Our Bodies, God's Temples

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, July 20, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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