Building a Self

2 Corinthians 3: 18, Ephesians 1: 3-6, Colossians 4: 14,15

 

 

          In her 1922 novel, The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams tells the story of a stuffed rabbit named Snub. Snub finds himself literally snubbed for a time by the boy he belongs to, as the boy plays with other, newer presents. Skin Horse, the oldest and wisest toy in the nursery, tells Snub a story. As the story goes, it seems that if a child really loves you, a toy, enough, you can become REAL. The rabbit is really awed by the possibility. One night after the boy has lost a toy, he is given the rabbit to sleep with. Before long, the rabbit is the boy’s favorite toy. He takes him everywhere. The boy thinks of him as real. He loves on that rabbit so much that over time, the rabbit becomes shabbier and shabbier, until he has almost no fur.

          The boy becomes sick with scarlet fever and the doctor orders that his room is to be disinfected and his toys burned. The rabbit is gathered up with the other toys and left in the garden overnight, where he sheds a real tear. From it appears a flower, and from the flower appears a fairy. The fairy takes the toy rabbit to the forest and turns him into a real live rabbit. The love of the boy has produced a REAL rabbit.

          Compare the story to that of Pinocchio, a story made famous by the cartoon magic of Disney Studios. Pinocchio’s carved wooden limbs later turn into the body of a real live boy, made possible through the love of an old woodcarver named Geppetto. One cannot help but notice the striking similarities of the story of Pinocchio with the Parable of the Prodigal Son told in the fifteenth chapter of Luke’s gospel.

          These stories have long been popular with children for a reason. They are stories of love, stories of hope, stories with happy endings. No wonder they are so popular. But these stories are more than just happy endings. They are also object lessons on the rewards of patience and hope, the importance of truth and the cost of love.

          Paul writes to a troubled young church in Corinth and tells them that when we turn to the Lord, we will behold the glory of the unhidden face of the Lord, and that we are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.  It’s pretty nice if you’re just a puppet to be treated with such respect and tenderness by your creator. That’s what Geppetto did for his little boy puppet. And yet, it was nothing to that wooden headed puppet. He had much to learn. It was only after he had been mistreated and mishandled, fooled and lied to, that he began to understand the great love his creator bore him. It was only then that he began to understand the cost of becoming real. It was only then that he could begin to take on the image of his creator.

          In the first chapter of Ephesians, Paul gives thanks to God for the blessing of Jesus Christ. He says that God chose us even before the foundation of the world was laid, that long before the world was born, we were chosen by God to be his adopted children through Jesus Christ. He did it to the praise of his own glorious grace. And he has bestowed that grace upon us through Jesus.

          This passage is revealing to us, for it tells us who God intends us to be. First, Paul tells us that God chose us before the world began. The word we translate as chose comes from a compound word in Greek that literally means “spoke forth.” It reminds us of the Genesis account of creation, when God literally speaks creation into being. And here Paul tells us that even then, we were “spoken forth” by God. Theologian Robert Mulholland tells us that Paul is saying that there are no surprises in heaven when any of us are conceived. It may be a surprise to our parents, but not to God. God is the past master of family planning, for indeed he is creating his family—not just ours. He destined us for adoption, for membership in his family. Through the grace of Jesus Christ he blessed us and through the blood of Jesus we are redeemed, bought back, saved.

          The thing is, although we are spoken for, we still get it wrong. When times are happy and the going is easy, we often forget to thank God for the smoothness of our journey. We begin to pat ourselves on the back for the fine job of planning or providing we are doing. A friend of mine ministers to a large congregation of affluent, upwardly mobile folks. He told me their biggest prayer request is to keep the money coming to pay the mortgage and to keep their kids out of jail. My minister friend spends his time plotting how to raise the consciousness of those untested Christians for what real testing might look like—for how to become real Christians.

          How does God succeed in getting us wooden headed Christians to seek to conform to the image of Christ? Sometimes he has to grow our noses longer or to throw us out into the cold, even after we have been loved ‘til our fur comes off. It is in the places of our lives where we have been most alienated that we are more likely to meet God. It is there that God waits for us, offering us that unmerited grace which is so hard to see from our easy chairs. On those days when things are rolling along oh so smoothly, those days when we actually think that we are in charge, it’s just hard to clearly see the presence of God.

          But then, there are those other days, the days when our plans go astray or get taken out with the trash or just get ignored by our spouses and our children and our bosses. Perhaps that is because we need to learn to approach our days with a very keen awareness of Who is Boss! If you are really looking for God, look for him not on the days when things are good. Look instead when they start to turn sour. Chances are that he has a lesson just for you.

          Of course, you know that this message is not about stuffed animals or wooden puppets. They are just metaphors for the main event. The main event is Jesus. Jesus is the real deal. God got our attention by sending us his son. God became a real live boy, and then a real live man, and then…a real live Savior. God knows all about having the fur rubbed off him. He invented the idea.

          So if you want to be real, then you need to take on his image. You need to take up the cross. Just don’t expect it to be what you thought it was. It’s not in the difficulties and unfriendliness of life that we find the cross, although that too can be a fertile training ground. Rather, it is that point for each of us when we look the most unlike Christ. Our cross is that point where we are so diverged that we must make a choice.

          Will it be our way? Will we seek happiness in our own pursuits? Or will it be the way of the Cross? Will we die to self in order to find ourselves? Will we take on our own image or will we accept God’s grace and walk into the light to find ourselves finally REAL…real and free and living our lives in the image of Christ?

         If you want to build a Self, don’t run from the pain or the confrontation. It’s there for a reason. Each time we release ourselves to God, each time we confront ourselves at those points of unlikeness to Christ, we become a little more consecrated. Each time, we become one step closer to the real humanity that God has promised us. Paul tells the Colossian church that above all things, we are to put on love, which binds everything together to which indeed we were called. It’s what we do if we are to be real Christians made in the image of God.

          Let me close with a quote you all know from The Velveteen Rabbit, though Paul himself couldn’t have said it better:

               It takes a long time. That’s why it does not often

               happen to people who break easily, or have sharp

               edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally,

               by the time you are real, most of your hair has been

               loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose

              in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t

              matter at all, because…

                                    ..Once you are real..

             You can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.

Islands in a Common Sea

Acts 2: 37-47

 

 

          I was at a meeting of churches this week. I watched as ministers and elders struggled with the issue of a sister church which wanted to leave the denomination. It looked as if the leadership of that church had pretty much made up its mind, but it was struggling with the rules called, ironically, the “rules of gracious dismissal.” The church conference leaders and the church in question were gracious as the rules for voting on the rules were carefully set out. The body was gracious as it took up each issue presented. It continued to be gracious as it voted down each request from the church. All in all, it was a very gracious time as church and denomination sparred over turf and ownership and rights. No matter how they all tried, the issue was about following the rules rather than about following God. I suspect the next round will not be so gracious. A church no longer feels in harmony with the policies and interpretations of the parent church. It seeks to disassociate itself from the whole.  The bigger body feels threatened and seeks to make severance difficult in the hope that such difficulty will discourage individual churches from leaving the denomination.  In this emotionally charged environment, church professionals and leaders attempt to find some level playing field upon which issues might be discussed. One side begs for tolerance while another pleads for independence. Is the whole more important than its parts? Is the part entitled to determine its own destiny? How do we split the child so that each parent can have custody?

          In the second chapter of the book of Acts, Luke the evangelist and historian gives us a glimpse of the early church. Luke tells us that “they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” He reports that “many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles.” And what were those early church people doing? Luke says that all of them were filled with awe, that “all who believed were together and had all things in common.” They were sharing all their possessions with those in need, even to the point of selling them. Daily they attended temple. Daily they gathered in each other’s homes. Daily they ate and drank together. And daily, they did so with glad and generous hearts, praising God, having favor with all the people. This is Luke’s description of the early church. Its markers are gladness, generosity, sharing, awe and devotion.

          In her best seller, Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh talks about a balance she sought to find in her life.  She characterized it as a “swinging of the pendulum between solitude and communion,” being neither in total acceptance of the world, nor in total rejection of it. She does not claim to have an answer—only clues. Her clues are symbolized in the shells she picks up from the shore, shells that are fragments of what they had been and what they had borne.

          The Church is such a splendid organism. It is an organism, you know. To call it an institution does it such an injustice. The Church is you and me. The Church is the Fellowship of the Believers. The Church is the body of Christ. I think that of all the images we might employ to describe the Church, the body of Christ is my favorite.  I am a piece of that body and so are you.

          In Romans 12: 5, Paul tells us that though we the Church are many, we are one body in Christ. This language is pervasive with Paul. He talks often about being in Christ. Thinking of the Church as the body of Christ helps us see that. We are part of one great body. We are in Christ. We do that collectively as the Church. But we also do it as individuals because, as Paul tells us in that same verse, we are “members of one another.” Our different gifts point out our individuality, and our membership in the Church unites us as part of a living organism that functions as the body of Christ.

          In Acts 2, the believers devoted themselves to teaching, to fellowship, to togetherness through common meals and to prayer.  No wonder souls were saved. The previous passage tells us that Peter preached and three thousand souls were added. Can you imagine what would happen to this community of believers if we devoted ourselves to these elements of teaching, common meals and prayer?

          Luke tells us that in the church of Acts 2, “all who believed were together and had all things in common.” Men, women and children came together, bound by the unity of their faith and had all things in common. This doesn’t mean they were all the same. There were still cooks and carpenters and farmers. But in all that counted, in all that bound them in their humanity, in all that measured them for the clothing of Christianity, they had all things in common. As Anne Morrow Lindbergh put it in her book, they were “islands in a common sea.”

          What I saw at that gathering of churches was a poor facsimile of the Church of Acts 2. We have eight pages of fine print of how to leave gracefully. They had awe and all things in common. We have a Book of Order. They sold their possessions to help others in need. We have a General Assembly. They broke bread together in their homes. We gather once a week. They gathered every day. No wonder that we differ. We have little resemblance to the Church that Luke described in Acts.

          What if? What if there were no more fences? What if there were no more walls? What if there were no Presbyterians or Baptists? What if there were just Christians? After all, aren’t we, at the end of the day, islands in a common sea? What is common in us all is that which God gave to us. We are all saved by grace.  We strive to live in Christ.  To the extent that we begin to achieve that, we begin to manifest the risen Christ. We are the body of Christ. We are the mission of Christ upon the earth until he returns.
          The Church is not about one, but about one another. We love one another. We pray for one another. We look after one another. We are not about barriers. We are about bridges. In the same way that we come together as a community of believers in this location, the Church itself needs to come together in community. Whether we are Lutherans or Roman Catholics is hardly the issue. We are Christians. In this world where the presence of Satan and evil is present and powerful, the Church is not isolated. It is, rather, a group of many islands in a common sea.

          Lindbergh walked along the coast line and bent over often to collect shells yielded from the tide. Every shell had a story. Some were pristine, still perfectly formed and even containing the creatures that live in them. Others were broken or encrusted with other animal shells. She wondered about the lives they represented, the places they had been. Seashells are like people. Their surface yields clues, but not final answers. Their commonality, among other things, is that no matter where they have been, no matter what they have endured, they find themselves yielded up in the end to the same destination. So it is with God’s people.

          After Pentecost, Peter said to those gathered in Jerusalem,  “For the promise is for you and for your children and for all who are far off, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to himself.”  It was the birth of the Church.  We stand on the shoulders of Peter and those other saints who live in the Spirit. The Holy Spirit is still here. God grant that each of us stay present in the body of Christ. God grant that we understand what he has done for us. Help us to reach out today and every day in generosity and gladness just like the early Church. We are Christians. Help us to celebrate our differences over fellowship and search for our common bonds in a world where our job is not division but multiplication, where we must still march against the power of evil. We are, after all, islands in a common sea. In the end, our destination as Christians is the same. Whether bent or broken and straight, we all end up washed upon the same shore for the same harvest. May we share that journey with all who would join us. “And all who believed were together and had all things in common.”

Feelin’ Groovy

Romans 8: 31-38  Luke 1: 37

 

 

          In the fall of 1966, Simon & Garfunkel released an album entitled Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. It was only their third album, but it was destined to reach triple platinum status. One of the songs on that album was called the 59^th Street Bridge Song. It’s probably known better by its most famous line: “Feelin’ groovy.” Written by a young twenty five year old man named Paul Simon, it was one of a number of famous songs on that album.

            In the fall of 1966, I was a freshman in college. I was trying to find my way in the world. I was away from home, a college freshman, a cafeteria worker, a football manager, a Navy midshipman, a student. I was a busy young man, hurrying everywhere to be on time, turn in my assignments, get to the football field, get to work, get to drill, get to class. I was moving fast, going somewhere but not at all sure where it was that I was going.

          Paul Simon had spent the previous year in England. He came back with a number of songs, songs that expressed not only where he was, but where the country was. The album that included “Feelin’ Groovy” also featured “Homeward Bound” and “7 O’clock News/Silent Night.” Those of us familiar with those ballads may recall a time when our country seemed poised to implode. The Vietnam War was ripping and dividing us and nothing was sure anymore. And then this album came out, and at least for many young adults, it perfectly described their anguish. There was the agony of the 7 O’clock News, and then there was the absolute joy of youth reflected in this song about the Queensboro Bridge over the East River in New York City. Simon’s lyrics start like this:

                            Slow down, you move too fast

                           You got to make the morning last

                           Just kicking down the cobble stones

                           Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy

 

 It was an appeal to a lighter mood, a mood of carefree existence where there is time to stop and watch the flowers grow, time to feel the sun on the back of your neck and know that things are under control.

          The Apostle Paul might have had very much in common with Paul Simon. In the eighth chapter of Romans, he tells his audience “If God is with us, who can be against us?” Don’t be fooled by the question mark, for what Paul is saying is not a question. Paul is making a statement. If God is with us, who can be against us? There is no government, no social unit, no army, no rule of law, no person, no organization that can do permanent damage to us if God is with us! We may be hurt, we may be imprisoned, we may be cast aside, we may even be isolated from all that we know, but we cannot lose the true battle of life, for God is with us.

          Have you ever noticed that Paul didn’t seem to be in a hurry? He went to lots of places, visited lots of people, spoke wherever he went. He made three missionary journeys. But his comments in Scripture are generally framed in longing to be somewhere while he continues to be wherever he is. He doesn’t talk about having to leave to be somewhere else. He always seems to be in the moment wherever he is.

          Jesus was like that. Remember his admonition to his disciples in Matthew 6 and Luke 12? He talked about ravens and the lilies of the field. He reminded them that they were not to worry, that all the nations of the world seek after food and drink and other necessities, and that God knows that we need such things. Jesus said quit worrying, those things will be provided. Jesus said “Instead, seek the kingdom, and these things will be added to you.”

          But we have so much to do. We have promises to keep. We have responsibilities. We have people who count on us. Yes, we do. That is our mantra. That is what we say to ourselves as we put off our daily devotions or morning prayers. We have promises to keep. We are serious about our obligations. And the song says:

                          Hello lamp post, what cha knowin’?

                         I’ve come to watch your flowers growin’

                        Ain’t cha got no rhymes for me?

                        Doot-in doo-doo  feelin’ groovy

 

          Paul goes on in his advice to the Roman Christians. “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” Certainly not the weapons of the world. Paul worries not about sword or danger or persecution or a host of other maladies. To these things he says that we are more than conquerors. But it is of the greatest importance to finish Paul’s thought. Yes, we are more than conquerors…”through him who loves us.” We conquer not through our own deeds. We find the rest we seek not through our own acts. We accomplish that which God has elected for us through him who loves us.

          One of the reasons this old song caught my interest again is that is seems to prick my desire to be more in the moment, to feel groovy, as it were. Does the Bible allow for such attitudes? I think it does. I think that today’s passage from Romans and Jesus’ comments about the worries of the day are there in part to prompt us to live in the moment, to find the time to spend with God. Cindy and I read a devotion book entitled Jesus Calling, written by Sarah Young. I commend it to you. I have found it very compelling. In that little book this week is this thought: “Much, much stress results from your wanting to make things happen before their times have come…ask Me [Jesus] to show you the path forward moment by moment. Instead of dashing headlong toward the goal, let Me set the pace. Slow down and enjoy the journey in My presence.”

          The last verse of the song goes like this:

                     I’ve got no deeds to do, no promises to keep

                    I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep

                   Let the morning time drop all its petals on me

                   Life, I love you, all is groovy.

 

          Life, I love you, all is groovy. It could come right out of Paul’s letter to the Romans, for this is part and parcel of Paul’s message. “Who will separate us from the love of Christ?...for I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

          Slow down. You move too fast. Why don’t you slow down and make the moment last? We are creatures of God. We are created in his image and our chief end is to glorify him. In our essence, we are not Smiths or Jones. We are not Jewish or gentile or black or white. We are not Americans, We are not Presbyterians. We are ecclesia, the gathering. We are ecclesia, those called out. We are the people of God, the Israel of faith. We are not about destination. Our destination is already defined, marked off and waiting for us. We are all about journey.

          In the first chapter of Luke’s gospel, a naïve, innocent teenager engaged to be married is visited by an angel. She asks how she can become pregnant with the Son of God. The angel answers her. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you…For nothing will be impossible with God.”

It’s the same with us as it was with Mary. Nothing is impossible with God and nothing can separate us from his love. You just have to dismount from this world long enough to notice what the real journey looks like.

        Slow down. You move too fast. Enjoy the journey.  Make the moment last.

Stepping Out into the Void

2 Corinthians 5: 6, 7

Hebrews 11: 1, 2

 

 

           The message starts with a 2 minute film clip from the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The clip is entitled Step of Faith and can be accessed on Youtube.

 

 

          In the movie The Last Crusade, Indiana Jones’ father is dying from a bullet wound. A few hundred feet away lie a chalice and holy water that can heal him. In between lie three challenges, one of which is a chasm far too wide for any man to leap. He looks down and is gripped with fear, for he cannot even see the bottom. Yet he is faced with the certain death of his father if he does not act.

            He reads hurriedly from the old notebook that guides them on their journey. The instructions say this: “Only in the leap from the lion’s head will he prove his worth.” He looks up and sees the image of a lion’s head in the stone wall.  He stands at the edge of the cliff. “It’s impossible,” he says. “Nobody can jump this.”  His friends call out for him to hurry. He looks out across the chasm and sighs. “It’s a leap of faith,” he says.  Several hundred feet away, his father mutters in a voice too soft for the ear to hear, but perhaps just right for the heart to register: “You’ve got to believe, boy. You’ve got to believe.”

          Indiana Jones, the great archeologist and adventurer, takes a deep breath, shivers all over…and steps out into the void. He can see nothing to step on, and yet he steps anyway. In doing so, he must not only believe; he must also accept the fact that he may be taking a step that will cost him his life. Yet he steps out.  Jones steps onto a stone bridge invisible from his angle of perception. It is there, but he cannot see it. You know the rest of the story.  His faith is rewarded.

            Today’s message is a collection of challenges for the New Year. Normally, I like to use one passage from which to build a platform for the message, but today, I am deviating from that method. Please bear in mind that each passage quoted forms part of a larger theme and that I am taking these lines out of their context to form another theme. You may find it instructive on other grounds to go back and examine the passages from which these lines originate.

          In the film clip we saw, Jones reads from an old notebook to get clues for his next steps. He might have been reading about the apostle Paul talking to the Corinthian church. Paul exhorts his friends in the faith. He says that we…believers, are always of good courage. .. “For we walk by faith, not by sight.”  In the context of the passage, Paul is telling the church that the fact that Jesus is not present in body does not make him absent. Rather, the presence of Jesus is changed and present in us through the Holy Spirit. We are still able, and should be willing, to walk in faith. It is not a faith that encourages blindness, but it is a faith that is bigger than just what we see. It is a faith that finds us responding with not only our eyes, but our hearts. We cannot hope to see and hear God if we confine ourselves to revelation which takes place only with the naked eye.

          There are many proofs in this world of the presence of God, but we must sometimes initiate our correspondence with these proofs with our hearts. We walk by faith, not by sight, says Paul. It is not sight that prompted Peter to step out into a raging sea to walk toward Jesus. Sight would have only kept Peter clinging to the boat. Peter stepped out of that boat because he had faith. His eyes were focused on his Lord rather than looking down at his fears.

          In the eleventh chapter of Hebrews, the writer selects some of the greats in the history of God’s people and uses their stories to tell how they were motivated by faith, how they pressed on despite the circumstances or odds. The chapter begins with these famous words: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” [KJV]. The writer is telling us that faith is not just a virtue; it is a living thing, a way of life.  

          Faith is the substance. It is no less material because it is not tangible. If you owe money, you are in debt. Is a debt material? No. Is it real? You better believe it. If you invent something and have it patented, you are patenting a thing or a process. Is a patent material? No. There is a piece of paper that evidences its existence, but it is not a material thing. Is it real? Sure, it is. Even if you don’t quite know exactly how to explain it, you still know it’s real. The law calls things such as these intangible property. In the same sense, faith is a substance, not material, but just as real as anything else.

          The writer of Hebrews goes on to say that faith is the evidence of things not seen. At first, that sounds so heavy, so intellectual. But think about it. Can we see air? Can we see wind? We see only the evidence of these things, but that makes their existence no less real. If we can breathe unseen air and see the evidence of the wind as it cools us and knocks the caps from our heads, can we not accept the fact that faith can indeed be the evidence of things not seen? When someone is diagnosed with an incurable disease and a church body goes to its spiritual knees for that person, what shall we call it when that person is healed through no apparent help from medicine? Shall we not call it the evidence of faith?

          Faith steps out into the void where no one else will go, no one else can explain. Faith moves that which cannot move, softens that which cannot be softened, bridges that which cannot be bridged. In the movie clip we saw, Indiana Jones stepped out into the void. He stepped out on faith and found that a bridge existed the whole time. He just had to trust. Once he took that incredible first step, his faith was rewarded. I’m reminded of something St. Augustine once said, that “Faith is to believe what we do not see, and the reward of this faith is to see what we believe.”

          We are embarking on a new year. 2015. When I was young, I assumed that by this time, everyone would go to work in his own personal spaceship. Many wonderful things have happened in the last century, the last year. And yet, most of the world is still asking the same questions it always has. What am I here for? What is the meaning of it all?

          There is a reason for you to be here. There is a meaning to it all. It’s not a secret. It’s all written down in a book not dissimilar from that guidebook that Indiana Jones was using in the movie. We call it the Bible and it truly is our map. It can show us the evidence of faith. It can tell us about the substance of things hoped for and how they were and will be delivered.  D. L. Moody put it this way: “I prayed for faith, and thought that someday faith would come deliver me and strike me like lightning. But faith did not seem to come. One day I read in the tenth chapter of Romans, ‘Now faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.’ I had closed my Bible, and prayed for faith. I now opened my Bible, and began to study, and faith has been growing ever since.”

      In his book Waiting, Ben Patterson tells a story about faith and sums it up with this thought: “To save us, God often tells us to do things that are the opposite of our natural inclination. Is God loving and faithful? Can we trust him? He is. We can.” The thing is, that chasm we face is not really a void at all. It never was. Just because we can’t see it doesn’t make it any less real. This year, like never before in your life, why not open that Bible and study? Why not grow some more faith? Why not just step out into the void? You won’t be sorry. The bridge is there even though you can’t see it yet.