Incarnating Hope

Second Candle: Listen! Prepare the Way. 
(from Rev. Mindi)

God sent messengers to prepare the way, messages that we have received as prophecy and prayer, hopes and dreams for a better world, one in which the reign of God is on earth as it is in heaven. Listen! Search! Be ready for what is to come. Not everyone will be happy when God makes all things new. There are those who cling to worldly power and privilege. They must be willing to let go and lose it. In this season of Advent, we prepare for the reign of God, which is at hand, and also drawing near, by listening to the prophets of old and the wise among us.

• Lighting of the second Advent candle

Make haste, O God, and open our minds to listen! May we be inspired by the words of the prophets and all Your messengers. May Zechariah’s song sing in our hearts and Mary’s song move us to action, in this Advent season and all year long. Amen.

Responsive Reading: Psalm 104:24-34, 35b

Scripture: Ezekiel 37:1-14

Intro

In today’s text, Ezekiel has an experience with God that seems more Halloween than Christmas. 

Seemingly transported to the site of an ancient battlefield, Ezekiel gazes upon an expanse literally littered with human bones. And that’s just where the story starts.

As if that were not hideous enough, through his conversation with God, these scattered and sun-bleached bones are gruesomely reassembled. You know how it goes:

Toe bone connected to the foot bone
Foot bone connected to the heel bone
Heel bone connected to the ankle bone
Ankle bone connected to the leg bone
Leg bone connected to the knee bone
Knee bone connected to the thigh bone
Thigh bone connected to the hip bone
Hip bone connected to the back bone
Back bone connected to the shoulder bone
Shoulder bone connected to the neck bone
Neck bone connected to the head bone

Hear the word of the Lord.

Let us indeed hear the word of the Lord.

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And yet…… since reassembled skeletons are not sufficiently scary on their own, these bones then grow ligaments, muscles and tendons, internal organs, and eventually skin—until an entire army of dead (yet strangely whole) bodies fill this vast valley. 

And then—oh yes—in Frankensteinian fashion, this multitude is infused with life, stands up at attention, and awaits orders.

Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk around.
Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk around.
Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk around.
Hear the word of the Lord.

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“These bones,” God says, “are the whole of my people. They are dried up, they have lost hope, and they feel completely cut off from God and each other.” (Ezekiel 37:11b).

“So I am going to open your graves. I am going to put my breath/life/spirit within you to give you life. And I am going to place you where that life can blossom and thrive.” (Ezekiel 37:13-14).

Hear the word of the Lord.

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Is it a vision? A dream? Did it really happen? Is there a difference?

Dried Out

Much like the people of Israel to whom Ezekiel was sent, there are many today who feel like their lives are dried up. They too have experienced significant adversity, and “exile” might not be a bad analogy for their own present reality: 

• torn, against their will, from the life they wanted; 
• ripped away from valuable relationships and opportunities; 
• set about by unknown enemies;
• isolated and abandoned—even (seemingly) by God.

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Others among us may be less “dried up” from adversity and exile and more “wrung out” by the rigors of life. Our energies get poured into work, and family, and (yes) church too; and there’s just not as much going back into the tank as we are using up. So little by little, drop by drop, we dry out, our souls get brittle and bitter, and hope dies in our heart.

Truly, it may be easier for some of us to identify with those dry, sun-bleached bones than with the hope God intends to instill in Ezekiel and the people. 

We can get so dried out by living in this world, and our souls get dusty. 

But we do not worship a God who wants to see us dried up—shriveled husks where once was vibrant life. Rather, we worship a God who wants to build you up into new and abundant and vibrant life. We worship a God who wants to fill your dried bones with new marrow, to enflesh your life with new strength and possibility, and to fill you with a spirit that enlivens that spark within. 

Isaiah

There’s a passage I love in Isaiah 58. It comes right on the heels of that famous passage about worshipping God by practicing justice rather than religious ritual alone. And it speaks to God’s hope for us when we learn to live as we were built to experience life. The imagery, I believe, is particularly significant when held against today’s reading from Ezekiel. 

Isaiah speaks:

“The LORD will… satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.

Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.”

Isaiah 58:11–12 (NRSV)

Those dusty and dried out souls among us yearn for such resurrection. Like the psalmist in Psalm 143:6 we sense that “my soul thirsts for you like a parched land” (Psalm 143:6 NRSV).

Community 

And yet for some, our strength has been so sapped by our struggles that we can seem to do nothing more than lay our weary bones down in whatever ditch or valley we find ourselves. Resurrection seems a fairy tale as hope decays in our minds and hearts.

This (I believe) is part of why these prophetic texts about new life always talk about justice too…… because those who are down-and-out in life are never in a position to change the system that keeps them in the gutter. We need each other. We need to come alongside each other…… to carry each other’s burdens and to work for each other’s good. 

We need together to believe what Jesus proclaims in John 11…… that:

“I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

John 11:25–26 (NRSV)

Resurrection

Friends, resurrection is not just the story of Jesus; it is the story of the scriptures. 

Abraham—as he is described in the New Testament—was “as good as dead” when God breathed life into his story through the birth of Isaac. (Romans 4:19; Hebrews 11:12)

Joseph was quite literally left for dead—more than once—before his story reached its climax.

Moses was an 80-year-old fugitive murderer when he noticed a burning bush.

Elijah was nearly suicidal before he realized how his work would live on through Elisha and others after him.

How many times did David escape death before becoming king?

And what about that “resurrection” of Jonah after three days in the belly of the fish, or the resurrection of Nineveh from ancient enemy into believers in the One True God?

There’s Mary’s resurrection from powerless girl to bearer of the Messiah.

There’s Saul’s resurrection into Paul—from persecutor to preacher.

All the way through to Revelation, when we see the resurrection of the entire created order, as it is all brought into the rule of God.

As followers of Jesus—as believers in the truth of God’s vision as revealed through the scriptures—our hope is not rooted in the strength of our dried up and weary present existence. Our hope is rooted in the One who brought all things into being and will see all things to completion.

The Body of Christ

And to circle back closer to topic, because we are the body of Christ, we are—in a sense—his ongoing incarnation in the world. We are the flesh through which the values and hopes of God can be lived out in the created sphere. 

When we live as resurrected people, we incarnate hope for the world. When we live out God’s values, it demonstrates a different way of being…… it proves that this life is not an inevitable dead end, but rather capable of manifold possibilities and infinite fulfillment.

Do We Believe?

Here’s something I don’t think we consider often enough: If we don’t believe in resurrection enough to live in daily expectation of it, how do we expect anyone else to believe the truth of our faith?

• They will not believe the world can be different unless we live differently in it.
• They will not imagine the possibilities of life unless we live in the way that leads to good life.
• They will not see the value in following Jesus unless we actually follow Jesus. 

And while we may overlook these things, those we intend to reach do not. They do not believe the good news of Jesus because: we don’t believe it enough ourselves to take Jesus at his word. 

Brennan Manning hit the nail on the head decades ago when he wrote:

“The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians: who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.”

The Ragamuffin Gospel

If we want to inspire the world to place their hope with God’s hope, we must incarnate that hope.

Just as last week we talked about incarnating the future by living it out in the present, we similarly have to embody God’s hope by living it out right now. 

“I came,” Jesus says in John 10:10, “that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (NRSV)—that’s Jesus’ hope.

“The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance” (2Peter 3:9 NRSV)—that’s God’s hope.

Bad Analogies

This chapter of Ezekiel is only a horror movie if you don’t think you need resurrection. If you know you need resurrection, there is no horror here—only hope. 

It’s like when the bible talks about the “Day of the Lord”—that anticipated day when God rules completely over creation, when all wrongs are righted and all hopes are fulfilled. At times, the “Day of the Lord” is described as a fearful thing, full of dangers and hardship. At other times, it is spoken of with joy and eagerness. What is the difference? The difference has to do with which side of justice you are on. 

If you are among those persecuted and marginalized, it will be a day of joy as you are raised up, restored, and renewed. 

But if you are among those doing the persecuting and marginalizing—those who don’t pay fair wages, or those who create hardship for aliens, or profit off poverty, or charge unjust interest, or take advantage of those without support structures—for those it will be a dark day indeed.

I guess the analogy I mean to make is that resurrection just seems like it’s going to be unnecessarily messy to those who do not think they need it. 

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Maybe there’s no better example than that of Martha and Lazarus in John 11. Lazarus, if you remember, had died, and Jesus doesn’t come to visit until several days have passed. While Jesus is himself broken down by his own grief at Lazarus’s death, it is Martha—his sister!—who tries to talk Jesus out of it: “It’s been too long, Jesus. He stinks already. Just let him go” (cf. John 11:39).

There are a lot of Christians preventing resurrection these days. Instead of incarnating the Hope of the World, we stand, like Martha, between Jesus and those he wants to raise to new life. 

• “It’s been too long, Jesus. That’s not relevant anymore.
• It’d be too hard to change anything.
• This is just the way things are.
• They did it to themselves. 
• If they really wanted resurrection they’d pull themselves up from the grave by their bootstraps, wouldn’t they?”

God have mercy on those we do not.

And God have mercy on we who need it just as much.

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To incarnate hope, we have to live as resurrected people—not following the world’s ways, and values, and priorities; but following those of the Jesus who was raised from the dead…… through whom we live and move and find our being…… who waters the parched places in our soul, transforming empty deserts into springs of living water where all may find rest. 

Outro

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones.
Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones.
Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones.
Hear the word of the Lord.

Prayer

God of breath,

You promised new life to your people in exile by breathing into a valley full of dry bones. Breathe new life into us, so that we might live passionately for you. Amen.

Where Is God?

Responsive Reading: Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24

Scripture: Genesis 28:10-17

Jacob

The character of Jacob is one of the more complicated figures in the whole of the scriptures. Like his father Isaac, Jacob is born out of impossibility. According to Genesis 25:20, Isaac is forty years old when he and Rebekah marry; and she, like Isaac’s mother Sarah, proved to be unable to conceive. We read in v.21 of that chapter that: 

“Isaac prayed to the LORD for his wife, because she was barren; and the LORD granted his prayer, and his wife Rebekah conceived.”

Genesis 25:21 (NRSV)

The rapid telling of this story is a bit deceptive; it might cause us to overlook the fact that Isaac is sixty years old when Rebekah gives birth (v.26). In other words: that single verse about Isaac praying encompasses the whole of twenty years of their life. That’s a lot of time for hopes and expectations to build. And it seems they did.

Jacob is born alongside a fraternal twin named Esau. They seemed to be fighting each other before they are even out of the womb, and that proves to be the pattern they settle into for much of their life. By the time Jacob’s story works through to chapter 28, he has conspired, lied, and cheated to achieve those things he thinks will bring him success and fulfillment. But what they actually do is bring division and create enemies among his own family. We are told that Esau intends to murder Jacob for the ways he cheated him, and the story encourages us to take him at his word. 

As a result of all of this, instead of settling into the blessing and wealth and posterity Jacob achieved by deceiving others, he is forced to flee for his life. His mother Rebekah manipulates his father Isaac into sending Jacob into exile under the cover story of finding a wife.

So as you might have noticed, by the time we then reach today’s scripture reading in v.10 of chapter 28, Jacob has not been what we might call a good role model.

The Dream

But here in the wilderness with nothing but a rock for a pillow, something happens that stops Jacob in his tracks: he has an encounter with the LORD, the One True God, Creator of All Things.

Alone and cold and exhausted, Jacob is drawn into a dream.

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The first part of his dream is what we remember the most. Verse 12 tells us that:

“He dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.”

Genesis 28:12 (NRSV)

It seems Jacob realized: that the heavens and the earth are not so distant after all. Not only are they near enough for a ladder to connect them, but that ladder has a good deal of traffic as well. Given Jacob’s history, I wonder whether the people of his day were just as prone to believe (as many today) that “God is somewhere……out there”—so distant and so big as to be unconnected and unconcerned with the machinations of a single trickster like Jacob. 

But in this vision, Jacob sees what we might even describe as a sort of umbilical cord between the heavens and the earth. Through it, the earth is constantly nurtured by the nutrition and attention of the God of the Heavens. What shocks Jacob is, I believe, an intimacy he had never considered: that God cares about this earth… and all of us in it…… and that God cares enough to be involved with us in the here and now.

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It seems to be at this point that the second half of the dream unfolds. 

Jacob becomes aware of a presence beside him. Turning, he encounters the one named Yahweh (the “capital-letter” LORD). Don’t miss the intimacy here—this is not “elohim” (God, in the general sense of “a god”), but Yahweh (the named, particular, relational God).

“I am the LORD [Yahweh], the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac”

Genesis 28:13 (NRSV)

“I am not a far-off and unconcerned god,” Jacob seems to hear, “but one very present and very interested in what happens in this world. I am a god who wants to know you and be known by you, just as has been the case with your father and grandfather.”

Alongside this introduction, Jacob’s imagination is awakened to God’s purposes in blessing his family lineage: so that “all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring.” (Genesis 28:14b NRSV)

And continuing with this theme of such shocking intimacy, God then promises to not leave Jacob without this promise being fulfilled.

It is at this point that Jacob startles awake, sits up straight, and proclaims: 

“Surely the LORD is in this place—and I did not know it!”

Genesis 28:16 (NRSV)

This encounter with the LORD—this epiphany of the intimacy of God—will change Jacob’s life forever.

Where Is God?

Just as Jacob discovered that night in the wilderness, I find God has a way of showing up where we least expect.

That is certainly part of the lesson of Jesus’ parable of the sheep and the goats, told in Matthew 25.

“Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison?”

“Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”

Matthew 25:44, 45 NRSV)

The unexpected presence of God is also one facet of the instruction to practice hospitality in the book of Hebrews, chapter 13:

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Hebrews 13:2 (NRSV)

And these are not just teachings. They were demonstrated in the lived-out faith of Jesus—Immanuel, God-with-us—who is (at least in the eyes of the good, religious people of his world) always in the wrong places and with the wrong people. After the criticisms of Jesus’ sabbath practices, the thing he is condemned for the most seems to be eating and drinking with sinners. And yet:

“Just as you did it to one of the least of these… you did it to me…”

Matthew 25:40 (NRSV)

The Story of Scripture

I’ve begun to notice something: the more narrow our idea about “where God is,” the less we are able to see God at all. The more confined the space in which we expect God to reside, the less we are able to notice God in “the wild.” The smaller the box into which we force our idea of God, the smaller our soul becomes as it is starved of the life-giving presence of God that overflows creation.

In some ways, I think the whole of the story of scripture can be told through the lens of the question “Where is God?”

As the scriptures begin in Genesis and a garden, those first people seem to believe that God is confined to the physical presence of the one who “walks with me and talks with me.” Their intent to hide from God shows their belief that God experienced the same physical confinements and limitations as did they.

By the time of Abraham, it seems the answer to “where is God?” is that God is found in wilderness places and high places. It is to wild and mountainous areas that Abraham goes to encounter God time and time again.

The same continues to be true through the time of the Exodus. Moses’ first appeal to Pharaoh was to allow the ancient Israelites to journey into the wilderness so they could worship their God. Later on, once they have fled the land, they begin to associate God’s presence with one particular wild and high place: Mount Sinai.

But the day comes when they must journey from there into the Promised Land with Joshua. Then, and as the Judges liberate the people from their oppressors in the time after, the presence of God becomes associated with the Tabernacle—and particularly with the Ark of the Covenant. At one point in 1Samuel 4, they even begin thinking of God and the Ark as a sort of weapon they can wield at will against their enemies. God, of course, does not play along, and their toy is taken away.

Once the Temple in Jerusalem is built, Solomon makes a great effort to demonstrate how it has become the new Tabernacle—the new residence of God. And through this centralization of their religion, eventually sacrifices anywhere but the Jerusalem Temple become forbidden: after all, how could God receive those sacrifices in Dan or Bethel when God lives in Jerusalem? 

This answer to the question “Where is God?” is also what prompts Jonah to believe he can run away from God and God’s calling. But as that book reveals, such endeavors are impossible. 

And that shift of mindset was an important (and traumatic) part of the Babylonian Exile. Despite their conviction that God lived in Jerusalem in the Temple and thus those earthly creations were infallible, both would be destroyed by the enemies of the Israelites. Living in a foreign land with no temple even in existence, the Israelites had to wrestle again with the question “Where is God?” And slowly, through the revelations of the prophets, they began to see that God was with them in Exile. 

Then onto the scene is born Immanuel—God with us—who again “walks with us and talks with us” and lives out life and faith in a way we never knew possible. When his time to walk the earth came to an end, his presence was replaced by a Spirit that came upon the early church with power. At this point, the question of “Where is God?” is answered: God lives in us as our life becomes the life of Christ.

In some ways, this is the answer many Christians still give. But we have been given a glimpse of something more in the book of Revelation…… a glimpse of realities both now and not yet. In chapters 21 and 22, John catches a vision of a world without temples and churches (for God cannot be limited to these places), a world without sun and moon or darkness or night—for all of these hint at spaces where God is not. John’s vision is of God’s presence and being permeating creation with such vigor that nothing is left unchanged. To say that “God is everywhere” is simply not expansive enough.

No Really, Where Is God?

This is, of course, a vision that we are still working to lay our hands on. The scriptures testify to its truth, but we still live in a world where it can be hard to see where God is.

Where is God amidst the natural disasters that have wrecked Louisiana and Haiti, or amidst the wildfires out west?

Where is God amidst the violence and dislocation of peoples in Afghanistan or Venezuela or Myanmar?

Where is God amidst this ongoing pandemic? (this Sunday marks the 80th week since our season of Pandemic began)

Where is God amidst the pandemic of divisiveness and misinformation that has seemed to infect every dimension of our society?

Where is God in the poverty of our lives?—be it economic poverty, the poverty of wellbeing, the poverty of relationships, the poverty of support systems, the poverty of hope?

Where is God amidst the struggle to pay the bills, to balance parenting and work, to build a better future while not crash-and-burning in the present?

These questions and how we answer them form much of the foundation of our faith. And our answers can—and should—have a certain fluidity to them. If they don’t, we’re not being honest. 

Because sometimes, as expressed in Psalm 44:23, its going to feel like God is sleeping on the job. We’re going to want to shout: “Rouse yourself! Why do you sleep, O Lord? Awake!” (Psalm 44:23 NRSV).

Sometimes, as expressed in Psalm 22:1, it’s going to feel like God is distant and has forgotten us. We’re going to cry out: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me?” (Psalm 22:1 NRSV).

Sometimes, as expressed in Psalm 28:1, it’s going to feel like God is turning a deaf ear to us and giving us the silent treatment. In our desperation, we may pray: “My rock, do not refuse to hear me, for if you are silent to me, I shall be like those who go down to the Pit.” (Psalm 28:1 NRSV)

But I also believe that sometimes—if we just keep looking—we too will end up unexpectedly proclaiming: “Surely the LORD is in this place—and I did not know it!”

Practicing Presence

It is precisely because of these considerations that I so appreciate Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection, a monastic from many centuries ago. Brother Lawrence cultivated what he called “practicing the presence of God”—the intentional, disciplined, and diligent awareness that God is in fact already wherever we find ourselves. God’s presence is so full and complete anywhere we might go, Lawrence articulated, that he could worship in the kitchen washing dishes just as well as he could in the grandest cathedrals of Europe. He realized that there was no more or less of God anywhere.

There’s a mystery in Paul’s teaching that our bodies are the temple of the Spirit (1Corinthians 6:19). And it is not just that mystery of the Creator of the Universe dwelling within the deepest, most innermost castle of our soul. There is also within this mystery an awareness that we are constantly on holy ground (so to speak), for our journey of life inevitably reveals that “truly the LORD is in this place” [point to heart].

Prayer:

Loving God,

Like Jacob, who dreamed of your promises, you have filled us with dreams, too. Show us your promises in our dreams, and give us ability to follow our dreams. 

May we continue to learn how to practice an awareness of your presence. May we look into the Temple of our innermost being and find you there. May we learn to see Christ in the eyes of stranger, family member, and friend alike, and may our hearts be so shaped by Jesus that we extend to them a hospitality fit for the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Through our lives and by our prayers: May your kingdom come!

Amen.

Charge

Go from this moment:

With your eyes opened to the Holy Ground of God’s constant presence

With your hearts opened to the Holy Ground of Christ in others

And with your imagination opened to the Holy Ground of God’s present work to reconcile all things to Godself.

Remember: wherever you go and wherever you are, God is already there. 

Building a Home in a Strange Land

This sermon is the fourth in a series entitled “Liminal Seasons.” It is inspired by and follows, sometimes roughly and other times more closely, a series preached by colleague and fellow McAfee School of Theology alumnus, Shaun King. For anyone interested, here is the link to the website of Shaun’s church, which archives his video-taped sermons. A warning: You will no doubt find him to be the superior preacher.

Responsive Reading: Psalm 42

Scripture Reading: Jeremiah 29:4-7, 10-14

Oz

At the beginning of the iconic movie, The Wizard of Oz, we meet young Dorothy, whose world has been turned upside down. A storm has been raging, and she finds herself in a place so completely different that it feels like another world altogether. 

Everything is unfamiliar. Everywhere she looks, her eyes take in a scene with colors and plants that she has never seen before. Nothing in this world is recognizable. And as she struggles to make sense of what is happening, Dorothy looks to her little dog Toto and she says, “Toto — I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

It isn’t long before Glinda the good witch shows up, and the munchkins come out, and Dorothy is asked to explain herself. Where did she come from? How did she get here?

And this is what she says:

“What happened was just this: The wind began to switch the house to a pitch. And suddenly the hinges started to unhitch. Just then the witch, to satisfy an itch, went flying on her broomstick thumbing for a hitch… 

The house began to pitch. The kitchen took a slitch. It landed on the Wicked Witch in the middle of a ditch.”

I don’t know about you, but this description of Dorothy’s chaotic landing in Oz feels a bit like life this past year. The winds of life switched our lives to a pitch…… the hinges started to unhitch…… and we found ourselves in a world we did not recognize, forced against our will into a place where everything was peculiar and nothing was the same.

Liminal Seasons

That’s how these liminal seasons can feel in our lives: as though we’ve been captured–forced by powers greater than ourselves into an unfamiliar world filled with unfamiliar people and uncertain expectations.

The last few weeks, we’ve been exploring some of the images and stories of liminal seasons that are found in the bible. This word “liminal” (I remind you) comes from the latin word for “threshold,” and it simply refers to those times and seasons of transition when it feels we have one foot in one room and the other in the next. Liminal seasons are those in-between times of life when what was has come to an end, but what will be has not yet emerged.

We began by looking at how the whole of the scriptures is framed as a liminal season between the Garden of Eden in Genesis and the Garden of the Age to Come in Revelation. We saw that while we do not live in either of these gardens at present, in-between them arrives Jesus as a gardener who plants the seeds of new creation in our hearts and lives.

After that, we journeyed some time with the imagery of wilderness. We saw how frequently the theme of going into the wilderness permeated the stories of the biblical characters, and we were reminded that there are no accidental wildernesses. The wilderness is that space where we come to the end of ourselves and our resources and our ideas, and we are forced to reach outside ourselves for the God who loves us. In the middle of the wilderness–in the middle of nowhere—we find a strange place where everything is stripped away and nothing grows except for God’s love in its myriad of incarnations.

And then last week, we thought about those times when life is the pits–(remember this?) There are all those stories of people getting thrown into pits and prisons…… finding themselves powerless to affect change in their lives. An experience of the pit is any experience into which you fall, and you cannot get out on your own. This was illustrated for us through the story of Jonah, who found himself in the deepest pit of all, swallowed up and in the belly of a beast in the deepest of seas. And it is there–in the pit of the fish’s stomach–that Jonah experiences a level of transformation that could only happen after having been swallowed by his hate and pride and xenophobia. For only then–only in the pit–does he confront the parts of his life that have to be transformed.

Exile

Today, we consider another one of these biblical motifs of liminality: Exile. To be an exile in the scriptures means that you are forced out of what is familiar, and you end up in a kind of Oz. You end up in a strange place where you have no control, and where you are so vulnerable that you become receptive to the possibility of meeting God on a territory not of your own choosing.

There are many people in the bible who experience seasons of exile.

• There’s Joseph in Egypt.
• Moses was in exile in the house of Pharaoh.
• Ruth was in a kind of exile in Bethlehem.
• David was in an exile in Gath.
• John was in literal exile on Patmos.
• And even Jesus–his whole human journey was an exile from his home–an exile that emptied him and changed his form and the direction of his life as he took on flesh and became one of us (as Paul indicates in Philippians 2).

But the most instructive story for us about exile in the bible may well be the story of the Babylonian Exile of the nation of Israel.

The Run Up to Exile

Let’s start back with Moses. The people of God are in a kind of exile in Egypt. They were forced by famine to migrate to this foreign land, but a power change an an unwillingness to remember history resulted in their enslavement. After 400 years, God is able–through Moses, Aaron, and Miriam–to liberate the people and lead them to the Promised Land. But they do not know yet how to walk with God, and so they spend forty years in the desert and wilderness to strip them of their Egypt-mindedness. God wants to form them into a different kind of nation, and for that, they they need to learn how to rely on God and live life God’s way.

There’s the Ten Commandments and the Torah (the law) that is given to help them frame life according to God’s priorities. There’s the building of the tabernacle–a space for worship–so that in worshiping they might envision the new kind of world that they were being called to live out. And in the act of worship, they could become a kind of people that would be different than every other kind of people in the world. 

Eventually they do make it into the Promised Land, conquering some of the peoples there. But as soon as they start settling in, the very first thing they ask for is a king. They want a king so they can be like everybody else. In 1Samuel, God tries to talk them out of this, reminding them that God has called them to be different from the nations of the world, and God through Samuel foreshadows all the bad things that will come when they conform their lives to the world instead of their God. But the people will not budge. And God does not force God’s will on anyone. So a king they get.

They get Saul, to be specific. Saul doesn’t work out too well.

They get David, described at one point as a man after God’s own heart; and yet David through his sin has a child, marries the woman he forced into that relationship, and has another son named Solomon.

Solomon rises up to become a king known for his wisdom and power. And yet his story is tragic. While he begins a humble man with uncommon discernment and a desire for the wisdom to lead God’s people as God desires, he changes in time. He builds a harem with hundreds of women to secure foreign alliances and to ensure that his name and reign continues after his death. He builds an expansive military (using Egyptian chariots, of all things!) to control and maintain his political holdings. He builds an expansive (and expensive) Temple to God, which is supposed to demonstrate God’s power and glory, but he also builds a palace, which was not a part of the plan. And more disturbingly–much more disturbingly–both are built with slave labor.

This king of a nation of ex-slaves built a temple meant to honor the God who liberates slaves, but he builds it with slave labor–and God was done.

Before long, the Assyrians would attack and conquer the north. And then after that, the Babylonians would conquer the Assyrians and the Southern Kingdom, destroying Jerusalem and completely ravishing that Temple.

They gathered up everybody of significance–leaders, tradespeople, songwriters, musicians, merchants, priests, and the like–and they marched them hundreds of miles to an unfamiliar land filled with unfamiliar people and unfamiliar rules…… They most definitely were not in Kansas anymore. 

One of their poets wrote their experience down; we find it in Psalm 137:

“By the rivers of Babylon—
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.

On the willows there we hung up our harps.
For there our captors asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
“Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”

How could we sing the LORD’S song
in a foreign land?”

Psalm 137:1–4 NRSV

In other words: The winds began to switch the house of Israel to a pitch. And suddenly the hinges–those underpinnings of life, be they theological, spiritual, economic, social–the hinges that previously held everything in life together–they started to unhitch.

Because God was up to something in transforming them that God could not do when all the hinges of life remained intact and all of normal life remained under their control.

Something New?

Does any of this feel familiar? Maybe because of the pandemic; maybe for other reasons entirely, but do you find yourself trying to navigate a kind of surreal, fuzzy landscape? Everything you have known–Zion–lies behind you in shambles, and yet nothing about Oz makes any sense.

As I’ve been saying each week–as I’ve been reminding myself each week–the witness of scripture is that in exile–in the pit…… in the wilderness…… in these liminal seasons–the heart can be transformed. 

In Exile, the ancient Israelites will discover something new of God. They had always imagined God to be located in a particular space–like they were. And so, in the wilderness, they built a tabernacle as a place for God to live; literally they pitched a tent for God among their tents–that’s what “tabernacle” means. The same imagining applied to the Temple in Jerusalem–it was seen as the house where God lived.

And while this may seem quaint and insignificant, this way of thinking about God is part of what led to the Babylonian Exile. You see, they came to believe that since God lived there–since Jerusalem (Zion) was God’s home–no foreign power would ever be able to take the city. How could that happen? God would certainly defend God’s own home! Right?

And so this faulty way of thinking about God led to a kind of political arrogance and assumptions of national invincibility–which came crashing down as the waves of Babylonian troops ravaged the city and burned the Temple itself.

In Exile, the ancient Israelites discover something new of God. They learn that God is not localized to an address in Jerusalem, but is available to them wherever they happen to be. They learned, as Jesus will later remind us, that “the Kingdom of God is at hand.”

Jeremiah

This is a big part of the lesson Jeremiah is hoping to teach through the instructions he offers in the scripture lesson, Jeremiah 29. The ancient Israelites are, of course, traumatized by what has happened. Even beyond the horrors of warfare, there is a sense of dislocation that leaves no realm of life untouched.

They want nothing more than to get out of there…… to go back home…… and to pretend that none of this ever happened. That’s the way we all react to these seasons of exile…… these experiences of the pit…… these wilderness seasons of liminality. But what is true for them is also true for us–the world of before no longer exists. There is no going back home to the familiar because home itself has changed and become unfamiliar.

Jeremiah writes this letter to the exiles in Babylon, urging them to settle into this liminal season. He instructs them: 

“Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.”

Jeremiah 29:5–7 NRSV

They are exiles, and not citizens; but even in seasons of exile our God is capable of resurrecting abundant life in us.

Perhaps Jeremiah’s instructions are pertinent where we live today as well. Perhaps this season of exile for us is one we are being called by God to settle into, to build spiritual houses and plant gardens of faith.

What does your spiritual house look like these days? I’m not interested in shaming anyone, but I think God wants us to look at ourselves honestly. Examine the house of your faith: 

• How is the foundation? are there cracks that need repairing or joists that need new support?
• How is the roof? Is it leaky when the storms of life dump on you? 
• What about the structure? Do you have wood rot? termites? 
• And the garden of your faith: could it, like mine, use some weeding?–the uprooting of some assumptions and patterns of thinking that are contrary to the priorities of God?

Again, this isn’t about shame but paying attention, as Jesus so often instructs us to do. What purposeful, intentional practices do you regularly do to nurture your relationship with Jesus? These things are the seeds that we sow into the soil of our own heart. And sometimes, like in that parable Jesus tells, the soil of our heart is rocky, or we allow in scavengers that pick our hearts clean, or we allow others to traffic in our soul in ways that crush and harden us.

Seasons of exile can be seasons where we are called to tend to the soil of our souls, cultivating the kind of good soil that allows the love of God to take root and grow.

It is tempting in our times of exile to hang up our hearts on the willow trees and just wait for everything to return to normal. But if we do that–if we just resign and wait until we can come back together in person to do all the normal things again, we will have missed the whole point of this opportunity that God is creating in trying to meet us in the middle. We will miss the new songs that God invites us to sing–songs that can only be written by the shores of strange rivers in unfamiliar lands. 

Plans

It may be that the most familiar verse in all of Jeremiah is found in this chapter. I’m referring of course to verse 11 of Jeremiah 29, which says this:

“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”

Jeremiah 29:11 NRSV

This is a bold and courageous assertion of God’s goodness, which is (I think) why it continues to resonate with folks in hard places. But I want to draw your mind to the context here: these plans……  this future…… this hope…… God has just spelled out how they get there, and it is not by hanging up their harps and waiting for all this Exile stuff to blow over. 

No! This famous verse comes after God instructs them to settle into exile and expect to stay there a long time. The way they get through Exile is to stay in Exile. To make friends with Exile, if you will. To become at peace with God in a way that leads you to build a home in a strange land, to grow and develop in unfamiliar soil, to find nutrition in foods you’ve never heard of, to discover how your welfare is intertwined with that of those you are tempted to see as enemies, and to develop relationships and live abundantly in the least likely times of life.

This, I believe, is what the scriptures testify is God’s hope for us. God’s grand conspiracy of love is all about leading us to the most fulfilled and abundant way of living. That is why the invitation to relationship with Jesus has been called “good news.”

But to believe such things–to build a home in a strange land, to reach out to the only one who can save us from the Pit, to journey deeper into the wilderness in search of the Center of All, to invite the Gardner to plant seeds of new life in our lives–these things take a courageous faith that recognizes that there is only One who can get us through the liminal season to the other side.

A Prayer of Pain

I don’t know about you, but sometimes that courage has been hard for me to muster up of late. As the weeks and months drone on, and as more and more people get sick and die, the courageous faith to build a home in this strange land is hard to come by.

Maybe you, like me, find yourself praying along with Psalm 42, our responsive Psalm for the day:

O God, there is a primal longing in my soul
that thirsts for your life.
When are you going to show up?
My grief is always with me,
but you don’t seem to be near.

I remember how things used to be:
my heart lifted to you in song,
my spirit rejoicing in fellowship,
your people, embodying your love for each other.

The sun still rises; the stars still shine;
and the aching void in my soul calls for your recreation.

I believe in your steadfast love, yet I feel forgotten.
I believe you are my deliverer, but I feel conquered and crushed.

Join me in my exile, O God,
that I might learn again to praise you,
discovering anew that you are
my hope, my helper, and my friend.

Amen; may it be so.

Outro

If you found your heart praying along with me today, I want to affirm the difficult place you are in. We do not come into exile of our own volition, and most of us have done everything we can think of to stay out of exile as long as possible. You have done all you could to avoid this, but maybe now it’s time to settle into it for the long haul. Maybe it is time to think about sustainability in terms of emotional and spiritual energies. Maybe it’s time to tend to your spiritual house and your garden of faith, at this time when the soil of our souls is already so deeply disrupted. 

But please remember: you are not alone. The Israelites did not go into exile by themselves, and neither have you. We are a community together, learning to make a home in this strange land.

And so once again, if any of this resonates with you today, I’d like to encourage you to tell someone. Tell me if you don’t have anyone else to tell. I want to know how I can pray for you during this time of Exile and uncertainty, and I am honored to help with whatever renovation work that you discover needs doing.

Remember: We’re all in this together. 

Prayer

We thank you God for your presence, even when unfelt.
We thank you for your love, especially when we are filled with fear.
We thank you for your grace, which always gives us another chance.

Make us anew.
Recreate our hearts and minds in your image.
Bind us together as one in spirit and purpose,
living out the good news of your rescue
that others might find their home in you.

Amen.

When to Disobey

This sermon is the fifth in a series entitled “Our Common Humanity,” in which we examine the ways that the stories of the bible are affected by things like bigotry, prejudice, nationalism, misogyny, racism, xenophobia and the like.

Psalm Reading: Psalm 16

Scripture Reading: Daniel 2:48-3:18

Much to Do

I know this was a long reading today, and I thank you for bearing with me. In truth, it still feels like I cut things down a bit too much, given that we didn’t read “the rest of the story,” as the late, great Paul Harvey would say.

But this is enough to reveal some of the unhealthy power dynamics in play, and to set us up for considering when disobedience is the godly thing to do.

Run Up To Daniel 3

Remember those Assyrians we talked about last week? Well, they do eventually conquer and brutalize the Northern Kingdom of Israel, and they march right down to Jerusalem itself. The Assyrian king at the time, Sennacherib, will record that: “like a caged bird I shut up Hezekiah in Jerusalem his royal city.” But when Hezekiah settles for tribute, perhaps amidst some unsettling divine intervention, Sennacherib withdraws.

Over the next hundred years, Assyria’s power will wax and begin to wane, and a new power will begin to rise in the south of the Tigris-Euphrates Valley. Babylon will become everything Assyria was and more. Nebuchadnezzar is the second king of Babylon, rising to power in 605; and it is he who will conquer and exile the Southern Kingdom of Judah in 587. Among those exiles were a group of young nobles from Jerusalem: Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah (the latter three better known for the names they are given by their conquerers: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego…… Daniel, we read in chapter 1 verse 7, is renamed Belteshazzar, but for some reason the book maintains his birth name and not the others). 

The first two chapters of the biblical book of Daniel are about how these four ended up in the Babylonian palace—they were effectively culled from the larger group of prisoners because they were young men from the nobility of Judah, they were good looking, and they were educated [Daniel 1:3-4]. Their purpose is to be re-educated into Babylonian ways: “to be taught the literature and language,” to be wooed with food and wine, and to be so brainwashed for three years so they can be “stationed in the king’s court” (as we read in 1:4-5). 

But they insist on retaining their own culture’s ways, and slowly prove their worth anyhow. Daniel’s big break comes when Nebuchadnezzar has a bad dream, and only God through Daniel can interpret it. Daniel is able to leverage his new-found favor with the king for the betterment of his three friends too, who are assigned provincial affairs.

Unrest

Abruptly in the story, we learn of ethnic and racial unrest in Babylon. Daniel 3:8 suddenly tells us: “At this time certain Chaldeans [that’s the biblical word for Babylonians] came forward and denounced the Jews” [NRSV].

Now unlike some of the other stories we’ve been examining, the biblical text does not fill in all the details. We aren’t told exactly why this rift has occurred. We only know that it is part of a plot to unseat Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from their positions—probably via murder by the state.

It is probably a good guess that the motives are power and control. King Nebuchadnezzar, driven by unchecked emotion and mired in bureaucracy, is thus manipulated by special interest groups. He passes a decree that sounds good for the nation, but is bad for its people (or at lest for Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego). They stand in defiance of their government—directly disobeying the law—directly protesting what they see as an unjust law. And then anger and hatred is stokked (cf. Dan 3:19) to the point that it becomes unreasonable. 

Prejudices in the Story

So what makes these three musketeers so vulnerable to the machinations of the political machinery?

Let us count the ways:

First, they are outsiders rather than natives. Do not underestimate the insider/outsider dynamic in such stories.

Second, they are prisoners of war. Literally. These exact people were captured by an invading army and carted hundreds of miles against their will. They were then subjected to a three-year reeducation program aimed at turning them against their previous culture and ways.

Third, they do have a different culture and ways. This involves language, food, religious practices, social customs, clothes, and so much more. And what we see in the earlier parts of Daniel is that these three consistently refuse to conform and compromise. They are refusing to be a part of the melting-pot Nebuchadnezzar is trying to build.

Third, they are a different ethnicity and race. The differences between a Babylonian and an ancient Israelite would have been obvious, regardless of dress and manner. That so many exiles were brought from the levantine campaign also meant that anyone who saw an ancient Israelite would have immediately known they were a captured slave, and treated them as such.

As we have seen in other stories, each one of these can weaken personal agency and make one vulnerable to those practicing injustice. But heaping so many together results in exponentially more vulnerability…… exponentially less agency……

And so “Rack, Shack, and Benny” are swept up in this evil—powerless to save themselves.

Deliverance?

Before we go on, however, note that these three do NOT need God to do what they want in order to believe in God. They say in 3:18-19: 

“If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up.” (Daniel 3:17–18 NRSV)

I think it is remarkable that they acknowledge that God may not save them…… but that does not invalidate the reality or power of God. God is just as big…… just as great…… just as able. They seem to know that God just won’t be manipulated—even and especially by people of faith.

And so the friends-three do to God what God does to them—they give God the grace and space to do God’s own thing, trusting that God will see them through: whether through the hardship, or through death.

Daniel 6

The other famous story in the book of Daniel is effectively a repeat of this one, only with Daniel as the character in peril. 

Nebuchadnezzar’s reign has ended, and indeed the Babylonian empire has fallen to the Persians. Their king, Darius, now incorporates into his own government what is left of the Babylonian infrastructure, including Daniel. Daniel, predicatably, “distinguishes himself” [Daniel 6:3] by his good work. 

The other higher-ups in Darius’ government become jealous and start to conspire against him. Here, the biblical text fills in the blanks, tellings us that they “tried to find grounds for complaint against Daniel in connection with the kingdom” (Daniel 6:4 NRSV). As an outsider—and he’s even more distant from that inner group now than ever—the charge that he lacks sufficient patriotism or that he is committing treason would have that much more weight. 

Just as with Nebuchadnezzar, king Darius is manipulated into making an edict without understanding its ramifications. To his credit, Darius is distraught when he discovers they have trapped Daniel and Darius himself has signed the death warrant. But much like Pilate in the New Testament, Darius is unwilling to stand up to crowds and defy the system he represents. So Daniel goes into the lions’ den, from which he will escape just as unscathed as when his comrades emerged from that fiery furnace.

Defying Government?

These stories in Daniel have been getting tossed around the public sphere a good bit during the past months. As public officials have sought to respond to this pandemic and limit infections and deaths, and especially as some of these regulations impact the way churches are accustomed to functioning, there have been a surprising number of people (surprising to me, anyway) who have started talking about Daniel and the importance that churches disobey these guidelines.

Sadly, that choice has resulted in a number of outbreaks in churches, with many people getting sick and even dying. Attending a church service in person continues to be identified as one of the most risky things you can do right now.

It seems to me that we have no clear idea how to discern this. When do we disobey the state? When do we obey the state?

If we’re going to be honest about the bible—if we’re going to treat the bible with the integrity it deserves of us—we’ve got to acknowledge that there are plenty of places where the bible says “obey!” too.

Biblical Examples

Now, I don’t intend to fully cite every example, but I do want to name a few for context and for your further study.

As Peter gives advice to Christians driven out of their native land, he picks up the theme of obedience… 1Peter 2:13-14: “For the Lord’s sake accept the authority of every human institution, whether of the emperor as supreme, or of governors, as sent by him to punish those who do wrong and to praise those who do right.” (1Peter 2:13–14 NRSV)

Paul offers similar advice to the church at Rome, saying in Romans 13:1: “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities” (NRSV).

He gives the same advice in his mentoring letter to Titus, urging him to remind Christians to “be subject to rulers and authorities” [3:1 NRSV].

 

In contrast with these teachings, the whole of the book of Revelation seems to be focused on the subject of civil disobedience, as the Christians to which John writes are facing increasing persecution on all fronts—even to the point that some have been murdered. John the Revelator speaks of bearing witness to Jesus with our lives and with our words in ways that were contrary to the law in the context to which he is writing. This seems to place these words more firmly aligned with Daniel and against other New Testament voices.

Also aligned with Daniel would be many of the stories of Acts. There are several examples I could pull here—after all, Paul is always getting arrested—but the most notable might be from chapter 5. There, the apostles are put into jail for preaching Jesus and healing people, the Holy Spirit breaks them out, and they are arrested again. Once again, they are told to stop this Jesus stuff, and Peter insists (with the other apostles) that “We must obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29 NRSV).

Three Guidelines

It seems there is a lot of uncertainty right now about our positioning as Christians in relation to public health orders. So I wanted to bring these biblical stories to mind, and offer some thoughts as to how we discern and navigate the space between “we must obey God rather than human authorities” and “be subject to the governing authorities.”

As I look at these and other similar stories, I find that they divide rather neatly along three guidelines—three tests that we can use to determine which response is the faithful, Christian, godly response to the exercise of authority by a government.

 

First: When we look at all these stories and all these teachings and we try to find some broad strokes between them, one thing we see right away is that we should always defy our government when they demand that we stop preaching the good news or stop living like Jesus lived. This is cut and dry. That’s Daniel in Babylon. That’s Peter and John being arrested for preaching the gospel, and getting out only to do the same thing all over again. There is no need for nuance here. 

So if the government says: don’t preach or live the gospel——we’re going to keep doing it because that is clearly one of the times when we have to respond “we must obey God rather than human authorities.”

 

A second guideline or test: We should never insist on freedom or liberty for its own sake, especially when our expression of freedom impairs or risks another person’s wellbeing. Jesus demonstrates this over and over again. He is frequently breaking the rules…… breaking the law…… whether that is the religious law or, at times, perhaps even the civil law. But Jesus never seems willing to do that if it risks more than himself. We can see this in a number of other New Testament personalities as well, especially in the book of Acts. If it is a matter of individual liberty, then all things may be possible, but not all things are beneficial or edifying [1Corinthians 10:23]. So another assessment we need to make is determining whether we are insisting on freedom for its own sake.

 

Third: We are never to demand our freedom when doing so detracts from the gospel message of abundant life, perfect love, and the enduring reconciliation of all things to the God who brought all things into being. Once again, this is a simple thing, but not necessarily one we think about when we should. As we see in the New Testament letters, this is a big part of Paul’s reasoning for why a church should do or not do X Y or Z: does this make Jesus look good, or does it make Jesus look bad? Does it advance the cause of Christ, or does it build a further rift between people in need of reconciliation and the God who wants to bring that reconciliation about? 

The Common Good

Look——

I have concerns about governmental overreach too. But:

There was a backlash from people who thought their liberties were being taken away when the government said they had to wear seatbelts—but now we recognize this as a healthy thing to do.

There was a backlash from people who thought their liberties were being taken away when the government passed legislation making it illegal to drive while under the influence—but now we recognize this is both responsible and for the common good.

Even back in 1901, the Supreme Court had to decide a case that gave the state of Massachusetts the authority to aggressively manage a smallpox epidemic. 

And before that, back in 1865 Dr. Ignaz Semmelweiss was beaten and thrown into a mental institute because he suggested that doctors needed to wash their hands before delivering babies. They didn’t know about germs then, but Dr. Semmelweiss theorized they were bringing particles from their morning autopsies to their afternoon deliveries. He ended up dying in a mental institute at just 47 years old.

For as long as their have been laws, governments have had to balance personal liberties against the common good. That’s why you cannot steal, or murder, or abuse your spouse. It’s why you have to wear pants in public, why you need a valid drivers license to operate a vehicle, why you cannot yell “bomb” in an airport.

All of these things infringe on personal liberties. And rightly so—because the common good is a higher ethic and priority than your expression of personal liberty. That has been the decision of our nation, time and time again.

And the prioritization of the common good is an ethic that we Christians should share—after all, it’s right there in the bible.

It is for the common good that Jesus came into the world.

It is for the common good that he taught us how to live truly.

It is for the common good that he submitted to the cross.

It is for the common good that God raised Jesus from the dead.

It is for the common good that we are gifted by the Spirit [1Corinthians 12:7].

It is for the common good that we are charged with the ministry of reconciliation, serving as ambassadors for Christ [2Corinthians 5:18-20].

It is for the common good that Jesus will return and reign forever.

God’s entire project of creation—from beginning to beyond the end—it is all about the common good.

 

Are we?
Are we for the common good?
Or are we for our good, to hell with everybody else?

As always the case, I believe Jesus shows us the way. May we be faithful and truthful enough to follow.

What Is but “Ought Not”

Scripture: James 3:1-12

One-Upping James

Preachers are a strange breed of people.

Here is a passage of scripture that is packed to the gills with metaphors and analogies:

bits and ships

winds and rudders

sparks and fires

wild beasts and domestication

all kinds of trees

and even salt and freshwater springs.

Yet there is something in the preacher that cannot help but try to come up with a new–and even better–analogy than the biblical writer. Even though I’ve encountered countless insufficient attempts at “reinventing” these metaphors, I’ve yet to hear any that could count as an improvement. And that’s probably because these metaphors still work in the world we live in.

We still use bits to control horses.

Ships still use rudders.

Sparks still cause fire.

There continue to be domesticated animals of all sorts.

Trees keep reproducing “according to their kind” as Genesis described.

And we haven’t become any more adept at drinking salt water.

It all still works. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to attempting brainstorming some “improvements” myself.

“Ought”

There’s also something different about the way we preachers think about things. It may be our training, it may be our observations, it may be the painful stories of others we have heard. But whatever the reason, there are times something that appears mundane takes on extraordinary significance to a preacher. And this text has one of these challenges for me, too.

It’s found in what looks like a passing–and plain–phrase in v.10: the verse that really represents the heart of the whole reading. In the New Revised Standard Version, it reads: 

“From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so.” (James 3:30 NRSV)

It’s that “ought”–or in the NIV, “should”–that raises my pastoral hackles a bit. Let me try to explain why.

The Weapon of Fear

There are a number of weapons that the Enemy uses against us with great efficiency. The greatest of these, I believe is fear. There are countless stories in both Old and New Testaments wherein someone reacts with fear, instead of love or trust in God, and clearly deviates from the path of God-likeness. Elsewhere in the New Testament, 1John argues that fear and love are opposites. Looking at the world around us, and reflecting on our human history in both the recent and more distant past, it’s not too hard to find our own illustrations of human actions driven by fear, and the disastrous consequences for humanity (and too-often, for the reputation of Christ and God’s Kingdom).

The Weapon of the Illusion of Self-Sufficiency

Another weapon I see deployed with startling efficiency might be confused with pride, but it’s the actually the illusion of self-sufficiency. It is the deception that we are enough in and of ourselves. While other factors certainly came into it, this is the core of the deception of the first humans in Eden: they don’t need God to determine right from wrong; they can do it themselves. 

Again, the scriptures are littered with stories of our defeat by this weapon. Perhaps most obviously, this weapon was used in bringing about the defeat of both the Northern Kingdom of Israel in 722 BC, and again that of the Southern Kingdom of Judah around 140 years later. Instead of trusting in God for safety and prosperity, they trusted in their ability to navigate foreign alliances. They thought they could do a better job themselves, but it proved to be precisely their dalliances with these other nations that brought about their defeat. 

And once again, we don’t have to think too hard to be convicted about our own illusions of self-sufficiency, even as we contradictorily profess reliance on Jesus as Lord. There’s something in the very fabric of our makeup as “Americans” that imbues us with a high valuation for this deception–we want the deception to be true; we want to be self-sufficient, and we look down on those who are not.

“Deceived, we are,” Yoda might say.

The Weapon of Guilt

But a third powerful weapon (that I believe is) used by the powers of darkness against humanity with savage effectiveness is guilt. 

This may surprise you, I realize. Guilt has, after all, been part of the stock-and-trade of preachers for at least 250 years. Guilt has driven alter calls for generations. It has undergirded evangelistic endeavors. It has been used to manipulate behaviors to conform to specific religious and moral norms.

And all that shows you just how potent this weapon really is, and that even those regarded as most faithful are not immune from its deception.

Guilt paralyzes us. It does not draw us into a better version of ourself. It does not drive us toward love, but it evokes embarrassment. And that leads us to withdraw from others, to hide our brokenness, and to fall into deeper and deeper isolation. In other words, guilt makes us weaker by moving us away from God.

Back to “Ought”

Which is why I cringe when I hear people say what someone “ought” to do or “should” do. “Ought” and “should”–at least in the way we communicate here and now–is the language of guilt. 

Pastor Michael, you ought to preach more interesting sermons.

Pastor Michael, you really should dress nicer.

Pastor Michael, you ought to spend more time doing what I think is important.

There is (I hope you realize) a way of communicating all this constructively and without using words that induce guilt or shame. But when “ought” and “should” really gain destructive power is when we apply them to the past.

I really ought to have used a different illustration. Why didn’t I think of that?

So-and-so really should have learned by now… why do they keep hooking up with such losers?

Did you hear about such-and-such? They really ought to have expected this would happen!

Perhaps by now you can better see the connection to our scripture lesson.

Dangerous Speech

Despite this lengthy digression (as it might seem), I do not think James is trying to evoke guilt. I think he is instead creatively and passionately trying to illustrate a contradiction between who the community of Christ is called to be, and what they are in fact doing.

The gossiping church member has apparently been a cliche since the very beginning. 

I enjoy watching BBC murder mysteries, and it seems every episode there’s a scene where someone–usually some little old lady–exits a church building and is gossiping about someone before she even gets out of earshot of the pastor. In those mysteries, such things are sometimes redeemed, as the gossip contains hints that lead to catching the killer. In real life, however, I have yet to discover such positive outcomes of this guilt- and shame-ridden enterprise.

In Matthew 5, as Jesus is teaching his followers how to read and interpret their scriptures, he warns of the danger of words. They think that because they never laid a hand on another person that they’ve kept the command “do not murder.” But Jesus (Matt 5:22) is clear that they have murdered people with their words; to call names is to destroy something of the humanity in each other.

This isn’t any different than what James is arguing here, especially when he calls the tongue “a restless evil, full of deadly poison” (James 3:8). He is not, of course, condemning the physical organ of the body, but rather the ways it is used. If we are (James 3:9-10) going to bless God as we sing and proclaim his praises, how then (James asks us) do we speak harshly and destructively about (and to) people who bear God’s image?

 

I grew up watching a lot of 1980’s sitcoms, especially of the “PI” variety. I remember a number of times when someone would start to use foul language and another character would counter “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

That’s the sentiment James is bringing out in v.10 of this reading. Hearing the destructive ways they are speaking to and about each other, James asks, “You bless your God with that mouth?…… You speak of Jesus with that mouth?”

That’s not the way it is supposed to be, he says. 

James doesn’t want to guilt them into inaction–or into hiding or being more sneaky about their sin. James wants them to see the inconsistency between who they say they are and how they are living, and he wants that awareness to drive them toward Christ-likeness–a change that will lead them to value others more than they do currently.

You see, the image of repentance in the bible–through all the stories of failing, and there are many—repentance is never about driving people to experience guilt. It is always about people learning of an inconsistency between what is and what can be. 

brokenness vs. wholeness

doing harm vs. bringing help

hypocrisy vs. consistency

isolating vs. bringing into community

Reconciling Work

The work that Jesus tasks us with is not to invoke guilt in others. It is not to get others to repent of their evil ways. It is not to be the morality police of the world. As “ambassadors for Christ,” the work we are called to is instead the work of reconciliation. And it’s important to note what Paul says that ministry looks like. In 2Corinthians 5, Paul says this:

“All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us.” (2Corinthians 5:18–20 NRSV)

Note the way Paul describes Jesus’s own reconciling work. He points out that it is both the same kind of work that God accomplishes through Jesus, and that this reconciling work involves “not counting their trespasses against them.” If we are doing the reconciling work of Christ too, then that will describe what we Christians are about as well.

But does it? Or do our tongues get in the way of genuinely Christ-like ministry? Christ calls us to something more. That was James’s challenge 2000 years ago, and it is just as much a challenge today.

The Apple of God’s Eye?

 

Psalm 17:1-9

 

Living Stories

We talk about the Bible being a “living book.” But I wonder sometimes whether we realize what that means.

There’s a piece (in my mind) that is Holy Spirit driven—the Bible continues to speak in powerful ways to each of our lives, today. Unlike some other ancient texts, it transcends time and space to attend to the needs and challenges of this current era. That’s inspiration—happening even now through the work of the Spirit.

But there’s another dimension I see too. There are strong resonances between these ancient stories and our lives. They are our stories, too—told with other names and places, but entirely analogous to what you and I experience each and every day.

In the story of Adam and Eve and the first sin, we find a retelling of every time we choose our own way over God’s way.

In the story of Noah, we see a retelling of every time we think the world is going to hell in a handbasket and we find encouragement that God will be faithful.

In the story of Abraham, we find a retelling of every time we try to force God’s will into being through our own efforts and initiatives.

In Jonah, we have a retelling of every time we try to run away from God.

In Job and Ecclesiastes, we have a retelling of our struggle for answers in the face of senseless tragedy or injustice.

And so on. These stories are our stories. Part of why they have become scripture and Bible is because for so many hundreds and thousands of years they have lived in us—they have spoken the truth of who and how we are, and of what life in the world and with God is genuinely like.

Such is our story for today. In the episodes from the history of ancient Israel that we will look at this morning, we do not read ancient history, but current events.

Reflecting on a nation of God’s favored people, we find application for our own, oft-called “Christian,” nation.

Examining the hearts of ancient people of faith, we find our own hearts—and sin—revealed.

Living stories of a living book coming alive.

Psalm 17

While there’s much in the Psalm that could be applied in this way this morning, I want to focus on two adjacent lines, which have captured my imagination, mediation, and prayer of late: “you who save by your right hand those who take refuge in you from their foes” (v.7) and “keep me as the apple of your eye” (v.8).

You see, there is a connection between seeking refuge in God, being saved, and being “special.” These elements are interdependent, kind of like our Baptist churches. They are distinct from one another, yet also reliant on one another to form a functional whole.

And yet our propensity—as Baptists and as humans—is to emphasize the individual and neglect the whole; to amplify our independence and silence elements of interdependence. And when this happens, things never go well for us.

When we do seek refuge in God, we are saved, and we feel special. Perhaps, as we read here and other places in the bible, we are special—friends of Christ and children of God.

And yet…… The testimony of scripture is that when we associate too strongly with our specialness—when our whole identity is wrapped up in being “the apple of God’s eye”—when we are most convinced that God is on our side——that is precisely the moment when the bottom falls out, because that is also the moment when we stop actually taking refuge in God. That is the moment when we trust our identity for our protection instead of trusting God. That is the moment when our expectations of God actually become idolatrous.

History of Israel

There are no better illustrations of this than can be found in the history of ancient Israel. As descendants of Abraham, the people of ancient Israel know they are special. They are without a doubt “the apple of God’s eye.” Centuries of covenant relationship have proven to them that God loves them and pays them particular attention.

They were saved out of Egypt.

They were given the Law at Sinai.

Their battles for control of the Promised Land were fought and won by God alone.

For them God raised up righteous leaders—”judges”—to get them out of binds with the Canaanites.

And during generations of kingship, they were protected by God from invading powers.

But they began to think themselves invincible. They began to see God as a totem of protection—a cross to wear around your neck to ward off evil spirits, like the bloody lintels of Passover night in Egypt. As long as they maintained the symbols, they believed they could wield God as a weapon for their protection and benefit. Jerusalem could never fall, because God would never allow it.

Captivity of the Ark

Back in 1Samuel 4, there’s an interesting story along these themes. It’s one of those stories that should have stood as a warning against this kind of thinking to later generations. But like so many of the lessons of the past, we choose to repeat our errors instead of remember and learn from them.

In 1Samuel 4, the Israelites are once again at battle. If you read their story from the beginning, it seems like they’ve been at war for generations now. War appears to be something they’ve gotten good at, from the strategic brilliance of folks like Joshua and Gideon to the mundane brutality of others like Jael or Ehud. The Israelites are a force to be reckoned with, and they have dominated the Philistines for some time. And so, at this point in the biblical story, the Philistines are revolting, trying to escape the destiny of becoming “slaves to the Hebrews,” as we read in v.9 of 1Sam 4.

At the beginning of this chapter, however, a battle is fought, and the ancient Israelites are defeated (v.2)—four thousand Israelites die that day. But defeat doesn’t seem possible—How can they lose with God on their side? They are the people that God favors; it is inconceivable that any human power could triumph over that!!

But then some astute person recognizes a pattern. Patterns are our salvation and damnation. Sometimes patterns show us the rhythms of life that we must recognize to succeed. Other times, such correlation does not equal causation—what we see as a pattern obscures the real causes.

This story is one of the latter times. This astute person realizes that when they carry into battle the Ark of the Covenant—which for the Israelites (and their enemies) was a visible representation of their God—they won. Every time. Never fail.

But when they did not bring the Ark into battle, they did not always win.

It seems obvious, doesn’t it? If they bring the Ark into battle every time, they simply can’t lose. All they have to do is bring the Ark into every battle and they will never be defeated.

Except…… this is one of those times where correlation does not equal causation. Bringing the Ark doesn’t lead to victory; trusting God for salvation brings victory. Or, to put it in the terms of Psalm 17, taking refuge in God results in salvation.

The ancient Israelites thought they were the apple of God’s eye, and that God would never allow harm to come to them. But they put their trust in a wooden box instead of into the Creator of the universe, and as a result, 30,000 Israelites died that day, and the Ark itself was captured by the Philistines.

Exile of Judah

Many years later, as the ancient nation of Judah is threatened by foreign powers, it again begins to overemphasize its “special” relationship with God, believing (as I mentioned earlier) that Jerusalem can never fall to a foreign army. After all, God had promised them “In this house, and in Jerusalem, which I have chosen out of all the tribes of Israel, I will put my name forever. And I will not cause the feet of Israel to wander anymore out of the land that I gave to their fathers” (2Kings 21:7-8).

As a result, they believed they were golden; they were the apple of God’s eye—God’s chosen nation——to quote Psalm 56:11: “what can man do to me?” And so they trusted in their special status. And they trusted in their own political prowess. And they expected—genuinely expected—that nothing bad could or would ever happen.

Of course, they forgot about the second half of that promise: “if only they will be careful to do according to all that I have commanded them” (2Kings 21:8).

They remembered the “getting saved” and the “being the apple of God’s eye” part, but they forgot about the “taking refuge in God” part. They forgot that trust needed to be anchored in God, not their status or identity. They forgot that being the apple of God’s eye was a conditional state—favor to be revoked if conditions changed. And changed they did, as Israel took refuge in themselves instead of in God.

Israel’s downfall happened because they thought they were God’s nation and thus could not fall. In doing so, they made their identity into an idol, trusting themselves for their own protection instead of seeking refuge in God.

The Remedy

There is, of course, an easy and obvious remedy. In the words of the psalmist, “take refuge in [God]” (Ps 17:7). Or in the ancient confession of Christianity, live out the commitment that “Jesus is Lord.” The key to continually trusting in God alone for protection is to remember that God and God alone is king. God and God alone is able. God and God alone will save us.

Our allegiance is not to the nation of our residence. We are instructed in Leviticus 25:23 to live as aliens wherever we find ourselves. This is an image Peter develops further for Christians in 1Peter 2, urging us to both “fear God” and “honor the emperor” (v.17).

Our allegiance is not to a president, king, or ruler. The ancient confession that “Jesus is Lord” was a dangerous confession to make, as it implied that Jesus is lord and Caesar is not. By insisting that we live under God’s watchful eye instead of complying with the government’s demands, many faithful have experienced great suffering and even death, from the time of Daniel on through the present age.

Our allegiance is not to a party or a platform, but to the ethic and life initiated by Jesus Christ, who proclaims “good news to the poor… liberty to the captives…recovering of sight to the blind…to set at liberty those who are oppressed…to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor”—a Jubilee Year, the year of liberation and forgiveness when everything goes back to the way it was created to be.

As Christians, it has never been our dominance that drew people to Christ. Those drawn by power are those who are always drawn by power, and their purposes have nothing to do with those of the Savior of the world.

Instead, it has been our humble and quiet willingness to suffer for the good news of God’s love that has spread the name of Jesus throughout the world. The cause of Christ has been advanced the most when we genuinely take refuge in God, trusting in God alone for our salvation, whether or not anyone thinks we’re the apple of God’s eye.

Prayer (inspired by Psalm 17)

Hear my prayer, O Lord!

Probe our hearts
examine us and test us
see if there is any evil in mouth and intents.

Where, we ask, have we been bribed by the world?
Where, we pray, have we been implicit in violence against our neighbor?
Where, we implore, have our feet stumbled from your paths?

Remind us of the wonders of your great love.
Remind us of your salvation.
Remind us that you are a refuge from the foes and forces that work against your work of Jubilee.

Shield us from enemies without and within
And make us new again.

Teach us to follow Jesus your Christ. Amen.