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.
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