NRS John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.
And because of Mary’s word, Mary’s yes,
14 the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.
I sometimes envision all of Salvation history, all of the Old Testament, all of it’s people, pointing towards, funneling downward towards the Christ event: the life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus. But none of this would have happened without the obedience of a young girl, a girl who said yes, be it done unto me according to thy word. That was the moment in time that all of God’s work was pointing at. The one moment when Mary said yes, and God took off his divinity. When Mary said yes, the Holy Spirit moved over her, in much the same way as when the Spirit of God moved over the face of the waters in Genesis.
The Spirit moved, and God became a human embryo, confined in the darkness of his mother’s womb for 9 months, growing and then being born in the usual manner of human beings. The word became flesh and dwelt among us. And the world would never be the same. God became man. Divinity and humanity merged into one person, Jesus Christ,
who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, 7 but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, 8 he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death-- even death on a cross. (Phil. 2:6-8).
This was God’s plan from the beginning. It wasn’t plan B—it was the only plan, the plan for salvation. The plan to bring us into relationship with him. The plan where God has done everything for us, and all we have to do is say the word—yes.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
4 Lent, B, 03/22/09
St. James McLeansboro
“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God--not the result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.” (Eph. 2:8-10).
These are the last three verses of today’s Epistle from the Letter of Paul to the Ephesians, and have variously been called “a summary of the nature of the salvation achieved by God;”[1] or a summary of Paul’s Gospel, or a summary of the Gospel. So these words are worth noticing and attending to.
Now the word Gospel comes to us from the Old English word “Godspel” meaning Good News, Good Message. Godspel is a translation of the Latin: Bona adnutiatio, or good annunciation, good proclamation. And this is the translation of the Greek word euangelion. Which of course means—Good News.
Now it seems to me that in order to have good news, we must understand the bad news. And that isn’t provided by the lectionary text given to us today. Kind of a criticism of the Book of Common Prayer lectionary in general: it’s heavy on good news, puts a lot of emphasis on building us up and making us feel good, but it doesn’t as often tell us why we need to be built up. If we need to feel good, there might be some reason that we don’t feel good. Otherwise, why do we need to hear good news?
The lectionary occasionally skips over verses; missing things that might make us feel uncomfortable. Ideas like sin, fallenness, lostness. Ideas like the wrath and judgment of God. Things we don’t like—but shouldn’t avoid.
And for today’s Epistle, the lectionary starts actually in the middle of a sentence (in the original Greek text). Ephesians 2:1-7 is one long sentence, very typical of Paul. So in order to understand the context of the Good News at the end of our text, I’m going to read the beginning of the sentence in verses 1-3. This is why we need Good News.
And you were dead through the trespasses and sins in which you once lived, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient. All of us once lived among them in the passions of our flesh, following the desires of flesh and senses, and we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else.
That’s the bad news. That’s the reason Jesus came to proclaim Good News. The reason that Paul proclaims good news.
While this was written to the church at Ephesus, primarily to Gentile Christians, it is applicable to all of us. It is as true for us as it was for them. We are not superior, we are not more enlightened, we don’t have a better grasp on life. No, the truth of the matter is that we were dead through the trespasses and sins in which we once lived. Without Christ, we are dead. Dead because of our trespasses and sins. Dead because of our way of life, because of our walking in sin. Dead. Meaningless. Without Christ we have no relationship with God, and our relationships with each other are distorted. And the consequence of sin is death. Romans 6:23 says that the wages of sin is death.
We were dead because we followed the ways of the world, the worldly age in which we live, the world of evil, the world that is opposed to God, the world that doesn’t think too highly of God. This is a life of disobedience to God. A life of sin. Paul says that all of us, including 1st century Jews and Gentiles, including us today, once lived as disobedient, living according to passions, according to our sinful nature, following our cravings and desires. These are normal human needs, but distorted and subverted. The result of this sinful way of life, without Christ’s intervention, is God’s wrath. We are children of wrath. God’s wrath is his Holy response to sin.
Sin is universal. All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. But this pervasive problem does not mean that we have no value. On the contrary, we were created in God’s image, and though we have a sinful nature as a result of the fall, we still have enormous worth. We are still somehow worthy of God’s love.
And so, even though we were dead in our sins, even though the picture is not a pretty one, God acted. Even though we were dead . . . but God. But God who is rich in mercy. But God who is merciful just because he is that kind of God. But God, out of the great love with which he loved us. Because he is that kind of God. But God, even when we were dead through our trespass. But God made us alive together with Christ. To be saved from sin and death involves a savior, Jesus Christ. A gift requires a giver. By the gift of grace we are saved, not by our own merit, but by the mercy and love of God. The solution to our death is resurrection, a life infused with the life of Christ.
We have been raised up with Christ and God has seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. We are saved by both Christ’s death and his resurrection, and we have been raised and exalted with him. And not only have we been raised with him, we are already seated with him in the heavens. The world is not our home. What is true of Christ is now true of us. We are joined to him, and we are where he is. Because of Christ we have a life of privilege, honor, security, and responsibility. Because we are in Christ, under his influence, we have been changed from death to life, from the world to heaven.
By grace we have been saved through faith, and this is not of our own doing but it is the gift of God. It is not because of works, but simply because of God’s goodness and favor towards us. Though we deserved God’s wrath because of our sinfulness, we instead are the blessed recipients of his saving grace. This is God’s merciful, loving, grace-filled nature. Grace is God’s gift of himself to us, and this very grace connects us, joins us with Christ. And we receive this grace only by our faith. We are saved by grace, not by faith; we receive grace by our faith. “Grace is a gift from the trustworthy God, whom we believe.”[2]
This gift of God, this grace, is, again, not the result of our works, not something we can achieve or do. It’s not about any condition or accomplishment of our own. It is not something we can do anything to acquire. There is nothing we can do to improve our standing before God. The only thing we can boast about is what God has done for us. All we have, all we are, all we do comes from God.
We are what he has made us. We are his workmanship, his artistry, created for good works which God has prepared for us to walk in. We are God’s masterpiece, the result of his and only his creative and redemptive activity. We only receive the gift that is offered. And as his creatures, we are also called to be creative and active and productive, doing good works, living in obedience, being good neighbors: loving our neighbors as ourselves. Good works are the consequence of God’s grace and our salvation. Good works, performed out of love, gratitude, and obedience are the evidence that we have been transformed.
I think part of the problem we have with this whole passage is that we don’t take it seriously. We don’t believe that we are as bad as Paul says we are. After all, we think we are pretty decent folks, thank you very much. But . . . we also don’t believe that we are as good as he says we are. Does God really love us that much? Are we really raised up with Christ? What does that mean? It means that with God we have hope. With God we have value.
Paul clearly states that our condition without God is impossible, fatal. Life without God is meaningless, transitory, chasing after the wind. We don’t like to think about sin and death, but look at the evil in our society. Look at suicide rates, at alcohol and drug abuse, at the greed that has contributed to the current economic crisis. We don’t like the idea of being dead in our trespasses and our sins, but when we choose to live without God, that is in fact our reality. When we ignore God, that’s sin.
We also don’t like the idea of the wrath of God. After all, we prefer a loving, feel good God, made in our image. A wrathful God, we think, is so old-fashioned, so yesterday, so Old Testament. But the whole Bible, the whole story of from the fall to the coming of Jesus to the book of the Revelation, it’s all the story of a holy and wrathful God’s response to sin and disobedience. Just as hate is not the opposite of love, so wrath is not the opposite of love. God’s wrath in fact expresses his love for the world. “If God can look at the sin and injustice in this world and not get angry, he is not much of a God! The God of the Bible is not some immovable, unfeeling force, but a God who cares.”[3] And this loving God’s holy nature abhors our sins. It is as bad as he says it is.
But because of his great love for us, love that supersedes his wrath, and while we were still dead in our sin, he sent his Son to die for us. And by his death, our sinfulness is put to death and we are joined with him and raised with him. From death to life. Jesus’ victory over sin and death determine who we really are: We are united with Christ and raised with him. The same power which raised Christ from the dead is available to us who believe.[4] We are as good as Paul says we are. And this, this is the Good News.
[1] Lincoln, Andrew T. Word Biblical Commentary: Ephesians p. 84
[2] Snodgrass, Kyle. The NIV Application Commentary: Ephesians. P. 105.
[3] Ibid, 111.
[4] Eph 1:19-20
“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God--not the result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.” (Eph. 2:8-10).
These are the last three verses of today’s Epistle from the Letter of Paul to the Ephesians, and have variously been called “a summary of the nature of the salvation achieved by God;”[1] or a summary of Paul’s Gospel, or a summary of the Gospel. So these words are worth noticing and attending to.
Now the word Gospel comes to us from the Old English word “Godspel” meaning Good News, Good Message. Godspel is a translation of the Latin: Bona adnutiatio, or good annunciation, good proclamation. And this is the translation of the Greek word euangelion. Which of course means—Good News.
Now it seems to me that in order to have good news, we must understand the bad news. And that isn’t provided by the lectionary text given to us today. Kind of a criticism of the Book of Common Prayer lectionary in general: it’s heavy on good news, puts a lot of emphasis on building us up and making us feel good, but it doesn’t as often tell us why we need to be built up. If we need to feel good, there might be some reason that we don’t feel good. Otherwise, why do we need to hear good news?
The lectionary occasionally skips over verses; missing things that might make us feel uncomfortable. Ideas like sin, fallenness, lostness. Ideas like the wrath and judgment of God. Things we don’t like—but shouldn’t avoid.
And for today’s Epistle, the lectionary starts actually in the middle of a sentence (in the original Greek text). Ephesians 2:1-7 is one long sentence, very typical of Paul. So in order to understand the context of the Good News at the end of our text, I’m going to read the beginning of the sentence in verses 1-3. This is why we need Good News.
And you were dead through the trespasses and sins in which you once lived, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient. All of us once lived among them in the passions of our flesh, following the desires of flesh and senses, and we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else.
That’s the bad news. That’s the reason Jesus came to proclaim Good News. The reason that Paul proclaims good news.
While this was written to the church at Ephesus, primarily to Gentile Christians, it is applicable to all of us. It is as true for us as it was for them. We are not superior, we are not more enlightened, we don’t have a better grasp on life. No, the truth of the matter is that we were dead through the trespasses and sins in which we once lived. Without Christ, we are dead. Dead because of our trespasses and sins. Dead because of our way of life, because of our walking in sin. Dead. Meaningless. Without Christ we have no relationship with God, and our relationships with each other are distorted. And the consequence of sin is death. Romans 6:23 says that the wages of sin is death.
We were dead because we followed the ways of the world, the worldly age in which we live, the world of evil, the world that is opposed to God, the world that doesn’t think too highly of God. This is a life of disobedience to God. A life of sin. Paul says that all of us, including 1st century Jews and Gentiles, including us today, once lived as disobedient, living according to passions, according to our sinful nature, following our cravings and desires. These are normal human needs, but distorted and subverted. The result of this sinful way of life, without Christ’s intervention, is God’s wrath. We are children of wrath. God’s wrath is his Holy response to sin.
Sin is universal. All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. But this pervasive problem does not mean that we have no value. On the contrary, we were created in God’s image, and though we have a sinful nature as a result of the fall, we still have enormous worth. We are still somehow worthy of God’s love.
And so, even though we were dead in our sins, even though the picture is not a pretty one, God acted. Even though we were dead . . . but God. But God who is rich in mercy. But God who is merciful just because he is that kind of God. But God, out of the great love with which he loved us. Because he is that kind of God. But God, even when we were dead through our trespass. But God made us alive together with Christ. To be saved from sin and death involves a savior, Jesus Christ. A gift requires a giver. By the gift of grace we are saved, not by our own merit, but by the mercy and love of God. The solution to our death is resurrection, a life infused with the life of Christ.
We have been raised up with Christ and God has seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. We are saved by both Christ’s death and his resurrection, and we have been raised and exalted with him. And not only have we been raised with him, we are already seated with him in the heavens. The world is not our home. What is true of Christ is now true of us. We are joined to him, and we are where he is. Because of Christ we have a life of privilege, honor, security, and responsibility. Because we are in Christ, under his influence, we have been changed from death to life, from the world to heaven.
By grace we have been saved through faith, and this is not of our own doing but it is the gift of God. It is not because of works, but simply because of God’s goodness and favor towards us. Though we deserved God’s wrath because of our sinfulness, we instead are the blessed recipients of his saving grace. This is God’s merciful, loving, grace-filled nature. Grace is God’s gift of himself to us, and this very grace connects us, joins us with Christ. And we receive this grace only by our faith. We are saved by grace, not by faith; we receive grace by our faith. “Grace is a gift from the trustworthy God, whom we believe.”[2]
This gift of God, this grace, is, again, not the result of our works, not something we can achieve or do. It’s not about any condition or accomplishment of our own. It is not something we can do anything to acquire. There is nothing we can do to improve our standing before God. The only thing we can boast about is what God has done for us. All we have, all we are, all we do comes from God.
We are what he has made us. We are his workmanship, his artistry, created for good works which God has prepared for us to walk in. We are God’s masterpiece, the result of his and only his creative and redemptive activity. We only receive the gift that is offered. And as his creatures, we are also called to be creative and active and productive, doing good works, living in obedience, being good neighbors: loving our neighbors as ourselves. Good works are the consequence of God’s grace and our salvation. Good works, performed out of love, gratitude, and obedience are the evidence that we have been transformed.
I think part of the problem we have with this whole passage is that we don’t take it seriously. We don’t believe that we are as bad as Paul says we are. After all, we think we are pretty decent folks, thank you very much. But . . . we also don’t believe that we are as good as he says we are. Does God really love us that much? Are we really raised up with Christ? What does that mean? It means that with God we have hope. With God we have value.
Paul clearly states that our condition without God is impossible, fatal. Life without God is meaningless, transitory, chasing after the wind. We don’t like to think about sin and death, but look at the evil in our society. Look at suicide rates, at alcohol and drug abuse, at the greed that has contributed to the current economic crisis. We don’t like the idea of being dead in our trespasses and our sins, but when we choose to live without God, that is in fact our reality. When we ignore God, that’s sin.
We also don’t like the idea of the wrath of God. After all, we prefer a loving, feel good God, made in our image. A wrathful God, we think, is so old-fashioned, so yesterday, so Old Testament. But the whole Bible, the whole story of from the fall to the coming of Jesus to the book of the Revelation, it’s all the story of a holy and wrathful God’s response to sin and disobedience. Just as hate is not the opposite of love, so wrath is not the opposite of love. God’s wrath in fact expresses his love for the world. “If God can look at the sin and injustice in this world and not get angry, he is not much of a God! The God of the Bible is not some immovable, unfeeling force, but a God who cares.”[3] And this loving God’s holy nature abhors our sins. It is as bad as he says it is.
But because of his great love for us, love that supersedes his wrath, and while we were still dead in our sin, he sent his Son to die for us. And by his death, our sinfulness is put to death and we are joined with him and raised with him. From death to life. Jesus’ victory over sin and death determine who we really are: We are united with Christ and raised with him. The same power which raised Christ from the dead is available to us who believe.[4] We are as good as Paul says we are. And this, this is the Good News.
[1] Lincoln, Andrew T. Word Biblical Commentary: Ephesians p. 84
[2] Snodgrass, Kyle. The NIV Application Commentary: Ephesians. P. 105.
[3] Ibid, 111.
[4] Eph 1:19-20
Monday, March 9, 2009
2 Lent (B)
St. Mark's and St. James
In most Episcopal churches we use a lectionary for our Sunday readings—we are using the lectionary in the Book of Common Prayer. In fact, today’s readings are listed at the bottom of page 902 in your prayer books. The readings for the weeks and months ahead are all there.
There’s also a lectionary called the Revised Common Lectionary, which many Episcopal churches use, and it is also used by the Roman Catholic church, the Evangelical Lutheran church, the Missouri Synod Lutherans, the Presbyterians, and many others.
For some of you who have come to the Episcopal Church from another tradition, this may seem very rigid, and quite a strange idea, but there are many advantages, I think. I appreciate that there are selected readings, that I don’t have to come up with ideas on my own—who knows where that would lead us! The 3 year lectionary moves fairly systematically through the 3 synoptic gospels, with John’s gospel sprinkled in (and in fact we hear from John next week); we are in Year B which focuses on the Gospel according to St. Mark. And on any given Sunday I could preach on the Old Testament reading, or the Psalm, or the Epistle, or the Gospel, or any combination of the above, because they are meant to tie together somewhat. The lectionary is also tied to the seasons. In Advent we hear about the Coming One, both the baby in the manger, and the one who will come and rule the world. In Epiphany, Jesus is gradually revealed as Son of God, Son of Man, Messiah. Readings in Lent tend to focus our attention on self-denial, on preparation for the suffering and death of our Lord, and what is required of us as his disciples.
But one big disadvantage is that readings don’t always flow in sequence. In Epiphany we did work systematically through the 1st chapter of Mark, but then two weeks ago we jumped ahead to the Transfiguration in chapter 9. And last week we were back in chapter one, revisiting Jesus’ baptism and temptation, and today we are in chapter 8. I might suggest that, since this year we are focused on Mark, you sit down and read it in one sitting—it won’t take much more than an hour—in order to get the feel and the flow of Mark. Perhaps a good Lenten discipline.
Now, if you were here two weeks ago when we looked at the transfiguration, I tried to put it in context by looking back at chapter 8—I had a seminary professor who always, always said that Context is King. It’s hard to understand what is going on when you lift a few verses out of context. We need to know what’s gone on before for things to make sense.
And the lectionary certainly doesn’t do that very well. In fact, there’s no way that we can know what happened just before today’s Gospel reading. But what just happened is a big deal. Jesus asked the disciples who they think he is, and after kicking around a few ideas, Peter puts their hopes into words: You are the Messiah, the Christ, the promised one! And then, Peter and the disciples were rebuked, warned not to tell anyone! I think this is because they didn’t have the right understanding of the Messiah. They believed that “the Messiah would be a royal figure, the offspring of David, whom God would empower to deliver Israel from her foes.”[1] He would be a triumphant and wise king, a victorious conqueror. I’m sure the disciples had visions of triumph and majesty that clouded their understanding—and great dreams that they themselves would be a part of it all. But this triumphant king was not quite the Messiah they got, and they certainly didn’t understand it all until after Jesus died and rose again.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. After rebuking Peter, we come to today’s reading where Jesus began to explain that the Messiah, the Son of Man, isn’t a conquering king, but that he must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the powers that be, and that he would be killed, and then after 3 days he would rise again. And our beloved and outspoken Peter would have none of this. And I’m sure he didn’t even hear the part about rising again. The Messiah would suffer and die!? What an offensive idea! This doesn’t have to be! The picture of Messiah on the one hand, and the picture of his suffering and death on the other, were incompatible, irreconcilable. This can’t be! It’s like saying that the sky is down and the earth is up. The sun rises in the west. There’s no way this is going to happen, not if Peter can help it. So Peter told him that, that it doesn’t have to be this way. And Jesus rebuked Peter, one of his closest friends, for setting his mind on human things, on having things his way. Jesus must go to Jerusalem, he must suffer and die and rise again. The same Spirit that drove him into the wilderness to be tempted in last week’s reading now drives him towards his destiny.
After rebuking Peter, Jesus called the crowd and his disciples: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” I’m surprised he had any disciples left after this!! Deny themselves, and follow, well they had done that. After all, they had left their lives and their livelihood to follow this teacher. But to take up the cross, that was another thing entirely. The cross was the Roman instrument of capital punishment. The cross was a symbol of oppression and tyranny. The cross was extremely painful torture. And, ultimately, the cross was death. Who wants that? Jesus appeals to their desire to save their own lives as justification for this cross-bearing: in order to save your life you must lose it, and those who lose their lives will find life. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world if they lose their lives? What are their lives, anyway? What can they give in return for their life—but their life. Jesus concludes by warning that those who are ashamed Jesus, of them the Son of man will be ashamed when he comes in judgment. So the better part of wisdom would suggest that it’s better to follow him.
There is a cost to discipleship. If we are to follow Jesus, if we are to be his disciples, we are to deny ourselves, and take up our cross, and follow. To deny ourselves is not just giving up something for Lent. It’s not self-discipline. To deny ourselves is to say “Yes” to God and “NO” to ourselves. It is to disown ourselves, to renounce our right to do things our way. It’s taking our sinful passions and desires and nailing them to the cross. It is to live no longer for ourselves, but for Christ, who died for us and was raised for us (2 Cor 5:15) . What is it that keeps you from giving your life over to God? What are you holding on to? That is what you must nail to the cross.
To take up our cross is to live lives of self-sacrifice, to lay down our lives for each other. It means being willing to suffer, to be shamed, to be rejected as fools for following Jesus. The cross is not a fashion accessory. It’s not some physical affliction, or troublesome family member. It’s not the skeletons in your closet—we all have them. It’s not catastrophe. “The cross represents the oppression caused by humans who oppose the faith and witness of Christians.”[2] It’s about being more concerned for the other than we are for ourselves. To be a disciple, to deny ourselves and take up the cross and follow Christ is a strong challenge and a high calling. It’s not easy or comfortable to be a disciple. And we can’t do it on our own. We can’t do it on our own, but we can do it with Christ’s help. But even so, to be a disciple is a costly proposition.
But what are the costs of not being a disciple, of not following Christ, of not denying ourselves and picking up the cross and following Jesus? Dallas Willard puts it this way:
Nondiscipleship costs abiding peace, a life penetrated throughout by love, faith that sees everything in the light of God’s overriding governance for good, hopefulness that stands firm in the most discouraging of circumstances, power to do what is right and withstand the forces of evil. In short, it costs exactly that abundance of life Jesus said he came to bring (John 10:10). The cross-shaped yoke of Christ is after all an instrument of liberation and power to those who live in it with him and learn the meekness and lowliness of heart that brings rest to the soul.[3]
Peter and the others chose the path of discipleship. And we too have a choice: the challenge of discipleship and all its costly demands, or non-discipleship which ultimately costs us our lives. What will it profit us to gain the whole world, and lose our lives? Amen.
[1] Garland, David E. The NIV Application Commentary: Mark. Zondervan, p. 323.
[2] Ibid, 334-5.
[3] Willard, Dallas. The Spirit of the Disciplines: Understanding how God Changes Lives. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1988, p.263.
In most Episcopal churches we use a lectionary for our Sunday readings—we are using the lectionary in the Book of Common Prayer. In fact, today’s readings are listed at the bottom of page 902 in your prayer books. The readings for the weeks and months ahead are all there.
There’s also a lectionary called the Revised Common Lectionary, which many Episcopal churches use, and it is also used by the Roman Catholic church, the Evangelical Lutheran church, the Missouri Synod Lutherans, the Presbyterians, and many others.
For some of you who have come to the Episcopal Church from another tradition, this may seem very rigid, and quite a strange idea, but there are many advantages, I think. I appreciate that there are selected readings, that I don’t have to come up with ideas on my own—who knows where that would lead us! The 3 year lectionary moves fairly systematically through the 3 synoptic gospels, with John’s gospel sprinkled in (and in fact we hear from John next week); we are in Year B which focuses on the Gospel according to St. Mark. And on any given Sunday I could preach on the Old Testament reading, or the Psalm, or the Epistle, or the Gospel, or any combination of the above, because they are meant to tie together somewhat. The lectionary is also tied to the seasons. In Advent we hear about the Coming One, both the baby in the manger, and the one who will come and rule the world. In Epiphany, Jesus is gradually revealed as Son of God, Son of Man, Messiah. Readings in Lent tend to focus our attention on self-denial, on preparation for the suffering and death of our Lord, and what is required of us as his disciples.
But one big disadvantage is that readings don’t always flow in sequence. In Epiphany we did work systematically through the 1st chapter of Mark, but then two weeks ago we jumped ahead to the Transfiguration in chapter 9. And last week we were back in chapter one, revisiting Jesus’ baptism and temptation, and today we are in chapter 8. I might suggest that, since this year we are focused on Mark, you sit down and read it in one sitting—it won’t take much more than an hour—in order to get the feel and the flow of Mark. Perhaps a good Lenten discipline.
Now, if you were here two weeks ago when we looked at the transfiguration, I tried to put it in context by looking back at chapter 8—I had a seminary professor who always, always said that Context is King. It’s hard to understand what is going on when you lift a few verses out of context. We need to know what’s gone on before for things to make sense.
And the lectionary certainly doesn’t do that very well. In fact, there’s no way that we can know what happened just before today’s Gospel reading. But what just happened is a big deal. Jesus asked the disciples who they think he is, and after kicking around a few ideas, Peter puts their hopes into words: You are the Messiah, the Christ, the promised one! And then, Peter and the disciples were rebuked, warned not to tell anyone! I think this is because they didn’t have the right understanding of the Messiah. They believed that “the Messiah would be a royal figure, the offspring of David, whom God would empower to deliver Israel from her foes.”[1] He would be a triumphant and wise king, a victorious conqueror. I’m sure the disciples had visions of triumph and majesty that clouded their understanding—and great dreams that they themselves would be a part of it all. But this triumphant king was not quite the Messiah they got, and they certainly didn’t understand it all until after Jesus died and rose again.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. After rebuking Peter, we come to today’s reading where Jesus began to explain that the Messiah, the Son of Man, isn’t a conquering king, but that he must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the powers that be, and that he would be killed, and then after 3 days he would rise again. And our beloved and outspoken Peter would have none of this. And I’m sure he didn’t even hear the part about rising again. The Messiah would suffer and die!? What an offensive idea! This doesn’t have to be! The picture of Messiah on the one hand, and the picture of his suffering and death on the other, were incompatible, irreconcilable. This can’t be! It’s like saying that the sky is down and the earth is up. The sun rises in the west. There’s no way this is going to happen, not if Peter can help it. So Peter told him that, that it doesn’t have to be this way. And Jesus rebuked Peter, one of his closest friends, for setting his mind on human things, on having things his way. Jesus must go to Jerusalem, he must suffer and die and rise again. The same Spirit that drove him into the wilderness to be tempted in last week’s reading now drives him towards his destiny.
After rebuking Peter, Jesus called the crowd and his disciples: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” I’m surprised he had any disciples left after this!! Deny themselves, and follow, well they had done that. After all, they had left their lives and their livelihood to follow this teacher. But to take up the cross, that was another thing entirely. The cross was the Roman instrument of capital punishment. The cross was a symbol of oppression and tyranny. The cross was extremely painful torture. And, ultimately, the cross was death. Who wants that? Jesus appeals to their desire to save their own lives as justification for this cross-bearing: in order to save your life you must lose it, and those who lose their lives will find life. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world if they lose their lives? What are their lives, anyway? What can they give in return for their life—but their life. Jesus concludes by warning that those who are ashamed Jesus, of them the Son of man will be ashamed when he comes in judgment. So the better part of wisdom would suggest that it’s better to follow him.
There is a cost to discipleship. If we are to follow Jesus, if we are to be his disciples, we are to deny ourselves, and take up our cross, and follow. To deny ourselves is not just giving up something for Lent. It’s not self-discipline. To deny ourselves is to say “Yes” to God and “NO” to ourselves. It is to disown ourselves, to renounce our right to do things our way. It’s taking our sinful passions and desires and nailing them to the cross. It is to live no longer for ourselves, but for Christ, who died for us and was raised for us (2 Cor 5:15) . What is it that keeps you from giving your life over to God? What are you holding on to? That is what you must nail to the cross.
To take up our cross is to live lives of self-sacrifice, to lay down our lives for each other. It means being willing to suffer, to be shamed, to be rejected as fools for following Jesus. The cross is not a fashion accessory. It’s not some physical affliction, or troublesome family member. It’s not the skeletons in your closet—we all have them. It’s not catastrophe. “The cross represents the oppression caused by humans who oppose the faith and witness of Christians.”[2] It’s about being more concerned for the other than we are for ourselves. To be a disciple, to deny ourselves and take up the cross and follow Christ is a strong challenge and a high calling. It’s not easy or comfortable to be a disciple. And we can’t do it on our own. We can’t do it on our own, but we can do it with Christ’s help. But even so, to be a disciple is a costly proposition.
But what are the costs of not being a disciple, of not following Christ, of not denying ourselves and picking up the cross and following Jesus? Dallas Willard puts it this way:
Nondiscipleship costs abiding peace, a life penetrated throughout by love, faith that sees everything in the light of God’s overriding governance for good, hopefulness that stands firm in the most discouraging of circumstances, power to do what is right and withstand the forces of evil. In short, it costs exactly that abundance of life Jesus said he came to bring (John 10:10). The cross-shaped yoke of Christ is after all an instrument of liberation and power to those who live in it with him and learn the meekness and lowliness of heart that brings rest to the soul.[3]
Peter and the others chose the path of discipleship. And we too have a choice: the challenge of discipleship and all its costly demands, or non-discipleship which ultimately costs us our lives. What will it profit us to gain the whole world, and lose our lives? Amen.
[1] Garland, David E. The NIV Application Commentary: Mark. Zondervan, p. 323.
[2] Ibid, 334-5.
[3] Willard, Dallas. The Spirit of the Disciplines: Understanding how God Changes Lives. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1988, p.263.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
1 Lent (B)
As some of you may know, I am a member of that increasingly rare species, a cradle Episcopalian, baptized as an infant in an Episcopal Church in Phoenix, AZ. Growing up we usually lived in small towns where there was no Episcopal Church, so my sister and I went to Sunday school in whatever protestant church was convenient. But I do remember my family often made it a point to drive to an Episcopal Church on Christmas Eve and Easter. Then, when I was ten we moved to Littleton Colorado, and became involved in a church, St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church. I was confirmed there, active in youth groups and so on. Later on I was married in an Episcopal church, active in the Episcopal Cursillo, active in church until my mid-twenties when my first husband and I divorced. Then for a number of reasons, I wandered away and I was gone for about fifteen years. Larry and I were married in a Methodist church, and we tried a few different churches in the early years of our marriage, but didn’t ever really settle in. When life crises finally caught up with us and caused us to consider that religion and God may be of some help, we went to a little Methodist church in the town where we lived. Larry was baptized there, and we were welcomed with open arms.
But deep down my heart yearned for the Episcopal Church. Larry and I were having some problems, and I wanted the comfort of the Eucharist. I longed for the rhythm and cycle of the liturgical seasons. I missed the recitation of psalms, the pattern of our form of worship. I’d even listen to Catholic Mass on EWTN because it sounded familiar, it sounded “right.” Someone told me that once you’ve been immersed in a liturgical worship experience, it’s hard to feel satisfied by other styles, and I felt that, I believed that, yearned for that, and eventually made my way back. And it was like coming home.
The rhythm and cycle of the seasons add both depth and meaning to the Christian year, I think, and many denominations don’t pay them much attention. From Advent we move to Christmas, from Christmas to Epiphany, from Epiphany to Lent, from Lent to Holy Week and Easter, and then to Pentecost, the long green season, and then it starts all over again.
Here we are in Lent. Lent is the forty day period preceding Easter (not counting Sundays). The word, Lent, comes from an old English word, lencten, which means spring. It is also from the Germanic root for long, to lengthen, because in spring the days are getting longer.
Forty is a special number in the Bible, often meant to signify very long time. During the flood it rained for forty days and forty nights, and then God sent a rainbow to symbolize his promise, his covenant, to never destroy the earth again because of our sinfulness. Our Epistle reading in 1st Peter said that the flood was a foreshadowing of our baptisms.
Moses spent forty days encountering God on Mt. Sinai. Elijah walked for forty days and nights on his way to Mt. Horeb. The Hebrew People spent forty years in the wilderness before they entered the Promised Land. And Jesus was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, the desert, where he spent forty days. There he was tempted by Satan and he was with the wild beasts. And then, some traditions say that Jesus spent 40 hours in the tomb. Another “40.”
Forty days. Forty days to examine our selves and our lives in order to prepare for Easter. Forty days of self examination. Forty days of repentance. Forty days of penitence. Forty days of penance. Forty days of prayer. Forty days of fasting. Forty days of self-denial. Forty days of abstinence. Forty days of reading and meditating on God’s word. Forty days of study. Forty days.
Have all of you come up with a Lenten discipline? Is there something you are giving up for Lent, like candy or alcohol or caffeine or video games? Are there things that you are adding on, like prayer or study? Why do we do this? Is it so that we can feel good about ourselves, our self-denial? Or Is it a time to diet so we can look good at Easter? Do we do this . . . just because it’s what we are supposed to do, to give something up for Lent?
We need to examine our motives and pick things that truly challenge our hearts, things that point us to God, creating space for his presence in our lives.
So why do we do give up things for Lent?
I believe it’s because we are addicted people. Jean Calvin said our hearts are idol factories. We give meaningless things too much importance in our lives, making them idols, and they become addictions. We are addicted to our morning coffee. We are addicted to our daily routines. We are addicted to television. We are addicted to relationships. We are addicted to sugar, to alcohol, to our fears, to our desires. All these things at one time or another usurp the place of God in our lives. They get in the way. They growl and bark like wild beasts, clamoring for our attention. They interfere with our ability to listen to God, to hear him in our lives.
The idea of giving something up is to clear out the noise of our desires, and in that empty space open ourselves up to God’s presence. When our routines our interrupted, when we find ourselves yearning for whatever it is that we have given up, we can find God in that space. If we have chosen wisely, if it doesn’t come too easily, we can find God in that wanting, in that yearning, in that desire. .
Lent is also about personal reflection and self-examination, taking stock of our lives. Where are we in our relationships with God and with each other? How are we doing? What could we do better? How can we improve our relationships with God and with each other? How can we make more space in our lives for those things that are truly important?
Lent can truly be a time of growth and meaning if we have chosen our disciplines well. So if you haven’t chosen something, or even several things, make a point of choosing wisely. If you usually watch the nightly news before bed, try shutting off the television and spending that time in quiet mediation. Change something. Create an emptiness. Challenge yourself to find space and time for growth and for God.
When we give up things that we perhaps love a little too much, we can find God in that emptiness. We can find God when we open ourselves up to hear him, through study of his word, through reading the psalms, through silent meditation. And as we journey through Lent we can pray today’s psalm with all our hearts:
Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths.
Lead my in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; in you have I trusted all the day long.
Remember, O Lord, your compassion and love, for they are from everlasting.
Remember not the sins of my youth and my transgressions; remember me according to your love and for the sake of your goodness, O Lord.
Gracious and upright is the Lord; therefore he teaches sinners in his way.
He guides the humble in doing right and teaches his way to the lowly. All the paths of the Lord are love and faithfulness to those who keep his covenant and his testimonies.
Amen.
But deep down my heart yearned for the Episcopal Church. Larry and I were having some problems, and I wanted the comfort of the Eucharist. I longed for the rhythm and cycle of the liturgical seasons. I missed the recitation of psalms, the pattern of our form of worship. I’d even listen to Catholic Mass on EWTN because it sounded familiar, it sounded “right.” Someone told me that once you’ve been immersed in a liturgical worship experience, it’s hard to feel satisfied by other styles, and I felt that, I believed that, yearned for that, and eventually made my way back. And it was like coming home.
The rhythm and cycle of the seasons add both depth and meaning to the Christian year, I think, and many denominations don’t pay them much attention. From Advent we move to Christmas, from Christmas to Epiphany, from Epiphany to Lent, from Lent to Holy Week and Easter, and then to Pentecost, the long green season, and then it starts all over again.
Here we are in Lent. Lent is the forty day period preceding Easter (not counting Sundays). The word, Lent, comes from an old English word, lencten, which means spring. It is also from the Germanic root for long, to lengthen, because in spring the days are getting longer.
Forty is a special number in the Bible, often meant to signify very long time. During the flood it rained for forty days and forty nights, and then God sent a rainbow to symbolize his promise, his covenant, to never destroy the earth again because of our sinfulness. Our Epistle reading in 1st Peter said that the flood was a foreshadowing of our baptisms.
Moses spent forty days encountering God on Mt. Sinai. Elijah walked for forty days and nights on his way to Mt. Horeb. The Hebrew People spent forty years in the wilderness before they entered the Promised Land. And Jesus was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, the desert, where he spent forty days. There he was tempted by Satan and he was with the wild beasts. And then, some traditions say that Jesus spent 40 hours in the tomb. Another “40.”
Forty days. Forty days to examine our selves and our lives in order to prepare for Easter. Forty days of self examination. Forty days of repentance. Forty days of penitence. Forty days of penance. Forty days of prayer. Forty days of fasting. Forty days of self-denial. Forty days of abstinence. Forty days of reading and meditating on God’s word. Forty days of study. Forty days.
Have all of you come up with a Lenten discipline? Is there something you are giving up for Lent, like candy or alcohol or caffeine or video games? Are there things that you are adding on, like prayer or study? Why do we do this? Is it so that we can feel good about ourselves, our self-denial? Or Is it a time to diet so we can look good at Easter? Do we do this . . . just because it’s what we are supposed to do, to give something up for Lent?
We need to examine our motives and pick things that truly challenge our hearts, things that point us to God, creating space for his presence in our lives.
So why do we do give up things for Lent?
I believe it’s because we are addicted people. Jean Calvin said our hearts are idol factories. We give meaningless things too much importance in our lives, making them idols, and they become addictions. We are addicted to our morning coffee. We are addicted to our daily routines. We are addicted to television. We are addicted to relationships. We are addicted to sugar, to alcohol, to our fears, to our desires. All these things at one time or another usurp the place of God in our lives. They get in the way. They growl and bark like wild beasts, clamoring for our attention. They interfere with our ability to listen to God, to hear him in our lives.
The idea of giving something up is to clear out the noise of our desires, and in that empty space open ourselves up to God’s presence. When our routines our interrupted, when we find ourselves yearning for whatever it is that we have given up, we can find God in that space. If we have chosen wisely, if it doesn’t come too easily, we can find God in that wanting, in that yearning, in that desire. .
Lent is also about personal reflection and self-examination, taking stock of our lives. Where are we in our relationships with God and with each other? How are we doing? What could we do better? How can we improve our relationships with God and with each other? How can we make more space in our lives for those things that are truly important?
Lent can truly be a time of growth and meaning if we have chosen our disciplines well. So if you haven’t chosen something, or even several things, make a point of choosing wisely. If you usually watch the nightly news before bed, try shutting off the television and spending that time in quiet mediation. Change something. Create an emptiness. Challenge yourself to find space and time for growth and for God.
When we give up things that we perhaps love a little too much, we can find God in that emptiness. We can find God when we open ourselves up to hear him, through study of his word, through reading the psalms, through silent meditation. And as we journey through Lent we can pray today’s psalm with all our hearts:
Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths.
Lead my in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; in you have I trusted all the day long.
Remember, O Lord, your compassion and love, for they are from everlasting.
Remember not the sins of my youth and my transgressions; remember me according to your love and for the sake of your goodness, O Lord.
Gracious and upright is the Lord; therefore he teaches sinners in his way.
He guides the humble in doing right and teaches his way to the lowly. All the paths of the Lord are love and faithfulness to those who keep his covenant and his testimonies.
Amen.
Last Epiphany (B)
(St. Mark's and St. James')
The man whispered, “God, speak to me.”And a meadowlark sang. But the man did not hear.
So the man yelled, “God, speak to me!”Thunder rolled across the sky. But the man did not listen.
The man looked around and said, “God, let me see you.”A star shone brightly. But he noticed it not.
And the man shouted, “God, show me a miracle.”And a life was born. But the man was unaware.
So, the man cried out in despair, “Touch me, God, and let me know that you are here!”
Whereupon God reached down and touched the man.But the man brushed the butterfly away and walked on.
I don’t know about you, but there have been times in my life that I’ve felt just like that. I wanted God to make himself real to me. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to FEEL his presence in my life. I wanted to know that he was real. That poem really spoke to me, though, and I realized that I was trying to determine how God revealed himself—I wanted things to be neat and tidy and plain. And God doesn’t work that way very often. Well, almost never. And I’ve come to perceive God in my life, by the transformation of my life and the lives of those around me. I find him by listening to him, by reading the scriptures, and by being open to his revealing himself in whatever manner he chooses.
I think Elijah had the same kind of experience, wanting God to reveal himself in some tangible way. He was fleeing for his life, hiding in a cave, and God came to him on the mountain. God told him to go out of the cave and stand on the side of the mountain, and the Lord would pass by. First of all, there was a great and mighty wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces. Now that’s some kind of wind, more of a hurricane, and then some!! That’s the kind of wind that would express God!! At the beginning of the creation story, a wind from God swept over the waters (Gen 1:2). And after the flood, God made a wind blow over the earth and the waters subsided (Gen. 8:1). During the plagues in Egypt which preceded the Exodus, God’s wind brought the Locusts, and then later drove them away (Ex 10). And it was wind sent by God that made the Red Sea part, so the Israelites could pass over on dry land. God creates wind, but he is not in the wind, even one powerful enough to split mountains and break rocks.
Then there was an earthquake and a fire. When God called Moses he spoke out of the flames of a burning bush. When Moses brought the people to God on Mt. Sinai, the Mountain was wrapped in smoke, because the LORD had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently. (Ex. 19:18). Later, the presence of the Glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain (Ex 24:17). God appeared in the fire of his own glory, and he spoke out of the fire, but he was not the fire. He was not the earthquake. For Elijah, the Lord was not in the fire, not in the earthquake, but in a still, small voice, a low whisper. Not at all what Elijah expected, probably not even what he wanted. After all, God had made himself known the Israelites and to Moses in fire and earthquake. But God revealed himself to Elijah in quiet and stillness. And then Elijah knew that he was in God’s presence in the silence, and he covered his face.
Likewise for us. God is rarely found today in great and mighty manifestations. We don’t expect to find him in mighty wind, or in fire, or in earthquakes. We find him in the stillness of our hearts. We find him in worship. We find him revealed in people around us. And we find him in Jesus.
I would think that when Peter and James and John saw Jesus transfigured before them, with clothing glowing whiter than white and a great and mighty voice saying, “This is my son, my beloved,” they would have been convinced. God’s voice out of the cloud of glory probably would have been enough to convince me!! But they were afraid, they didn’t understand. And they were told to keep this whole experience a secret.
So why were they witnesses of this great event?
In our Journey through Epiphany we’ve just made it through the first chapter of the Gospel according to St. Mark, and now we jump way ahead to chapter 9. In chapter 8, Jesus asked the disciples who they thought he was, and Peter rightly answered that he was the Messiah. But when Jesus began to explain to them that he would have to suffer and be killed, and then rise again, Peter rebuked him, and the others I’m sure felt the same way. This isn’t how the program should go for the Messiah, the promised one. Jesus continued with some teaching: if any would come after me, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. Familiar words to us, right? And 6 days later he took Peter and James and John, his inner circle, his closest companions, up on the mountain with him. For these 3 disciples, this must have been powerful affirmation that Jesus was truly the messiah, though they still were greatly troubled that he would have to suffer and die. Their recollection of this experience would have meaning only in light of the whole of Christ’s life, death and resurrection.
Because it is only through the life, suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus that we can comprehend that he is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God. Without his death and resurrection he is just a rabbi. But by his death he overcame death, and by his resurrection he gave us new life, and the true hope of eternal life to come.
When God spoke out of the cloud, he said, “this is my Son, the beloved. Listen to him!!” And that is how we find God. We listen to his Son. We listen to the words of the Scriptures. We listen to the stillness in our hearts when we are in prayer. And in those days, to listen, to hear also implied obedience. We find God when we listen to him and when we act accordingly.
This is my Beloved Son; Listen to him.—Take these words into your imagination. Let them run freely over time and space. Consider how many occasions there are when the words “This is my beloved Son; listen to him” have been and are the supreme wisdom. When a life looks out on the world in the early years, when it is choosing its goals and its way, its ambitions and aspirations, then listen to him who rejected the proffered kingdoms of this world for the larger kingdom of God. When life goes into eclipse, when darkness covers the face of the sun, in sorrow and failure and despair, then listen to him who was a man of sorrows, and whose revelation of God brings the sustaining word of comfort and the enabling word of hope. When life waxes in might and gathers power or riches, when the siren voices of self-indulgence are sounding, then listen to him who can save life from going to pieces. So, too, at every turning point of human history, as the nations stand choosing between life and death. This is my beloved Son; listen to him, whose way . . . is the only way of survival.[1]
This is my beloved Son, listen to him! Listen to Him. Listen to the Silence, to the Morning Star rising in your heart. Listen and Know that He is God. Amen.
[1] The Interpreter’s Bible, Volume VII. New York: Abingdon Press, 1951, pg 777ff.
The man whispered, “God, speak to me.”And a meadowlark sang. But the man did not hear.
So the man yelled, “God, speak to me!”Thunder rolled across the sky. But the man did not listen.
The man looked around and said, “God, let me see you.”A star shone brightly. But he noticed it not.
And the man shouted, “God, show me a miracle.”And a life was born. But the man was unaware.
So, the man cried out in despair, “Touch me, God, and let me know that you are here!”
Whereupon God reached down and touched the man.But the man brushed the butterfly away and walked on.
I don’t know about you, but there have been times in my life that I’ve felt just like that. I wanted God to make himself real to me. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to FEEL his presence in my life. I wanted to know that he was real. That poem really spoke to me, though, and I realized that I was trying to determine how God revealed himself—I wanted things to be neat and tidy and plain. And God doesn’t work that way very often. Well, almost never. And I’ve come to perceive God in my life, by the transformation of my life and the lives of those around me. I find him by listening to him, by reading the scriptures, and by being open to his revealing himself in whatever manner he chooses.
I think Elijah had the same kind of experience, wanting God to reveal himself in some tangible way. He was fleeing for his life, hiding in a cave, and God came to him on the mountain. God told him to go out of the cave and stand on the side of the mountain, and the Lord would pass by. First of all, there was a great and mighty wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces. Now that’s some kind of wind, more of a hurricane, and then some!! That’s the kind of wind that would express God!! At the beginning of the creation story, a wind from God swept over the waters (Gen 1:2). And after the flood, God made a wind blow over the earth and the waters subsided (Gen. 8:1). During the plagues in Egypt which preceded the Exodus, God’s wind brought the Locusts, and then later drove them away (Ex 10). And it was wind sent by God that made the Red Sea part, so the Israelites could pass over on dry land. God creates wind, but he is not in the wind, even one powerful enough to split mountains and break rocks.
Then there was an earthquake and a fire. When God called Moses he spoke out of the flames of a burning bush. When Moses brought the people to God on Mt. Sinai, the Mountain was wrapped in smoke, because the LORD had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently. (Ex. 19:18). Later, the presence of the Glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain (Ex 24:17). God appeared in the fire of his own glory, and he spoke out of the fire, but he was not the fire. He was not the earthquake. For Elijah, the Lord was not in the fire, not in the earthquake, but in a still, small voice, a low whisper. Not at all what Elijah expected, probably not even what he wanted. After all, God had made himself known the Israelites and to Moses in fire and earthquake. But God revealed himself to Elijah in quiet and stillness. And then Elijah knew that he was in God’s presence in the silence, and he covered his face.
Likewise for us. God is rarely found today in great and mighty manifestations. We don’t expect to find him in mighty wind, or in fire, or in earthquakes. We find him in the stillness of our hearts. We find him in worship. We find him revealed in people around us. And we find him in Jesus.
I would think that when Peter and James and John saw Jesus transfigured before them, with clothing glowing whiter than white and a great and mighty voice saying, “This is my son, my beloved,” they would have been convinced. God’s voice out of the cloud of glory probably would have been enough to convince me!! But they were afraid, they didn’t understand. And they were told to keep this whole experience a secret.
So why were they witnesses of this great event?
In our Journey through Epiphany we’ve just made it through the first chapter of the Gospel according to St. Mark, and now we jump way ahead to chapter 9. In chapter 8, Jesus asked the disciples who they thought he was, and Peter rightly answered that he was the Messiah. But when Jesus began to explain to them that he would have to suffer and be killed, and then rise again, Peter rebuked him, and the others I’m sure felt the same way. This isn’t how the program should go for the Messiah, the promised one. Jesus continued with some teaching: if any would come after me, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. Familiar words to us, right? And 6 days later he took Peter and James and John, his inner circle, his closest companions, up on the mountain with him. For these 3 disciples, this must have been powerful affirmation that Jesus was truly the messiah, though they still were greatly troubled that he would have to suffer and die. Their recollection of this experience would have meaning only in light of the whole of Christ’s life, death and resurrection.
Because it is only through the life, suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus that we can comprehend that he is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God. Without his death and resurrection he is just a rabbi. But by his death he overcame death, and by his resurrection he gave us new life, and the true hope of eternal life to come.
When God spoke out of the cloud, he said, “this is my Son, the beloved. Listen to him!!” And that is how we find God. We listen to his Son. We listen to the words of the Scriptures. We listen to the stillness in our hearts when we are in prayer. And in those days, to listen, to hear also implied obedience. We find God when we listen to him and when we act accordingly.
This is my Beloved Son; Listen to him.—Take these words into your imagination. Let them run freely over time and space. Consider how many occasions there are when the words “This is my beloved Son; listen to him” have been and are the supreme wisdom. When a life looks out on the world in the early years, when it is choosing its goals and its way, its ambitions and aspirations, then listen to him who rejected the proffered kingdoms of this world for the larger kingdom of God. When life goes into eclipse, when darkness covers the face of the sun, in sorrow and failure and despair, then listen to him who was a man of sorrows, and whose revelation of God brings the sustaining word of comfort and the enabling word of hope. When life waxes in might and gathers power or riches, when the siren voices of self-indulgence are sounding, then listen to him who can save life from going to pieces. So, too, at every turning point of human history, as the nations stand choosing between life and death. This is my beloved Son; listen to him, whose way . . . is the only way of survival.[1]
This is my beloved Son, listen to him! Listen to Him. Listen to the Silence, to the Morning Star rising in your heart. Listen and Know that He is God. Amen.
[1] The Interpreter’s Bible, Volume VII. New York: Abingdon Press, 1951, pg 777ff.
6 Epiphany (B)
(St. James' McLeansboro)
There are two ways to die in the desert: by thirst and by drowning. The psalmist is
well aware of both extremes: a parched desert and a flash flood. Throughout these two psalms, Psalm 42 and 43, flood and draught serve as metaphors for fulfillment and yearning, joy and despair -- in God . It is a pilgrimage full of painful wrenchings and surprising gifts, of desiccation and delight. To put it bluntly, these psalms acknowledges the paradox about the life of faith. Water is life and water is death. And death is life, life is death. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”
In the first half of Psalm 42, the psalmist thirsts for God, longing for his presence. He knows that only God can quench his thirst; and “he understands that the dissatisfaction of life is the thirst for God” (Mays 173). His food is his tears; he feels forgotten and cast off, and taunted by “those” who ask him where his God is. “The taunt and the social conduct that it represents are ‘the oppression of the enemy’ (42:9, 43:2), the cause of the lament (42:3,9; 43:2);” (Mays 175). He remembers the experience of worship with both despair and with longing. And we can relate to those feelings. We feel abandoned by God for any number of reasons. Sometimes we are the ones who have left, but yearn for his presence. Other times we are challenged by difficulties, and finally there are just dry seasons in our relationship with God. Even as Christians, we feel a longing for God’s presence in our lives, especially living as we do “in a world that constantly raises the question, ‘where is your God?’”(Mays 176). We feel abandoned by God. We wonder why we don’t perceive his presence in our lives, or in the world. And we suffer because of the taunts of society and the challenges to our faith.
The Second half of Psalm 42 speaks of a downcast soul, still thinking of God, but now he is overwhelmed by torrents of roaring water. IT seems that the psalmist is near defeat, on his knees, drowning, dying and broken. And then . . then he remembers. He remembers the covenant love of Yahweh and surrenders. The tide turns. There is still despair, but something has changed. There’s a glimmer of hope. Likewise for us, it is when we are broken, when we are overwhelmed, when we are dying inside, we become willing to surrender to the Lordship of God. While our circumstances may not change, we come to trust in the Lord’s ability to manage our lives. There is light and there is hope.
In Psalm 43 the lament continues, with a petition for God to take up the Psalmist’s cause, and rescue him. After surrendering he has the confidence to ask for rescue, and turn to God who is his shelter. He is still oppressed, but he prays for light and truth to guide him to God, where he can once again join in worship and praise. After we surrender our lives to the Lord, the clouds of despair part, and we can begin to see more clearly. We have the confidence to ask for light and for truth and for guidance, and we are brought to a desire for praise and worship.
In the same way that the Psalmist suffer, and we suffer, Jesus also suffered during his incarnation, and “echoed the language of these psalms in speaking of his own downcast, disquieted soul.” (Mays 176). Jesus understands our suffering. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus taught us that if we yearn for him we will be blessed: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied” (Matthew 5:6). Finally, Jesus “reveals himself as the source of the water that satisfies the thirst of the soul (John 4:14; 6:35);” (Mays 176). He gives living water, water that is gushing up into eternal life.
It is not without significance that in nearly the center of this 16 verse lament, the name THE LORD stands out in striking contrast to the twenty or more times God is named, depending on the translation. God is Elohim, or El, the sovereign creator. THE LORD is Yahweh, the God of covenant, of faithfulness, of loving-kindness. THE LORD initiated the old covenants with Abraham, and with Israel through Moses, and with David and his line. Covenant is a special relationship as the Lord’s chosen people, but it “involved more than privilege; it also entailed responsibility. . . .For Yahweh to be their God, Israel had to be like him.” (Alexander, 424). This relationship was conditional. They were to obey his commands. Their behavior was to be without reproach. And, as we know, none were able to do this.
But Jesus as the seed of Abraham, and the offspring of David, did meet God’s requirements. His sacrificial death and the shedding of his blood ratified a new covenant. A new testament. And the Good News is that Jesus is Lord. When we surrender to Jesus as Lord, we are by his blood brought into a relationship with God. Because of Christ we are able to be the New Israel. We are able to be like him, following in his footsteps, imitating him (1 Peter 2:21). Jesus is our light (John 1) and our truth (John 14:6). He is our guide, leading us to the Father in worship.
St. Augustine is remembered as saying, “Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee, O God.” That, too, is the thirst the psalmist felt, the desire of the mystics, and our truest longing. One of our problems today is that we don’t recognize that thirst for what it is, but we try to fill the void through alcohol, sex, drugs, food, television, anything to numb the pain of this horrific thirst. But nothing will satisfy this gaping hole in our souls except its source. When we are able to admit our deficiencies and surrender them to God, surrendering our entire lives to the Lordship of Christ, life begins to get better. It is more fulfilling. The emptiness is filled by God and our desire to please him. As we pray and yield all aspects of our lives to the Lordship of Jesus, we find we are filled. In his exchange with the Samaritan woman in John 4, Jesus recognizes that her problem is dissatisfaction, and he offers water that satisfies. That same living water is available to us when we surrender and offer him our lives. As we offer more of our self and our gaping need to God, more of the emptiness is filled.
Yes, it is normal for us as Christians to suffer and to feel far from God. But in remembering what he has done for us, and his love for us, we can get re-oriented to look to God as our hope and our help and our salvation. The psalmist remembers and anticipates temple worship and prays for light and faithfulness to guide his path to the temple and to God. In corporate worship we gather together to remember his love, and set our focus on God instead of our problems. In remembering his experiences of worship, the Psalmist is able to move from despair to hope. In worship, “in and through the holy space filled with the faithful and their liturgies, the soul ‘sees the face of God.’ That encounter is the answer to the question set by the society and the solution to the troubles that challenge faith” (Mays 175). Where is your God? He is here, now, present in our worship. He is present in the Eucharist. He is here.
Works Cited
Alexander, T. Desmond, et al., eds. New Dictionary of Biblical Theology. Downers Grove,
IL: InterVarsity Press, 2000.
Mays, James L. Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching: Psalms.
Louisville: John Knox Press, 1994.
There are two ways to die in the desert: by thirst and by drowning. The psalmist is
well aware of both extremes: a parched desert and a flash flood. Throughout these two psalms, Psalm 42 and 43, flood and draught serve as metaphors for fulfillment and yearning, joy and despair -- in God . It is a pilgrimage full of painful wrenchings and surprising gifts, of desiccation and delight. To put it bluntly, these psalms acknowledges the paradox about the life of faith. Water is life and water is death. And death is life, life is death. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”
In the first half of Psalm 42, the psalmist thirsts for God, longing for his presence. He knows that only God can quench his thirst; and “he understands that the dissatisfaction of life is the thirst for God” (Mays 173). His food is his tears; he feels forgotten and cast off, and taunted by “those” who ask him where his God is. “The taunt and the social conduct that it represents are ‘the oppression of the enemy’ (42:9, 43:2), the cause of the lament (42:3,9; 43:2);” (Mays 175). He remembers the experience of worship with both despair and with longing. And we can relate to those feelings. We feel abandoned by God for any number of reasons. Sometimes we are the ones who have left, but yearn for his presence. Other times we are challenged by difficulties, and finally there are just dry seasons in our relationship with God. Even as Christians, we feel a longing for God’s presence in our lives, especially living as we do “in a world that constantly raises the question, ‘where is your God?’”(Mays 176). We feel abandoned by God. We wonder why we don’t perceive his presence in our lives, or in the world. And we suffer because of the taunts of society and the challenges to our faith.
The Second half of Psalm 42 speaks of a downcast soul, still thinking of God, but now he is overwhelmed by torrents of roaring water. IT seems that the psalmist is near defeat, on his knees, drowning, dying and broken. And then . . then he remembers. He remembers the covenant love of Yahweh and surrenders. The tide turns. There is still despair, but something has changed. There’s a glimmer of hope. Likewise for us, it is when we are broken, when we are overwhelmed, when we are dying inside, we become willing to surrender to the Lordship of God. While our circumstances may not change, we come to trust in the Lord’s ability to manage our lives. There is light and there is hope.
In Psalm 43 the lament continues, with a petition for God to take up the Psalmist’s cause, and rescue him. After surrendering he has the confidence to ask for rescue, and turn to God who is his shelter. He is still oppressed, but he prays for light and truth to guide him to God, where he can once again join in worship and praise. After we surrender our lives to the Lord, the clouds of despair part, and we can begin to see more clearly. We have the confidence to ask for light and for truth and for guidance, and we are brought to a desire for praise and worship.
In the same way that the Psalmist suffer, and we suffer, Jesus also suffered during his incarnation, and “echoed the language of these psalms in speaking of his own downcast, disquieted soul.” (Mays 176). Jesus understands our suffering. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus taught us that if we yearn for him we will be blessed: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied” (Matthew 5:6). Finally, Jesus “reveals himself as the source of the water that satisfies the thirst of the soul (John 4:14; 6:35);” (Mays 176). He gives living water, water that is gushing up into eternal life.
It is not without significance that in nearly the center of this 16 verse lament, the name THE LORD stands out in striking contrast to the twenty or more times God is named, depending on the translation. God is Elohim, or El, the sovereign creator. THE LORD is Yahweh, the God of covenant, of faithfulness, of loving-kindness. THE LORD initiated the old covenants with Abraham, and with Israel through Moses, and with David and his line. Covenant is a special relationship as the Lord’s chosen people, but it “involved more than privilege; it also entailed responsibility. . . .For Yahweh to be their God, Israel had to be like him.” (Alexander, 424). This relationship was conditional. They were to obey his commands. Their behavior was to be without reproach. And, as we know, none were able to do this.
But Jesus as the seed of Abraham, and the offspring of David, did meet God’s requirements. His sacrificial death and the shedding of his blood ratified a new covenant. A new testament. And the Good News is that Jesus is Lord. When we surrender to Jesus as Lord, we are by his blood brought into a relationship with God. Because of Christ we are able to be the New Israel. We are able to be like him, following in his footsteps, imitating him (1 Peter 2:21). Jesus is our light (John 1) and our truth (John 14:6). He is our guide, leading us to the Father in worship.
St. Augustine is remembered as saying, “Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee, O God.” That, too, is the thirst the psalmist felt, the desire of the mystics, and our truest longing. One of our problems today is that we don’t recognize that thirst for what it is, but we try to fill the void through alcohol, sex, drugs, food, television, anything to numb the pain of this horrific thirst. But nothing will satisfy this gaping hole in our souls except its source. When we are able to admit our deficiencies and surrender them to God, surrendering our entire lives to the Lordship of Christ, life begins to get better. It is more fulfilling. The emptiness is filled by God and our desire to please him. As we pray and yield all aspects of our lives to the Lordship of Jesus, we find we are filled. In his exchange with the Samaritan woman in John 4, Jesus recognizes that her problem is dissatisfaction, and he offers water that satisfies. That same living water is available to us when we surrender and offer him our lives. As we offer more of our self and our gaping need to God, more of the emptiness is filled.
Yes, it is normal for us as Christians to suffer and to feel far from God. But in remembering what he has done for us, and his love for us, we can get re-oriented to look to God as our hope and our help and our salvation. The psalmist remembers and anticipates temple worship and prays for light and faithfulness to guide his path to the temple and to God. In corporate worship we gather together to remember his love, and set our focus on God instead of our problems. In remembering his experiences of worship, the Psalmist is able to move from despair to hope. In worship, “in and through the holy space filled with the faithful and their liturgies, the soul ‘sees the face of God.’ That encounter is the answer to the question set by the society and the solution to the troubles that challenge faith” (Mays 175). Where is your God? He is here, now, present in our worship. He is present in the Eucharist. He is here.
Works Cited
Alexander, T. Desmond, et al., eds. New Dictionary of Biblical Theology. Downers Grove,
IL: InterVarsity Press, 2000.
Mays, James L. Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching: Psalms.
Louisville: John Knox Press, 1994.
5 Epiphany (B)
I imagine that most of you have heard the phrase “The Tyranny of the Urgent.” The idea is that we spend too much of our time on those things that are urgent, the things that clamor for our attention, and often neglect the truly important things. At work it may feel like you are always putting out fires, taking care of the things that make the most noise, and you neglect some of the more important issues or projects. And at home it’s just as bad. We spend our time taking care of business, doing things, and neglecting our relationships with people. What is needed is to balance the truly important with the merely urgent. If I remember right, there was a tool whereby you analyzed your tasks and gave them various priorities depending on where they fell on the scales of important and urgent. Lowest priority would be those things that are unimportant and not urgent. Next up the scale would be those things that are urgent, but not important. After that would be the things that are important, but not urgent. If you spent most of your time on the things that are important but not urgent, it will pay dividends with fewer things becoming truly urgent. And finally of course, the highest priority is automatically given to those things which are both important and urgent.
For Mark the evangelist, the author of our gospel, pretty much everything Jesus did seems to be both important and urgent. Mark’s writing almost leaves us out of breath, it goes at such a fast pace. And everything happens “immediately” or “at once.” These words appear 7 times in the first chapter alone. It’s all about action, more activity and less words. More action than teaching. Mark’s is also the shortest gospel, it can easily be read about an hour, and in fact at seminary I saw 3 people do a play-presentation on the whole gospel of Mark—in an hour.
While we get a strong sense of urgency in Mark’s writing, Jesus doesn’t neglect the important but not urgent things—as we will see.
Mark begins his gospel with a sentence proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and moves on to John the Baptist, and Jesus’ own baptism, his temptation in the wilderness, the calling of the first 4 disciples, all in the first chapter. And we are still in the first chapter. It is a Sabbath day in Capernaum. Earlier, as we heard last week, Jesus had been teaching in the synagogue, speaking with astonishing authority. He was interrupted by a man with an evil spirit, the spirit who called out “I know who you are. You are the Holy One of God.” And Jesus rebuked the spirit, and it came out of the man, and the people were amazed at this!! First he taught with authority, and then he demonstrated authority over evil spirits. While the reader knows that this is Jesus Christ, Jesus Messiah, the Son of God, those around him get that knowledge more gradually, in bits and pieces. But his fame spread rapidly, as gossip normally does. It is one of the few loads that can be carried on the Sabbath.
As soon as they left the synagogue (there Mark did it again), they entered the house of Simon and Andrew. It’s even possible that this house was adjacent to the synagogue. It as probably a larger house for the extended family—Simon and Andrew both apparently lived there, and also there was Simon’s mother-in-law—evidence that Simon was married. But this unnamed mother in law was ill with a fever. And they told Jesus about it “at once.” Now in those days they thought fever was an illness itself, not a symptom. It was perhaps even a heavenly fire sent by God. And the Son of God was able to quench the fire. By his touch the fever left her—and immediately, suddenly she was well. I don’t know about you, but when I’ve had a fever I don’t usually jump out of bed and begin cleaning house and cooking dinner. When we have fevers we are weakened. It usually takes time to recover. But not this woman. The fever left her and she was restored to health—instantly. And she began to serve them—the first deacon!!
For the Jews, the Sabbath began at sundown, and so it ends at sundown. And that evening, at sundown, the people were released from Sabbath restrictions. People could carry things again, work again, travel again, and they brought people who were sick or possessed with demons to Jesus. Again, good news travels fast, doesn’t it!! Mark says that the whole city was at the door, and Jesus healed very many people, and he cast out demons, again telling them not to speak—because they knew who he was. Like the demon last week. Jesus silenced the demons, but not those who needed his help. Not the sick or even the demoniacs. The demons knew he was the Messiah, the Holy One of God, but Jesus wanted to let the people discover it for themselves—after all he wasn’t exactly the type of Messiah they were hoping for. He wasn’t what they expected. And in truth, it’s impossible to begin to comprehend that this man, this Jesus, was the Messiah, the Son of God, until we know not only his life, but his death, resurrection and ascension.
The next day, in the very early morning, while it was still dark, Jesus went out to a solitary place to pray. He did not neglect the important for the urgent—I told you we’d get back to that. It was of the utmost importance, in fact, for Jesus to connect with his Father, to have time apart with Him. This is they key to his life and his power and his authority—an intimate connection with God. Jesus made time for this communion.
But Simon and the others hunted him down—and told him that “everyone” was searching for him. Everyone wanted a piece of Jesus—they wanted his words, his healing, his restoration. We might imagine that the disciples wanted to set up this miracle worker. They might even organize a healing crusade, with all the best gospel bands, and a theme park. Right there in Capernaum. What fame, what power!!
But Jesus wouldn’t be confined to just Capernaum. He came to preach the gospel not just to Capernaum, but to the neighboring towns and villages, and he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message—the good news—in their synagogues, healing and casting out demons. Jesus is on the road. No longer are just rumors going around about Jesus, but Jesus himself is going around. Because that is why he came. That is what he set out to do. To bring the good news of the kingdom of God in word and in deed.
That was the main thing, the important and urgent thing. But the most important thing for Jesus was to spend time with his Father. To find a quiet place and pray. To connect with God. Because Jesus was fully human, his connection with the Father wasn’t automatic. He had to make time, take time.
In the fictional book, The Shack, Mack asked God about Jesus, about his humanity and divinity, and how they interacted. God told him that while Jesus too is fully God, he didn’t draw on his nature as God to do anything. He lived through his relationship with the Father—perfectly. Even when he healed, “he did so as a dependent, limited human being, trusting in [God’s] life and power to be at work within him and through him. Jesus as a human being had no power within himself to heal anyone. . . .That’s how he lives and acts as a true human, how every human is designed to live—out of [our life with God].”[1]
We were created to have intimate communion with God, and we can. We too need to take time away from all the urgent and unimportant things in our lives and spend time with God in prayer—the most important thing. That’s part of being a disciple. So why don’t we do it better? Why don’t we do it more? Why is it such a struggle to make time and take time to pray? Why is it so hard to get up an hour—or a half hour—earlier and spend time with God? In an article titled “How to be a Disciple,” Dallas Willard said the problem is we don’t have the intention to please God.
He wrote, “It was this general intention that made the primitive Christians such eminent instances of piety, that made the goodly fellowship of the Saints and all the glorious army of martyrs and confessors. And if you will here stop and ask yourself why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you that it is neither through ignorance nor inability, but purely because you never thoroughly intended it.”[2]
When we fail to plan, we plan to fail.
So we are called to make decisions. Do we want to be good disciples? Do we intend to be lifelong students of Jesus? Do we intend to do all the things we know we should do? Think about it. Make a decision and intentionally give the most important thing the highest priority. Amen.
[1] William P. Young, The Shack, p. 99-100.
[2] Willard, Dallas. “How to Be a Disciple.” http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=336.
For Mark the evangelist, the author of our gospel, pretty much everything Jesus did seems to be both important and urgent. Mark’s writing almost leaves us out of breath, it goes at such a fast pace. And everything happens “immediately” or “at once.” These words appear 7 times in the first chapter alone. It’s all about action, more activity and less words. More action than teaching. Mark’s is also the shortest gospel, it can easily be read about an hour, and in fact at seminary I saw 3 people do a play-presentation on the whole gospel of Mark—in an hour.
While we get a strong sense of urgency in Mark’s writing, Jesus doesn’t neglect the important but not urgent things—as we will see.
Mark begins his gospel with a sentence proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and moves on to John the Baptist, and Jesus’ own baptism, his temptation in the wilderness, the calling of the first 4 disciples, all in the first chapter. And we are still in the first chapter. It is a Sabbath day in Capernaum. Earlier, as we heard last week, Jesus had been teaching in the synagogue, speaking with astonishing authority. He was interrupted by a man with an evil spirit, the spirit who called out “I know who you are. You are the Holy One of God.” And Jesus rebuked the spirit, and it came out of the man, and the people were amazed at this!! First he taught with authority, and then he demonstrated authority over evil spirits. While the reader knows that this is Jesus Christ, Jesus Messiah, the Son of God, those around him get that knowledge more gradually, in bits and pieces. But his fame spread rapidly, as gossip normally does. It is one of the few loads that can be carried on the Sabbath.
As soon as they left the synagogue (there Mark did it again), they entered the house of Simon and Andrew. It’s even possible that this house was adjacent to the synagogue. It as probably a larger house for the extended family—Simon and Andrew both apparently lived there, and also there was Simon’s mother-in-law—evidence that Simon was married. But this unnamed mother in law was ill with a fever. And they told Jesus about it “at once.” Now in those days they thought fever was an illness itself, not a symptom. It was perhaps even a heavenly fire sent by God. And the Son of God was able to quench the fire. By his touch the fever left her—and immediately, suddenly she was well. I don’t know about you, but when I’ve had a fever I don’t usually jump out of bed and begin cleaning house and cooking dinner. When we have fevers we are weakened. It usually takes time to recover. But not this woman. The fever left her and she was restored to health—instantly. And she began to serve them—the first deacon!!
For the Jews, the Sabbath began at sundown, and so it ends at sundown. And that evening, at sundown, the people were released from Sabbath restrictions. People could carry things again, work again, travel again, and they brought people who were sick or possessed with demons to Jesus. Again, good news travels fast, doesn’t it!! Mark says that the whole city was at the door, and Jesus healed very many people, and he cast out demons, again telling them not to speak—because they knew who he was. Like the demon last week. Jesus silenced the demons, but not those who needed his help. Not the sick or even the demoniacs. The demons knew he was the Messiah, the Holy One of God, but Jesus wanted to let the people discover it for themselves—after all he wasn’t exactly the type of Messiah they were hoping for. He wasn’t what they expected. And in truth, it’s impossible to begin to comprehend that this man, this Jesus, was the Messiah, the Son of God, until we know not only his life, but his death, resurrection and ascension.
The next day, in the very early morning, while it was still dark, Jesus went out to a solitary place to pray. He did not neglect the important for the urgent—I told you we’d get back to that. It was of the utmost importance, in fact, for Jesus to connect with his Father, to have time apart with Him. This is they key to his life and his power and his authority—an intimate connection with God. Jesus made time for this communion.
But Simon and the others hunted him down—and told him that “everyone” was searching for him. Everyone wanted a piece of Jesus—they wanted his words, his healing, his restoration. We might imagine that the disciples wanted to set up this miracle worker. They might even organize a healing crusade, with all the best gospel bands, and a theme park. Right there in Capernaum. What fame, what power!!
But Jesus wouldn’t be confined to just Capernaum. He came to preach the gospel not just to Capernaum, but to the neighboring towns and villages, and he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message—the good news—in their synagogues, healing and casting out demons. Jesus is on the road. No longer are just rumors going around about Jesus, but Jesus himself is going around. Because that is why he came. That is what he set out to do. To bring the good news of the kingdom of God in word and in deed.
That was the main thing, the important and urgent thing. But the most important thing for Jesus was to spend time with his Father. To find a quiet place and pray. To connect with God. Because Jesus was fully human, his connection with the Father wasn’t automatic. He had to make time, take time.
In the fictional book, The Shack, Mack asked God about Jesus, about his humanity and divinity, and how they interacted. God told him that while Jesus too is fully God, he didn’t draw on his nature as God to do anything. He lived through his relationship with the Father—perfectly. Even when he healed, “he did so as a dependent, limited human being, trusting in [God’s] life and power to be at work within him and through him. Jesus as a human being had no power within himself to heal anyone. . . .That’s how he lives and acts as a true human, how every human is designed to live—out of [our life with God].”[1]
We were created to have intimate communion with God, and we can. We too need to take time away from all the urgent and unimportant things in our lives and spend time with God in prayer—the most important thing. That’s part of being a disciple. So why don’t we do it better? Why don’t we do it more? Why is it such a struggle to make time and take time to pray? Why is it so hard to get up an hour—or a half hour—earlier and spend time with God? In an article titled “How to be a Disciple,” Dallas Willard said the problem is we don’t have the intention to please God.
He wrote, “It was this general intention that made the primitive Christians such eminent instances of piety, that made the goodly fellowship of the Saints and all the glorious army of martyrs and confessors. And if you will here stop and ask yourself why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you that it is neither through ignorance nor inability, but purely because you never thoroughly intended it.”[2]
When we fail to plan, we plan to fail.
So we are called to make decisions. Do we want to be good disciples? Do we intend to be lifelong students of Jesus? Do we intend to do all the things we know we should do? Think about it. Make a decision and intentionally give the most important thing the highest priority. Amen.
[1] William P. Young, The Shack, p. 99-100.
[2] Willard, Dallas. “How to Be a Disciple.” http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=336.
4 Epiphany (B)
Bob Dylan, the poet, songwriter, activist and occasional theologian once famously said that “Jesus tapped me on the shoulder and said, Bob, why are you resisting me? I said “I’m not resisting you! He said, You gonna follow me? I said, I’ve never thought about that before! He said, When you’re not following me, you’re resisting me.”
Are you following or resisting? God’s call on us happens in a variety of ways, doesn’t it?
In the gospel of Mark, everything happens very quickly, and his favorite word is immediately. We are only on verse 14 of the first chapter and John the Baptist has already appeared, preaching, baptizing, wearing clothing of camel’s hair. He was the voice in the wilderness, preparing the way. And Jesus appeared, and was baptized by John, and the Spirit descended upon him and a voice from heaven said that Jesus was the Beloved of God. And immediately he was driven into the desert where he was tempted for 40 days.
And now, after John has been arrested by Herod, Jesus appears in Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. What is this good new, this gospel? The Good News is that God is breaking into the world. The Good News is announcing an event: In the fullness of time, when the time was right, all that God had promised comes to pass. In the person of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the kingdom of God has come into the world. God with us, God steps into human history, and the world would never again be the same. Eternity intersects with time as we know it. Or perhaps eternity collides with time. And Jesus proclaims the kingdom of God. God’s rule and authority are about to be unfurled. The reign of God is a powerful and dynamic event, where God himself intervenes in human affairs to achieve his purposes.
The time has come, the kingdom of God is at hand. It is embodied in Jesus, near enough to touch. The future was now. God is king, his rule has come, and things will be put to right, evil will be vanquished, the kingdom will be established. The announcement by Jesus requires decision and commitment: repentance, submission to the kingship of God and his Son, and belief that the impossible, the incredible, has come to pass. Repent and believe! The message is urgent, the time is now, the time is fulfilled. The planets are all in line, heaven and earth have converged, and the moment has come—the time of which the prophets spoke and sang, the time for which people hoped and longed, has come.
And Jesus begins to call people into his kingdom. Without fanfare, without warning, Jesus appears by the Sea of Galilee, calling fishermen, creating a community of followers. The kingdom is about community. Peter and Andrew are casting nets from the shore, suggesting that they are too poor to own a boat. And Jesus says, follow me and I will make you fish for people.
And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
A little further on, Jesus saw James and John, the Sons of Zebedee, on their boat mending their nets. And immediately, Jesus called them, saying follow me. And they dropped everything, walking away from their father and hired men and their boat, suggesting perhaps a more prosperous fishing business, and they followed him.
When you are fishing, and hook a fish, it has consequences for that fish, doesn’t it. Life is not as it was. God’s transforming power is part of his rule, part of his kingdom. Lives are changed beyond recognition. The disciples will be agents of a message of transformation, just as they themselves are transformed by Jesus’ call.
Jesus said, “Follow me!” Who is this man, who calls people to follow him? Prophets called people to follow God. Teachers and rabbis invited people to learn from them, but not to follow them. With what authority does Jesus call people?
When we hear about Jesus calling his disciples, we wonder at the men who dropped everything they were doing and followed him. How could they do such a thing? What did they know, what did they see that we don’t know, that we don’t see. And what would we do? What will we do? When the reign of God breaks into our lives, how do we respond? What are we willing to risk?
But the call of God on our lives is God’s doing, not our own. God calls and gathers a community of believers, centered in Emmanuel, in Jesus, God with us. It’s all about God, the power of God. Barbara Brown Taylor said that this miracle story is about “the power of God—to walk right up to a quartet of fishermen and work a miracle, creating faith where their was no faith, creating disciples where there were none just a moment before.”[1]God breaks in, and things are not the same. God invades our lives, sometimes, when we are looking the other way, minding our own business.
But we still have the freedom to respond, to drop our nets, to leave our boats and follow. The freedom to weigh the cost, to decide to follow. And yet, for some of us, we know that we are pursued by the hound of heaven, and we have no rest until we allow ourselves to be found, to be captured. In the Forward of the Shack, Willie talks about that place inside yourself “where there is just you alone—and maybe God, if you believe in him. Of course, God might be there even if you don’t believe in him. That would be just like him. He hasn’t been called the Grand Interferer for nothing.”[2]
Although we probably consider ourselves the most unlikely candidates, the Call to follow Jesus still comes, through God’s doing and not our own. We are called to a new way of living, transformed by the power of God. As followers of Jesus, we are to be messengers of transformation, and we are to embody the kingdom. Our lives must look different. We are a little bit better, a little bit holier, a little bit removed from the world. We are called a higher standard. In our work, our vocation, we are called to do our very best, as though we were doing it for God and not for men. In all that we do, we are to honor God. As Jesus is God with us, even so we are with him and in him. Our lives are centered in him. In the middle of our ordinary lives, we are exactly the person God calls, the person God wants. God wants us to give him our lives, and to conduct our affairs according to His teachings. We are disciples, apprentices to Jesus, serving, loving, seeking justice and mercy.
Brother Lawrence was a 17th century Carmelite monk, a layman who dedicated his life to God. He worked most of his life in the kitchen, but his wisdom is remembered to this day. He believed that the common business of life was a medium for God’s love, and that the key to working and living is our motivation. He said, “"Nor is it needful that we should have great things to do. . . We can do little things for God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God."
The love of God is our motivation as disciples. God who first loved us. God who loved us when we were still sinners. Nothing in the world is more valuable than that, nothing is more valuable than living in the Kingdom. Unless we comprehend that living for God is superior to everything else, everything that we value, we cannot be successful disciples. When we are caught by the hound of heaven, confronted by the Grand Interferer, we still have a choice. God initiates, and we respond. Do we resist him, or do we follow him?
[1] http://i.ucc.org/StretchYourMind/OpeningtheBible/WeeklySeeds/tabid/81/articleType/ArticleView/articleId/154/Follow-Me-Jan-1925.aspx
[2] Young, William P. The Shack, Windblown Media, 2007, p. 12.
Are you following or resisting? God’s call on us happens in a variety of ways, doesn’t it?
In the gospel of Mark, everything happens very quickly, and his favorite word is immediately. We are only on verse 14 of the first chapter and John the Baptist has already appeared, preaching, baptizing, wearing clothing of camel’s hair. He was the voice in the wilderness, preparing the way. And Jesus appeared, and was baptized by John, and the Spirit descended upon him and a voice from heaven said that Jesus was the Beloved of God. And immediately he was driven into the desert where he was tempted for 40 days.
And now, after John has been arrested by Herod, Jesus appears in Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. What is this good new, this gospel? The Good News is that God is breaking into the world. The Good News is announcing an event: In the fullness of time, when the time was right, all that God had promised comes to pass. In the person of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the kingdom of God has come into the world. God with us, God steps into human history, and the world would never again be the same. Eternity intersects with time as we know it. Or perhaps eternity collides with time. And Jesus proclaims the kingdom of God. God’s rule and authority are about to be unfurled. The reign of God is a powerful and dynamic event, where God himself intervenes in human affairs to achieve his purposes.
The time has come, the kingdom of God is at hand. It is embodied in Jesus, near enough to touch. The future was now. God is king, his rule has come, and things will be put to right, evil will be vanquished, the kingdom will be established. The announcement by Jesus requires decision and commitment: repentance, submission to the kingship of God and his Son, and belief that the impossible, the incredible, has come to pass. Repent and believe! The message is urgent, the time is now, the time is fulfilled. The planets are all in line, heaven and earth have converged, and the moment has come—the time of which the prophets spoke and sang, the time for which people hoped and longed, has come.
And Jesus begins to call people into his kingdom. Without fanfare, without warning, Jesus appears by the Sea of Galilee, calling fishermen, creating a community of followers. The kingdom is about community. Peter and Andrew are casting nets from the shore, suggesting that they are too poor to own a boat. And Jesus says, follow me and I will make you fish for people.
And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
A little further on, Jesus saw James and John, the Sons of Zebedee, on their boat mending their nets. And immediately, Jesus called them, saying follow me. And they dropped everything, walking away from their father and hired men and their boat, suggesting perhaps a more prosperous fishing business, and they followed him.
When you are fishing, and hook a fish, it has consequences for that fish, doesn’t it. Life is not as it was. God’s transforming power is part of his rule, part of his kingdom. Lives are changed beyond recognition. The disciples will be agents of a message of transformation, just as they themselves are transformed by Jesus’ call.
Jesus said, “Follow me!” Who is this man, who calls people to follow him? Prophets called people to follow God. Teachers and rabbis invited people to learn from them, but not to follow them. With what authority does Jesus call people?
When we hear about Jesus calling his disciples, we wonder at the men who dropped everything they were doing and followed him. How could they do such a thing? What did they know, what did they see that we don’t know, that we don’t see. And what would we do? What will we do? When the reign of God breaks into our lives, how do we respond? What are we willing to risk?
But the call of God on our lives is God’s doing, not our own. God calls and gathers a community of believers, centered in Emmanuel, in Jesus, God with us. It’s all about God, the power of God. Barbara Brown Taylor said that this miracle story is about “the power of God—to walk right up to a quartet of fishermen and work a miracle, creating faith where their was no faith, creating disciples where there were none just a moment before.”[1]God breaks in, and things are not the same. God invades our lives, sometimes, when we are looking the other way, minding our own business.
But we still have the freedom to respond, to drop our nets, to leave our boats and follow. The freedom to weigh the cost, to decide to follow. And yet, for some of us, we know that we are pursued by the hound of heaven, and we have no rest until we allow ourselves to be found, to be captured. In the Forward of the Shack, Willie talks about that place inside yourself “where there is just you alone—and maybe God, if you believe in him. Of course, God might be there even if you don’t believe in him. That would be just like him. He hasn’t been called the Grand Interferer for nothing.”[2]
Although we probably consider ourselves the most unlikely candidates, the Call to follow Jesus still comes, through God’s doing and not our own. We are called to a new way of living, transformed by the power of God. As followers of Jesus, we are to be messengers of transformation, and we are to embody the kingdom. Our lives must look different. We are a little bit better, a little bit holier, a little bit removed from the world. We are called a higher standard. In our work, our vocation, we are called to do our very best, as though we were doing it for God and not for men. In all that we do, we are to honor God. As Jesus is God with us, even so we are with him and in him. Our lives are centered in him. In the middle of our ordinary lives, we are exactly the person God calls, the person God wants. God wants us to give him our lives, and to conduct our affairs according to His teachings. We are disciples, apprentices to Jesus, serving, loving, seeking justice and mercy.
Brother Lawrence was a 17th century Carmelite monk, a layman who dedicated his life to God. He worked most of his life in the kitchen, but his wisdom is remembered to this day. He believed that the common business of life was a medium for God’s love, and that the key to working and living is our motivation. He said, “"Nor is it needful that we should have great things to do. . . We can do little things for God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God."
The love of God is our motivation as disciples. God who first loved us. God who loved us when we were still sinners. Nothing in the world is more valuable than that, nothing is more valuable than living in the Kingdom. Unless we comprehend that living for God is superior to everything else, everything that we value, we cannot be successful disciples. When we are caught by the hound of heaven, confronted by the Grand Interferer, we still have a choice. God initiates, and we respond. Do we resist him, or do we follow him?
[1] http://i.ucc.org/StretchYourMind/OpeningtheBible/WeeklySeeds/tabid/81/articleType/ArticleView/articleId/154/Follow-Me-Jan-1925.aspx
[2] Young, William P. The Shack, Windblown Media, 2007, p. 12.
3 Epiphany (B)
Bob Dylan, the poet, songwriter, activist and occasional theologian once famously said that “Jesus tapped me on the shoulder and said, Bob, why are you resisting me? I said “I’m not resisting you! He said, You gonna follow me? I said, I’ve never thought about that before! He said, When you’re not following me, you’re resisting me.”
Are you following or resisting? God’s call on us happens in a variety of ways, doesn’t it?
In the gospel of Mark, everything happens very quickly, and his favorite word is immediately. We are only on verse 14 of the first chapter and John the Baptist has already appeared, preaching, baptizing, wearing clothing of camel’s hair. He was the voice in the wilderness, preparing the way. And Jesus appeared, and was baptized by John, and the Spirit descended upon him and a voice from heaven said that Jesus was the Beloved of God. And immediately he was driven into the desert where he was tempted for 40 days.
And now, after John has been arrested by Herod, Jesus appears in Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. What is this good new, this gospel? The Good News is that God is breaking into the world. The Good News is announcing an event: In the fullness of time, when the time was right, all that God had promised comes to pass. In the person of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the kingdom of God has come into the world. God with us, God steps into human history, and the world would never again be the same. Eternity intersects with time as we know it. Or perhaps eternity collides with time. And Jesus proclaims the kingdom of God. God’s rule and authority are about to be unfurled. The reign of God is a powerful and dynamic event, where God himself intervenes in human affairs to achieve his purposes.
The time has come, the kingdom of God is at hand. It is embodied in Jesus, near enough to touch. The future was now. God is king, his rule has come, and things will be put to right, evil will be vanquished, the kingdom will be established. The announcement by Jesus requires decision and commitment: repentance, submission to the kingship of God and his Son, and belief that the impossible, the incredible, has come to pass. Repent and believe! The message is urgent, the time is now, the time is fulfilled. The planets are all in line, heaven and earth have converged, and the moment has come—the time of which the prophets spoke and sang, the time for which people hoped and longed, has come.
And Jesus begins to call people into his kingdom. Without fanfare, without warning, Jesus appears by the Sea of Galilee, calling fishermen, creating a community of followers. The kingdom is about community. Peter and Andrew are casting nets from the shore, suggesting that they are too poor to own a boat. And Jesus says, follow me and I will make you fish for people.
And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
A little further on, Jesus saw James and John, the Sons of Zebedee, on their boat mending their nets. And immediately, Jesus called them, saying follow me. And they dropped everything, walking away from their father and hired men and their boat, suggesting perhaps a more prosperous fishing business, and they followed him.
When you are fishing, and hook a fish, it has consequences for that fish, doesn’t it. Life is not as it was. God’s transforming power is part of his rule, part of his kingdom. Lives are changed beyond recognition. The disciples will be agents of a message of transformation, just as they themselves are transformed by Jesus’ call.
Jesus said, “Follow me!” Who is this man, who calls people to follow him? Prophets called people to follow God. Teachers and rabbis invited people to learn from them, but not to follow them. With what authority does Jesus call people?
When we hear about Jesus calling his disciples, we wonder at the men who dropped everything they were doing and followed him. How could they do such a thing? What did they know, what did they see that we don’t know, that we don’t see. And what would we do? What will we do? When the reign of God breaks into our lives, how do we respond? What are we willing to risk?
But the call of God on our lives is God’s doing, not our own. God calls and gathers a community of believers, centered in Emmanuel, in Jesus, God with us. It’s all about God, the power of God. Barbara Brown Taylor said that this miracle story is about “the power of God—to walk right up to a quartet of fishermen and work a miracle, creating faith where their was no faith, creating disciples where there were none just a moment before.”[1]God breaks in, and things are not the same. God invades our lives, sometimes, when we are looking the other way, minding our own business.
But we still have the freedom to respond, to drop our nets, to leave our boats and follow. The freedom to weigh the cost, to decide to follow. And yet, for some of us, we know that we are pursued by the hound of heaven, and we have no rest until we allow ourselves to be found, to be captured. In the Forward of the Shack, Willie talks about that place inside yourself “where there is just you alone—and maybe God, if you believe in him. Of course, God might be there even if you don’t believe in him. That would be just like him. He hasn’t been called the Grand Interferer for nothing.”[2]
Although we probably consider ourselves the most unlikely candidates, the Call to follow Jesus still comes, through God’s doing and not our own. We are called to a new way of living, transformed by the power of God. As followers of Jesus, we are to be messengers of transformation, and we are to embody the kingdom. Our lives must look different. We are a little bit better, a little bit holier, a little bit removed from the world. We are called a higher standard. In our work, our vocation, we are called to do our very best, as though we were doing it for God and not for men. In all that we do, we are to honor God. As Jesus is God with us, even so we are with him and in him. Our lives are centered in him. In the middle of our ordinary lives, we are exactly the person God calls, the person God wants. God wants us to give him our lives, and to conduct our affairs according to His teachings. We are disciples, apprentices to Jesus, serving, loving, seeking justice and mercy.
Brother Lawrence was a 17th century Carmelite monk, a layman who dedicated his life to God. He worked most of his life in the kitchen, but his wisdom is remembered to this day. He believed that the common business of life was a medium for God’s love, and that the key to working and living is our motivation. He said, “"Nor is it needful that we should have great things to do. . . We can do little things for God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God."
The love of God is our motivation as disciples. God who first loved us. God who loved us when we were still sinners. Nothing in the world is more valuable than that, nothing is more valuable than living in the Kingdom. Unless we comprehend that living for God is superior to everything else, everything that we value, we cannot be successful disciples. When we are caught by the hound of heaven, confronted by the Grand Interferer, we still have a choice. God initiates, and we respond. Do we resist him, or do we follow him?
[1] http://i.ucc.org/StretchYourMind/OpeningtheBible/WeeklySeeds/tabid/81/articleType/ArticleView/articleId/154/Follow-Me-Jan-1925.aspx
[2] Young, William P. The Shack, Windblown Media, 2007, p. 12.
Are you following or resisting? God’s call on us happens in a variety of ways, doesn’t it?
In the gospel of Mark, everything happens very quickly, and his favorite word is immediately. We are only on verse 14 of the first chapter and John the Baptist has already appeared, preaching, baptizing, wearing clothing of camel’s hair. He was the voice in the wilderness, preparing the way. And Jesus appeared, and was baptized by John, and the Spirit descended upon him and a voice from heaven said that Jesus was the Beloved of God. And immediately he was driven into the desert where he was tempted for 40 days.
And now, after John has been arrested by Herod, Jesus appears in Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. What is this good new, this gospel? The Good News is that God is breaking into the world. The Good News is announcing an event: In the fullness of time, when the time was right, all that God had promised comes to pass. In the person of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the kingdom of God has come into the world. God with us, God steps into human history, and the world would never again be the same. Eternity intersects with time as we know it. Or perhaps eternity collides with time. And Jesus proclaims the kingdom of God. God’s rule and authority are about to be unfurled. The reign of God is a powerful and dynamic event, where God himself intervenes in human affairs to achieve his purposes.
The time has come, the kingdom of God is at hand. It is embodied in Jesus, near enough to touch. The future was now. God is king, his rule has come, and things will be put to right, evil will be vanquished, the kingdom will be established. The announcement by Jesus requires decision and commitment: repentance, submission to the kingship of God and his Son, and belief that the impossible, the incredible, has come to pass. Repent and believe! The message is urgent, the time is now, the time is fulfilled. The planets are all in line, heaven and earth have converged, and the moment has come—the time of which the prophets spoke and sang, the time for which people hoped and longed, has come.
And Jesus begins to call people into his kingdom. Without fanfare, without warning, Jesus appears by the Sea of Galilee, calling fishermen, creating a community of followers. The kingdom is about community. Peter and Andrew are casting nets from the shore, suggesting that they are too poor to own a boat. And Jesus says, follow me and I will make you fish for people.
And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
A little further on, Jesus saw James and John, the Sons of Zebedee, on their boat mending their nets. And immediately, Jesus called them, saying follow me. And they dropped everything, walking away from their father and hired men and their boat, suggesting perhaps a more prosperous fishing business, and they followed him.
When you are fishing, and hook a fish, it has consequences for that fish, doesn’t it. Life is not as it was. God’s transforming power is part of his rule, part of his kingdom. Lives are changed beyond recognition. The disciples will be agents of a message of transformation, just as they themselves are transformed by Jesus’ call.
Jesus said, “Follow me!” Who is this man, who calls people to follow him? Prophets called people to follow God. Teachers and rabbis invited people to learn from them, but not to follow them. With what authority does Jesus call people?
When we hear about Jesus calling his disciples, we wonder at the men who dropped everything they were doing and followed him. How could they do such a thing? What did they know, what did they see that we don’t know, that we don’t see. And what would we do? What will we do? When the reign of God breaks into our lives, how do we respond? What are we willing to risk?
But the call of God on our lives is God’s doing, not our own. God calls and gathers a community of believers, centered in Emmanuel, in Jesus, God with us. It’s all about God, the power of God. Barbara Brown Taylor said that this miracle story is about “the power of God—to walk right up to a quartet of fishermen and work a miracle, creating faith where their was no faith, creating disciples where there were none just a moment before.”[1]God breaks in, and things are not the same. God invades our lives, sometimes, when we are looking the other way, minding our own business.
But we still have the freedom to respond, to drop our nets, to leave our boats and follow. The freedom to weigh the cost, to decide to follow. And yet, for some of us, we know that we are pursued by the hound of heaven, and we have no rest until we allow ourselves to be found, to be captured. In the Forward of the Shack, Willie talks about that place inside yourself “where there is just you alone—and maybe God, if you believe in him. Of course, God might be there even if you don’t believe in him. That would be just like him. He hasn’t been called the Grand Interferer for nothing.”[2]
Although we probably consider ourselves the most unlikely candidates, the Call to follow Jesus still comes, through God’s doing and not our own. We are called to a new way of living, transformed by the power of God. As followers of Jesus, we are to be messengers of transformation, and we are to embody the kingdom. Our lives must look different. We are a little bit better, a little bit holier, a little bit removed from the world. We are called a higher standard. In our work, our vocation, we are called to do our very best, as though we were doing it for God and not for men. In all that we do, we are to honor God. As Jesus is God with us, even so we are with him and in him. Our lives are centered in him. In the middle of our ordinary lives, we are exactly the person God calls, the person God wants. God wants us to give him our lives, and to conduct our affairs according to His teachings. We are disciples, apprentices to Jesus, serving, loving, seeking justice and mercy.
Brother Lawrence was a 17th century Carmelite monk, a layman who dedicated his life to God. He worked most of his life in the kitchen, but his wisdom is remembered to this day. He believed that the common business of life was a medium for God’s love, and that the key to working and living is our motivation. He said, “"Nor is it needful that we should have great things to do. . . We can do little things for God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God."
The love of God is our motivation as disciples. God who first loved us. God who loved us when we were still sinners. Nothing in the world is more valuable than that, nothing is more valuable than living in the Kingdom. Unless we comprehend that living for God is superior to everything else, everything that we value, we cannot be successful disciples. When we are caught by the hound of heaven, confronted by the Grand Interferer, we still have a choice. God initiates, and we respond. Do we resist him, or do we follow him?
[1] http://i.ucc.org/StretchYourMind/OpeningtheBible/WeeklySeeds/tabid/81/articleType/ArticleView/articleId/154/Follow-Me-Jan-1925.aspx
[2] Young, William P. The Shack, Windblown Media, 2007, p. 12.
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