virtue. But then we tell ourselves that's just perfect. Jesus heals a scoundrel, then helps him grow in his relationship with God.
But we sometimes have a hard time seeing how this applies to us. We were not healed yesterday. We were not converted last week. We were not baptized last year. We've been followers of Jesus for most of our lives and are painfully aware of how far we are from our ideal of what a mature follower of Jesus should be like. What does Jesus think of us?
Fortunately in chapters 13 through 17, John specifically addresses just this question.
At the beginning of chapter 13, John writes, “Jesus knew it was time for him to leave this world and go to the father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love.” (John 13:1)
You like that? “He showed them the full extent of his love.” How did he do that? He washed their feet. Jesus had called his disciples to come work with him as his assistants. They were his servants, his helpers. Now, Jesus takes the role of their servant. They have served him. Now, he serves them. The relationship Jesus wants with his disciples is a partnership, a friendship.
Jesus persists in seeking this connection with us even when we blow it.
At some point that last evening before his arrest, Jesus told Peter, “You will deny me three times tonight.”
Peter, of course, was horrified. He would never do such a thing. But, of course, he did. Jesus knew ahead of time that Peter was going to let him down, horribly, painfully, publicly, egregiously. Still he was delighted that Peter was there that night to share supper with him.
Jesus was pleased to serve Peter that evening. In fact, when Peter protested that he was not good enough to have Jesus serve him, Jesus said, in effect, if you are not good enough for me to serve you, you are not good enough to be in my kingdom.
Jesus was saying that he wanted the “real Peter” in his inner circle. The crazy, inconsistent, bombastic, bold, flaky Peter.
And Jesus wants you in his inner circle as well. The real you. Without make up, without the suit. He wants you with all of your history, your failings and weaknesses and inabilities. The actual you. That's who he invited to the sacred party this morning. And you came.
Thanks.
God is just as glad you are here as Jesus was glad that Peter was there for the last supper.
Jesus said some remarkable things to his disciples that night. In chapter 14:12, he told the disciples their ministry would be even greater than his own.
He told them he no longer called them servants. Now, he was going to call them friends. And friends don't quit being friends even when one of them blows it.
Jesus was loyal to his friends even when they stumbled and made huge mistakes. He still trusted them with the life and future of his church. And Jesus is loyal to you, too. He is not ignorant about your failures, your inconsistencies. He looks beyond them to the mutual pledge of friendship. Are you his friend? He knows. It's okay. He is delighted you are his friend. He's delighted you are alive. He is delighted you came this morning to affirm that friendship.
In John's stories Jesus gave people something to do to express their faith. The lame man was told to walk. The blind man was told to go and wash his eyes. The servants at the feast were told to fill the jars with water then pour a cup for the master of the feast. The disciples were asked to bring the seven five loaves and two fish.
In the Gospel of John, faith is something people do. It is some small movement in God's direction, a movement so small it is within their grasp.
Coming to church is an expression of faith. Sure, you can fake it. But if you came seeking God, coming to church is an expression of faith.
Reading your Bible.
Smiling at customers.
Hoping with a patient.
Taking a couple of extra minutes with a customer.
These can all serve as vehicles of faith, outward signs of your commitment to your friendship with Jesus.
And he is glad.
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. All things were made by him and apart from him not a single thing came into existence.
From there the story gets complicated. The creator is a lover. He is hoping for response. He's looking for friends. So if God prays, you are the answer to his prayers. You showed up this morning, saying by your attendance, yes, I want to be friends.
That makes God happy.
In chapter 14, Jesus tells the disciples: I'm leaving, but don't worry. The reason I'm leaving is to prepare a place where we can be together forever.
That's what God is looking forward to. Your attendance at church this morning is a promise to God, “I'll be there.” He'll work with that. Even if you blow it big time like Peter, showing up is enough. God will take your attendance here as permission to keep working in your life. He's going to hold onto your friendship, he's going to hold onto you.
He has a place set for you at the eternal table. He's really glad you're going to be there.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Give Thanks. Enjoy Life.
Sermon for North Hill Adventist Fellowship
November 27,2010
Preliminary draft
On Thanksgiving, I had one piece of pumpkin pie. It was perfect. It was enough. I did not eat a second piece because eating a second piece would have interfered with the memory the first piece.
I had one piece. And gave thanks. Gave thanks for the perfect crust. Gave thanks for the lush filling and the hand-whipped cream.
I gave thanks for my daughter, Bonnie, who grew the pumpkins, harvested them and transformed them into perfect pies. I gave thanks for my wife, Karin, who passed on the art of pie making to her daughters.
I gave thanks for the horses who created the manure which we used to fertilize the pumpkin plants.
I gave thanks for the dairy farmers who produced the milk Bonnie used in the pie filling and produced the cream we whipped and spooned on top the pie.
I gave thanks for the Mexicans who work at the dairies in our area. Their labor keeps our milk relatively cheap.
I gave thanks for the Native Americans who taught the early immigrants to America to eat and cultivate pumpkins.
I gave thanks for the generations of Native Americans stretching back through thousands of years who cultivated pumpkins. Without the farming practices of those people, pumpkins as we know them would not exist.
Then I gave thanks for the wheat farmers who produced the wheat that was used to make the perfect crust on this perfect pumpkin pie.
I even gave thanks for the corporations that delivered sugar and salt to our local grocery store. What would pumpkin pie be without sugar and salt? And who of us could produce our own sugar and salt?
Pumpkin pie. An exquisite occasion for giving thanks—thanks to God for creating pumpkins and Native Americans, my wife and my daughter, cows and agricultural corporations, the magic of seeds and photosynthesis.
What food gave you the most powerful impetus to give thanks?
Stuffing? Cranberries? Mashed potatoes? Yams with marshmellows? Salad with avocado and grapefruit? Martinelli's?
One of the highest forms of spiritual life is discerning the benevolent hand of God in the down-to-earth realities of life. When we receive good things as gifts, it is natural to give thanks to the giver. The more vividly we discern the benevolence of God, the kindness and generosity of God in the good things of life, the richer will be our joy.
This is one of the benefits God has in mind for us when he calls us to give thanks.
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.
Psalm 107:1 and Psalm 118:1; 29
Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done. Sing to him, sing praise to him; tell of all his wonderful acts.
Psalm 105:1-2
When we obey the command to give thanks, we experience joy. In fact, giving thanks is one of the most potent sources of joy and happiness available to people. Thanking people for their kindness to us causes us to enjoy even more their kindness.
Thanking God for his kindness to us intensifies the pleasure his gifts bring into our lives.
So, give thanks to the Lord. . . . tell of all his wonderful acts.
The message about God's presence in the goodness that touches our lives is one of the central messages of the Bible.
One of the few stories about Jesus that is reported in all four gospels is the feeding of the 5000.
Jesus has headed out of town hoping for some quiet time away from the crowds, but the “bush telegraph” works too well. About the time Jesus and his disciples arrive for their time of retreat, the crowds show up. Jesus shelves his plans and turns his attention to needs of the people. He heals many. Preaches. The people are enthralled. They lose track of time. As sundown nears, Jesus talks to his disciples about dinner. What are we going to do for all these people?
The disciples have different strategies: send the people out to villages in the area so they can buy some food. Send some of the disciples go to the villages to buy food and have it carried back to the venue. Panic was an obvious option. There are 5000 hungry men there. The fact is there is no obvious workable solution.
Even if the disciples went into the nearby towns, could they possibly rustle up enough food for this crowd? Could they find people willing and able to do the transportation to bring sufficient food out from the villages? Not likely.
Jesus tells the disciples not to send the people out on their own. He's worried they might faint from hunger on the road.
Andrew speaks up and says, “I have found a young man who has five loaves and two fish.”
Let's see: Five thousand men. Five loaves. A thousand men per loaf. That was not likely to do much good. For Jesus it was enough.
He had the disciples seat the people in groups. Then Jesus gave thanks, broke the bread and had the disciples distribute it. He did the same with the fish. And all five thousand ate and were satisfied. They were stuffed to the gills.
Note: Jesus starts with a boy's lunch. Gives thanks to God for the food. Then feeds 5000.
I'm sure that Jesus and Andrew thanked the kid for his lunch. But what is mentioned in the story is that Jesus gave thanks to God.
Jesus had extraordinary vision. When he looked at that kid's lunch he saw God's provision for feeding 5000. And gave thanks.
When we eat the world's best pumpkin pie, it's a fairly natural instinct to give thanks to the person close at hand who created that masterpiece. It takes a more discerning eye to see that the skill and affection of that person are an expression of the creative intention and affection of God.
The foundation of our faith is the belief that God is the creator. Life flows from the intention and purpose of God.
When the Jewish people were rescued from slavery in Egypt and given the privilege of their own homeland in Palestine, God gave them very specific rituals to help them remember that the bounty of their harvests depended on God's benevolence as well as the skill and hard work of the farmer.
When the harvest was gathered in, the people were to take the first portion of the harvest and dedicate to God as a reminder of his involvement in their harvest. Now, it's important to recognize that to an unenlightened observer, God was completely invisible. Undetectable. If you were a plant scientist working in the days of Joshua, you would not be able to design and experiment to show that God was involved in Jewish agriculture. As Jesus reminded us: God sends his rain on the just and the unjust. God pours his creative power indiscriminately into our world.
God's benevolence is to human existence what water is to a fish. It is the reality we swim in, the reality we see in, the reality we breathe in. It is so much with us that we can miss it, unless we are looking specially for it.
Giving thanks is one of the most important ways we cultivate the ability to discern God's favor, God's benevolence and favor.
When we eat. Before we take the calories into our stomach, we pause to receive God's grace in our hearts. We give thanks for the food.
Maybe it's McDonald's take out.
Maybe it's world-class, home-made pumpkin pie.
Maybe it's a peanut butter sandwich we brought with us for lunch.
Whatever it is, we pause and for a moment focus on the grace God is pouring into our lives with this food. And the meal becomes an occasion of worship. The act of saying thanks for our food transforms the biological act of acquiring calories into a spiritual practice that opens us to God's presence and favor.
A couple of other points.
Giving thanks is a powerful statement to our own hearts that we have enough. And since we have enough, we move from hungering for what we do not have to savoring, to enjoying, to treasuring what we do have.
One piece of pumpkin pie fully savored brings more pleasure than a dozen pieces of pie eaten hurriedly or absent-mindedly. To fully picture the contrast, imagine the experience of people who participate in food-eating contests. How much pleasure does eating give to a person who is competing to see how many hot dogs or watermelons or pieces of pizza he can eat in five minutes?
Now imagine slowly eating a small bowl of ice cream sitting in the shade on a hot summer afternoon with a dear friend?
Which is a picture of heavenly pleasure? Which can teach us more about the presence and intentions of God? Which whispers to us of the eternal pleasures God has in mind for his people?
Gratitude is the ultimate protection against addiction. In addiction we pursue pleasure. In gratitude, we enjoy pleasure. To put it bluntly: gratitude is more fun. Vastly more fun. It is richer, sweeter, deeper, more exquisitely good.
Giving thanks can rescue us from the tyranny of greed, the restless drive for more. Of course, there is a place for striving to earn money, to build our retirement funds, to save for college or a down payment for a house. There is effort in caring for a garden that will produce a rich harvest. God blesses our efforts. We were made to strive and work.
And we were made to stop. To rest. To enjoy. To savor. To sit back and say, “It is enough. Thank you.”
“It is enough. I have enough.” These phrases describe one of the most blessed conditions of life. And learning to say thank you is one of the most powerful aids God has given us for entering that experience.
So, I join the psalmist in inviting you, “Give thanks to the Lord for he is good.”
November 27,2010
Preliminary draft
On Thanksgiving, I had one piece of pumpkin pie. It was perfect. It was enough. I did not eat a second piece because eating a second piece would have interfered with the memory the first piece.
I had one piece. And gave thanks. Gave thanks for the perfect crust. Gave thanks for the lush filling and the hand-whipped cream.
I gave thanks for my daughter, Bonnie, who grew the pumpkins, harvested them and transformed them into perfect pies. I gave thanks for my wife, Karin, who passed on the art of pie making to her daughters.
I gave thanks for the horses who created the manure which we used to fertilize the pumpkin plants.
I gave thanks for the dairy farmers who produced the milk Bonnie used in the pie filling and produced the cream we whipped and spooned on top the pie.
I gave thanks for the Mexicans who work at the dairies in our area. Their labor keeps our milk relatively cheap.
I gave thanks for the Native Americans who taught the early immigrants to America to eat and cultivate pumpkins.
I gave thanks for the generations of Native Americans stretching back through thousands of years who cultivated pumpkins. Without the farming practices of those people, pumpkins as we know them would not exist.
Then I gave thanks for the wheat farmers who produced the wheat that was used to make the perfect crust on this perfect pumpkin pie.
I even gave thanks for the corporations that delivered sugar and salt to our local grocery store. What would pumpkin pie be without sugar and salt? And who of us could produce our own sugar and salt?
Pumpkin pie. An exquisite occasion for giving thanks—thanks to God for creating pumpkins and Native Americans, my wife and my daughter, cows and agricultural corporations, the magic of seeds and photosynthesis.
What food gave you the most powerful impetus to give thanks?
Stuffing? Cranberries? Mashed potatoes? Yams with marshmellows? Salad with avocado and grapefruit? Martinelli's?
One of the highest forms of spiritual life is discerning the benevolent hand of God in the down-to-earth realities of life. When we receive good things as gifts, it is natural to give thanks to the giver. The more vividly we discern the benevolence of God, the kindness and generosity of God in the good things of life, the richer will be our joy.
This is one of the benefits God has in mind for us when he calls us to give thanks.
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.
Psalm 107:1 and Psalm 118:1; 29
Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done. Sing to him, sing praise to him; tell of all his wonderful acts.
Psalm 105:1-2
When we obey the command to give thanks, we experience joy. In fact, giving thanks is one of the most potent sources of joy and happiness available to people. Thanking people for their kindness to us causes us to enjoy even more their kindness.
Thanking God for his kindness to us intensifies the pleasure his gifts bring into our lives.
So, give thanks to the Lord. . . . tell of all his wonderful acts.
The message about God's presence in the goodness that touches our lives is one of the central messages of the Bible.
One of the few stories about Jesus that is reported in all four gospels is the feeding of the 5000.
Jesus has headed out of town hoping for some quiet time away from the crowds, but the “bush telegraph” works too well. About the time Jesus and his disciples arrive for their time of retreat, the crowds show up. Jesus shelves his plans and turns his attention to needs of the people. He heals many. Preaches. The people are enthralled. They lose track of time. As sundown nears, Jesus talks to his disciples about dinner. What are we going to do for all these people?
The disciples have different strategies: send the people out to villages in the area so they can buy some food. Send some of the disciples go to the villages to buy food and have it carried back to the venue. Panic was an obvious option. There are 5000 hungry men there. The fact is there is no obvious workable solution.
Even if the disciples went into the nearby towns, could they possibly rustle up enough food for this crowd? Could they find people willing and able to do the transportation to bring sufficient food out from the villages? Not likely.
Jesus tells the disciples not to send the people out on their own. He's worried they might faint from hunger on the road.
Andrew speaks up and says, “I have found a young man who has five loaves and two fish.”
Let's see: Five thousand men. Five loaves. A thousand men per loaf. That was not likely to do much good. For Jesus it was enough.
He had the disciples seat the people in groups. Then Jesus gave thanks, broke the bread and had the disciples distribute it. He did the same with the fish. And all five thousand ate and were satisfied. They were stuffed to the gills.
Note: Jesus starts with a boy's lunch. Gives thanks to God for the food. Then feeds 5000.
I'm sure that Jesus and Andrew thanked the kid for his lunch. But what is mentioned in the story is that Jesus gave thanks to God.
Jesus had extraordinary vision. When he looked at that kid's lunch he saw God's provision for feeding 5000. And gave thanks.
When we eat the world's best pumpkin pie, it's a fairly natural instinct to give thanks to the person close at hand who created that masterpiece. It takes a more discerning eye to see that the skill and affection of that person are an expression of the creative intention and affection of God.
The foundation of our faith is the belief that God is the creator. Life flows from the intention and purpose of God.
When the Jewish people were rescued from slavery in Egypt and given the privilege of their own homeland in Palestine, God gave them very specific rituals to help them remember that the bounty of their harvests depended on God's benevolence as well as the skill and hard work of the farmer.
When the harvest was gathered in, the people were to take the first portion of the harvest and dedicate to God as a reminder of his involvement in their harvest. Now, it's important to recognize that to an unenlightened observer, God was completely invisible. Undetectable. If you were a plant scientist working in the days of Joshua, you would not be able to design and experiment to show that God was involved in Jewish agriculture. As Jesus reminded us: God sends his rain on the just and the unjust. God pours his creative power indiscriminately into our world.
God's benevolence is to human existence what water is to a fish. It is the reality we swim in, the reality we see in, the reality we breathe in. It is so much with us that we can miss it, unless we are looking specially for it.
Giving thanks is one of the most important ways we cultivate the ability to discern God's favor, God's benevolence and favor.
When we eat. Before we take the calories into our stomach, we pause to receive God's grace in our hearts. We give thanks for the food.
Maybe it's McDonald's take out.
Maybe it's world-class, home-made pumpkin pie.
Maybe it's a peanut butter sandwich we brought with us for lunch.
Whatever it is, we pause and for a moment focus on the grace God is pouring into our lives with this food. And the meal becomes an occasion of worship. The act of saying thanks for our food transforms the biological act of acquiring calories into a spiritual practice that opens us to God's presence and favor.
A couple of other points.
Giving thanks is a powerful statement to our own hearts that we have enough. And since we have enough, we move from hungering for what we do not have to savoring, to enjoying, to treasuring what we do have.
One piece of pumpkin pie fully savored brings more pleasure than a dozen pieces of pie eaten hurriedly or absent-mindedly. To fully picture the contrast, imagine the experience of people who participate in food-eating contests. How much pleasure does eating give to a person who is competing to see how many hot dogs or watermelons or pieces of pizza he can eat in five minutes?
Now imagine slowly eating a small bowl of ice cream sitting in the shade on a hot summer afternoon with a dear friend?
Which is a picture of heavenly pleasure? Which can teach us more about the presence and intentions of God? Which whispers to us of the eternal pleasures God has in mind for his people?
Gratitude is the ultimate protection against addiction. In addiction we pursue pleasure. In gratitude, we enjoy pleasure. To put it bluntly: gratitude is more fun. Vastly more fun. It is richer, sweeter, deeper, more exquisitely good.
Giving thanks can rescue us from the tyranny of greed, the restless drive for more. Of course, there is a place for striving to earn money, to build our retirement funds, to save for college or a down payment for a house. There is effort in caring for a garden that will produce a rich harvest. God blesses our efforts. We were made to strive and work.
And we were made to stop. To rest. To enjoy. To savor. To sit back and say, “It is enough. Thank you.”
“It is enough. I have enough.” These phrases describe one of the most blessed conditions of life. And learning to say thank you is one of the most powerful aids God has given us for entering that experience.
So, I join the psalmist in inviting you, “Give thanks to the Lord for he is good.”
Friday, November 12, 2010
Theology and Responding to Human Need
Sermon for North Hill, November 13, 2010
Very early in his ministry, Jesus and his friends were invited to a wedding. Jesus wasn't all that famous yet, so he didn't have crowds of people following him around. He and his friends showed up at the wedding and had a good time. Nothing really out of the ordinary. Then his mother comes over and whispers to him about a huge problem, a wedding-ruining problem. Decades of disgrace was hovering in the air, ready any minute to sweep down and bury the groom's father—and not just the groom's father. The groom's father and the groom. And the groom's uncles and cousins and grandfather and maybe even his brother's-in-law.
“Jesus,” Mary whispers, “they have run out of wine.”
Jesus whispers back, “What are you telling me for? This isn't my wedding. And this isn't the proper venue for launching the miracle-working aspect of my ministry. This is the wrong place and wrong time for me to do something dramatic.”
Jesus' mother nods and smiles and whispers in his ear. “I understand.” Then she walks back to the servants in the kitchen and pointing at Jesus, says, “Go, do whatever he tells you.”
The servants walk over to Jesus and stand with question marks on their faces.
What's Jesus to do?
Remember, he has already told his mother that God's plan for his life does not involve addressing the wine shortage. Jesus' exact words were: “Woman, what do I have to do with you? My time has not yet come.” I don't know how he could have been more explicit. Jesus was at the wedding as a guest. The wine problem—or lack-of-wine problem—was not his problem. His “time” was a schedule, a plan, that came from heaven. And that plan did not include working miracles at a wedding feast in Cana.
And there was his mother, in the kitchen watching him expectantly and two servants standing right next to him, waiting expectantly. And over there is the groom having a wonderful time visiting with his family and other guests, utterly oblivious to the fact that his family is about to experience the massive disgrace of running out of wine at his wedding.
What does Jesus do?
He pointed at pointed at six 25-gallon stone jars and whispered to the servants, “Go fill those jars with water.”
The servants went and filled the jars to the brim, then came back to Jesus. “Now what?”
“Pour a cup from the jars,” Jesus says, “and take it to the wedding master.”
The servants were astonished. No one ever served water at a feast. But Mary had told them to do whatever Jesus said, so they poured a cup and took it to the master of the feast. When he tasted the “water,” his eyes lit up. “Where did you get this?” he exclaimed. “This is fantastic!”
The servants merely pointed at the jars.
The wedding master called the groom over. “Young man, it is customary to serve your best wine at the beginning of a feast. Later, after people have been eating and drinking for awhile, then you bring out your cheaper stuff. You understand? But you've saved your best for last!”
The groom had no idea what the wedding master was talking about, but in that society, a young man did not challenge an older man. So the groom smiled and nodded deferentially then went back to his guests.
What does it mean? What does this story teach us?
The core of Jesus' ministry was responsiveness to down-to-earth human need. It's hard to imagine a more mundane, ordinary human need than the social obligation to provide adequate food and beverage for a wedding feast.
This means my work of studying Greek and reading commentaries and praying and meditating and finally standing here and preaching is no more “like Jesus” than is the work of the people who serve snacks in the kitchen after church.
Let's push it further. Those who clean the toilets and mow the lawn are copying Jesus every bit as realistically as are those who lead us in our worship music.
In fact, those who clean toilets and fix ballasts and pull weeds are more like Jesus in this story than preachers and musicians, because in this story, Jesus' work of providing hospitality is invisible. If you were making a movie you could not show the water turning to wine. That happened out of sight inside the jars. Jesus does not touch the water or the jars. None of his words explicitly speak about a miracle. In fact, the only words Jesus spoke explicitly addressing Mary's request for help were his statement that it wasn't his problem or the right time for him to act.
Jesus' ministry in this case was completely invisible. Like the volunteers who clean the bathrooms and pull weeds and do repairs. Like the people who give money to support our scholarship and assistance funds. Like the members who help people without fanfare or publicity, just responding to human need.
Many commentators over the centuries have written that the gospel of John is the most “spiritual” of the four gospels in the New Testament. Even today, people like to say that John's gospel is deeper, more profound, more concerned with the inner being than are the other gospels. This reputation makes our story all the more dramatic.
In this “most spiritual” of the gospels, the first dramatic miracle, the one that inaugurates Jesus ministry is not a miracle of healing.
It is not connected with a great preaching event.
It doesn't happen in synagogue.
It has nothing to do with defeating demons or “triumphing over the forces of darkness.”
Jesus does not pray before performing this miracle.
The miracle is not described as God's idea. It was not on Jesus' list of “things to do today.” In fact, Jesus performed the miracle under protest. Still he did it. In this most spiritual of all the gospels Jesus begins his ministry by providing wine for a wedding feast.
The heart of Jesus' ministry was responding to human need.
Listening to some Christians nowadays, you would think that Christianity was a particular theory regarding how people avoid going to hell. They insist the essence of the Christian message, its heart, is a very specific way of describing salvation. “Conservative Christians” readily condemn everyone who does not believe just as they do about various details of theological theory. They believe God will torture people forever and ever if people do not believe exactly the right things about how the Bible was written, about the nature of Christ, about the dates of creation and the end of the world, about the proper roles of behavior and faith in our relationship with God.
According to these “Real Christians,” salvation and the ministry of Jesus are about right theology, correct words, proper ideas.
The Gospel of John, the most spiritual of all gospels, the gospel that says the most about faith, disagrees. In John, the first sign of Jesus' power and authority as the Messiah is his willingness to bend “the plan of God” and provide wine for feast.
The same message comes through in several other passages in the gospel of John and in other books of the New Testament. In John 9, the bottom-line proof that Jesus is the Messiah--trumping all theological considerations--is healing of a man born blind.
In the gospel of Matthew, the grand climax of Jesus' sermon about the end of the world is the story of the sheep and goats. In that story, the judgment turns on one question: how did you respond to human need?
In Luke, right at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus stands up in his home town synagogue and reads from Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me to preach good news to the poos, recovery of sight to the blind and to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord. Then he announces, “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your ears.”
Theology, in the sense of words and theories about God, is subordinate to theology in the sense of life lived in the pattern of the God revealed in the life and teachings of Jesus.
Here at North Hill we want our mission to be like the mission of Jesus. We want to do everything we can to help people experience the good life that Jesus proclaimed. We want to respond to human need in a way that helps people live more holy, happy, healthy, harmonious lives.
Given the complexity and richness of Christian theology, for some of us, it's easy to become obsessed with “right words,” “right theology.” Martin Luther, John Calvin, Ulrich Zwingle where leading theologians 500 years ago in the days of the Protestant Reformation. All of them played a role in helping the church escape the tyranny of Roman Catholic clergy control and the Catholic distortion of the good news of grace. But curiously each of these men vehemently denounced the other two. Their own unique understanding of just how it is that God pours his grace and love into our lives became the basis for condemning and rejecting those who saw it somewhat differently. For each of them, theological ideas became more important than connecting with real, live human beings.
Last week as I was researching my sermon on yoga I came across a web site devoted to intense study of Christian theology. The people on the web site were hyper vigilant against the slightest deviation from “the truth.” A number of them were severely critical of Billy Graham because he did not insist that Catholics who came to his meetings prove their devotion to Jesus by leaving the Catholic Church. The last word on the subject was this post: Anyone who is a friend of Billy Graham is no friend of mine.
Is this the community of love Jesus had in mind when he said the world would know we were his disciples by our love?
Theological obsession has often been a temptation for Adventists. Adventist theology is rich and coherent. It ties together so many things. It helps correct many scary ideas that are common in classic Christian theology. I like our theology. But the power and coherence of Adventist theology can lead us to idolize our theology. We can become so obsessed with our ideas that we fail to pay enough attention to real live human beings and their needs. Worse, we sometimes use our theology as a weapon against other people and churches.
In 1888, Adventist church leaders were fiercely divided in a dispute regarding the ten horns of Daniel 7: Which of two Germanic tribes that invaded the Roman Empire (the Huns or the Alemanni) fulfilled the prophecy? Really? We laugh now. But if we are not careful, we'll do the same thing in our world. Our certainty about the truthfulness and necessity of some point of Bible interpretation or theological conviction will drive us to anathematize everyone who doesn't see it our way. Right now Adventists risk doing this regarding the age of fossils. We judge people's integrity, intelligence and piety according to their opinions about when the dinosaurs lived. Really? Really.
This kind of thinking moves us away from the mission of Jesus as its is portrayed in the gospel of John. Jesus came on a theological mission. He came to make God known. And when the needs of a wedding feast conflicted with the formal plan for advancing that theology, Jesus set the plan and took care of the simple human need. In doing this, he defined theology in a new way. Theology is not best understood as a list of propositions about God. It is best understood as the way our status as children of God ought to inform our sense of identity and mission. As children of God we are dearly beloved. As children of God we are commanded to live out his values in this world, to make the values of the invisible God visible in our lives. (See Matthew 5:44-48 and James 1:27.)
This does not dismiss theology—that is discourse about God. However, it does strongly imply that living like God is more important than talking about God. And right action is more important than right theories. The greatest test of theology is whether or not it increases our compassion.
We can test our theology by assessing how it informs us when we confront these realities of the human condition:
The explosive growth of diabetes.
The scarcity of clean water.
Economic development among people groups that are chronically poor.
Education access.
Marital harmony.
The obesity epidemic.
If you find yourself looking for “real theology” in this list, if you miss debates about justification and sanctification, forensic vs. adoptionistic vs. moral influence vs. Arminian vs. Calvinistic vs. Lutheran soteriology, the story of John 2 (along with the messages of Matthew 25 and Luke 4) pointedly suggests that your theology is not really lined up with the mission of Jesus.
Perhaps Jesus has become a tool of your theology, a necessary cog in your theory of salvation. If that is so, perhaps it's time to allow Jesus to break out of the categories your theology has consigned him to. Perhaps it's time for conservative Christians to allow Jesus' teachings and pattern of ministry a greater role in forming our theology and shaping our mission as the family of God.
Very early in his ministry, Jesus and his friends were invited to a wedding. Jesus wasn't all that famous yet, so he didn't have crowds of people following him around. He and his friends showed up at the wedding and had a good time. Nothing really out of the ordinary. Then his mother comes over and whispers to him about a huge problem, a wedding-ruining problem. Decades of disgrace was hovering in the air, ready any minute to sweep down and bury the groom's father—and not just the groom's father. The groom's father and the groom. And the groom's uncles and cousins and grandfather and maybe even his brother's-in-law.
“Jesus,” Mary whispers, “they have run out of wine.”
Jesus whispers back, “What are you telling me for? This isn't my wedding. And this isn't the proper venue for launching the miracle-working aspect of my ministry. This is the wrong place and wrong time for me to do something dramatic.”
Jesus' mother nods and smiles and whispers in his ear. “I understand.” Then she walks back to the servants in the kitchen and pointing at Jesus, says, “Go, do whatever he tells you.”
The servants walk over to Jesus and stand with question marks on their faces.
What's Jesus to do?
Remember, he has already told his mother that God's plan for his life does not involve addressing the wine shortage. Jesus' exact words were: “Woman, what do I have to do with you? My time has not yet come.” I don't know how he could have been more explicit. Jesus was at the wedding as a guest. The wine problem—or lack-of-wine problem—was not his problem. His “time” was a schedule, a plan, that came from heaven. And that plan did not include working miracles at a wedding feast in Cana.
And there was his mother, in the kitchen watching him expectantly and two servants standing right next to him, waiting expectantly. And over there is the groom having a wonderful time visiting with his family and other guests, utterly oblivious to the fact that his family is about to experience the massive disgrace of running out of wine at his wedding.
What does Jesus do?
He pointed at pointed at six 25-gallon stone jars and whispered to the servants, “Go fill those jars with water.”
The servants went and filled the jars to the brim, then came back to Jesus. “Now what?”
“Pour a cup from the jars,” Jesus says, “and take it to the wedding master.”
The servants were astonished. No one ever served water at a feast. But Mary had told them to do whatever Jesus said, so they poured a cup and took it to the master of the feast. When he tasted the “water,” his eyes lit up. “Where did you get this?” he exclaimed. “This is fantastic!”
The servants merely pointed at the jars.
The wedding master called the groom over. “Young man, it is customary to serve your best wine at the beginning of a feast. Later, after people have been eating and drinking for awhile, then you bring out your cheaper stuff. You understand? But you've saved your best for last!”
The groom had no idea what the wedding master was talking about, but in that society, a young man did not challenge an older man. So the groom smiled and nodded deferentially then went back to his guests.
What does it mean? What does this story teach us?
The core of Jesus' ministry was responsiveness to down-to-earth human need. It's hard to imagine a more mundane, ordinary human need than the social obligation to provide adequate food and beverage for a wedding feast.
This means my work of studying Greek and reading commentaries and praying and meditating and finally standing here and preaching is no more “like Jesus” than is the work of the people who serve snacks in the kitchen after church.
Let's push it further. Those who clean the toilets and mow the lawn are copying Jesus every bit as realistically as are those who lead us in our worship music.
In fact, those who clean toilets and fix ballasts and pull weeds are more like Jesus in this story than preachers and musicians, because in this story, Jesus' work of providing hospitality is invisible. If you were making a movie you could not show the water turning to wine. That happened out of sight inside the jars. Jesus does not touch the water or the jars. None of his words explicitly speak about a miracle. In fact, the only words Jesus spoke explicitly addressing Mary's request for help were his statement that it wasn't his problem or the right time for him to act.
Jesus' ministry in this case was completely invisible. Like the volunteers who clean the bathrooms and pull weeds and do repairs. Like the people who give money to support our scholarship and assistance funds. Like the members who help people without fanfare or publicity, just responding to human need.
Many commentators over the centuries have written that the gospel of John is the most “spiritual” of the four gospels in the New Testament. Even today, people like to say that John's gospel is deeper, more profound, more concerned with the inner being than are the other gospels. This reputation makes our story all the more dramatic.
In this “most spiritual” of the gospels, the first dramatic miracle, the one that inaugurates Jesus ministry is not a miracle of healing.
It is not connected with a great preaching event.
It doesn't happen in synagogue.
It has nothing to do with defeating demons or “triumphing over the forces of darkness.”
Jesus does not pray before performing this miracle.
The miracle is not described as God's idea. It was not on Jesus' list of “things to do today.” In fact, Jesus performed the miracle under protest. Still he did it. In this most spiritual of all the gospels Jesus begins his ministry by providing wine for a wedding feast.
The heart of Jesus' ministry was responding to human need.
Listening to some Christians nowadays, you would think that Christianity was a particular theory regarding how people avoid going to hell. They insist the essence of the Christian message, its heart, is a very specific way of describing salvation. “Conservative Christians” readily condemn everyone who does not believe just as they do about various details of theological theory. They believe God will torture people forever and ever if people do not believe exactly the right things about how the Bible was written, about the nature of Christ, about the dates of creation and the end of the world, about the proper roles of behavior and faith in our relationship with God.
According to these “Real Christians,” salvation and the ministry of Jesus are about right theology, correct words, proper ideas.
The Gospel of John, the most spiritual of all gospels, the gospel that says the most about faith, disagrees. In John, the first sign of Jesus' power and authority as the Messiah is his willingness to bend “the plan of God” and provide wine for feast.
The same message comes through in several other passages in the gospel of John and in other books of the New Testament. In John 9, the bottom-line proof that Jesus is the Messiah--trumping all theological considerations--is healing of a man born blind.
In the gospel of Matthew, the grand climax of Jesus' sermon about the end of the world is the story of the sheep and goats. In that story, the judgment turns on one question: how did you respond to human need?
In Luke, right at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus stands up in his home town synagogue and reads from Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me to preach good news to the poos, recovery of sight to the blind and to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord. Then he announces, “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your ears.”
Theology, in the sense of words and theories about God, is subordinate to theology in the sense of life lived in the pattern of the God revealed in the life and teachings of Jesus.
Here at North Hill we want our mission to be like the mission of Jesus. We want to do everything we can to help people experience the good life that Jesus proclaimed. We want to respond to human need in a way that helps people live more holy, happy, healthy, harmonious lives.
Given the complexity and richness of Christian theology, for some of us, it's easy to become obsessed with “right words,” “right theology.” Martin Luther, John Calvin, Ulrich Zwingle where leading theologians 500 years ago in the days of the Protestant Reformation. All of them played a role in helping the church escape the tyranny of Roman Catholic clergy control and the Catholic distortion of the good news of grace. But curiously each of these men vehemently denounced the other two. Their own unique understanding of just how it is that God pours his grace and love into our lives became the basis for condemning and rejecting those who saw it somewhat differently. For each of them, theological ideas became more important than connecting with real, live human beings.
Last week as I was researching my sermon on yoga I came across a web site devoted to intense study of Christian theology. The people on the web site were hyper vigilant against the slightest deviation from “the truth.” A number of them were severely critical of Billy Graham because he did not insist that Catholics who came to his meetings prove their devotion to Jesus by leaving the Catholic Church. The last word on the subject was this post: Anyone who is a friend of Billy Graham is no friend of mine.
Is this the community of love Jesus had in mind when he said the world would know we were his disciples by our love?
Theological obsession has often been a temptation for Adventists. Adventist theology is rich and coherent. It ties together so many things. It helps correct many scary ideas that are common in classic Christian theology. I like our theology. But the power and coherence of Adventist theology can lead us to idolize our theology. We can become so obsessed with our ideas that we fail to pay enough attention to real live human beings and their needs. Worse, we sometimes use our theology as a weapon against other people and churches.
In 1888, Adventist church leaders were fiercely divided in a dispute regarding the ten horns of Daniel 7: Which of two Germanic tribes that invaded the Roman Empire (the Huns or the Alemanni) fulfilled the prophecy? Really? We laugh now. But if we are not careful, we'll do the same thing in our world. Our certainty about the truthfulness and necessity of some point of Bible interpretation or theological conviction will drive us to anathematize everyone who doesn't see it our way. Right now Adventists risk doing this regarding the age of fossils. We judge people's integrity, intelligence and piety according to their opinions about when the dinosaurs lived. Really? Really.
This kind of thinking moves us away from the mission of Jesus as its is portrayed in the gospel of John. Jesus came on a theological mission. He came to make God known. And when the needs of a wedding feast conflicted with the formal plan for advancing that theology, Jesus set the plan and took care of the simple human need. In doing this, he defined theology in a new way. Theology is not best understood as a list of propositions about God. It is best understood as the way our status as children of God ought to inform our sense of identity and mission. As children of God we are dearly beloved. As children of God we are commanded to live out his values in this world, to make the values of the invisible God visible in our lives. (See Matthew 5:44-48 and James 1:27.)
This does not dismiss theology—that is discourse about God. However, it does strongly imply that living like God is more important than talking about God. And right action is more important than right theories. The greatest test of theology is whether or not it increases our compassion.
We can test our theology by assessing how it informs us when we confront these realities of the human condition:
The explosive growth of diabetes.
The scarcity of clean water.
Economic development among people groups that are chronically poor.
Education access.
Marital harmony.
The obesity epidemic.
If you find yourself looking for “real theology” in this list, if you miss debates about justification and sanctification, forensic vs. adoptionistic vs. moral influence vs. Arminian vs. Calvinistic vs. Lutheran soteriology, the story of John 2 (along with the messages of Matthew 25 and Luke 4) pointedly suggests that your theology is not really lined up with the mission of Jesus.
Perhaps Jesus has become a tool of your theology, a necessary cog in your theory of salvation. If that is so, perhaps it's time to allow Jesus to break out of the categories your theology has consigned him to. Perhaps it's time for conservative Christians to allow Jesus' teachings and pattern of ministry a greater role in forming our theology and shaping our mission as the family of God.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Is Yoga Demonic?
Sermon for North Hill, November 6, 2010
Recently, the Seattle Times ran an article on its front page: Yoga: Is it demonic?
The article was provoked by the publication of a paper by the head of the Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, KY, and by a statement by Mark Driscoll, senior pastor of Mars Hill Church, the most visible mega-church in the Seattle area.
Someone asked Driscoll, “Should Christians avoid yoga because of its demonic origins?” Mark's answer was an emphatic yes. If fact, he said, “If you sign up for a little yoga class, you are signing up for a little demon class.”
Driscoll's reasoning went like this: Yoga originated among Hindus and it is thoroughly entwined with Hindu religion and philosophy. Since Hinduism is pantheistic or panentheistic, yoga must be evil.
Given Driscoll's visibility in our area and the fact that a number of North Hill members practice yoga, I thought it would be worthwhile to examine the question.
The principles and Bible passages we'll examine in connection with yoga will apply to other areas of life as well.
John 1
Jesus meets Philip shortly after his baptism and invites Philip to follow him. Philip accepts the invitation. Almost immediately, he is so impressed with what he experiences in Jesus' presence that he goes off to find his friend Nathanael. “Nathanael,” Philip says, “we have found the one Moses wrote about, the one the prophets wrote about—Jesus of Nazareth.”
Nathanael laughs, “How could anything good come out of Nazareth?” If this guy you're talking about comes from Nazareth, there's no way he could be the Messiah. We know what kind of place Nazareth is. And it doesn't produce good people.”
What was Philip's answer to Nathanael's challenge?
“Come and see.”
John intends his readers to understand Philip's answer to Nathanael as the right answer to questions about spiritual reality. Don't get lost in arguments about history or mysterious, secret symbols or obscure genealogies. As a Christian who has been promised the guidance of the Holy Spirit, you can safely check things out for yourself. Come and see.
Nathanael's question would have been a perfect set up for John to give us information about the real origin of Jesus. Jesus isn't really from Nazareth. Jesus isn't really a Galilean. Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the royal city. But John completely ignores the question of Jesus' earthly origin. If we had only the gospel of John as our source of information about Jesus, we would know nothing about the virgin birth or Bethlehem or Jesus genealogical connection with King David. John does not invite us to examine Jesus' ancestry or birthplace. John wants us to directly engage with Jesus. John wants us to follow Philip's advice to Nathanael: Come and see. This is a major theme in the Gospel of John.
In Chapter 4, Jesus has a conversation with a non-Jewish woman. After she visits with Jesus for a while at a place called Jacob's Well, she goes back into town and urges everyone to come meet Jesus. “Come see the man who knows my story. Come and see.”
Yes, the man is Jewish she says (that is from a people that are hostile to the Samaritan people and religion), still, she insists, just come and see. The woman is confident that if the people will just meet Jesus, they will come to the same conclusion she has. Come and see.
In chapter 7, the religious leaders, the people charged with conserving the faith and heritage of the people, decide they have to bring Jesus in for a formal inquiry. He is stirring up the people. He's creating a dangerous enthusiasm. The leaders send the police to arrest Jesus and bring him to the council. The police go, but they are so enthralled by Jesus' teaching (and I think, perhaps, intimidated by the massive crowd) that they come back to the council without Jesus. When the leaders ask incredulously, “Why didn't you bring him in?” the police answer, “No one ever spoke like this man!”
The implication behind their words: You would have to there. We can't describe what we experienced.
The leaders berate the police. “What! You mean this charlatan has deceived you, too! Have any of the rulers or the Pharisees—the religious conservatives—believed in him? No! But this mob that knows nothing of the Bible—a curse on them!”
Nicodemus spoke up. Does our law condemn someone before hearing him?
Notice the leaders' response: Are you a Galilean, too? Check it out and you'll see that prophets don't come from Galilee, and especially not THE prophet.
The religious leaders rejected Jesus, not because they had examined his character and teachings but because of they know about his origin. He came from Galilee. That's all they need to know.
Since Jesus had roots among the unsophisticated, ethnically-mixed, religiously-lax people of Galilee, he could not possibly be the Messiah. In fact, these leaders believed Jesus' roots in Galilee were sufficient cause to reject everything he taught. According to these angry critics, there could be no prophetic (i.e. authoritative) word from someone with Galilean roots.
Again, this would have been a perfect place in the story for John to have defended Jesus by explaining that before he lived in Galilee, Jesus had lived in Egypt. And before he lived in Egypt, he had been born in Bethlehem. John could have argued that Jesus' genealogical pedigree was as impressive as anyone's on the council. But John refused to go there. John's convictions about Jesus were not primarily rooted in prophecy or ancient scripture. John had spent time with Jesus. That direct engagement eclipsed all the theoretical underpinnings for Jesus claim to Messianic identity.
This direct engagement comes to a most dramatic climax in John 9. Jesus and his disciples came across a man who had been born blind. Jesus healed him. When the conservatives called the man in for questioning, they insisted they didn't know where Jesus was from implying that this was somehow very important. The man scoffs at their professed ignorance. Their professed lack of knowledge is utterly irrelevant.
The formerly blind man says, “Here's what I know: I was blind and now I see.” You birthers can go bury yourself in a library searching old records and fuzzy copies. I'm not going to waste my time. I was blind and now I see. That much I know for sure. And it is enough.
The gospel of John reassures us that we don't have to be experts in secret history. We don't have to know about hidden mysteries. If we are open to God, God will make himself known. We can God's guidance as we engage life. We do not have to be afraid that somehow the Devil is going to sneak in and deceive us. According to John the greatest threat to spiritual life is excessive caution, being closed to the leading and work of the Holy Spirit. In John's gospel, the people who are “deceived” are not tricked by the Devil, but blinded by their stubborn rejection of God's new work which does not fit their ancient prejudices.
With this study of the Gospel of John as our starting point, let's ask the question about yoga: is yoga good or bad?
The obvious first question is what do we mean by “yoga.”
According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, Yoga (with a capital “Y”) is a Hindu theistic philosophy teaching the suppression of all activity of body, mind, and will in order that the self may realize its distinction from them and attain liberation.
If that is what you mean by yoga, then Driscoll would be right to base his evaluation of yoga on theological/philosophical concepts. However, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary offers a second definition: yoga is “a system of exercises for attaining bodily or mental control and well-being.”
It is yoga in this second sense that I want to evaluate.
I'll begin with my own story.
A few years ago something went wrong with my right shoulder. I went to my regular doctor then to a sports medicine specialist. Went through the usual diagnostics. Had an MRI. Had an injection that “might” help. It didn't. Went to a chiropractor who helped ease the pain a little. Still I was chased from bed every morning by pain. Outdoor work at home and here at church hurt. I figured I'd live with chronic pain the rest of my life. Then I started doing a few exercises I found in a yoga book. Over the next couple of years I did my yoga routine every morning. After awhile I noticed the pain was diminished. Then months later it was almost completely gone. I could sleep in on my days off. Finally, just this week I pitched ten pounds of hay overhand across a fence into one of the horse stalls. As I did it, I suddenly realized, Wow! That didn't hurt! My shoulder is working!
Those of you who deal with chronic pain can imagine how happy I am with my new pain-free existence.
So when I hear someone like Mark Driscoll or other religious leaders going on about the evils of yoga . . . Yoga was invented by pantheistic Hindus. Yoga teaches you to look within yourself and we're supposed to look outward to Jesus. Yoga postures are opening you up to demons. . . . I just smile and say, I don't know about all that. This I know. I was in pain. Constant, incurable pain. And now I am pain free.
A critic who observed my yoga routine might argue that what I do is not “real yoga” because in addition to postures taught by the yoga book, I do postures I made up myself. And I throw in a bit of weight training as well.
Why not just call what I do “exercises” instead of yoga? Because the book that got me started was a book of yoga postures. The classes I have attended are called yoga classes. The teachers who have helped me are trained yoga teachers. It is a simple matter of respect to acknowledge the help I have received.
I was in pain and now I am pain free. And yoga played a major role in the wonderful change that I have experienced.
Now, I freely acknowledge that my experience with yoga is not all there is to consider. The few classes I have attended have not involved any rituals that appeared to be religious. There has been no chanting, no images. The classes have consisted of cycles of physical exertion and rest. Period. However, just a couple of weeks ago a friend told me that she started attending a yoga class looking for help with some physical problems. The instructor asked the class to chant with her. When my friend looked up the meaning of the words she was chanting, she discovered they were the names of Hindu gods. So, of course, she quit doing that.
Let's push a little further: can a practice that originated in a non-Christian or even anti-Christian environment be helpful and appropriate for Christians?
Yes. Emphatically, yes.
The Gospel of Matthew makes quite a point of highlighting the contribution that non-Jewish peoples and nations made to Jesus' story. When Jesus parents flee to Egypt to avoid Herod's slaughter of the infants, Matthew remarks, “This happened to fulfill the prophecy, 'Out of Egypt have I called my son.'” Notice, Egypt, the historical “land of slavery” has now, in Jesus' story, become a sanctuary, a place of refuge. Egypt, the land of false religion, the home of the worship of the sun god, is not described the place of Jesus.
Then Matthew reports on the visit of the Magi. These were deeply spiritual people in the tradition of Babylon and Persia. Some Christian critics of yoga scornfully point to yoga's connection with the ancient apostasy of Babylon and Persia, thinking this proves that Christians should have nothing to do with yoga. However, the first gifts Jesus received was from representatives of that very religion. And Jesus did not scorn their gifts.
So when we receive gifts from the realm of yoga, we are merely following in the pattern already set in the story of Jesus.
The dominant message of the Bible is God's penchant for redeeming, for drawing back into the center of his beneficent will, all people and all things that have been eccentric to his will.
In the Bible, Babylon first appears as an enemy of God's people. Then it becomes the place where God finally manages to cure his people of idolatry. Babylon is where the synagogue, the church as a center of Bible study, first came into existence. Before the Jews went to Babylon they did not have a culture of Bible study outside the temple in Jerusalem. And it isn't clear that there was a culture of study even in the Jerusalem temple. That changed in Babylon.
In Isaiah, the king of Babylon is described in such colorfully negative language that it has traditionally been interpreted as a metaphorical picture of the Devil. Then the prophet Daniel includes the personal conversion testimony of the king of Babylon—the most dramatic conversion story in all of Scripture, eclipsing even the conversion of the Apostle Paul on the road to Damascus.
When we evaluate yoga, we ought to root our assessment in present reality, not in history. This can get complicated because yoga, like Christianity, is highly varied.
Mark Driscoll is a Christian.
The pope is a Christian.
Jehovah's Witnesses are Christians.
George Bush is a Christian.
Barack Obama is a Christian.
Hillary Clinton is a Christianity
Glenn Beck is a Christian.
Robert Yates (a serial killer) is a Christian.
Based on this list of Christians how could you offer a single, simple answer to a question about whether Christianity is good, bad or indifferent. You can't. So with yoga. When someone asks you about yoga, you have to ask what yoga they have in mind. What book are they referring to? What class? What teacher? What practice? Some yoga instructors teach their students to chant praises to Hindu gods as part of their yoga practice. Others make no reference to any kind of religious practice or ideology.
In 1 Corinthians 8, the Apostle Paul addresses a question that has direct bearing on our topic. Meat was used in the rituals in pagan temples. Then that meat was available for people to eat—either given away or sold. The question arose, could Christians eat the meat.
Paul replies that it's a complicated question because two principles are involved—regard for the tender consciences of other people and the reality of a genuine spiritual connection between the pagan deities worshiped in the temples and the meat that was available for Christians to eat.
On the second point, Paul is emphatic. Even though the meat has come straight from pagan sacrifice in a temple devoted to a pagan God, Christians can eat the food without swallowing the devil. There is no spiritual defilement present in the food. The food is food. Period. For Christians, there is no inherent risk eating food that has been involved in demonic worship.
To apply this to yoga: there is no inherent risk in using postures that were brought into the market place of ideas and health practices from non-Christian worship systems. Just as Christians in Paul's day would not have in any way pledged allegiance to the deities in the temples where the meat originated, so Christians today will refuse to pay obeisance to Hindu deities. That does not mean we cannot received with gratitude the physical blessings that are available through yoga (Romans 14:6). In fact, we ought to receive such blessings and give thanks to God.
The gospels make it abundantly clear that Jesus desired the physical well-being of people. When we provide medical care or instruction in healthy living to people, we are cooperating with Jesus in his mission. When we participate in practices that support and improve health—things like good nutrition, exercise—and yes, yoga—we are cooperating with Jesus in his work in our lives. Jesus desires our future joy in eternity. Yes, of course. He also wants us to enjoy maximal well-being here and now. If you find that yoga decreases your pain, increases your flexibility and balance and strength, then by all means do it. If the book or teacher you are learning from asks you to do something that contradicts the lordship of Jesus, then by all means don't.
Come to think of it that is how we ought to engage with all of life, including preachers like Mark Driscoll and John McLarty. Take the good stuff God offers through their words and wisely reject their errors.
Recently, the Seattle Times ran an article on its front page: Yoga: Is it demonic?
The article was provoked by the publication of a paper by the head of the Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, KY, and by a statement by Mark Driscoll, senior pastor of Mars Hill Church, the most visible mega-church in the Seattle area.
Someone asked Driscoll, “Should Christians avoid yoga because of its demonic origins?” Mark's answer was an emphatic yes. If fact, he said, “If you sign up for a little yoga class, you are signing up for a little demon class.”
Driscoll's reasoning went like this: Yoga originated among Hindus and it is thoroughly entwined with Hindu religion and philosophy. Since Hinduism is pantheistic or panentheistic, yoga must be evil.
Given Driscoll's visibility in our area and the fact that a number of North Hill members practice yoga, I thought it would be worthwhile to examine the question.
The principles and Bible passages we'll examine in connection with yoga will apply to other areas of life as well.
John 1
Jesus meets Philip shortly after his baptism and invites Philip to follow him. Philip accepts the invitation. Almost immediately, he is so impressed with what he experiences in Jesus' presence that he goes off to find his friend Nathanael. “Nathanael,” Philip says, “we have found the one Moses wrote about, the one the prophets wrote about—Jesus of Nazareth.”
Nathanael laughs, “How could anything good come out of Nazareth?” If this guy you're talking about comes from Nazareth, there's no way he could be the Messiah. We know what kind of place Nazareth is. And it doesn't produce good people.”
What was Philip's answer to Nathanael's challenge?
“Come and see.”
John intends his readers to understand Philip's answer to Nathanael as the right answer to questions about spiritual reality. Don't get lost in arguments about history or mysterious, secret symbols or obscure genealogies. As a Christian who has been promised the guidance of the Holy Spirit, you can safely check things out for yourself. Come and see.
Nathanael's question would have been a perfect set up for John to give us information about the real origin of Jesus. Jesus isn't really from Nazareth. Jesus isn't really a Galilean. Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the royal city. But John completely ignores the question of Jesus' earthly origin. If we had only the gospel of John as our source of information about Jesus, we would know nothing about the virgin birth or Bethlehem or Jesus genealogical connection with King David. John does not invite us to examine Jesus' ancestry or birthplace. John wants us to directly engage with Jesus. John wants us to follow Philip's advice to Nathanael: Come and see. This is a major theme in the Gospel of John.
In Chapter 4, Jesus has a conversation with a non-Jewish woman. After she visits with Jesus for a while at a place called Jacob's Well, she goes back into town and urges everyone to come meet Jesus. “Come see the man who knows my story. Come and see.”
Yes, the man is Jewish she says (that is from a people that are hostile to the Samaritan people and religion), still, she insists, just come and see. The woman is confident that if the people will just meet Jesus, they will come to the same conclusion she has. Come and see.
In chapter 7, the religious leaders, the people charged with conserving the faith and heritage of the people, decide they have to bring Jesus in for a formal inquiry. He is stirring up the people. He's creating a dangerous enthusiasm. The leaders send the police to arrest Jesus and bring him to the council. The police go, but they are so enthralled by Jesus' teaching (and I think, perhaps, intimidated by the massive crowd) that they come back to the council without Jesus. When the leaders ask incredulously, “Why didn't you bring him in?” the police answer, “No one ever spoke like this man!”
The implication behind their words: You would have to there. We can't describe what we experienced.
The leaders berate the police. “What! You mean this charlatan has deceived you, too! Have any of the rulers or the Pharisees—the religious conservatives—believed in him? No! But this mob that knows nothing of the Bible—a curse on them!”
Nicodemus spoke up. Does our law condemn someone before hearing him?
Notice the leaders' response: Are you a Galilean, too? Check it out and you'll see that prophets don't come from Galilee, and especially not THE prophet.
The religious leaders rejected Jesus, not because they had examined his character and teachings but because of they know about his origin. He came from Galilee. That's all they need to know.
Since Jesus had roots among the unsophisticated, ethnically-mixed, religiously-lax people of Galilee, he could not possibly be the Messiah. In fact, these leaders believed Jesus' roots in Galilee were sufficient cause to reject everything he taught. According to these angry critics, there could be no prophetic (i.e. authoritative) word from someone with Galilean roots.
Again, this would have been a perfect place in the story for John to have defended Jesus by explaining that before he lived in Galilee, Jesus had lived in Egypt. And before he lived in Egypt, he had been born in Bethlehem. John could have argued that Jesus' genealogical pedigree was as impressive as anyone's on the council. But John refused to go there. John's convictions about Jesus were not primarily rooted in prophecy or ancient scripture. John had spent time with Jesus. That direct engagement eclipsed all the theoretical underpinnings for Jesus claim to Messianic identity.
This direct engagement comes to a most dramatic climax in John 9. Jesus and his disciples came across a man who had been born blind. Jesus healed him. When the conservatives called the man in for questioning, they insisted they didn't know where Jesus was from implying that this was somehow very important. The man scoffs at their professed ignorance. Their professed lack of knowledge is utterly irrelevant.
The formerly blind man says, “Here's what I know: I was blind and now I see.” You birthers can go bury yourself in a library searching old records and fuzzy copies. I'm not going to waste my time. I was blind and now I see. That much I know for sure. And it is enough.
The gospel of John reassures us that we don't have to be experts in secret history. We don't have to know about hidden mysteries. If we are open to God, God will make himself known. We can God's guidance as we engage life. We do not have to be afraid that somehow the Devil is going to sneak in and deceive us. According to John the greatest threat to spiritual life is excessive caution, being closed to the leading and work of the Holy Spirit. In John's gospel, the people who are “deceived” are not tricked by the Devil, but blinded by their stubborn rejection of God's new work which does not fit their ancient prejudices.
With this study of the Gospel of John as our starting point, let's ask the question about yoga: is yoga good or bad?
The obvious first question is what do we mean by “yoga.”
According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, Yoga (with a capital “Y”) is a Hindu theistic philosophy teaching the suppression of all activity of body, mind, and will in order that the self may realize its distinction from them and attain liberation.
If that is what you mean by yoga, then Driscoll would be right to base his evaluation of yoga on theological/philosophical concepts. However, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary offers a second definition: yoga is “a system of exercises for attaining bodily or mental control and well-being.”
It is yoga in this second sense that I want to evaluate.
I'll begin with my own story.
A few years ago something went wrong with my right shoulder. I went to my regular doctor then to a sports medicine specialist. Went through the usual diagnostics. Had an MRI. Had an injection that “might” help. It didn't. Went to a chiropractor who helped ease the pain a little. Still I was chased from bed every morning by pain. Outdoor work at home and here at church hurt. I figured I'd live with chronic pain the rest of my life. Then I started doing a few exercises I found in a yoga book. Over the next couple of years I did my yoga routine every morning. After awhile I noticed the pain was diminished. Then months later it was almost completely gone. I could sleep in on my days off. Finally, just this week I pitched ten pounds of hay overhand across a fence into one of the horse stalls. As I did it, I suddenly realized, Wow! That didn't hurt! My shoulder is working!
Those of you who deal with chronic pain can imagine how happy I am with my new pain-free existence.
So when I hear someone like Mark Driscoll or other religious leaders going on about the evils of yoga . . . Yoga was invented by pantheistic Hindus. Yoga teaches you to look within yourself and we're supposed to look outward to Jesus. Yoga postures are opening you up to demons. . . . I just smile and say, I don't know about all that. This I know. I was in pain. Constant, incurable pain. And now I am pain free.
A critic who observed my yoga routine might argue that what I do is not “real yoga” because in addition to postures taught by the yoga book, I do postures I made up myself. And I throw in a bit of weight training as well.
Why not just call what I do “exercises” instead of yoga? Because the book that got me started was a book of yoga postures. The classes I have attended are called yoga classes. The teachers who have helped me are trained yoga teachers. It is a simple matter of respect to acknowledge the help I have received.
I was in pain and now I am pain free. And yoga played a major role in the wonderful change that I have experienced.
Now, I freely acknowledge that my experience with yoga is not all there is to consider. The few classes I have attended have not involved any rituals that appeared to be religious. There has been no chanting, no images. The classes have consisted of cycles of physical exertion and rest. Period. However, just a couple of weeks ago a friend told me that she started attending a yoga class looking for help with some physical problems. The instructor asked the class to chant with her. When my friend looked up the meaning of the words she was chanting, she discovered they were the names of Hindu gods. So, of course, she quit doing that.
Let's push a little further: can a practice that originated in a non-Christian or even anti-Christian environment be helpful and appropriate for Christians?
Yes. Emphatically, yes.
The Gospel of Matthew makes quite a point of highlighting the contribution that non-Jewish peoples and nations made to Jesus' story. When Jesus parents flee to Egypt to avoid Herod's slaughter of the infants, Matthew remarks, “This happened to fulfill the prophecy, 'Out of Egypt have I called my son.'” Notice, Egypt, the historical “land of slavery” has now, in Jesus' story, become a sanctuary, a place of refuge. Egypt, the land of false religion, the home of the worship of the sun god, is not described the place of Jesus.
Then Matthew reports on the visit of the Magi. These were deeply spiritual people in the tradition of Babylon and Persia. Some Christian critics of yoga scornfully point to yoga's connection with the ancient apostasy of Babylon and Persia, thinking this proves that Christians should have nothing to do with yoga. However, the first gifts Jesus received was from representatives of that very religion. And Jesus did not scorn their gifts.
So when we receive gifts from the realm of yoga, we are merely following in the pattern already set in the story of Jesus.
The dominant message of the Bible is God's penchant for redeeming, for drawing back into the center of his beneficent will, all people and all things that have been eccentric to his will.
In the Bible, Babylon first appears as an enemy of God's people. Then it becomes the place where God finally manages to cure his people of idolatry. Babylon is where the synagogue, the church as a center of Bible study, first came into existence. Before the Jews went to Babylon they did not have a culture of Bible study outside the temple in Jerusalem. And it isn't clear that there was a culture of study even in the Jerusalem temple. That changed in Babylon.
In Isaiah, the king of Babylon is described in such colorfully negative language that it has traditionally been interpreted as a metaphorical picture of the Devil. Then the prophet Daniel includes the personal conversion testimony of the king of Babylon—the most dramatic conversion story in all of Scripture, eclipsing even the conversion of the Apostle Paul on the road to Damascus.
When we evaluate yoga, we ought to root our assessment in present reality, not in history. This can get complicated because yoga, like Christianity, is highly varied.
Mark Driscoll is a Christian.
The pope is a Christian.
Jehovah's Witnesses are Christians.
George Bush is a Christian.
Barack Obama is a Christian.
Hillary Clinton is a Christianity
Glenn Beck is a Christian.
Robert Yates (a serial killer) is a Christian.
Based on this list of Christians how could you offer a single, simple answer to a question about whether Christianity is good, bad or indifferent. You can't. So with yoga. When someone asks you about yoga, you have to ask what yoga they have in mind. What book are they referring to? What class? What teacher? What practice? Some yoga instructors teach their students to chant praises to Hindu gods as part of their yoga practice. Others make no reference to any kind of religious practice or ideology.
In 1 Corinthians 8, the Apostle Paul addresses a question that has direct bearing on our topic. Meat was used in the rituals in pagan temples. Then that meat was available for people to eat—either given away or sold. The question arose, could Christians eat the meat.
Paul replies that it's a complicated question because two principles are involved—regard for the tender consciences of other people and the reality of a genuine spiritual connection between the pagan deities worshiped in the temples and the meat that was available for Christians to eat.
On the second point, Paul is emphatic. Even though the meat has come straight from pagan sacrifice in a temple devoted to a pagan God, Christians can eat the food without swallowing the devil. There is no spiritual defilement present in the food. The food is food. Period. For Christians, there is no inherent risk eating food that has been involved in demonic worship.
To apply this to yoga: there is no inherent risk in using postures that were brought into the market place of ideas and health practices from non-Christian worship systems. Just as Christians in Paul's day would not have in any way pledged allegiance to the deities in the temples where the meat originated, so Christians today will refuse to pay obeisance to Hindu deities. That does not mean we cannot received with gratitude the physical blessings that are available through yoga (Romans 14:6). In fact, we ought to receive such blessings and give thanks to God.
The gospels make it abundantly clear that Jesus desired the physical well-being of people. When we provide medical care or instruction in healthy living to people, we are cooperating with Jesus in his mission. When we participate in practices that support and improve health—things like good nutrition, exercise—and yes, yoga—we are cooperating with Jesus in his work in our lives. Jesus desires our future joy in eternity. Yes, of course. He also wants us to enjoy maximal well-being here and now. If you find that yoga decreases your pain, increases your flexibility and balance and strength, then by all means do it. If the book or teacher you are learning from asks you to do something that contradicts the lordship of Jesus, then by all means don't.
Come to think of it that is how we ought to engage with all of life, including preachers like Mark Driscoll and John McLarty. Take the good stuff God offers through their words and wisely reject their errors.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
From Now On, Do Right
Sermon at North Hill, October 30, 2010.
In John chapter 8, we read a story about Jesus that was so famous in the early church that it was at different times and places included in two different gospels: Luke and John. (No manuscript has the story in both John and Luke. It is in either John or Luke.)
Because of this textual anomaly, scholars have argued about whether the story is authentic. Today, we're going to take the story just as it reads without worrying about the complicated matters of manuscript analysis.
The Story
[After spending the day teaching in the temple in Jerusalem,] Jesus returned to the Mount of Olives, but early the next morning he was back again at the Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he sat down and taught them.
As he was speaking, the teachers of religious law and Pharisees brought a woman they had caught in the act of adultery. They put her in front of the crowd.
"Teacher," they said to Jesus, "this woman was caught in the very act of adultery.
The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?"
They were trying to trap him into saying something they could use against him, but Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger.
They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, "All right, stone her. But let those who have never sinned throw the first stones!" Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.
When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. Then Jesus stood up again and said to her, "Where are your accusers? Is there no one left to accuse you?"
"No, Lord," she said.
Then Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go and don't sin again."
Jesus said to the people, "I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won't be stumbling through the darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life."
Jesus agreed with the woman's accusers that her sexual liaison was sinful. Note his words, “Go and don't sin again,” clearly implying that what she had been doing was sinful. Jesus disagreed with the woman's accusers that she ought to be condemned. Instead Jesus called her to new life.
Last week, we studied John 9, where Jesus' disciples, facing the tragic life of a man blind from birth, asked whose sinned caused this situation. Jesus answer was that no one had sinned in connection with the situation. In fact, the question, “Who sinned?” was simply the wrong question. It was a question that was impossible to answer with truth. The question itself had to be rejected.
In this story, we push Jesus' rejection of the question, “Who sinned?” or in modern vernacular, “Who goofed?” to its most extreme. When faced with an incontrovertible situation of sin, Jesus rejects the normal Christian impulse to pass moral judgment on what has happened and compels us to ask instead about the way forward.
The woman's accusers asked Jesus how he stood in relation to Moses' prescription for dealing with adulterers. Jesus compelled these questioners to withdraw. They were asking an inappropriate question. Officially, the accusers were demonstrating their zeal for righteousness and rectitude. Surely, an upright and moral community would react with outrage against such flagrant violation of God's law. But their eagerness to condemn the woman blinded them to their own need for moral growth.
Jesus stooped to write on the ground with his finger, a poetic reflection of God's writing the law with his finger. The law properly understood is never owned by any human individual or institution. The law that we cite in our condemnation of others points with cold inflexibility at us as well.
Jesus wrote with his finger as a defender of the law and silenced the accusers who would use the law as a tool of their crooked purposes. Then he addressed the woman who had been “caught” in the double sense of “caught in the act” and “seduced.”
“Are any of your accusers still present to condemn you.”
“No sir.”
“Good. So we don't have to worry about that. Now what are you going to do? You are going to live a new life rejecting the false promises of lust and giving yourself instead to the genuine goodness of love. That's what you're going to do. Now, go do it.”
How does this apply in your life?
How frequently and vigorously do you pass judgment on others who are engagement in behavior that you would never even dream of doing? Does your fascination with their evil blind you to what the law says about your own need for growth and transformation?
Maybe we can turn the question just slightly. Are you both the accuser and the “one caught”? Do you find yourself frequently condemning yourself? You fail to live up to your ideals. You act in ways that are inconsistent with your faith and with the teachings of Jesus. What is your reaction to your failure? Do you stand in the circle of accusers, with a few rocks in your hand, ready to pelt your poor miserable self?
Jesus urges you to drop the rocks. Quit wasting precious energy condemning yourself. Instead, hear the words of Jesus: Neither do I condemn you. Go live. And by the way, quit sinning. Don't do it again.
Jesus' response to human failure is always to call us forward to a new life, to another attempt at goodness.
This week, reject the messages of condemnation that come from others and from your own conscience and give yourself to a renewed pursuit of goodness and love.
In John chapter 8, we read a story about Jesus that was so famous in the early church that it was at different times and places included in two different gospels: Luke and John. (No manuscript has the story in both John and Luke. It is in either John or Luke.)
Because of this textual anomaly, scholars have argued about whether the story is authentic. Today, we're going to take the story just as it reads without worrying about the complicated matters of manuscript analysis.
The Story
[After spending the day teaching in the temple in Jerusalem,] Jesus returned to the Mount of Olives, but early the next morning he was back again at the Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he sat down and taught them.
As he was speaking, the teachers of religious law and Pharisees brought a woman they had caught in the act of adultery. They put her in front of the crowd.
"Teacher," they said to Jesus, "this woman was caught in the very act of adultery.
The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?"
They were trying to trap him into saying something they could use against him, but Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger.
They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, "All right, stone her. But let those who have never sinned throw the first stones!" Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.
When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. Then Jesus stood up again and said to her, "Where are your accusers? Is there no one left to accuse you?"
"No, Lord," she said.
Then Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go and don't sin again."
Jesus said to the people, "I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won't be stumbling through the darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life."
Jesus agreed with the woman's accusers that her sexual liaison was sinful. Note his words, “Go and don't sin again,” clearly implying that what she had been doing was sinful. Jesus disagreed with the woman's accusers that she ought to be condemned. Instead Jesus called her to new life.
Last week, we studied John 9, where Jesus' disciples, facing the tragic life of a man blind from birth, asked whose sinned caused this situation. Jesus answer was that no one had sinned in connection with the situation. In fact, the question, “Who sinned?” was simply the wrong question. It was a question that was impossible to answer with truth. The question itself had to be rejected.
In this story, we push Jesus' rejection of the question, “Who sinned?” or in modern vernacular, “Who goofed?” to its most extreme. When faced with an incontrovertible situation of sin, Jesus rejects the normal Christian impulse to pass moral judgment on what has happened and compels us to ask instead about the way forward.
The woman's accusers asked Jesus how he stood in relation to Moses' prescription for dealing with adulterers. Jesus compelled these questioners to withdraw. They were asking an inappropriate question. Officially, the accusers were demonstrating their zeal for righteousness and rectitude. Surely, an upright and moral community would react with outrage against such flagrant violation of God's law. But their eagerness to condemn the woman blinded them to their own need for moral growth.
Jesus stooped to write on the ground with his finger, a poetic reflection of God's writing the law with his finger. The law properly understood is never owned by any human individual or institution. The law that we cite in our condemnation of others points with cold inflexibility at us as well.
Jesus wrote with his finger as a defender of the law and silenced the accusers who would use the law as a tool of their crooked purposes. Then he addressed the woman who had been “caught” in the double sense of “caught in the act” and “seduced.”
“Are any of your accusers still present to condemn you.”
“No sir.”
“Good. So we don't have to worry about that. Now what are you going to do? You are going to live a new life rejecting the false promises of lust and giving yourself instead to the genuine goodness of love. That's what you're going to do. Now, go do it.”
How does this apply in your life?
How frequently and vigorously do you pass judgment on others who are engagement in behavior that you would never even dream of doing? Does your fascination with their evil blind you to what the law says about your own need for growth and transformation?
Maybe we can turn the question just slightly. Are you both the accuser and the “one caught”? Do you find yourself frequently condemning yourself? You fail to live up to your ideals. You act in ways that are inconsistent with your faith and with the teachings of Jesus. What is your reaction to your failure? Do you stand in the circle of accusers, with a few rocks in your hand, ready to pelt your poor miserable self?
Jesus urges you to drop the rocks. Quit wasting precious energy condemning yourself. Instead, hear the words of Jesus: Neither do I condemn you. Go live. And by the way, quit sinning. Don't do it again.
Jesus' response to human failure is always to call us forward to a new life, to another attempt at goodness.
This week, reject the messages of condemnation that come from others and from your own conscience and give yourself to a renewed pursuit of goodness and love.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Who Goofed?
Sermon at North Hill, October 23, 2010
Life is pretty simple. How do you get cavities? Drink soda. How do you get lung cancer? Smoke cigarettes. How do you get a heart attack? Super-size yourself at McDonalds.
It's all straightforward, cause and effect.
Do stupid stuff. Get miserable consequences.
On the other hand, how do you protect your dental health? Floss and brush daily. How do you build strong muscles? Lift weights. How do you develop a strong heart? Run or swim or walk.
Again, it's simple cause and effect. Do smart stuff. Get happy consequences.
Adventists have emphasized this idea so strongly it permeates our entire church culture. And it has paid off. Adventists who follow the rules live ten years longer than the general population.
With all this emphasis on Follow the rules and enjoy happy consequences. Break the rules and endure miserable consequences, it's a small step to the idea: If you get sick, you must have broken the rules.
Whenever a certain person at our house gets a cold, I have to listen to an intense quest for an explanation. Usually this “quest for understanding” takes the form of self-incriminating statements: “I shouldn't have stayed up reading that book.” “It's probably because I ate desert on Monday night.” “I should've come in from the barn when I started getting cold instead of finishing mucking out the stalls even though my jeans were damp.”
When I protest that maybe she's sick because she interacts with the public and sometimes viruses catch up with you no matter what you do, she will have none of it. If Karin is sick, there has to be a logical, rational explanation. Usually, the explanation is attached to someone's choice, usually hers. Someone goofed. Someone is to blame. It never just happens.
But it does.
In early August of this year, Grace Makato Tam, 11, took an easy two-mile hike with her parents and brother to the ice caves at the base of Big Four Mountain. While they were checking out the caves, a chunk of ice the size of a car broke off the mountain above her and rolled down and struck her.
She died at the scene about two hours later. It was a terrible tragedy.
Who goofed? No one.
The place where this happened was the Big Four Mountain ice caves. There are signs warning people not to go into the caves. This girl and her parents obeyed the signs. They did not go into the caves. They were standing in a place that has always been safe in the past. And will probably be safe for the next hundred years. But for one second on August 2, that spot was in the path of a deadly ice chunk falling down the mountain and Grace was struck. And she died.
Who goofed? If you demand an answer to the question, who goofed, the only possible answer is God.
Turn's out the question, who goofed? Is simply the wrong question. There is no possible right answer to the question.
This is sometimes true when people get sick. We know smoking causes lung cancer. However, a few years ago, I met a couple who were here in this area seeking treatment for their twenty-year old son who had lung cancer. He had never smoked. He was a life-long vegetarian. He died a few months after I met them.
Who goofed?
This question, Who goofed? shows up in the Gospel of John. Jesus and his disciples were walking along and they saw a man who had been born blind. The disciples immediately demanded an explanation. “Who sinned?” They asked. “Whose mistake, whose goof, caused this pitiful situation?”
Who sinned?
“No one.” Jesus answered. “Nobody's sin caused this tragic disability.” Jesus went further, “You guys are asking whose sin, whose mistake, whose wrong-doing caused this. What you should be asking is what good purpose does God have in mind in this situation?” (John9:3).
NO ONE GOOFED! Can you believe that?
Here is a man who was born blind in a society without speech recognition software, without Braille. Someone whose only possible career was begging. And Jesus says about his situation: no one goofed. His mother didn't drink during pregnancy. She didn't clean the cat box. She didn't inhale too much cook fire smoke. The father didn't punch mom in the stomach. He wasn't a wicked man under a curse. Neither the blind man's sins nor his parents' sins had anything to do with his situation.
This man was born blind so that the glory of God could be displayed in his life. In this story, if someone goofed, it was God. God goofed. Or no one goofed.
In recent years, members of North Hill have faced some terrible realities. Children have died in automobile accidents. In both cases, our kids did nothing wrong. They did absolutely nothing unsafe. Still the unspeakable happened.
People have faced cancer, kidney failure, heart trouble, diabetes, malfunction in their knees and shoulders, chronic fatigue, depression.
In all of these situations, it's natural to ask, who goofed? Or how did you goof? What did you do wrong? We get in line with the disciples to ask Jesus, “Whose sin caused this problem?” Sometimes there is a rational answer to this question. Sometimes our difficulties are the natural consequence of our choices. Other times, insisting on an answer to the question, who goofed? or how did the sick person goof? leads us straight into the role of Satan—the accuser.
One of my friends believes that everyone creates their own reality. If you are healthy, you created that reality by your good thoughts and healthy habits. If you are sick, you created that reality by your negative thoughts and unhealthy habits. Of course our thoughts and habits do have some effect on our health. However, I wonder if my friend is still going to insist that we create our own reality when he's 97 years old pushing his walker around. If he makes it to 97.
Jesus was quite explicit. The blind man in John 9, did not end up blind because of his thoughts or mistakes or habits. He did not end up blind because of his parent's thoughts, mistakes or habits. In fact, if you read Jesus' words, you see that he actually dodges the issue of the cause of the man's blindness. Instead, Jesus focuses on the effect of the man's blindness. It was going to result in the glory of God. The reason the blindness was going to bring glory to God is because Jesus was going to step into the situation.
Which points us toward much better questions than who goofed? Questions like: What now? What can I do?
How should we respond to our friends when their life is derailed by tragedy, by illness, by difficulties? The very first thing to do is to deactivate our “Who goofed?” button and just be present with our friends. Do not offer your version of “Why this happened.”
Second, unless you are a doctor, don't offer diagnosis or treatment. Shut up!!!!!! Be quiet!!!!! Don't ignore the person. Don't hide from them because you don't know what to say. Just hang with them. If there is a concrete need you can meet—for money or help with chores or food, do something. But most importantly be there without prescribing, diagnosing, explaining, condemning, directing.
Now I want to really push you.
In John 8, we see Jesus in another situation where the question who goofed? is an obvious one to ask. It is the story of the woman caught in adultery.
She messed up. She was caught. She was dragged before Jesus in a public setting. Her accusers challenged Jesus to pass judgment on her.
Curiously, Jesus did not ask her a single question. He did not ask, what did you do? Why did you do it? What were you thinking? What was he thinking? Who was he?
Jesus asked her nothing.
He silenced and expelled her accusers. Then he asked her one question: "Don't you have anyone accusing you?" She looked around and said, “I don't see anyone sir.” Jesus answered. "I don't condemn you, either. Go and sin no more."
It would have been so easy to ask about her "goof." To give at least a little attention to it, to make sure she understood the gravity of her goof. This was not a little goof. This was a big goof.
Instead Jesus appeared to be utterly uninterested in her goof. He refused to assign blame or responsibility for her past. He was focused on one thing, a bright future.
That is God's call on our lives as well.
Don't waste your time asking yourself, how did I goof? How did they goof? Who goofed?
The next time you're tempted to ask, who goofed? don't. Instead, ask, "What now? What can I do to help? How can I help?" Then listen to what the sick one, the disadvantaged one, the hurt one says and do it.
This is especially true if you are the one who goofed. Don't beat yourself up. Don't waste your energy in analyzing how on earth you got into this situation. If it isn't obvious, don't worry about it. Move forward. Live forward. Go.
Life is pretty simple. How do you get cavities? Drink soda. How do you get lung cancer? Smoke cigarettes. How do you get a heart attack? Super-size yourself at McDonalds.
It's all straightforward, cause and effect.
Do stupid stuff. Get miserable consequences.
On the other hand, how do you protect your dental health? Floss and brush daily. How do you build strong muscles? Lift weights. How do you develop a strong heart? Run or swim or walk.
Again, it's simple cause and effect. Do smart stuff. Get happy consequences.
Adventists have emphasized this idea so strongly it permeates our entire church culture. And it has paid off. Adventists who follow the rules live ten years longer than the general population.
With all this emphasis on Follow the rules and enjoy happy consequences. Break the rules and endure miserable consequences, it's a small step to the idea: If you get sick, you must have broken the rules.
Whenever a certain person at our house gets a cold, I have to listen to an intense quest for an explanation. Usually this “quest for understanding” takes the form of self-incriminating statements: “I shouldn't have stayed up reading that book.” “It's probably because I ate desert on Monday night.” “I should've come in from the barn when I started getting cold instead of finishing mucking out the stalls even though my jeans were damp.”
When I protest that maybe she's sick because she interacts with the public and sometimes viruses catch up with you no matter what you do, she will have none of it. If Karin is sick, there has to be a logical, rational explanation. Usually, the explanation is attached to someone's choice, usually hers. Someone goofed. Someone is to blame. It never just happens.
But it does.
In early August of this year, Grace Makato Tam, 11, took an easy two-mile hike with her parents and brother to the ice caves at the base of Big Four Mountain. While they were checking out the caves, a chunk of ice the size of a car broke off the mountain above her and rolled down and struck her.
She died at the scene about two hours later. It was a terrible tragedy.
Who goofed? No one.
The place where this happened was the Big Four Mountain ice caves. There are signs warning people not to go into the caves. This girl and her parents obeyed the signs. They did not go into the caves. They were standing in a place that has always been safe in the past. And will probably be safe for the next hundred years. But for one second on August 2, that spot was in the path of a deadly ice chunk falling down the mountain and Grace was struck. And she died.
Who goofed? If you demand an answer to the question, who goofed, the only possible answer is God.
Turn's out the question, who goofed? Is simply the wrong question. There is no possible right answer to the question.
This is sometimes true when people get sick. We know smoking causes lung cancer. However, a few years ago, I met a couple who were here in this area seeking treatment for their twenty-year old son who had lung cancer. He had never smoked. He was a life-long vegetarian. He died a few months after I met them.
Who goofed?
This question, Who goofed? shows up in the Gospel of John. Jesus and his disciples were walking along and they saw a man who had been born blind. The disciples immediately demanded an explanation. “Who sinned?” They asked. “Whose mistake, whose goof, caused this pitiful situation?”
Who sinned?
“No one.” Jesus answered. “Nobody's sin caused this tragic disability.” Jesus went further, “You guys are asking whose sin, whose mistake, whose wrong-doing caused this. What you should be asking is what good purpose does God have in mind in this situation?” (John9:3).
NO ONE GOOFED! Can you believe that?
Here is a man who was born blind in a society without speech recognition software, without Braille. Someone whose only possible career was begging. And Jesus says about his situation: no one goofed. His mother didn't drink during pregnancy. She didn't clean the cat box. She didn't inhale too much cook fire smoke. The father didn't punch mom in the stomach. He wasn't a wicked man under a curse. Neither the blind man's sins nor his parents' sins had anything to do with his situation.
This man was born blind so that the glory of God could be displayed in his life. In this story, if someone goofed, it was God. God goofed. Or no one goofed.
In recent years, members of North Hill have faced some terrible realities. Children have died in automobile accidents. In both cases, our kids did nothing wrong. They did absolutely nothing unsafe. Still the unspeakable happened.
People have faced cancer, kidney failure, heart trouble, diabetes, malfunction in their knees and shoulders, chronic fatigue, depression.
In all of these situations, it's natural to ask, who goofed? Or how did you goof? What did you do wrong? We get in line with the disciples to ask Jesus, “Whose sin caused this problem?” Sometimes there is a rational answer to this question. Sometimes our difficulties are the natural consequence of our choices. Other times, insisting on an answer to the question, who goofed? or how did the sick person goof? leads us straight into the role of Satan—the accuser.
One of my friends believes that everyone creates their own reality. If you are healthy, you created that reality by your good thoughts and healthy habits. If you are sick, you created that reality by your negative thoughts and unhealthy habits. Of course our thoughts and habits do have some effect on our health. However, I wonder if my friend is still going to insist that we create our own reality when he's 97 years old pushing his walker around. If he makes it to 97.
Jesus was quite explicit. The blind man in John 9, did not end up blind because of his thoughts or mistakes or habits. He did not end up blind because of his parent's thoughts, mistakes or habits. In fact, if you read Jesus' words, you see that he actually dodges the issue of the cause of the man's blindness. Instead, Jesus focuses on the effect of the man's blindness. It was going to result in the glory of God. The reason the blindness was going to bring glory to God is because Jesus was going to step into the situation.
Which points us toward much better questions than who goofed? Questions like: What now? What can I do?
How should we respond to our friends when their life is derailed by tragedy, by illness, by difficulties? The very first thing to do is to deactivate our “Who goofed?” button and just be present with our friends. Do not offer your version of “Why this happened.”
Second, unless you are a doctor, don't offer diagnosis or treatment. Shut up!!!!!! Be quiet!!!!! Don't ignore the person. Don't hide from them because you don't know what to say. Just hang with them. If there is a concrete need you can meet—for money or help with chores or food, do something. But most importantly be there without prescribing, diagnosing, explaining, condemning, directing.
Now I want to really push you.
In John 8, we see Jesus in another situation where the question who goofed? is an obvious one to ask. It is the story of the woman caught in adultery.
She messed up. She was caught. She was dragged before Jesus in a public setting. Her accusers challenged Jesus to pass judgment on her.
Curiously, Jesus did not ask her a single question. He did not ask, what did you do? Why did you do it? What were you thinking? What was he thinking? Who was he?
Jesus asked her nothing.
He silenced and expelled her accusers. Then he asked her one question: "Don't you have anyone accusing you?" She looked around and said, “I don't see anyone sir.” Jesus answered. "I don't condemn you, either. Go and sin no more."
It would have been so easy to ask about her "goof." To give at least a little attention to it, to make sure she understood the gravity of her goof. This was not a little goof. This was a big goof.
Instead Jesus appeared to be utterly uninterested in her goof. He refused to assign blame or responsibility for her past. He was focused on one thing, a bright future.
That is God's call on our lives as well.
Don't waste your time asking yourself, how did I goof? How did they goof? Who goofed?
The next time you're tempted to ask, who goofed? don't. Instead, ask, "What now? What can I do to help? How can I help?" Then listen to what the sick one, the disadvantaged one, the hurt one says and do it.
This is especially true if you are the one who goofed. Don't beat yourself up. Don't waste your energy in analyzing how on earth you got into this situation. If it isn't obvious, don't worry about it. Move forward. Live forward. Go.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Nicer Than God?
In the email she said she didn't know who else to talk to, so I was elected. She was dealing with massively discombobulating news: her son had recently told her he was gay.
His homosexuality was not a total surprise, but neither had it been obvious before he opened his heart to her. She and her husband loved him. His sexual identity was not going to change that. He was still their son. She was not writing me for help in dealing with her son. Her mother's love gave adequate wisdom for that. She didn't need help persuading her husband—her son's step dad—to be kind. His father's heart was quite up to that. What she wanted to know was what to do about the lock on heaven's door.
Her son was welcome in their home. But according to the Bible and the church, God would not allow her son into heaven. She didn't put it this way, but what I heard was this: Mom and Dad were nicer than God. At least that the way she had been taught to understand the Bible.
So what should we do when it turns out we're nicer than God? Reexamine our faith.
“Who of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” Matthew 7:9-11
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Fatehr in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. . . . So you, be perfect as your father in heaven is perfect.” Matthew 5:44-48.
When we discover that our hearts are larger than God's heart according to the teaching of the church and even of the Bible, it's time to take another look. Maybe the church is wrong. Maybe the way we've been reading the Bible is wrong. Maybe we have focused on the wrong texts.
If being god-like means loving our enemies and praying for our persecutors, then certainly being god-like means loving people whose sexual identity is different from ours, even different from “normal.”
If one way we “become sons of our Father in heaven” is by loving our enemies just as he loves his enemies, then loving our homosexual children—accepting them as they are—cannot be an affront to God. Instead, it is one more way we act like our father in heaven.
If we, though we are evil, know that it would be evil to “cast out” our homosexual children, how much more certain is it that our Father in heaven—their Father in heaven—will not only refrain from casting them out, but will welcome them joyously into the eternal dwelling?
His homosexuality was not a total surprise, but neither had it been obvious before he opened his heart to her. She and her husband loved him. His sexual identity was not going to change that. He was still their son. She was not writing me for help in dealing with her son. Her mother's love gave adequate wisdom for that. She didn't need help persuading her husband—her son's step dad—to be kind. His father's heart was quite up to that. What she wanted to know was what to do about the lock on heaven's door.
Her son was welcome in their home. But according to the Bible and the church, God would not allow her son into heaven. She didn't put it this way, but what I heard was this: Mom and Dad were nicer than God. At least that the way she had been taught to understand the Bible.
So what should we do when it turns out we're nicer than God? Reexamine our faith.
“Who of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” Matthew 7:9-11
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Fatehr in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. . . . So you, be perfect as your father in heaven is perfect.” Matthew 5:44-48.
When we discover that our hearts are larger than God's heart according to the teaching of the church and even of the Bible, it's time to take another look. Maybe the church is wrong. Maybe the way we've been reading the Bible is wrong. Maybe we have focused on the wrong texts.
If being god-like means loving our enemies and praying for our persecutors, then certainly being god-like means loving people whose sexual identity is different from ours, even different from “normal.”
If one way we “become sons of our Father in heaven” is by loving our enemies just as he loves his enemies, then loving our homosexual children—accepting them as they are—cannot be an affront to God. Instead, it is one more way we act like our father in heaven.
If we, though we are evil, know that it would be evil to “cast out” our homosexual children, how much more certain is it that our Father in heaven—their Father in heaven—will not only refrain from casting them out, but will welcome them joyously into the eternal dwelling?
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