Building God’s House

Psalm 127: 1, 2, Nehemiah 2: 4-8, 17-20

 

 

          What kind of house do you want to build? I know, I know. Most of you have already built or bought your house. So you already know that I’m asking you a trick question. I could be talking about your dream home. What kind of house do you want to build? Don’t worry about where. Just concentrate on what kind. What are the key ingredients for that dream house of yours?

          To build your dream house, you need to have a vision. You need to see it in your mind’s eye, feel it in your bones. You need to feel that feeling when you walk in, that the look is just right, the feel is just so, the mood is warm and loving and soothing, almost like, well, sanctuary.

          What is your dream house? Is it bricks and mortar? Is it by water? Of course, it’s a structure, but what kind? Is it tall and stately or long and sprawled out? When you think of your dream house, what kind of structure is in your vision? Is it a structure built of earthly material—or is it of something else, something made of even sterner stuff than wood or brick? A house is where you live. A house is where you feel special. A dream house should have everything that is special to you. What is it they say: A man’s home is his castle?

          The book of Nehemiah and its companion Ezra are stories about identity and rebuilding, of starting over, of building not just walls and the temple, but also community. After seventy years, the exiled community is allowed to return home. Of course, home is not what it used to be. Jerusalem is not only more or less a relic of its former glory; it is populated by the Jews who were left behind, together with settlers of other ethnic origins. The old Jerusalem is gone. The question for Ezra and Nehemiah and others carrying the commission of the King of Persia to rebuild—is what would constitute the new Jerusalem? What vision do Ezra and Nehemiah carry with them?

          Nehemiah was born in exile. He has never seen Jerusalem. His heritage is Jewish and he knows the stories by heart that his people have told him. He is the cup bearer to the king. In that day, the rank was of great importance. It would be the rough equivalent of Prime Minister today. With all his importance in his job, he still weeps for that which he has never seen, for the dream of restoring his heavenly father’s house. Nehemiah has a vision. He prays to God for the right words, the right presence, and then he says to the king: “send me to Judah, to the city of my fathers’ graves, that I may rebuild it.” And the king says yes. Yes, go and rebuild your city. Nehemiah’s take on it was this: “the king granted me what I asked, for the good hand of my God was upon me.”

          Remember that dream house you were imagining. What is your vision? It is big? Is it strong? Can it stand up to all your needs and desires? If you can build what is in your heart, what will it be like? For the people of Israel in the post-exile, they faced a daunting task. The city lay in ruins. The people who had stayed were now scattered. The people coming home from exile were strangers in the land of their fathers. They had never set foot in the home to which they were returning. What was it that they would build? What was their vision?

          Building the walls of Jerusalem is the first job that falls to Nehemiah. The people needed protection. They were not surrounded by friendlies. This was renewal in the most literal sense. There were no walls to the city. Before any work could even be contemplated on the temple, the city must once again be secure. This was hard work, backbreaking work, but Nehemiah had a vision from God. The task was finished in just fifty two days.

          If you read Nehemiah, you see who rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem. It was Eliashib the high priest with his brothers and priests who built the Sheep Gate. It was the sons of Hassenaah who built the Fish Gate. Joiada and Meshullam, other sons, repaired the Gate of Yeshanah. And there was Melatiah and Jadon and Uzziah and Hannaniah and all their kin.

          Do you begin to get the picture? Change the names and the address and the picture becomes Johnson Road in Jefferson, SC, and the people becomes Clarks and Campbells and Catoes and Sullivans and Kirkleys and Johnsons and Funderburks and Hortons. Nehemiah gathered the people of God to rebuild the city of God.

          Early in his career in ministry, Eugene Peterson, whom you may know as the author of the Bible translation called The Message, had a church to build. His congregation, started from scratch, which had met in his basement for a couple years, was now ready to build a church building. Architects were interviewed by the building committee. It wasn’t fun. The experts all had plans and recommendations, but none seemed to ask about what vision the church had. They came upon a young architect who had never designed a church. He actually visited several worship services before he agreed to take the job. He came to know something about the identity of the people for whom he was to work. From that, he could join his vision with their vision. He designed something that reflected the identity of the church family he had observed.

          You know, Nehemiah had the financial resources. He had the support of King Artaxerxes. He had letters of credit to buy building materials. He could even use the king’s forest for the timbers he would need. Finances were not a problem. But there were other problems. The people had to be re-united. The people of the exile were strangers to the land and to the people left behind. The people left behind had no leadership for generations and had little to bind them together. When the two groups met, they had little in common. The locals had intermarried with pagans. The religion of their forefathers had eroded to the point where it was hard to identify.

          So what Nehemiah had the most trouble with was not the finances. He had the most trouble with uniting the people under a common cause. They had no identity as a people, much less a holy nation. The story of Nehemiah goes far beyond re-building the walls of Jerusalem or even the temple. You know what’s funny? When the walls were about halfway finished, the Arabs and the Ammonites and the Ashdodites, all enemies of the Jews, banded together and threatened to destroy the work. It scared the people. They pulled away. Nehemiah rose up and exhorted the people. He told them not to be afraid, to remember the Lord, who is great and awesome. He told them to fight for their homes. The people came together again and finished the walls.

          As we get closer and closer to beginning the task of rebuilding the physical part of our church, we would be advised to study the story of Nehemiah. We, like the people of post-exilic Jerusalem, have the financial resources to restore our walls. And we, like the congregation of Christ Our King Presbyterian Church pastored by a young Eugene Peterson, are having trouble settling on a design and an architect. Why? Maybe it’s because we are still struggling a bit with finding someone to see us as we are.  We have an identity, but no one we have interviewed has seemed to care much about that.

          Our session and our congregation will be ok. It just takes awhile to articulate our vision. We do have an identity, but we also have an opportunity to recast that identity more in the image of who God wants us to be than ever before. For this moment in our history, we have this opportunity to rebuild our church buildings more in the image of God, to find in the walls that we rebuild the presence of worship—and fellowship—and discipleship—and mission—and ministry. We need to heed the words of Nehemiah: Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your home.

          We have to have a vision. What does God look like? What should the house of God look like? It will be our sanctuary from the world, our launching spot of mission to the world, a place to call our church home. Will it remind us of God? That’s the final plan we’re going to find these next months, if we keep the faith.  If we are to get it right, our identity has to merge with that of God when we build his church.

          Psalm 127 opens with a comment about building. “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.”  You know, God has been in the building business since creation. He started with a garden. He taught man and even instructed mankind how to build the ark, his temple and so many more projects. And yet, God’s greatest building project has had nothing to do with bricks and mortar. God’s greatest building project has been all about sweat and blood. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” [Mark 12: 30, 31]. And

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

          We can plan. We can work hard. But if we are not planting God’s seeds, it won’t be God’s house. Unless the Lord builds the house… Theologian John Goldingray says it like this: “What is true about building and guarding is true about all work. It is vain if it is not accompanied by God’s involvement; it may unaccountably achieve nothing.”[1]

          What does God’s house look like? The look is just right, the feel is just so, the mood is warm and loving and soothing, almost like, well, sanctuary. Surely, the presence of the Lord is in such a place.

Amen Yes.

---

     [1] John Goldingray, Psalms Volume 3, Baker Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, Baker Academic), 2008.

Going Up to Jerusalem

Psalm 121, Mark 10: 32-34

 

 

          My daughter Emily is a climber. She has spent most of the last decade in Africa, so that’s where most of her climbing has been. I know she has climbed Mt Kenya, the second tallest mountain in Africa after Mt. Kilimanjaro. Emily loves to climb. The view at the top is incredible, but that’s not the only reason she climbs. Emily is thirsty for challenge, for adventure and for the experience itself. The climb changes her, broadens her, makes her stretch.

          My family spent years trekking back and forth to the mountains of North Carolina. We spent many hours on rivers kayaking and white water rafting. When we weren’t on the river, we went hiking. I’m not the climber that my daughter is, but I do love the view that comes at the end of a climb. I remember particularly a place near the Tennessee-North Carolina line called Max Patch. A short climb rewards you with this spectacular view at 4,600 feet. On a clear day, you can see Mt. Mitchell to the east and the Great Smoky Mountains some twenty miles to the west.

          Jerusalem is the Max Patch of its region in Judea. It lies on the southern Judean plateau, which at its highest is about 2,500 feet above sea level. That’s high in that area. 37 miles to the east is the Mediterranean Sea and 22 miles west is the Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth. So Jerusalem is one of the high places of the region. That’s one of the reasons that the gospels have many references to “going up.” Jesus and the disciples were going up to Jerusalem.

          But there is more to this term of going up than just geography. Jerusalem was the Holy City. It was the site of the Temple. It was the destination for the people of Israel at least three times a year for the important feasts that commemorated great days in the history of God’s people, including Passover, Tabernacles and Pentecost. On these high holy days, the people would make their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They would “go up” to the City of God. The gospels echo that theme. In today’s passage, Jesus and the disciples are on the road, going up to Jerusalem. Matthew 20 and Luke 19 say essentially the same thing.

          With Jesus, it is not just a going up from down below. It is a journey; a journey started long before that culminates in his arrival at his beloved Jerusalem, a city rich in meaning for Jesus but poor in loyalty to the Son of God. It is the place where he will meet the cross; a destination that will forever change the world. Going up. In the Greek, the word is αναβαίνώ (anabaino). Its Hebrew counterpart is transliterated as Aliyah. It means the going up, the ascent. Every time we read of Jesus going to Jerusalem, we see this word. Aliyah is literally the ascending. So to go to Jerusalem was to make Aliyah, or to make the upward journey. Even in modern times, when the Jewish people began to return to the land of Israel, that twentieth century exodus was called Aliyah, the upward journey.

          In the book of Psalms, a full fifteen psalms are devoted to ascent. Psalms 120-134 are a whole section of Psalms of Ascent. They are a group of psalms, ancient poetry and hymns, offering praise and worship to God. It is thought that they may have been sung by worshippers as they ascended the road to Jerusalem to take part in the three ancient festivals. Psalm 121 is exemplary:

                             I lift up my eyes to the hills

                             From where does my help come?

                             My help comes from the Lord,

                             Who made heaven and earth.

                                                                             (v. 1, 2)

These songs call us who would be pilgrims to trust God, to go up the mountains of life, knowing that God has our back, that God never sleeps and that no elements are sufficient to hurt us while in God’s care. We can make our ascent safely while God watches over us.

          We are all familiar with physical ascents, from mountain climbing to hiking to taking the stairs instead of the elevator. These ascents keep up our strength, give us stamina, and offer in some cases a whole new way of looking at things. But we are God’s people. Like John Bunyan’s Christian in his journey through The Pilgrim’s Progress, we too are not just physical, but spiritual children making our way, going up to Jerusalem. In our case, Jerusalem is not so much a geographic location as it is the City of God promised by John in the book of Revelation. It is a spiritual ascent that each Christian must make. Ultimately, when our journey is finished, it is our place of deliverance.

          What are the watchwords of our society? Whatever. If it feels good, do it. Eat, Pray, Love. Peace. Just Do It. Have it Your Way. I’m worth it. Where in this list, which could be much longer, does one find an unselfish meaning? The watchwords of our society have little in common with making an ascent. They have more in common with self-pleasure. They are the avenues of personal reward, the byways of selfishness.

          Our heroes today tend to be packaged in sports uniforms. That’s not as bad as it sounds. This last week, I watched as two baseball teams battled for seven games in the World Series to see who could prevail. It wasn’t hard to notice that both teams played like it. That is, they played like teams. They were unselfish. They pulled for each other’s success. Teams who win championships know a lot about making Aliyah, that upward journey. In that sense, the striving of sports franchises is a microcosm of what Christians need to do in their walk toward Jerusalem. It’s never about personal gain. It’s always about growth and discernment of those truths that will change our lives.

          What am I talking about here? I haven’t been to Jerusalem and most of you haven’t either. Do we have to go to Jerusalem to be pilgrims? Not literally. But symbolically, every one of us has Jerusalem in front of us.  Every one of us has a climb to make, an ascent to conquer. Every one of us has to make Aliyah, to go up toward the high places of life. If we choose to descend into that which we want, that which the voices of this world shout out to just do it or to have it our way, then we go the way of the lost. If we choose to stay home, to stay on that level playing field, we will find out sooner or later that the ground is not really level at all. Nothing stays the same, not things, not people, not relationships. If you’re not climbing, eventually you will find that you are descending.

          The world is not a kind place. There are kind people in the world, but they cannot direct us. They are on their own journeys. They too are faced with these choices of self—or selfless. They need our help as much as we need theirs. To reach out to help one another is in a very real sense a going up, of making that upward journey of faith.

          The thing to understand is this. It’s not about the choice you make, for life is full of choices. Each choice influences the next. Each bend in the road leads you either closer to God or farther away from him. Each climb has places to rest and go on, or to turn around and go back.

          In our passage today, Jesus turns to his faithful and tells them what is going to happen. They are going up to Jerusalem and he tells them what to expect. What he tells them is enough to make anyone turn around and run. What he promises them is betrayal, condemnation, mocking, flogging, degradation and death. It’s hard to hear anything after that. But there is one more thing—after three days he will rise. What’s that? After three days, he will defeat death, dethrone Satan, rise from the grave!

          Is this what going up to Jerusalem is all about? Is this the life of a Christian? Mocking, jeering, contempt, even danger and death? According to Jesus, that’s correct. All that and more.

        But there is that view. When you are on the mountaintop and walking across that long ridge, your view is out of this world and the air is so clean, it feels as if it’s washing your lungs. The way up is sometimes long and sometimes treacherous. The footing can be tricky. There are choices along the way. Go left, go right. Quit and go back. Or—take another step. A journey of a thousand miles begins the same way a trip to the mailbox begins—with a single step.

          If we are to be Christian, we all have to make Aliyah, the upward journey. It is hard and sometimes dangerous and always—always, long. But it is not without its rewards, like the cleanness we begin to experience on the way up, or the strength we begin to feel as we put more and more faith in our Savior along this pilgrimage we call life.

          We need to remember in the midst of all the calls to the easier life, of all the warnings of the danger and challenges ahead, that for those who choose the higher step, the higher ground, there is the promise that we too shall rise. There is no set of circumstances from which the pilgrims of God will not taste victory. It is our act of Sanctification, to climb the mountain that takes us to faith and obedience. Going up, making Aliyah, is the only choice that brings life.           

Home Is a Jumping Off Place

1 Thessalonians 1: 1-10

 

 

          Do you men have favorite clothes? I know I do. Cindy calls these clothes my “work clothes.” That’s a nice way of saying “those nasty pants and that shirt or tee shirt that I can’t get the stains out of.” She’s right in her own way. I have a couple pairs of pants and a couple shirts that are like old friends. I put them on and I just feel good. We’ve known each other a long time. I feel good in those clothes, relaxed and comfortable. If I have to call them work clothes to keep them around, that suits me just fine.

          Home is like those comfortable clothes, isn’t it? I’m not talking about a house. I’m talking about home. It might be the house where you live or grew up. It might be the town or community where you grew up. Whatever it is, it’s home to you. It makes you feel good, comfortable, relaxed. Home is where you can kick off your shoes, put up your feet and stay awhile.

          Home is for some of us the place where we’ve always been. For others, it’s the place to which we will always return. No matter where we live, we talk about going home when we’re not there. Home brings out that special warmth that no other place can do quite as well. Home has its own character, its own smells, its own look. It’s not because it’s necessarily the prettiest or the best. Maybe Dorothy said it right in the Wizard of Oz: “There’s no place like home.”

          But home is something else, isn’t it? Home is our jumping off place. Whether we’re leaving for the first time or the fiftieth time doesn’t matter. Home is where we learned to breathe, learned to get comfortable in our own skins, and home is that talisman we carry in our hearts when we are away. We start out small, maybe spending the night or going to camp. We jump off to something strange and new and a little scary. Later, we leave home to go to school, to work, to activities, to Grandmas. Down the road, we go off to work or military or more school. We jump off more and more into those strange, new places and our world gets bigger and bigger. But no matter how many times we jump off, it’s still home from which we jump, either physically or in our hearts. Home is where we learned to jump.

          In the twilight of his storied career as an evangelist and church planter, the apostle Paul finds himself in a Roman prison. In thirteen years, he has planted fourteen churches. Now imprisoned, he uses his time to re-enforce his teachings by corresponding to his plants. In his first letter to the Thessalonians, Paul has received a report from Timothy, one of Paul’s partners in mission, who has just returned from Thessalonica. The report is strong and positive and Paul is proud. As he writes, it sounds almost as though he could be writing to one of his children, and indeed, Paul thought of his churches in much that way.

          Scholars differ over how long Paul stayed in Thessalonica. Acts tells us that he preached in the synagogue for three straight weeks and that he angered some Jews there enough to get thrown out of the city. Still, it’s not clear how long he was there. However long he stayed, he had a profound effect. Thessalonica became an important church plant.

          As you might expect, Paul brags about this successful church. It took root in a city that was the seat of Roman government for all of Macedonia. Not only did the church survive; it became an example for all of Macedonia and Achaia. According to Paul, their faith in God went forth everywhere.

          Paul never got back to Thessalonica. We have two letters he wrote to the church, so we know he kept up with them. For Paul, Thessalonica was one of his best successes. Don’t you know he was warmed when he thought of them! Thessalonica was like a second home to this well-traveled man.

          But Thessalonica was like all Paul’s church plants. He was a man on the move. He had a rock for a pillow and the stars for a covering much of his life. And yet, when we read this letter, we can hear the warmth of Paul’s words as though he were there. Paul learned to use these destinations for something more. In order to take his message, he had to imbed himself in the people and their culture. In order to plant a church, he had to become part of that environment. But as a man with a mission from God, he knew every time he entered a city that it too would become a jumping off place the minute he could call it home.

          What made Paul feel so at home with the Thessalonians? His own words tell us. He refers to them as brothers loved by God, imitators of the Lord, an example to all believers. They serve, they wait, they have faith. All the things that mattered to Paul, all the things that represented the best of his teaching—were manifested in this courageous band of Christians. Paul didn’t have to come home to feel at home. Just the thought of how well his children in the faith were doing made him proud and warm and full.

          Today we are here on our church grounds to celebrate Homecoming, an annual event in this church family. We sit here in the shadow of our sanctuary, right now a wounded vessel, but not far down the road, a righted ship to carry God’s mission for years to come. We enjoy a long heritage in this church family, but we need to remember that while this assembly has been meeting for well over a hundred years, it has met in different locations and in different buildings. It has never been the location or the building that held this church together. It has always been the same things that Paul talked about to the Thessalonians: brothers [and sisters] loved by God, imitators of the Lord, an example to all believers, who serve and wait and have faith. This is what has allowed us to survive, a commitment to those things that bring us closer to God and to each other.

          It’s good to be here. It’s good to remember and to dream. It’s even better to dream about what God will do with us than with what he has already accomplished. You see, home is a wonderful place that conjures up all those feelings of comfort and warmth, but home is also the place we come to leave. Home is not just our anchor; it’s our jumping off place.

          When we think of Jesus and his home, we might at first be tempted to think of Nazareth, where he moved as a two year old and spent his youth. We might think of the region of Galilee, where Jesus spent much of his ministry. We might even think of Jerusalem, the city of the Temple, the religious center of his people. All these things are true, but I suspect that Jesus never really thought of them as home. For Jesus, who knew from the beginning who he was and why he came among us, home was with the Father. Home was where he came from and home was where he returned.

          We are invited to come home at the end of our sojourn here. God provides us with an earthly example of that kind of feeling, that warmth and comfort and security. He does that with family, first our family of origin, later of friendships and finally, family born out of our Christian relationships. We call that church. Church has never been about buildings. They are just where the church gathers. When we do that at a certain place for a long time as we have done right here on these grounds, it starts to feel like home.

          That’s only as it should be. Church should feel like home. That’s where we belong. We just need to remember why we gather. We gather to worship. We gather to fellowship with one another. We gather to minister. But there is more. We also gather to disciple and to do mission. Our church home is not just our anchor; it’s our jumping off place. It’s a place to bring those you care about, and a place to bring those God cares about.

          According to Matthew’s report in his gospel, the last thing Jesus did before He went home was to gather his disciples. He gave them the marching orders that are still in effect for the people of God. His instructions were simple. He didn’t talk about staying or even feeling warm and secure. He talked about jumping off into the unknown. Go, teach and baptize were his last words. Find everyone. Tell them the story. Let them hear the words of salvation. He was talking to the Church.

          Welcome home, but don’t get too comfortable. It’s just a jumping off place.

         

Believing Through the Unbelief

Mark 9: 2, 9, 14-29

 

 

                    A mother sits beside her son in a hospital room, waiting for doctors to figure out what is causing his seizures. A soldier writes a letter home, wondering if he will ever actually see his family again. A man stands over the grave of his child, wondering how in the world to ever smile again.  A young mother looks at her children and feels her life being strangled away from her by the daily chores of her life. Why, how, can she feel so estranged from her own flesh and blood? Each of these people is Christian. Each of them believes and trusts God. And yet, here they are. Their world has come crashing in on them and their spiritual life hangs by a thread.

          Have you been there? If you have, you know something about what I mean. If you haven’t, chances are pretty good that you will experience something like this, and probably more than once. Chances are that you, you who are here in church every week, will wonder where God is and why he has forgotten you or won’t answer you.  It happens to people of faith. It happens to people of faith, not unbelievers, because people of faith dare to hope, dare to believe in something and someone bigger than they are, and in that hope we become vulnerable.

          In the ninth chapter of Mark’s gospel, we hear the fantastic story of Jesus taking Peter, James and John up on the mountain where they have a magical experience. The scene is called the Transfiguration. Jesus is seen in a heavenly, glorified light. The disciples are amazed and sworn to secrecy. When they descend, they find a crowd gathered. As the four men approach the remaining disciples, many run up to them.

          A voice in the crowd cries out. His son is possessed by a demon. The spirit renders the boy mute. Also, he is given to violent seizures, during which he will grind his teeth, foam at the mouth and his body will become rigid. The man came looking for Jesus, but he was on the mountain. So the man appealed to the disciples.

          The disciples have healed before. They have the authority. Mark 3: 14, 15 tell us that Jesus “appointed twelve so that they might be with him and he might send them out to preach and have authority to cast our demons.” In Mark 6, Jesus calls the twelve and begins to send them out two by two, giving them authority over unclean spirits. Verse 13 tells us that they cast out many demons and healed many who were sick. So the disciples were not strangers to working miracles.

          But on this day, the disciples fail. The man comes to them at his wit’s end. He can’t find Jesus, so he asks the remaining disciples and they do try. But they fail. Jesus hears the story and you can just feel his impatience. “How long am I to bear with you?” he says.

          I have been faithful. When the doctors told us we couldn’t have children and we exhausted every possible avenue to prove them wrong, I finally turned to God. I was faithful then. I was faithful when I had no other choice. When I was trying to raise four children by myself and I had no help and nowhere else to turn, I was faithful then. Whenever I have been backed into a corner, I have been faithful. I had nothing else. I’m sure God must have muttered under his breath, How long am I to bear with you?

          Jesus calls for the child to be brought to him. In the presence of Jesus, the spirit inside the boy panics. It convulses the boy, who falls to the ground and exhibits all those horrible symptoms, grinding his teeth, foaming at the mouth. Today, such symptoms would remind us of an epileptic fit, but Mark’s gospel makes it clear that this is demon possession. When Jesus asks how long the boy has suffered, he is told since the boy’s youth; in other words, a long time.

          Then, the point of this story in Mark begins to be revealed. The father says to Jesus: “If you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” Listen to that again. If you can do anything. The man is talking to the Son of God. He is talking to a man now famous in the region for doing miracles everywhere he goes. And the father says to him: If…if you can do anything.

          What does Jesus answer? “If you can!” Jesus is saying to the man: Indeed! Don’t question me and my ability. Question yourself and your belief. Is your faith enough? “All things are possible for one who believes,” says Jesus. All things? Even this. Even this thing that your disciples failed to cure? All things?

          R. T. France, in his commentary on Mark, says that the lesson derives from a “spectacular failure to fulfill the commission which has been given to the Twelve to cast out demons.” What? The father of the demon-possessed child says to Jesus: “I believe. Help my unbelief.” Isn’t he the problem? He is the one who has not enough faith, isn’t he? Isn’t Mark’s quote of this desperate father the problem presented, the reason his son still has demons?

          Yes. The problem is stated by the child’s father. But he is not the only one who has a shallow faith. He is not the only one who failed to discern where to go to get the power to deliver his son. The man had faith, but it was not a mature faith. It was not his default position. He didn’t come from faith. He ran to faith. It was his last resort position.

          The nine disciples also had faith. They even had a commission to heal, but they had little idea how to deal with their power. Jesus was a man to them. He may have been intellectually recognized by them as the Son of God, but even so, they had no real connection as to how to access the power he had granted them. They mimicked what they had seen him do. They had the magic words and gestures, but they didn’t know how to tap the source. With Jesus gone to the mountain, they were just nine more wizards. The thing is, the nine disciples were just like the father of the demon-possessed child. They had a grain of faith, but their vision was still limited to their own horizon. They knew nothing about how to tap the power of God.

          It didn’t help any that the disciples had failed the man. It didn’t help any that a crowd was standing there to witness that failure. Those kinds of things would rock even a solid faith. In fact, this seems to be the only time in the New Testament when someone came to Jesus looking for help while still expressing doubt. Think of that in the context of the Church. At that point in history, the disciples were the Church. Now put that in present day context. A person comes to church or reaches out to a minister or to a church member, or even just observes the church or its members in action from a distance. What does he see?  What if she gets put on hold? What if they are given an appointment for a week later? What if… In a world where people are desperately trying to find something to hang onto, where the truth seems to be something we take a poll to find, the actions of the church and everyone who represents it are either going to inspire hope or just create more doubt.

          In a world of things relative, God is an absolute. People make treaties. God makes peace. Doctors relieve symptoms. God makes bodies that heal with time and care. Psychologists listen to us talk ourselves into wellness. God exorcises our demons and makes us not just well, but whole. What if those disciples had gone to God in prayer and turned the problem in faith over to him? What if the father had just believed? God was there all along, but no one knew how to tap in to his presence until Jesus showed up.

          Although it was a father of a stricken child who made the appeal, it is all of us, from the disciples there that day to every pulpit and pew in Christendom which needs to cry out: “I believe. Help my unbelief!” While it may sound paradoxical, it reflects a truth that forever lies within us. For all but the very few, we are each a mixture of both belief and unbelief. Each of us enters seasons of doubt in which our wonderful, powerful, ever-present God seems so far away, so unapproachable, so silent.

          You know, those nine disciples came off looking pretty pathetic that day. They had failed in front of a large audience.

They failed because they weren’t plugged in. They had seen Jesus do it. They had been given his commission. But they failed to understand that they never had direct authority. Their ability to heal, our ability to disciple, is always derivative. We have to plug in. In the absence of Jesus and without prayer, the disciples’ labor was in vain. The demon was strong. He was not impressed with a few men who meant well. But in the presence of Jesus, the demon had no chance.

          I suspect that after that incident, the disciples were not so impressed with their positions or themselves. Even though they had been commissioned, they had to learn the source of their power. They could do no good on their own. They had to learn how to harness the power of God. They had to learn to rely on the power of the Holy Spirit and of prayer.

          Listen to the words of Jesus. “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.” Even the Son of God had to connect with God in prayer in order to do his Father’s bidding. That’s why we have so many examples in the Gospels of Jesus retreating somewhere to pray. Do you want to work for Jesus? Do you want to be a disciple? Take a lesson from the disciples. You have no power for God on your own. You have to be connected to the power source and the connection is prayer.

          I believe there is one more lesson in Mark’s story. The father of that poor child believed in the power of Jesus. He had his faith rocked by the failure of the disciples and yet, he still believed. His faith was shaken. But he managed to keep coming. He managed to find Jesus. And what did Jesus do? He took that kernel of faith and worked a miracle. “All things are possible for one who believes.”

          Have you been let down by your friends? Have you come to church and found it wanting, unable to meet your needs? You find yourself in good company today. The church, while it is the bride of Christ, is populated with people, people that, just like you, have trouble staying connected. But come. Believe, and let the church, imperfect as it is, help your unbelief.

          And when it seems to fail you for the moment, instead of looking disappointedly at your neighbor in the pew or your shepherd in the pulpit, look up. Look up and see the cross. And pray. All things are possible for one who believes.       

What (Who) Do You Worship?

Luke 12: 13-21

 

Idolatry can be a subtle thing. It can mask itself in concepts like duty and chores and even religion. Anything in this world can become an idol. Theologian William Barclay tells a story of a conversation between a young ambitious lad and an older man who knew life. Said the young man, “I will learn my trade.” “And then?” said the old man. “I will set up in business.” “And then?” “I will make my fortune.” “And then?” “I suppose that I shall grow old and retire and live on my money.” “And then?’ “Well, I suppose that someday I will die.” “And then?” came the last stabbing question.

If you want to get the answers you need to get through this life successfully and get promoted, instead of demoted, to the next, you have to start by asking the right questions. It’s not about what you get; it’s about what you give away. Rick Warren, author of  The Purpose Driven Life, starts his book with these words: “It’s not about you.”   Think about that. What is the object of your worship?

 Today, we take a fresh look at a well-known story from the gospel of Luke. Luke is the longest of the four gospels. It was originally joined to Acts as part of a two volume work. Luke is the Gentile gospel writer, a physician by trade. We know him as a fellow worker with Paul, probably from Antioch, and as a faithful companion to Paul in Paul’s final imprisonment.

In today’s story, Jesus is on the way to Jerusalem. He is marching to his destiny, a destiny that includes a date with Calvary. He has stopped along the way to give instruction. According to Luke, a crowd of many thousands has gathered. Jesus begins by teaching his disciples, but in our story, he has received an inquiry from the crowd. He now turns to address the question.

 “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” It sounds like a question someone might ask a lawyer. A reasonable question, as Jesus was often called Rabbi, or Teacher. It was customary in those days to take such issues to the Rabbi.  It was also the custom for an estate to be left entirely to the oldest male. So the younger brother is looking for some help from this “teacher” who advocates for fairness and generosity.

Jesus ignores the question asked and answers the deeper one. The question he wants to answer is: What is the object of your worship? To what or whom are you devoted? Beware, take care. Life is not about the stuff you accumulate.

“This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?”

          What does the man get from Jesus? Absolutely nothing. Jesus doesn’t do money questions, especially when they have to do with earthly acquisitions. To do so would be to talk about what Paul calls the “world of the flesh.” Jesus, as you know, is not “into” things of the flesh. He is “into” matters of the spirit. So instead, Jesus tells him, and the crowd, a story. It is often called the parable of the rich fool. Don’t let the title lead you to the wrong conclusion, just because you don’t think that you are rich. Jesus didn’t name the parable; he just told it.

          The ground of a certain rich man produces a bumper crop. It’s more than he can eat, more than he can even store. As Jesus tells the parable, he could be writing a magazine article today about the “Me” generation:  Luke says the rich man thought to himself. What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops. This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build larger ones. I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to myself:… Barclay says, in his commentary on Luke, that no parable is so full of the words I, me, and mine. The rich man tried to conserve his happiness by keeping, instead of finding his happiness in giving. And what does God say to the man who has it all?

“This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?”

          You have saved and scrimped for years now, because your child is going to have it better than you did. He or she is going to college. Finally the day arrives, and your hard earned savings just aren’t enough. But you’ve been paying on the house for years, and you have equity. So you go see your friendly banker, who tells you that you want a home equity line. Now anybody who has been paying down a home mortgage for very long knows that the last thing you want is to borrow more money. You might need it, but you surely do not want it. But let’s not quibble over words. The point is, you can fund your child’s education, and that’s your goal.

          Time goes by. Your child is home for a few days in between summer sessions (got behind a little bit, and the summer job just has to wait so he or she can stay on target to graduate). You ask your child about whether he has thought about a major since college is now supposed to be half over. You know this is important-- thousands of dollars a year important. When you bring it up, he says: “I don’t know yet, but don’t you think it would be better if I took the car back to school? I sure could use a car. Whaddaya think? Can I take the other car back to school?

          In an age of instant communication, your call has just been dropped. Now you know how Jesus felt when he was asked estate questions. Most of the questions he fielded were about selfish interests. Instead of being asked for the keys to the kingdom, he was being asked for the keys to the car.

          We live in a state of unadulterated affluence. I’m not talking about your neighbor or your boss or your brother. I’m talking about me and you. How many of you own your own home? How many of you own a car? More than one car? A boat? A camper? An RV? How many of you take a vacation every year? How many TVs do you own? How many phones?   

We are rich. The least of us is rich by almost any standard. Now, I don’t think that Jesus cares whether you and I are rich in worldly possessions. But I do think he cares plenty about what we do with them. There’s an old Roman proverb that goes something like this: “Money (or possessions) is like sea-water; the more a man drinks, the thirstier he becomes.”

Are you generous with your possessions or are you like the rich fool who wanted to hoard everything he had? How many of you tithe? Let’s hope you beat the national average, which isn’t hard to do. It’s 2%. 2% of those who characterize themselves as churchgoers or members are tithing their money. And then, there is our time, every second of which is a gift from God. How much time do you give to God each week? There are 148 hours in a week. That’s true no matter where you live, whether you work, are retired or in school. Ten percent is roughly 15 hours a week. Are you tithing your time? It all belongs to God, and He only asks for 10% as your act of faithfulness. If you’re not, you might want to look at where your time goes. Let’s say you average 8 hours sleep and a 40 hour work week. You’ve still got 52 hours left. Only about a fourth of that would make you a tither of your time. The way you spend your time tells a lot about what you value.

“You fool. This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself.”

          It’s hard living in the world with both feet planted firmly on the ground, and yet trying to live in the Spirit. It hard to hold on to the keys to the kingdom of heaven when your boss, your family, and your stuff are pulling you with a force that makes gravity look like a levitation act. Every day is full of pressure, some direct and some very subtle, to succeed, to acquire, to be independent. America runs on consumerism.

          So maybe you need to let go. Jesus doesn’t care about your money or your things, but he does care about your love of them. He cares about your slavery to them. He wants you to love Him. He wants you to let him in where he can love you in a way that you can feel. He wants you to live in relationship with him.

          What is the object of your worship?  The rich man never saw beyond the world he created. He never saw beyond himself. Billy Graham once said that “The smallest package I ever saw was a man wrapped up wholly in himself.”

How is your vision today? Can you see your neighbor? Do you witness to your brother in the workplace? To your sister at the cash register? Can you see God’s children at the concert? Jesus did. If we want to call ourselves his disciples, we have to live like it.

Are you storing up, or sharing?    In the 8^th chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus was passing through the region around Ceasara-Phillippi. He stopped to share his thoughts with his disciples and the crowd that had gathered. And he asked the question that we should constantly ask ourselves: “What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?”

          Jesus wants to be the object of your worship, and not just at the appointed hour on Sunday. He doesn’t need Verizon or T-Mobile or even the Internet to communicate with you. He’s calling you…and He’s calling me. Don’t drop the call. Make God your treasure. And there will your heart be also.

Enduring the Twists of Life

                               James 1: 2-4, 12,    Matthew 24: 11-13

 

          How do you feel about trials? How do you feel about perseverance? Doesn’t sound like much fun, does it? I know about trials. That was a big part of my job for many years. I represented people at trial. In our legal system, trials are the last resort. Many attempts are made to stay out of court. There are arbitration and mediation. There are pre-trial discovery tools designed in part to reveal the weakness of a case in order to settle it. Even when one gets to the courtroom prepared for trial, there are usually last minute attempts to settle out of court. Why? Because trials take a lot of time just to get to trial. Trials are tricky. Trials are expensive. And you can’t predict the outcome with any great degree of reliability.

          “Count it joy when you meet trials.” That’s the way the book of James begins. That’s verse 2. Ten verses later, James says something very similar. “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial.” James must be just a little bit weird. Count it joy! Consider yourself blessed! That’s hardly what all my clients said over the years. What is joyous--what is blessed--about trials? Even though James isn’t talking about courtroom trials, but rather the trials of life, it still seems strange to think of such things as a reason for joy.

          You fall in love and get married. Some time goes by and before you know it, before you really planned for it, there is a baby on the way. One of my daughters has managed to have two children the last four years on two different islands, and now they are in their third home in five years on yet another duty assignment. She didn’t plan it that way. That’s one of those trials of life. Of course, there is joy and blessing involved, but sometimes in life, there is such a thing as getting a little too much to process, even if its joy.

          Half of American marriages end in divorce. We don’t plan it that way. Approximately one in five adults in America experiences mental illness in a given year. We don’t plan it that way, but there it is. Life comes at you in a thousand different ways, from not enough money to not enough time. We have many resources here in America, and yet we all seem at one time or another under trial of some sort.  We don’t realize how good we have it. Ask anyone living in Houston or the Florida Keys or Puerto Rico right now about trials. People are waiting in line for twelve hours to get enough gas to use their generator for a couple days, and they are the lucky ones. On an island without electricity, someone with a generator is considered lucky. Consider it pure joy when trials come your way? That would be a hard sell in those areas right now. Many areas cannot be reached even a week after the storm. You can’t call for help when the cell phone tower is on the ground and the cell phone can’t be charged for lack of electricity. You can’t walk out when the roads are blocked with mud and felled trees. You just have to wait.

          And yet, James would have us celebrate. What were some of the trials that the people of James’ time might have experienced? Certainly there was poverty. James’ letter is filled with references to such situations. James 2 refers to religious persecution. The rich were dragging the poor into court, apparently blaspheming Christians for being Christians. Chapter 5 talks about the rich withholding wages from those who were thought righteous. Why? Because they were righteous. These were not times when it was popular, or even safe, to be a Christian. And James also more generically just talks about trials of many kinds. He is casting his net wide enough to include the varied kinds of suffering we all encounter, from sickness and loneliness and disappointment to sadness.

          What James is talking about is two different forms of trials. In verse 2, he talks about people who have to undergo trials, who have to be tested, all as part of a refinement process which must be endured in order to become pure. It is, literally, the purification of a faith which is already there but needs strengthening. For these tests from God, we are to count them as joy that he refines us. But in verse 12, James is talking about a different kind of trial. Here, James calls those of us who persevere in faith blessed; we are to receive the crown of life. First, we gained perseverance. In this instance, James reminds us that such perseverance has a payoff. We will be blessed. We will be rewarded with the crown of life.

          So some trials are tests of faith, while others are just plain endurance tests. Remember the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden? The serpent, the craftiest of all God’s creatures, appears to Adam and Eve. He weaves a tale of deception and lies about the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Adam and Eve are enchanted by the serpent’s statements and decide to take a bite of the poison fruit. God, upon finding out, curses the serpent. Interestingly, he causes the serpent to go forth on his belly, to literally eat dust. He makes the serpent cursed above all other beasts. If such is the punishment, can we not infer that before God’s curse, the serpent may have been attractive, may have walked upright? If not, then why would God’s curse refer to going forth on his belly?

          When I think of a snake, any snake, I try to change my thought. For me to think of a snake is to think of something ugly and sinister and scary, something that slithers up out of nowhere and catches me unawares. I don’t like snakes. My apologies to all the biologists in the audience who can certainly tell me the benefits of this creature. I just have an aversion to them. Perhaps it comes from this scene in the garden, where the Bible depicts that which lies, that which deceives, that which would hurt us, as a serpent.

          In his wonderful book, The Book of Mysteries,[1] Jonathan Cahn includes a story about snakes. The teacher reminds the student that snakes are cold-blooded. The scientific result of that is that they are limited in their ability to endure. We humans are warm-blooded. That means, among other things, that we can run and keep running. Snakes can’t do that. They can’t keep going. That means that we can outlast them. We can get away if we see the snake. Even if it comes for us, we can outlast it. We have more endurance. In the same way, enduring faith trumps evil.

          So the Scriptures portray the serpent as an agent of evil, not because it is inherently evil, but because snakes generally move by twisting. That may be why snakes are such a good representation of evil. What is evil but good perverted? God made everything on earth, every rock, every creature. God made everything good. So how did things become evil? Good things became twisted. How do people end up at war with one another? Their communication becomes twisted. How does the truth become a lie? It becomes twisted. When we pervert the truth, when we distort the purity of God’s message, it twists and morphs until, like the serpent, it has taken something good and made it evil.

          The symbol of the serpent as an agent of evil is powerful. But the image for perseverance is even more powerful. The teacher in Cahn’s book says this: “Evil is cold-blooded. What that means is this: Though evil may have its day, its victories, it’s time to move and strike—it remains cold-blooded. Therefore, it can never endure…So, in the end, the good will always outlast the evil. Therefore, persevere in the good…you will overcome and prevail in the end.” Jesus himself was tried in the desert at the beginning of his ministry. The devil came at him quoting, and distorting Scripture. Jesus held his ground, endured the trial, used Scripture to explain Scripture—and prevailed. Evil could not endure the warm-blooded love of Christ.

          One more thing might be added. Never has God asked us to do this alone. He does not mean for us to go it alone. The Holy Spirit abides in us. Jesus the Son goes before us. God awaits our perseverance, for which we receive his blessing… a crown of life. Perseverance is tough. Trials come in many forms and come over and over. We are not likely to avoid trials in this life. What we can count on is that our faith will help us persevere—and that perseverance will bring us blessings that far outweigh the trials.

          Count it all joy.

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[1] Jonathan Cahn, The Book of Mysteries (FrontLine, Lake Mary, FL.), 1982.