Opening Doors

                            John 4: 39, Luke 5: 17 John 14; 12-14

         

 

          Thank you sir! How many times have I heard that over the course of my life, and all because I was taught at an early age that a gentleman opens the door for a lady.  It doesn’t matter what kind of door it is. It can be a car door or a door to your house. A gentleman gets there first, opens the door and holds it for the lady. I was taught that that is the southern way, but I think it’s more good manners than southern.

          Opening doors. It’s a simple way that we can provide for someone else to enter. And in that way, opening doors becomes a metaphor for the activity that we Christians call witness, or testimony. We open doors for others. We don’t make the doors. We don’t provide the experience that awaits on the other side of those doors. But sometimes, we get to open them. Such is the case in many places in Scripture. Today, we look at several of those passages.

          In the fourth chapter of John’s gospel we can read about Jesus’ encounter with the Woman of Samaria. Jesus was on the road. He had been in Judea and he was being followed by those who wanted to do him in. He decided to leave for a time and headed north back to Galilee where it was safer. The most direct route was through Samaria, a region of half-breeds who were not acceptable to the Jews. The Jews weren’t very acceptable to the Samaritans either. So Jesus arrives in Sychar, the town where Jacob had frequented so long ago. Jesus seeks a drink of water from Jacob’s well, and there he meets the woman.

          You are familiar with this story. Jesus talks to the woman, an act that in itself is out of line. He is a Jew; she is Samaritan. Unacceptable. He is a man; she is a woman, apparently a married woman. Improper. Nevertheless, Jesus breaks the ice,  asking her to draw him some water from the well, using it as a way to talk about living water. As they talk, and as Jesus shows her that he knows everything about her and her life, her spiritual eyes are opened. She leaves her water jar; that is, she completely abandons what it is that she came to do, and she goes to the center of town. This is what she said to all who would listen: “Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”

          My daughter Emily called from Africa the other day. She knew I was about to take a big test and she wanted me to know she was praying for me. It wasn’t a long conversation. She just wanted me to know her prayers were with me. She was lifting me up to God. She couldn’t take the test for me. She couldn’t do the studying for me. But she could pray for me and she wanted me to know that she was doing that. Emily was trying to open a door for me.

          In the fifth chapter of the gospel of Luke, Jesus is in Galilee in one of the cities there, and he is teaching. Apparently he is teaching in someone’s house. The house is crammed full of Pharisees and teachers of the law and townspeople. There is no way get inside. But that doesn’t stop some very determined fellows who are friends of a paralytic. They have brought him to town and they are going to get him in the presence of Jesus or bust. Houses in those days had outside stairs that led to the roofs, which were usually tiled. So these guys carry their friend up the stairs to the roof, where they remove enough tiles to lower him on his bed down through the roof to where he is right in front of Jesus. You will remember that the man was healed by Jesus. Jesus first says, “Man, your sins are forgiven you.” A moment later he says: “rise, take up your bed and go home.” And that’s’ exactly what this formerly paralyzed man did. He stood up, picked up his bed, and went home. In the narrative given by Luke, he tells us that that Jesus acted “when he saw their faith.”

          Another of my daughters, Ellie, called late the same night that Emily had called earlier. It was after midnight. Her voice was quivering. Her first sentence was “I need you to pray for someone.” She related a story about how her friends and neighbors, a Coast Guard couple named Matthew and Amy, had gotten a babysitter for their two young children so they could go out on a date. They went into San Juan to enjoy the celebration of San Sebastian. The night ended early and in tragedy. Matthew was shot in the stomach by a random celebrator. No fight, no argument. He was just in the line of fire. When Ellie called, Matthew was still in surgery. As I write this, I do not know the outcome. I do know that my daughter was shaken. He own husband was at sea, and she was there alone with her two young children. So Ellie did what she could. She prayed, and she called those whom she trusted and asked for more prayer for her friend. She was trying to open a door for him.

          In the fourteenth chapter of John’s gospel, Jesus is giving final instructions to the disciples who will carry on his ministry. They don’t know it at the time, but the Son of God is giving marching orders to a faithful few who will evangelize the known world for the sake of the gospel. One of the things he tells them is this:

               “Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me

               will also do the works that I do; and greater works

               than these I do, because I am going to the Father.

               Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that

               the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask

               me anything in my name, I will do it.”

 

          A woman who has spent her life in an out of bad relationships has an encounter with Jesus and her life is forever changed. And she testifies. And other lives are changed. That woman from Samaria opened the door for her fellow villagers to experience God, and a village gave Christ a chance because of her testimony. Christ did the rest. A man, a cripple, paralyzed for life, is saved and healed, not because of his own faith, but because of the faith of his friends. Those unnamed friends opened the door for that man to experience God. Christ did the rest.

          In one day, I had the privilege to hear from two daughters. One of them was appealing to God, interceding in prayer for me. The other was also appealing to God for her friend. In that appeal, she reached out to enlarge that circle of prayer, trying to intercede for him.

          Why do we do such things? Why do we call upon each other to pray? James, the brother of Jesus, reminds us in his epistle. “Is anyone among you suffering? Sick? Let him pray…The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working.”

          It’s just opening a door. Sometimes, the ones for whom we pray won’t come through that door. But sometimes they will. Jesus will handle their response. We just need to help get that door open. Jesus said we can do great things in his name. He said the things we can accomplish in faith can be even greater works than what he did.       

          We need to claim that promise. We all know that just opening the door is not enough. Those of us who come to Christ will do so through personal experience and communion with our Lord. But how will that start? Sometimes it comes through the not so small act of someone opening a door. Sometimes it comes through the testimony of someone who once stood in front of that door and made a choice for God.

          Be a witness. Give your testimony. And keep on opening doors for others.

Grace Upon Grace

                                             John 1: 9-18

 

 

          Clement of Alexandria, one of the great second century church fathers, called John’s gospel the “spiritual” gospel. When you read all four gospels, you get a pretty good idea of what Clement meant. Matthew, Mark and Luke, called the synoptic gospels because they “see” more or less the same thing, make their case with genealogies and facts of Jesus’ mighty deeds and acts, along with parables of Jesus. John doesn’t do that. He doesn’t relate a single parable. He does talk about facts, but not in the same way. John is more concerned with the thread which connects the divinity of Jesus with the chance for eternal life for those who believe his story.

          John was Jesus’ first cousin. He and his brother James were fisherman in Galilee. They were part of the family business run by their father Zebedee. John is thought to have been the beloved disciple that the gospels, especially his, refer to. Tradition has it that he is the only disciple who died of natural causes. His gospel is thought to have been written some forty years after the resurrection. The other gospels predated John, and chances are he was familiar with them. Maybe that had something to do with how John chose to write his witness. It is a book dotted with 7 or 8 “I Am” statements, depending on how you count. It is also a book which brings a more spiritual approach to its witness. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…and the Word came and dwelt among us.” See what I mean. Now there’s a genealogy, all the way back to before creation.

          John knew Jesus as cousin, as disciple, as a member of Jesus’ inner circle, even as the caretaker of Jesus’ mother Mary after the death and resurrection. And he lived long, probably seventy years after Jesus’ death. John lived to see the fall of Jerusalem, the destruction of the temple. His gospel seems to talk about that in the way he describes Jesus as God’s living temple. God revealed himself to the people of Israel, manifesting himself to them in the desert in the tabernacle, a moveable nomadic dwelling place for his presence. When the people reached the Promised Land and made it their home, Jerusalem rose up and Solomon caused God’s temple to be built. So God’s people have known God’s presence in tabernacle and temple. With the coming of Jesus, John makes it clear that God has taken up residence in the incarnate presence of Jesus (and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us). The Greek word skenoo for “dwelt” means literally that God “pitched his tent.” So John, unlike the other evangelists, takes us beyond the facts and events to dialogue and to the metaphysical. Along the way, he uses the “I am” stories as his vehicles for the signage that points to the divinity and promise of salvation that Jesus brings.

          For me, the first eighteen verses of John’s gospel are among the most spell binding, the most revealing, of all scripture. I have always been attracted to the way John explains Jesus. We have those great lines about the Word that takes us from the beginning of creation all the way to the manger in Bethlehem. We also have a continuing comparison of Jesus to light; light as the light of men, light shining in the darkness, the true light. John will continue with this motif throughout his writings. But what caught my eye on this reading was something I had not seen clearly before. What caught my eye this time around was John’s allusion to Jesus as the image of God.

          How do you see God? John says what we all know, that no one has ever seen God. Oh yes, some have seen his presence, like the pillar of clouds that moved across the desert by day and the pillar of fire that hovered over the camp of  the people at night, or like Moses being practically blinded by the burning bush. Abraham was said to have walked with God, though nowhere does it say that he looked at him. God came to Adam and Eve in the garden, but it was his presence, not his person, that ministered to his creation. In his letter to the Romans, Paul told them that God’s attributes are clear enough to see all over his creation. But those are God’s attributes, not his person.

          And yet, as John tells us, God has been made known by Jesus. Jesus, God’s Son. Jesus; who is at the Father’s side. Later in the fourteenth chapter of John’s gospel, the disciple Phillip asks Jesus for a sign from the Father. Jesus answers him: “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father.” No, we have not seen God the Father, but there were those who saw God the Son. And Jesus himself tells us that he is the image which we have longed to see.

          What is God’s image? If we look at Genesis 1, we see God making man (Heb.: Adam - mankind) in God’s (that is, the Trinitarian God) image and likeness. Here in John 1, John says that we have seen his glory. John could have meant a lot of things by that statement, from the Transfiguration to the Ascension to just plain seeing Jesus’ presence. But with John, he makes clear that he, John, has seen. He is an eyewitness to what he speaks.

          So what is God’s image? It is physical. It is spiritual. It is emotional. It is God in man, man in God. It is, according to John, glory as of the only Son from the Father. John and others saw that firsthand and John writes about it here. While we cannot see physically who John saw, we can see it spiritually. To do that, we would do well to try to capture the words from John. He calls Jesus full of grace and truth. But what does that mean?

          This has been quite a year in the United States. It has been a year in which everyone has struggled to see the truth. It is a year in which yet another new phrase has been coined to describe what is going on. Now we have to deal with “fake news.” It’s a new term, but an old idea. It used to be called propaganda. In John’s time it was called false teaching. So while the term is new, the idea has been with us for ages. John tells us a story as an eyewitness, and in the truth he tries to convey, he describes Jesus as full of grace and truth.

          Have you ever heard anyone other than Jesus described in such a way? I have grace, sometimes, but I’m sure not full of it. I make my life about telling the truth, but Jesus was full of truth. Now we can begin to see the image of God. It is full of grace and truth. If we could look at Jesus as John and his disciples did, we would both see and feel Jesus’ fullness. John says from that fullness we can all receive grace upon grace. Think about that. Grace is that unmerited, completely free, bestowing of forgiveness and assurance, acceptance. It cannot be earned. It is unconditional and given for the asking. And John says that Jesus gives those who believe grace upon grace. It’s sort of like getting a heaping helping of all your favorite things, then getting it again and again and again. The Psalmist knew something about grace upon grace when he wrote “my cup runneth over.”

          John goes on to emphasize what has happened with the coming of Jesus. Moses gave us the law. That is, through Moses, we were shown a basic set of rules. Don’t do this. Do that. We were given a set of definitions by which we could measure ourselves for society with each other and most notably with God. But what the law did most of all was to show us the fence. Anything outside of the fence was bad or dangerous or disobedient. Jesus both changed that and clarified that. This is John’s revelation shared with us, that Jesus was not about fences. He was all about making God’s true nature known. John says that through Jesus Christ, we were made acquainted with grace and truth. We were introduced to the image of God, and it is an image of love.

          Love is who God is, and love is what God looks like. That is the image of God and that is the image in which he made us. John tells us that when Jesus came and lived among us, those who saw him were privileged to see that image face to face. To see that image was to see grace and truth in action, in the flesh.

          That kind of vision came only once. Jesus lived among us and showed us the image of God. John saw that. He spent his life ministering to the truth of what he saw. While we do not have the physical presence of Jesus as John did, we do have the word and witness of John, the beloved disciple. John said Jesus made God known. Jesus lives not only in the words of the evangelist in Scripture, but in the Holy Spirit, whom he sent to us to guide and comfort us.

          Jesus has been called the image of the invisible God. But Jesus is also now invisible to the naked eye. Unless. Unless your vision is making use of the Holy Spirit. If you are there, then you don’t even need these words. You can already see. If you are not quite there, then keep reading. Invite the Holy Spirit to guide you. Grace upon grace can be yours too.         

Immanuel

                                             Isaiah 7:14

 

 

          It’s a new year! It’s only hours old. Little has gone wrong this year, if only because the year is too fresh to have been damaged yet. We can polish up our new calendars and note all the empty spaces that have yet to be filled. Everything is fresh, at least for the moment. Last week, we celebrated Jesus’ birthday. This week it’s the birthday of 2017. Where will it go for you this year? What great things will happen to you? Where will 2017 go for the church, the United States, the world? All the pages of that book are yet to be written.

          Sometimes the New Year is depicted as a baby, and year end as an old fellow barely able to walk. The days and months have piled up events and tasks until the year’s end comes wheezing to the finish line. But 2017? Now that’s a portrait waiting to be painted. What knowledge do you bring with you for this New Year? What assets are you holding that will help you along the path? What baggage are you toting that you should leave behind?

          The great prophet Isaiah frames our subject today. He prophesies the coming of a great king, a messiah. Among his titles will be Immanuel. Immanuel. In the Hebrew it comes from two words. The first is immanu, meaning “with us.” The second is el, which means “God.” So the compound word becomes literally, With us God. The words of the prophet are quoted in Matthew’s gospel, where Matthew tells his readers that the birth of Jesus is to fulfill Isaiah’s prophecy, and he explains that the word means “God with us.”

          That’s all well and good, you say, but Christmas is over. What good is it for me now? I’ve got to go back to work. I’ve got to go back to parenting children without the gifts of Christmas to cheer them or get them to listen to me. A soldier home on leave has to go back to the theater of battle.  A nurse has to go back to an arena of disease and sickness. A teacher has to go back to classrooms filled with challenges of little time, insufficient resources, ungrateful parents and sometimes lonely or frustrated children. Christmas is nice, but it’s time to get back to the real world, and I need something new, a fresh, strong idea, to carry me through this wilderness of selfishness and greed and trouble.

          God is not unaware of your problems. In case you haven’t noticed lately, he tags along very close to us, waiting for us to invoke the power of his name. Immanuel—God with us. He means it.

          Most of you are plenty familiar with being tested physically. If you have farmed, you endure long days and back breaking chores. It you have competed as an athlete, you have trained through pain and soreness. Linemen climb power poles. Surveyors cut underbrush with machetes. “Homemakers” go from early to late making meals, ironing, cooking, caregiving, taxiing and the like.

          Each of the jobs I just listed and many others you can name come with a healthy dose of stress. There is emotional wear and tear suffered by each of us. We worry about our children, our grandchildren, whether we have enough money, enough job security, enough life and breath in us each day to show up and get the job done. Life is a grind and sometimes, it can get very lonely, even right here in church or surrounded by people.

          But consider this. The Bible is full of such situations. These feelings we have are not novel, not peculiar to us. They just belong to us for the moment as we pass across the stage of life. For instance, imagine how the people of the Exodus felt after being led for forty years by Moses, perhaps the greatest figure of the Old Testament. They reach the so-called Promised Land, but it is not without cost. There are inhabitants in the land. It will have to be taken. And at this great juncture with destiny in the life of the people of God, their leader Moses dies. How would you feel if you were there? If you have ever lost a leader or a loved one, you know that feeling of not only loss but helplessness. In a moment, what was a time for joy has become a time of crisis. And what does God do? He speaks to Joshua and says these words: “Just as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you [Josh. 1:5]…for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” [1:9]. God was with the people of Israel then and he is with us now when we experience loss and fear.

         We face all kind and manner of enemies in life, though many do not come announced as thieves and robbers. Often the threats we face come in more subtle forms, from cancer to heart disease to aging to loss of income or relationships. Consider the trusting relationship spoken by the Psalmist: Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me [Ps. 23: 4].  You are with me, says the Psalmist. It’s not just death to which the Psalmist refers. He is talking about the dark places of life, the places where we feel out of control. God is there with us.

          This theme of God’s presence with us is echoed by the writer of Hebrews. He tells God’s people to keep our lives free from the love of money and be content with what we have; reminding us of God’s promise that he will never leave us or forsake us. He follows with this reassurance: “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?” [Heb. 13: 5, 6]

          How do we know he is there? How can we feel his presence in a world full of so many pushes and pulls and distractions? We will have to pull back from the constant callings of other things if we are to hear the voice of God. If we want to feel his presence, we have to first feel. Do you feel? Really feel? Think about how little time you devote to intentionally feeling anything other than what is coming at you right now. Jesus said to his disciples in those last instructions he gave to them in John 15 that if we abide, live in him, we will bear much fruit. Our lives will be productive and full. If we don’t, we will produce nothing. He said to them that if they did these things, their joy, our joy, would be full. What Jesus is telling us is that if we fill up our lives with something other than him, we are going to end up doing nothing worthwhile.

          The book of Revelation talks about a new heaven and a new earth. It talks about the dwelling place of God being with man. It talks about him wiping away every tear from our eyes. Now these are promises for the end times, but think about how much we can have here and now. Jesus has already sent the Holy Spirit to be with us, to live in us, to walk with us. The Holy Spirit is another form of Immanuel; God with us. We don’t have to wait for the second coming of Jesus to experience God right here in real time.

          All these passages and many more point to the same theme. God is with us. The Bible is literally full of references to God being with us. We need not feel alone, for if we believe in God, we can rest assured that we are not alone. Long ago, the prophet Zephaniah (a man whose name means “Yahweh hides”) spoke about the restoration of Israel. We Gentiles some 27 centuries later sometimes question the relevance of prophets who spoke to the exile of the people of Israel, promising restoration to those who believe. What can such literature possibly have to do with a post-religious Western world? What do we have in common with people in exile from their God? Really? Do we really need to ask? We who haven’t seen most of our neighbors during the whole Christmas season? We who tolerate store clerks saying Happy Holidays rather than Merry Christmas? We are living in self-imposed exile and walk around almost blinded by the demands of our culture. No, Zephaniah, Yahweh doesn’t hide. It is we who hide from him.

          And yet, the message of Scripture, over and over and over, is Immanuel. God with us. It was a descriptor for Isaiah to prophesy. It should be our mantra. Everywhere in the Bible, God is calling to us, reminding us that we are not alone and not defenseless. I love the way Matthew bookends his gospel with the idea. In the first chapter (v. 23), he describes a genealogy of Jesus, beginning with the call of Abraham. Then he speaks of the birth of Jesus, reminding us that Isaiah’s prophecy has been fulfilled by that birth; that a virgin shall conceive and bear a son whose name shall be called Immanuel. God makes good on the first leg of his promise: to come to us. In the last chapter, the last verse, the last phrase, it is Jesus talking. He is about to ascend to heaven. He has made good on the second leg of God’s promise; to redeem us. The last phrase says it all: “And behold, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age.”

          In this New Year, if you are alone, it’s because you are choosing to ignore the presence of God, the presence of Jesus at his right hand, and the presence of the Holy Spirit in your heart. Lay down that emotional baggage and pick up the cross. With us God. All of Scripture reminds us. With us God. Can you feel him?        

Firstborn

Colossians 1: 9-20

 

 

         My first name, my given name, is a little weird.  It sounds like a last name. So do my middle and last names, for that matter. They are all last names. That’s probably because I am a firstborn son. It didn’t help that I was born on my father’s birthday. I guess that sealed the deal. My father was also a firstborn son. He got all the family names and passed them down to me.  Firstborn. It’s still a pretty big deal today, but in ancient times, it was a very big deal. Such a big deal that the book of Genesis describes Esau’s twin Jacob as holding on to Esau’s foot in delivery, as if to pass him in the birth canal. Such a big deal that the same kid swindled Esau out of his birthright by bribing him with food. Today in western society at least, children, both male and female, tend to inherit equally. Not so in ancient Israel. The first born son got a double portion of dad’s estate. So being the firstborn was a big deal.

          Is Jesus a firstborn, a first born son? The Apostles Creed tells us that Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. The gospels of Matthew and Luke record a virgin birth; that is, birth of the child Jesus, to a virgin named Mary. The father was not her future husband Joseph, but none other than God the Holy Spirit.  But think about that. God the Holy Spirit is the father of God the Son? Really, Jesus has no father, as least not in the way we think of fatherhood and biology. So yes, Jesus is a firstborn, but only of Mary or, if you will, only as a human being. With God, Jesus is his only son, not his firstborn, for Jesus was with God in the beginning. Jesus, like the other members of the Trinity, never was not. This is what we believe.  This is decided theology.

          If we hearken back to the fourth century, we can hear the arguments of Arius, a great theologian who simply got it wrong when he posited that Jesus Christ was a created being. For that, he was ultimately called a heretic. The Nicene Creed was written to make clear that the position of the Church and, more importantly that of Scripture, is that Jesus is “before all things.” The apostle John writes that Jesus is the Word whom was there in the beginning. In the eighth chapter of John’s gospel Jesus answers the Jews about seeing their ancestor Abraham and he himself replies: “Truly, truly, I say to you, before Abraham was, I am.”  In the first chapter of Genesis, God addresses his creation and says “Let us make man in our image.” The point is this. Jesus is. He never was not. He is God’s only son, but he is begotten, not created or made. If you can’t get there from here, just chalk it up to the God-thing that it is. Come on, how hard can that be? If you can believe that God stands outside his creation, then to put Jesus there with him is a very small leap of faith.

          But Jesus is a firstborn. Paul says so twice in his letter to the Colossians. He says so twice in the space of three verses. First, says Paul, Jesus is the firstborn of all creation. Here. Paul is not talking about some physical attribute. Rather, he is talking about the preeminence of Christ. Paul says that it is by Jesus that all things were created. He is the agent of God! But that’s not all. Paul goes on to say that all things were created through Jesus and for Jesus. If creation were a book, Jesus, as the agent of God, would be the binding and the cover, the very container of that which was and is created. He is even the glue that holds it together.

          Jesus is also the firstborn of the dead. But wait, you say, other people died and were resurrected. Jesus himself raised Lazarus. This is true. But Jesus, Jesus the Son of God and Son of Man, was raised from the dead never to die again. In that very physical sense, he is the firstborn of the dead, born again to never die.

          So no, Jesus is not the firstborn but the only, Son of God. And yes, Jesus is the firstborn of all creation in his power and agency from God, and firstborn again in that he alone has conquered death for all time. It is up to us as believers of the gospel to call upon him as our agent to conquer death for us as well.

          Why is it so important at Christmas for us to talk about creation and death? Because we are talking about something so amazing, so phenomenal that the only way to describe it is to make it normal…and that’s a shame, because it is a country mile from normal! The story of Christmas is not about a short season of buying and gifting and “Christmas spirit.” The story of Christmas is the story of a radical invasion of God into our world! Yes, God came down, came down as one of us and stepped into the chaos and the mess and the hate and the injustice and the poverty. He came barefooted and bled with us. He came in that manger and he came…to claim that cross!

          We just heard Ashlee and Christina and Missy sing a beautiful song about the cross. The lyrics show how music can open us to God every bit as deeply as any message. Listen once more:

It’s not just about the manger

It’s not about the angels

It’s not about the shepherds

It’s not about the wisemen

 

It’s about the cross

It’s about the stone rolled away

 

It’s not about the presents

It’s not about coming home

It’s not about the beauty of the snow

 

It’s about the cross

It’s about my sin

It’s about how Jesus came to be born once

So that we could be born again

 

It’s about the cross

 

          I ran across this quotation from Winston Churchill from December, 1941. Churchill was in Washington and it wasn’t long after the attack on Pearl Harbor that he uttered these words as part of a speech. Spoken a full 75 years ago, they continue to resonate today. Listen.

          This is a strange Christmas Eve.  Almost the whole world is locked in deadly struggle, and, with the most terrible weapons which science can devise, the nations advance upon each other.  Ill would it be for us this Christmastide if we were not sure that no greed for the land or wealth of any other people, no vulgar ambition, no morbid lust for material gain at the expense of others, had led us to the field.  Here, in the midst of war, raging and roaring over all the lands and seas, creeping nearer to our hearts and homes, here, amid all the tumult, we have tonight the peace of the spirit in each cottage home and in every generous heart.  Therefore we may cast aside for this night at least the cares and dangers which beset us, and make for the children an evening of happiness in a world of storm.  Here, then, for one night only, each home throughout the English-speaking world should be a brightly-lighted island of happiness and peace.

          Let the children have their night of fun and laughter.  Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play.  Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures before we turn again to the stern task and the formidable years that lie before us, resolved that, by our sacrifice and daring, these same children shall not be robbed of their inheritance or denied their right to live in a free and decent world.

 

          This whole month, we have touched on the themes of Advent: hope and joy and love and peace. We have talked about darkness turning to light, about waiting for the Lord, about expectation. Christmas, Christ day, is all those things. But it is also an arrow that points oh so directly at the reason Jesus came to dwell among us. It was man who designed the cross, but it was Jesus who was fitted for it. It was his instrument of peace. Through his blood, our peace was bought. Even on this day, even amidst all the happiness and joy of the Incarnation of God on earth, there is the cross. It is what he was born for. Today, while we hug and kiss and rock and relax, help us to remember that he was, and is, alive and vigilant. We are his children. His love will bring us home.

          Merry Christmas!

Wait for the Lord

Psalm 27

 

 

          I watched a good portion of the Army-Navy game yesterday. It’s sort of a tradition in our house. My father and all his cousins were Army. My uncle was Navy. He was the only one until I came along. After me were both my brother and my son. My sister went rogue and joined the Air Force. Now I have a daughter who married a Coastie. The point is, we have to watch. Our families, mine and Cindy’s, are generations thick in military service. Now that’s of no particular importance. It’s just my way of introducing this: It never fails when I watch that game that I realize that every player, every single player, and every student in gray or blue in the stands, has already committed to put his or her life on the line for duty, honor and country. They are barely out of their teens and their immediate futures are etched in those long gray lines of soldiers.

          Why, you might ask, do you make such a point here and now, Preacher? Why would you bring up soldiering so close to the celebration of our Savior’s birthday? What’s the connection? It’s a fair question. Listen to the words of the Psalmist in Psalm 27:

                          2 When evil doers assail me

                             to eat up my flesh,

                             my adversaries and foes,

                             it is they who stumble and fall.

 

                         3 Though an army encamp against me,

                            my heart shall not fear;

                            though war arise against me,

                            yet I will be confident.

 

          There is more connection to soldiering and the Incarnation than one might think at first impression. As surely as those cadets and middies do battle on the football field, they will very soon become brothers and sisters in arms, defending the ideals they have sworn to protect.  In much the same way, our Savior arrived as an innocent baby, but was sent from the beginning to be the most important soldier in the history of the world.

          Psalm 27 is a beautiful psalm. The beginning verses are full of confidence. It is often used at both Christmas time and at funerals because its words lift us up and give us hope. Peter Craigie has characterized it as a “Royal Ritual” because of its references to courage and confidence and its linkage to power. Listen to the royal attributes for the Lord used in its opening lines: “The Lord is my light and my salvation.” That statement cannot be found anywhere else in the Old Testament. It hearkens ahead to the apostle John’s many references to light in his gospel and letters. But here in this psalm, the idea of light and salvation is used for the first time. Light was equated to God in so many ways, from the illumination of physical darkness (Remember us talking about coming out of the darkness in Isaiah 9) to the illumination of the spirit and soul, to the sanctuary of God himself. The Psalmist’s words are “The Lord is my stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

          And yet, our Psalmist, most probably king David, in the middle of this psalm, cries out to God for grace, for an answer, for an acknowledgement. The confidence that God inspires has not penetrated the heart of the psalmist, and he appeals to God: Don’t hide your face from me. Don’t turn away in anger. Please don’t forsake me. The psalmist feels distant from the God he needs and loves. He becomes painfully aware of his own shortcomings. Even his own parents have deserted him. He feels alone. He prays for God to take him in.

          During the Christmas season, we reach out to do more for others. We sing more songs, buy gifts for each other, attend more social functions. Christians salute each other with Merry Christmas. Politically correct retailers, more worried about offending than commending, say Happy Holidays. Whatever the greeting, the thought is that we must be more kind. It is the season of giving. We consume food and gadgets and toys as if there may be no tomorrow. We must hurry so we will have time for fun, time for reflection.

          How’s that working for you? If you say not so good, you are not alone. We are a nation bent on having fun and meaningful events, even if it kills us! And yet, even in the midst of all the fuss and bustle, sometimes the fate of many of us is to feel more alone than ever before. Look at Psalm 27. David seems to have the same problem. “Cast me not off, forsake me not,” says David.  David sounds a little like us. He believes. He gives credit. He tries to rest in the shadow of the Lord. But…he just can’t quite be still. People are chasing him, lying about him, wanting to take his place. And he is worried. Sounds like someone I know.

          Do you have an answer for your doubt or your impatience? Do you have a method or a plan? Is there something in this Christmas season that should and can be different? If you really trust in God already, then you don’t need an answer. You already know what the rest of us are looking for. But if you could use a boost, a word to the wise, David might have the answer for you. Here in this psalm, David asks one thing. He actually uses those words. What’s that one thing? “…that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire, or seek, in his temple.” Watch now. David is not talking about heaven or life after his time on earth. He’s talking about now. He asks to dwell in God’s house now…all the days of his life. Life doesn’t begin in heaven. It starts right where you are. It’s not all roses down here, but if, like David, you are seeking the beauty of the Lord, it has a lot more to offer than what you may have been experiencing. David says “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” I think he means the here and now.

          This is the third Sunday of Advent. The theme is joy. Last week we celebrated the theme of hope. Remember that in the biblical application of hope, it means expectancy. It is not concerned with some possibility, but rather with looking forward with confidence to an event or time which will come to pass. As we march ever so much closer to the anniversary of the birth of our Savior, we can look back to the Psalmist and realize that as people of faith, we share our hope and our joy expectantly. We have been promised. Christmas is the realization of one leg of that promise. The Savior came to earth. God came to earth. He came as a baby, a human. We call it the Incarnation, the coming of God in human form.

          And while we celebrate the love and hope and joy that Advent embodies, we should pause to remember what the Incarnation meant and means. It is the coming of the Lord.  He became man and dwelt among us, says John in his gospel. He came as a baby, but he came for a task. That task was as a soldier of the cross and a builder of bridges, the bridges of man with God. That is the story of Easter and for now, that is in the distant future. Today we can do as David did in Psalm 27. We too can wait for the Lord. We too can be strong and let our hearts take courage.

          Wait for the Lord. He is coming. Can you feel his presence yet? The prophets told God’s people over and over to wait for the Lord. They promised he would come. Isaiah announced the birth of that baby hundreds of years before he came.  And here we are in Advent, waiting on him again, not to come as he did in the manger, but to come again, at the end of the age.

           But Christmas also teaches us to wait actively. We need not wait in anticipation only, but in participation as well. Let him be the stronghold of your life. As surely as David called God our light and our salvation, he also found himself put upon by the ways of the world in which he lived. He found himself losing his confidence to deal with the things that life threw him. But then David reached out. He reached out in real time for a God whose presence could be felt right here, right now.  And in his wisdom, he advocated for himself and us a path that keeps us in the game. Wait upon the Lord, but wait with faith and hope and joy. Let your heart take courage. He is here. Just open your heart to make room.

A Birth Announcement

Isaiah 8: 17, 22-9: 7

 

 

          Birth announcements are precious. They say things like: Our littlest love, welcome, introducing. They detail the date and length and birth weight of the newest arrival to the family. They show pictures of the newborn adorned in the prettiest white clothing. It’s a big deal. Of course the baby’s name is included. The announcements are sent to friends and family members. Now with the internet and Facebook, they can reach far and wide. Why do we do such things? Why do we go to so much trouble? Because there is new life and that life is part of us, part of who we are. In some ways, that new life is the best part of who we are. We want everyone to know of our good news.

          The gospels of Matthew and Luke present birth narratives of Jesus. They are more than just announcements. They describe some of the details of the Incarnation, the coming of God to earth as a human. Then, there is the gospel of John, which tells us that Jesus was there from the beginning of creation, but became flesh and dwelt among us. The Luke narrative has been memorized by children for time immemorial: “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.” And so it goes. But long before that night—eight centuries before it—there was a birth announcement. We find it in the book of Isaiah in the ninth chapter.

          Isaiah is one of the major prophets of the Old Testament. He prophesied to the Southern Kingdom of Judah through four different kings. He caught the tail end of Uzziah’s reign, then Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah. Ahaz was the disaster of the three. His son Hezekiah got the dubious assignment of cleaning up his father’s mess. The prophecies in the book of Isaiah have often been asserted to be predictions of the hope that Hezekiah’s reign would prove restorative. But one cannot read this passage without feeling the depth and breadth of a prophecy that seems to span centuries, looking beyond immediate relief and earthly rule to something bigger and stronger---to something set apart.

          The historical setting is this. The kingdom of Judah has escaped the clutches of powerful Syria, but to do so, they have made a pact with Assyria. It turned out to be an unholy alliance. Their ally becomes their oppressor and the kingdom is, in the words of Isaiah, turned into darkness. Our study opens with Isaiah promising to wait for the Lord. But his promise is laced with a foreboding of despair for his people as they have fallen under the shadow of Assyria. What follows is in stark contrast to that image of darkness.

          Isaiah points to a future, but he does so in a very specific way.  Theologian John Oswalt tells us that though all of the events about to be predicted are in the future from the prophet’s point of view, the verbs are all in the perfect tense.  Isaiah has been given divine insight. It is from that view that, though he speaks in the uncertainty of his own times, he still can see into the future and describe its events as though they are completed actions. That’s what we do when we use the perfect tense. He can see what will happen and talk about it as done. This is not guessing. This is knowledge.

          In the first verse of the ninth chapter, Isaiah takes us far into the future. He speaks of a day to come with no gloom, no darkness, a day when the land of Israel will again flourish. And then Isaiah goes to a place where only divine knowledge can take him. He says that in the latter time, that is, the future, God has made (see that future perfect tense working?) “glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, the Galilee of the nations.” Isaiah is calling attention to Galilee, the region where Jesus began his ministry on earth some eight hundred years later. And Isaiah refers to the nations, not just Israel or Judah. In other words, the time will come when God’s glory will be seen anew, and it will begin in Galilee, and it will come to the nations, to the Gentiles. Isaiah has just completely re-written the definition of God’s people. In the New Testament, Paul echoes that thought in his letter to the Galatians (6: 15, 16), where he calls Christians a new creation and refers to them as the Israel of God.

          Isaiah now calls us to see this great light which illuminates the nations. No longer shall we labor in a land of darkness. It will be a time for joy. Listen to verse 4: “For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult and every garment rolled in blood will be burned as fuel for the fire.” No more warriors. No more war. He whose birth is promised will break the yoke that binds, whether it is the yoke of oppression or the yoke of sin. Freedom is promised to both physical and spiritual oppression. And it all comes from God, the author of this joy. Listen to the prophet: he [God] has made glorious…you [God] have multiplied…you [God] have broken the yoke… These are not the works of man, but of God.

          The words of verse six are magnificent, no matter what the translation:

For unto us a child is born,

Unto us a son is given;

And the government shall be upon his shoulder,

And his name shall be called

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

 

          Here is the great birth announcement of history. Government will change. The world will change. And it will all start with the birth of a child, a son. Yes, his lineage will come from the stump of Jesse, King David, just as Isaiah predicts elsewhere, but the lineage of this child, this son, will be deeper than any other. He will trace his roots to the Trinity of God, Son and Holy Spirit. Look at the titles bestowed upon this royal son: Wonderful Counselor-all wise in his plans and purposes. Mighty God-an undefeatable warrior. Everlasting Father-the unbroken cord of kinship and family through which he identifies with and cares for his people. Prince of Peace-this is the promise of a harmonious existence, much more than simply a lack of war. And yet, in all these titles, there is the conspicuous absence of the title of king. This son will be much more than an earthly monarch. King, no; Royalty, beyond measure!

          As beautiful as it is, this birth announcement, why would God, the God of creation, of the universe, choose to arrive as human on earth, much less a helpless baby? Here is one of those God moments from which we can begin to see our Creator.  The gospels, indeed all the New Testament and the Reformed Confessions and Creeds, make it clear that Jesus was both divine and human, fully God, fully man. What could be more human than the Incarnation, the arrival of God on earth as a baby born to mankind? But there is more. If God is the God of peace, who comes to bring peace, will he come as a warrior to secure that peace? Hardly! He would come as he did, as the birth announcement of Isaiah proclaims. John Oswalt says it beautifully: “God is strong enough to overcome his enemies by becoming vulnerable, transparent, and humble---the only hope, in fact, for turning enmity into friendship.”

          What a birth announcement! It’s a little different than those we see today. No height or weight. The given name is withheld, but four titles take its place. It is full of promise. Even more, it is full of promises. But, you might say, Isaiah couldn’t know this. I think you’re right. He didn’t know. But God knew. In verse 7, Isaiah includes this in the birth announcement: “Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end.” Does that sound like an earthly king to you? No term limits. No termination. Just increase followed by increase.

                                  For unto us a child is born,

Unto us a son is given…

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

 

If there was ever a birth announcement that deserved a positive response to its RSVP, this is the one!                                       

 

The Remnant, Shepherds, and the Righteous Branch

Jeremiah 23: 1-6

 

 

          It’s Christ the King Sunday. As holy days go, this one is pretty new. Pope Pious XI instituted it in 1925. At the time, secularism was on the rise throughout Europe. The Pope hoped that the celebration would help to remind people of the primacy of Jesus; that the authority and existence of Jesus is preeminent in our lives.  Sadly, the experiment, while a noble idea, didn’t seem to take. Less than a hundred years later, here’s a sampling of church attendance recorded in 2007: Great Britain: 27 percent, France: 21 percent, Sweden: 4 percent. America is some better at 44 percent, but realize what that says: over half of America stays home every Sunday.

          Now this is not the same as belief in God, but it is a formidable warning that the Church as we have identified it over most of the 20^th  and now 21^st Century, is in the midst of reformation at its best, and a slow but accelerating death at worst. That’s not very good news. But it should come as no surprise. The concepts of God and Jesus still have great penetration into the psyche of the 21^st century, but the Church? Well, that’s a different story.

          In the sixth century while Zedekiah was on the throne of Judah, the prophet Jeremiah spoke to the people of God. Zedekiah wasn’t such a bad guy, but during his eleven year reign he was pretty much of a puppet. In other words, the fortunes of Judah continued to spiral downward. Under his not very impressive reign, the Southern Kingdom fell to the Babylonians. In today’s passage, Jeremiah speaks to the issues of poor and corrupt leadership, to the judgment that will befall such leaders, to the remnant who are faithful, and to the restoration of righteousness through responsible leadership. If you close your eyes and listen to the Scripture without any knowledge of when it was written, you just might find a lot of relevance for where we are today.

         In the previous two chapters, God has spoken of judgment, and it is a harsh judgment indeed. But here in chapter 23, God says through Jeremiah: Woe to the leaders who destroy and scatter my people. I will deal with you. You can count on that. Then I’m bringing back those who stayed faithful. They are everywhere, but I know who they are, and I’m bringing them back. None will go missing. And when I do, I will set righteous leaders over them. They won’t have to fear any more. The days are coming, says God, when I will raise up someone, a righteous Branch of the family tree. That leader can be trusted, and my people will be saved.

          In America, many people think that a secular leader elected by the people will be our righteous leader and make us safe. Would that it were so easy! We could just elect someone and wait to be saved. It didn’t work for the people of Israel and Judah and it won’t work for us either. We, like Northern Europe, are a people educated in religion, rich in church assets from buildings to bank accounts. But that has not stopped the downward spiral of the church. The church may be the bride of Christ, but it is his people to whom he has delegated the responsibility to nurture it. Sadly, in too many instances, we Christians tend to find other interests. It has caused God himself to scatter us. And in those days as in these, leaders with the wrong agenda have aided in the bankruptcy of our morality and divided our loyalties. While it is our rebellion and rejection that exiles us, it is corrupt leaders who bring curses upon us and take us deeper into the pit of disobedience.

          Why did God promise to attend to the shepherds of the day? Because they did evil deeds. Because they were selfish and looked after themselves, ignoring what was good for the people, what was commanded by God. By the way, shepherd, as the Hebrew term was used in Scripture, commonly referred to the ruler or rulers of the time. Since the plural form is used here, it probably referred to those in positions of leadership and not just the king. And God said woe to them. Woe would have meant judgment. God is going to deal with the bad shepherds.

          But God is far from done. Not only does he promise to deal with the bad shepherds; he promises to bring his people good shepherds. He promises shepherds, leaders, who are accountable, who make us safe, who leave none of us uncounted or missing.

          The second part of this passage deals with a remnant. Not all are going to be spared. But those who have been faithful, no matter where they are, will be brought home safe to live in a way that leaves no fear. They will be the flock of the good shepherd, and they will be fruitful and multiply, the same words promised by God at the creation.

          Last, God promises a righteous Branch. His words have been interpreted as Messianic, even eschatological. The righteous Branch is a leader like no other, dealing wisely, executing justice and righteousness.  The word branch reminds us of Isaiah’s “shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots” found in Isaiah 11. Is this the same idea? Is it an earthly ruler? Is it the Messiah? Is it both? The name given by God to that leader: “The Lord is our righteousness” has connotations of not just righteousness, but also of salvation or deliverance.

          In verse 7, Jeremiah says “the days are coming.” While we have no way of knowing when from this generalization, we do know that Jeremiah is calling our attention to a solemn proclamation. God is in charge. He sees what is happening. He is taking names and he will not only hold us accountable; he will also bring judgment on those of us who lead badly and falsely. We will be delivered if we believe and obey, and we will live in harmony again.

          The thing is, we, the people. What are we doing? We, the people. We are the people of God. What are we acting like? Who are we trusting? What leaders are we raising up? Are we the 44 percent who attend the church or the 56 percent who stay home? And if we come, do we worship or whine? We, the people. Are we the remnant to whom God promises salvation? If we are, we need to show that by the way we act, by the way we trust. It is as relevant today as it was when the people of Jeremiah’s time were threatened.

          We are promised what God will do. The question is: What will we do?