But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home. 2 Peter 3:13
The title of a U2 song illustrates an important theme of Advent- I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. This song gives a mature voice to our spiritual yearnings. We experience God, and yet there’s something we still long for, a thirst that has yet to be quenched. In this sense Advent humbles us. It reminds us of our incompleteness. Although we’ve experienced the grace and power of God through Christ, we still long for the full realization of salvation and wholeness in solidarity with the rest of creation. Yet, we are seized by hope even in our incompleteness. In the night of our longing hope possess us as “we wait for new heavens and a new earth.”
O God of depth, touch the place inside us that longs for that which we cannot name. Huddle with those crushed by poverty, the widows and orphans, the prisoners who stand in shadows. Let those who have turned their faces to the wall gaze upon your light and hear your cry. Break down the walls, Lord, and may the rubble become the foundation of the New Jerusalem. May the hope we have in you illuminate every soul. And may the Holy Spirit wrap around our heads and kiss our eyes, that we may awaken to the living beauty of the new heaven and new earth to come. Amen.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
a narrative of hope- a true story from when I hitchhiked
Feeling a little bored in my Ohio hometown, I decided to hitchhike across the country. So I threw a copy of Jack Kerouac’s ON THE ROAD in my backpack along with a few extra clothes and a Bruce Springsteen playlist, and left. The freedom of the road was exhilarating. Yet there were days when things got a little tight.
One day in particular I was stranded in the rain on a deserted stretch of I-74 in Illinois. I looked at the drenched fields that surrounded me as I held out my fist and thumb to the passing traffic. I didn’t see any sign of a town or truck stop that would offer shelter from the rain. I thought, “You are so screwed, Rick.”
However, I didn’t walk too long before a car passed me slowly and pulled over and stopped. Some people say grace is the unmerited love and favor of God. This is truth, but grace is also the broken glory of standing in the rain and seeing a beat up car with its right blinker on, pulled off the side of the road to rescue. I ran up to the car and got in.
It was a lone woman driver, which surprised me since most of the time it was men who picked me up. As she pulled back onto the interstate I thanked her profusely for stopping. “No problem,” the woman told me. “I hate seeing people stranded in the rain like that.” She said her name was Mary, and asked me where I was going. I told her I was headed to a small town in Nebraska that I used to live in when I was nineteen, and then to Arizona to see my cousin. These things were true, but I was too embarrassed to tell her I had no real destination in mind. The larger truth was I really had no idea where the hell I was going, that I was a lost and desperate young man drifting across the country without any sense of direction in life, searching for something I couldn't name.
I noticed Mary was wearing sunglasses. I thought this was odd considering it was a rainy day, but I didn’t say anything. We talked about her son and about her husband. She told me her husband was unstable. That’s when she looked over at me and lowered her sunglasses. I saw that her left eye was black and blue and swollen. I was startled. She told me that her husband was in Vietnam and had PTSD. He had nightmares and hit her in bed. I didn’t know what to make of that. I felt the urge to say something that would help her. But I didn’t know what to say, so we talked about other things. Mary told me she was on her way to see her son at college. She asked me if I wanted to come with her. She said she had to drop some things off for him, and it would only take a few minutes. I was in no hurry so we drove to the town where her son lived.
It was an awkward meeting, at least for me. She introduced us and I felt like saying, “Hi, I’m the complete stranger your mother picked up on the side of the road.” But he didn’t show any signs of suspicion. He seemed as kind and generous as his mother.
When we left we got something to eat at a fast food restaurant. Mary tried to look at the menu above the counter but couldn’t see it through her sunglasses, so she lifted them from her eyes for a brief moment and read the sign. There were two employees behind the counter, and when they saw her black eye, they both snuck a quick glance at me. I felt very self-conscious as I placed my order.
After we ate, Mary went out of her way to drop me off at a larger town. But before I got out of the car she wrote her phone number on a small scrap of paper. She said, “Now when you get to a safe place tonight I want you to call me and let me know that you’re all right. Please Rick, call me.” She expressed many times during the trip how dangerous it was to hitchhike, and she was genuinely worried for my well being. I grabbed the number and assured her I would call. I thanked her again. It rained off and on as I caught a few more rides that day and eventually made it to Galesburg where I split a cheap room with a fellow traveler that evening.
Something was bothering me. I don’t remember what it was. I hastily looked through my belongings for Mary’s number, but couldn’t find it. It was written on a tiny piece of paper, but I think if I would’ve looked hard enough, I probably would have found it. But I didn’t feel like looking very hard. The next morning I continued hitchhiking west towards Nebraska. I never found her number.
One day in particular I was stranded in the rain on a deserted stretch of I-74 in Illinois. I looked at the drenched fields that surrounded me as I held out my fist and thumb to the passing traffic. I didn’t see any sign of a town or truck stop that would offer shelter from the rain. I thought, “You are so screwed, Rick.”
However, I didn’t walk too long before a car passed me slowly and pulled over and stopped. Some people say grace is the unmerited love and favor of God. This is truth, but grace is also the broken glory of standing in the rain and seeing a beat up car with its right blinker on, pulled off the side of the road to rescue. I ran up to the car and got in.
It was a lone woman driver, which surprised me since most of the time it was men who picked me up. As she pulled back onto the interstate I thanked her profusely for stopping. “No problem,” the woman told me. “I hate seeing people stranded in the rain like that.” She said her name was Mary, and asked me where I was going. I told her I was headed to a small town in Nebraska that I used to live in when I was nineteen, and then to Arizona to see my cousin. These things were true, but I was too embarrassed to tell her I had no real destination in mind. The larger truth was I really had no idea where the hell I was going, that I was a lost and desperate young man drifting across the country without any sense of direction in life, searching for something I couldn't name.
I noticed Mary was wearing sunglasses. I thought this was odd considering it was a rainy day, but I didn’t say anything. We talked about her son and about her husband. She told me her husband was unstable. That’s when she looked over at me and lowered her sunglasses. I saw that her left eye was black and blue and swollen. I was startled. She told me that her husband was in Vietnam and had PTSD. He had nightmares and hit her in bed. I didn’t know what to make of that. I felt the urge to say something that would help her. But I didn’t know what to say, so we talked about other things. Mary told me she was on her way to see her son at college. She asked me if I wanted to come with her. She said she had to drop some things off for him, and it would only take a few minutes. I was in no hurry so we drove to the town where her son lived.
It was an awkward meeting, at least for me. She introduced us and I felt like saying, “Hi, I’m the complete stranger your mother picked up on the side of the road.” But he didn’t show any signs of suspicion. He seemed as kind and generous as his mother.
When we left we got something to eat at a fast food restaurant. Mary tried to look at the menu above the counter but couldn’t see it through her sunglasses, so she lifted them from her eyes for a brief moment and read the sign. There were two employees behind the counter, and when they saw her black eye, they both snuck a quick glance at me. I felt very self-conscious as I placed my order.
After we ate, Mary went out of her way to drop me off at a larger town. But before I got out of the car she wrote her phone number on a small scrap of paper. She said, “Now when you get to a safe place tonight I want you to call me and let me know that you’re all right. Please Rick, call me.” She expressed many times during the trip how dangerous it was to hitchhike, and she was genuinely worried for my well being. I grabbed the number and assured her I would call. I thanked her again. It rained off and on as I caught a few more rides that day and eventually made it to Galesburg where I split a cheap room with a fellow traveler that evening.
Something was bothering me. I don’t remember what it was. I hastily looked through my belongings for Mary’s number, but couldn’t find it. It was written on a tiny piece of paper, but I think if I would’ve looked hard enough, I probably would have found it. But I didn’t feel like looking very hard. The next morning I continued hitchhiking west towards Nebraska. I never found her number.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
sermon
Sermon from Matthew 3: 13-17 and Isaiah 42: 1-9
John the Baptist never did play to society’s comfortable sensibilities. He doesn’t ascribe to easy middle class values. No, the Baptist sweated it out with the people down by the muddy banks of the Jordon. He was captivated in a trance from God, an ecstasy of prophetic vision. His sermons were barnburners. He talked about winnowing forks, separating wheat from chaff, unquenchable fires and so forth. The people were alarmed when John preached, scared straight into repentance. They came to him to be baptized, hoping to be saved from the storm clouds of the apocalypse, from the highly charged atmosphere that surrounded them. Baptism may have been the most intense point of contact between the cosmic forces of good and evil. Drown the demons and get on the right side of God. People were wailing, bodies thrashed around in the water. Baptism wasn’t tame, sentimental or pedestrian. It was a spiritual rite of passage you hoped to survive.
Yet, this fiery preacher himself was shocked as Jesus came along and made his request. Jesus requested that he be baptized by John. There was something about this Jesus that caught even John, in all his zealousness, off guard. “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”
John, who proclaimed Jesus with such power and authority, now felt so unworthy to baptize him. He felt a sense of powerlessness and defenselessness as he looked down at Jesus’ head resting in the crux of his arm. This was too much to fathom. How small and insignificant he felt, yet how loved and respected also, that such a man as he would chosen to baptize the very Messiah of God. John, the preacher of repentance, had to reevaluate and repent himself. Even his most fiery pronouncements turned on themselves in light of the vulnerability of Jesus who lay in his arms. These pronouncements devoured themselves and left ashes on the tongue of the Baptist as he immersed the Son of God under the water and lifted him out. Jesus was doing the unexpected. Or rather, he was allowing the unexpected to happen, to come to life. He allowed John to baptize him. The powerful end times figure made himself vulnerable for the sake of all righteousness.
We Lutherans who use a baptismal font may have a harder time grasping the baptism of Jesus than traditions that baptize in a river. I have a friend who grew up in a fundamentalist rural church. He was baptized in a river one cold spring afternoon after church. The two pastors were standing waist-deep in the middle of the river. My friend waded out towards them. The current was cold and he could feel it pressing against his legs as he made his way to the preachers, trying to keep his balance. It was a lonely journey to the pastors, with the congregation standing on the banks behind him, and the pastors in front. He made it to them and they took his hand and stood on either side of him. They said a prayer and my friend surrendered himself to their care and lay back in their arms and allowed them take him under the water. He was plunged underneath the cold water and was lifted out to the shouts of Amen and Halleluiah! He waded back to the shoreline and was greeted by the hugs and kisses of sisters and brothers and given a towel to drape over his shoulders.
My friend noted the trust he had to give to the pastors as he was baptized, to allow himself to lay back in their arms and take him under the water. He also noted the very ‘earthiness’ of his baptism. He felt the water, the mud, the sun and the cold air. He saw the trees and rocks. All this connected baptism with the beauty and untamed elements of God’s creation. It made him feel more vulnerable and also more alive and aware of God’s world.
My friend had to give himself to another to be baptized, and so did Jesus. Jesus fulfills all righteousness with his baptism through his self-giving and solidarity with humanity. “Calvin wrote that Jesus ‘undertook baptism with us that the faithful might be more surely persuaded that they are engrafted into his body, buried with him in baptism, that they might rise again to newness of life.’” (89 Allison, New Proclamation 01-02). Thus Calvin shows Jesus’ solidarity with us through baptism. Jesus gave himself in baptism not for himself, or for John’s sake, but for all of us, to bind himself with us, to make our salvation his own cause.
This reveals Jesus’ vulnerability as he gives himself over into the arms of another. The vulnerability that he showed as he laid back into John’s arms is a foreshadowing of the kind of radical self-giving he demonstrated on the cross. Jesus’ giving himself into the hands of another characterizes both the beginning and the end of his ministry. He fell into the strong arms of John in his baptism at the beginning, and he fell into the arms of the Roman authorities at the end. This self-giving at the beginning and end of his ministry are like bookends in the story of our salvation.
Through baptism we are given to the One who gave himself to us. We are marked by the cross of Christ, sealed with the Spirit, and become children of God. We are adopted into God’s family and made daughters and sons of God, beloved women and men. In the waters of baptism, we die and rise to new life in Christ (Romans 6:4). We become a new creation. In baptism we have a new identity, we belong to him who loved us and gave himself for us. This new identity is a blessed gift from God.
And with the gift comes discipleship. The adoption into God’s family is also a calling. The new life in Christ is an initiation into the ministry of the kingdom. It is our calling to live out the radical vulnerability and self-giving ministry of Christ for the sake of the other. This is a joyful but difficult call. It’s so much easier to remain anonymous in a comfortable middle class neighborhood, easing our way into a nice retirement where we blend in easily with the world. It’s easier to stay on the sidelines of life, letting others risk their reputation, even their lives, for the sake of the kingdom. Sometimes we’re afraid of the consequences of acting out on behalf of God’s kingdom, so we withdraw. We worry what others might think of us, or what will become of us.
This is all easier than to step out on a limb and feel the sharp edges of our individuality, to hear our name before God, and risk something for the sake of Jesus. When we take this call seriously it is powerful. Jesus was unsettled. And his self-giving unsettles us and our values today. He had a passion and thirst for justice, for the new rule of God’s kingdom. This passion made him vulnerable to the forces that opposed him. Yet, in spite of the danger he gave himself completely for the sake of the kingdom, for those most vulnerable, for the poor, sick, lonely, and deranged. His vulnerable was for the sake of the vulnerable, and in this way he showed solidarity with them. This uncompromising compassion for those most neglected lead to his ultimate act of self-giving on the cross. The early church perceived Jesus to be the one described in the servant songs of Isaiah, “He will not grow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth” (Isaiah 42:3). Jesus was and still is “a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness” (6-7).
Jesus showed solidarity with us in his baptism. And Jesus gives himself to us again and again, falling into our arms and embracing us. Our own pain and loneliness is matched and overwhelmed by the love of the one who gives himself to us, “a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench,” (42:3). The ever self-giving Christ who is present among us today in faith gives us the courage to work in mission anew. It’s a difficult call, but it’s a joyful call because we know we’re not alone. In baptism we are claimed by him who loved us. The self-giving love that shook John now shakes us.
Jesus’ self-giving through his baptism demonstrates the things that are yet to come. This radical self-giving marks the beginning of the new age and points to its fullness when justice will be established. As we carry Jesus’ mission into the world, we give ourselves for the sake of our neighbor as Jesus gave himself to us. We teach, heal, unsettle, and however falteringly, point to God’s kingdom come, when we will praise God as the former things have passed and new things have come into existence. Amen.
John the Baptist never did play to society’s comfortable sensibilities. He doesn’t ascribe to easy middle class values. No, the Baptist sweated it out with the people down by the muddy banks of the Jordon. He was captivated in a trance from God, an ecstasy of prophetic vision. His sermons were barnburners. He talked about winnowing forks, separating wheat from chaff, unquenchable fires and so forth. The people were alarmed when John preached, scared straight into repentance. They came to him to be baptized, hoping to be saved from the storm clouds of the apocalypse, from the highly charged atmosphere that surrounded them. Baptism may have been the most intense point of contact between the cosmic forces of good and evil. Drown the demons and get on the right side of God. People were wailing, bodies thrashed around in the water. Baptism wasn’t tame, sentimental or pedestrian. It was a spiritual rite of passage you hoped to survive.
Yet, this fiery preacher himself was shocked as Jesus came along and made his request. Jesus requested that he be baptized by John. There was something about this Jesus that caught even John, in all his zealousness, off guard. “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”
John, who proclaimed Jesus with such power and authority, now felt so unworthy to baptize him. He felt a sense of powerlessness and defenselessness as he looked down at Jesus’ head resting in the crux of his arm. This was too much to fathom. How small and insignificant he felt, yet how loved and respected also, that such a man as he would chosen to baptize the very Messiah of God. John, the preacher of repentance, had to reevaluate and repent himself. Even his most fiery pronouncements turned on themselves in light of the vulnerability of Jesus who lay in his arms. These pronouncements devoured themselves and left ashes on the tongue of the Baptist as he immersed the Son of God under the water and lifted him out. Jesus was doing the unexpected. Or rather, he was allowing the unexpected to happen, to come to life. He allowed John to baptize him. The powerful end times figure made himself vulnerable for the sake of all righteousness.
We Lutherans who use a baptismal font may have a harder time grasping the baptism of Jesus than traditions that baptize in a river. I have a friend who grew up in a fundamentalist rural church. He was baptized in a river one cold spring afternoon after church. The two pastors were standing waist-deep in the middle of the river. My friend waded out towards them. The current was cold and he could feel it pressing against his legs as he made his way to the preachers, trying to keep his balance. It was a lonely journey to the pastors, with the congregation standing on the banks behind him, and the pastors in front. He made it to them and they took his hand and stood on either side of him. They said a prayer and my friend surrendered himself to their care and lay back in their arms and allowed them take him under the water. He was plunged underneath the cold water and was lifted out to the shouts of Amen and Halleluiah! He waded back to the shoreline and was greeted by the hugs and kisses of sisters and brothers and given a towel to drape over his shoulders.
My friend noted the trust he had to give to the pastors as he was baptized, to allow himself to lay back in their arms and take him under the water. He also noted the very ‘earthiness’ of his baptism. He felt the water, the mud, the sun and the cold air. He saw the trees and rocks. All this connected baptism with the beauty and untamed elements of God’s creation. It made him feel more vulnerable and also more alive and aware of God’s world.
My friend had to give himself to another to be baptized, and so did Jesus. Jesus fulfills all righteousness with his baptism through his self-giving and solidarity with humanity. “Calvin wrote that Jesus ‘undertook baptism with us that the faithful might be more surely persuaded that they are engrafted into his body, buried with him in baptism, that they might rise again to newness of life.’” (89 Allison, New Proclamation 01-02). Thus Calvin shows Jesus’ solidarity with us through baptism. Jesus gave himself in baptism not for himself, or for John’s sake, but for all of us, to bind himself with us, to make our salvation his own cause.
This reveals Jesus’ vulnerability as he gives himself over into the arms of another. The vulnerability that he showed as he laid back into John’s arms is a foreshadowing of the kind of radical self-giving he demonstrated on the cross. Jesus’ giving himself into the hands of another characterizes both the beginning and the end of his ministry. He fell into the strong arms of John in his baptism at the beginning, and he fell into the arms of the Roman authorities at the end. This self-giving at the beginning and end of his ministry are like bookends in the story of our salvation.
Through baptism we are given to the One who gave himself to us. We are marked by the cross of Christ, sealed with the Spirit, and become children of God. We are adopted into God’s family and made daughters and sons of God, beloved women and men. In the waters of baptism, we die and rise to new life in Christ (Romans 6:4). We become a new creation. In baptism we have a new identity, we belong to him who loved us and gave himself for us. This new identity is a blessed gift from God.
And with the gift comes discipleship. The adoption into God’s family is also a calling. The new life in Christ is an initiation into the ministry of the kingdom. It is our calling to live out the radical vulnerability and self-giving ministry of Christ for the sake of the other. This is a joyful but difficult call. It’s so much easier to remain anonymous in a comfortable middle class neighborhood, easing our way into a nice retirement where we blend in easily with the world. It’s easier to stay on the sidelines of life, letting others risk their reputation, even their lives, for the sake of the kingdom. Sometimes we’re afraid of the consequences of acting out on behalf of God’s kingdom, so we withdraw. We worry what others might think of us, or what will become of us.
This is all easier than to step out on a limb and feel the sharp edges of our individuality, to hear our name before God, and risk something for the sake of Jesus. When we take this call seriously it is powerful. Jesus was unsettled. And his self-giving unsettles us and our values today. He had a passion and thirst for justice, for the new rule of God’s kingdom. This passion made him vulnerable to the forces that opposed him. Yet, in spite of the danger he gave himself completely for the sake of the kingdom, for those most vulnerable, for the poor, sick, lonely, and deranged. His vulnerable was for the sake of the vulnerable, and in this way he showed solidarity with them. This uncompromising compassion for those most neglected lead to his ultimate act of self-giving on the cross. The early church perceived Jesus to be the one described in the servant songs of Isaiah, “He will not grow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth” (Isaiah 42:3). Jesus was and still is “a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness” (6-7).
Jesus showed solidarity with us in his baptism. And Jesus gives himself to us again and again, falling into our arms and embracing us. Our own pain and loneliness is matched and overwhelmed by the love of the one who gives himself to us, “a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench,” (42:3). The ever self-giving Christ who is present among us today in faith gives us the courage to work in mission anew. It’s a difficult call, but it’s a joyful call because we know we’re not alone. In baptism we are claimed by him who loved us. The self-giving love that shook John now shakes us.
Jesus’ self-giving through his baptism demonstrates the things that are yet to come. This radical self-giving marks the beginning of the new age and points to its fullness when justice will be established. As we carry Jesus’ mission into the world, we give ourselves for the sake of our neighbor as Jesus gave himself to us. We teach, heal, unsettle, and however falteringly, point to God’s kingdom come, when we will praise God as the former things have passed and new things have come into existence. Amen.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
sermon at faith in christ lutheran in ohio
Sermon from Matthew 22: 34-40 and Acts 4:32-5:11
It was a hot and dusty afternoon in Jerusalem
as the scholars and theologians gathered together
near the Temple to test this charismatic newcomer.
He’d been wandering around Galilee and Judea,
disturbing the peace with his teachings.
Now here he was in Jerusalem.
Everyone had been raising a fuss over him.
He was asked many, many questions
and he often gave shocking and daring answers
to these questions concerning the Torah.
So these theologians and experts of the law
prepared their questions in advance.
Some had bad motives,
hoping to trap and humiliate this young teacher,
yet others had good motives,
truly hoping to better understand the Torah
and the Lord their God.
So when Jesus arrived
they peppered him with various questions.
They asked him about the lawfulness of paying taxes,
and about the resurrection of the dead.
Jesus answered these questions skillfully.
Some thought he was some kind of whiz kid.
He seemed to have
an instinctive mind for these debates.
Or better yet,
he was intimately in-tune with the Torah,
with the living Word of God.
So then another young Jewish scholar
comes up and asks Jesus,
‘Okay, Rabbi, out of all the commandments in the Torah,
out of all of them,
which of these commandments is the greatest?’
Wow, this was like the ultimate question.
This question certainly cut to the chase.
The large crowd of curious spectators
who had gathered around leaned in close
and held their collective breath.
You could have heard a pin drop
as all eyes of the townspeople
and scholars gazed upon Jesus,
waiting for the answer to this big question…
Which commandment in the law is greatest?
In our reading today Jesus gives the answer
to this awesome question.
‘You shall love the Lord your God
with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’
This is the greatest and first commandment.
And the second is like it,
‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’
Many times when Jesus
was asked a question in these forums
he would tell a parable rather than give a direct answer,
or he’d pose a counter-question
that stymied the questioner.
But this time he gives a simple,
straight-forward answer-
Astonishingly simple, really.
Yet, to truly understand this greatest commandment,
we need to realize the love of the one who uttered it.
One theologian noted that,
“The command to love
can only come from the mouth of the lover” (Rosenzweig).
This means that only a God
who loves us with his whole heart, soul, and mind
can command us to love him with our whole heart, soul and mind.
Only a Savior who loves us and holds us in a higher regard
than he does his own life and wellbeing,
could command that we love our neighbor as ourselves.
An impersonal deity, one that is neutral and does not love,
or is full of anger and wrath,
cannot command love.
God does not issue commands
that he does not keep himself.
No, only a God who loves us with his whole heart, soul and mind
could command us to love him that way in return.
And because God loves us so much,
the greatest commandment must necessarily
be a two-part commandment
in which the love of God and love neighbor
are intimately linked.
We cannot love God without loving our neighbor.
We cannot love our neighbor without loving God.
Our Christian faith makes every relationship
into a God relationship.
Every encounter with our neighbor
is an encounter with a beloved of God.
Even the people whom we dislike or disagree with-
they are God’s people too.
They are people for whom Christ loved and died on the cross for.
This ups the ante significantly.
It raises the stakes in the way we treat God and others.
In light of the fact that God himself loves us
with his whole heart, soul, and mind,
in light of the fact that our lives
are so valuable to God that he sent us Christ,
now a Christian love ethic is raised
to an infinitely higher standard
than the world’s standard of love.
No longer can we inquire
as to what is reasonably asked of us
in any given situation.
Questions of reasonableness
don’t arise for the one who lives by this commandment.
Neither do questions
of the likeability of the other arise.
This is because God loves us
with his whole heart, soul and mind,
even as we are sinners and, at times, unlikable.
To grasp even a glimpse of this awesome love
makes us feel infinitely indebted to it.
We feel indebted and can do no other
than respond in love to the one who loved us first.
“The commandment of love is mild and merciful,
but ‘there is rigor in it.’” (Kierkegaard).
It is not a coddling, sentimental love of warm feelings,
but a mature love that takes action
and seeks the ultimate well-being of the neighbor.
It’s a constant striving to look out for the neighbor,
going beyond what is reasonably asked of us or fair,
just as God’s love goes beyond what is reasonable or fair.
Our actions of love may not seem like a big deal,
but they are a big deal to the people they touch.
It may even change their life.
In my seminary journey,
someone cared about me in a way that changed me.
At seminary many students are ardent followers of Martin Luther,
not only in his teachings but also in his love of beer.
Many gatherings and social events around the seminary
are celebrated with beer or wine.
And while few if any go overboard in their consumption,
I sometimes felt like an outsider.
I don’t drink anymore.
And I attended these events,
but sometimes I would feel a little out of place
being one of the only people not to drink.
One day I was talking
to a friend of mine in the library,
and I told her about my feelings
of self-consciousness and awkwardness
at these gatherings.
She listened to me and was sympathetic to my problems.
A few days later I found out
that there was going to be a birthday party
at a friend’s apartment coming up
and I planned on attending.
But something happened that really floored me.
A day or two before the party
I received an e-mail from my friend.
She wrote,
‘Hey Rick I’m going to the party too,
and if it will make you feel better about it
I won’t drink either.
We could hang out and drink Pepsi together!
Let me know what you think.’
After I read the e-mail I was like,
‘Wow, that was one of the coolest things
anyone has ever done for me.’
Here was a friend who was willing
to refrain from drinking at a birthday party
in order to show solidarity with me
and make me feel more welcome.
My friend’s very caring and thoughtful gesture
made me feel like I was cared for and accepted.
It was hard for me to believe that someone
would care so much for me
and make me feel so welcome.
I responded and thanked her for her consideration,
but told her I’d be okay
and that she didn’t have to change because of me.
And I went and saw her there
and we had a good time.
My friend was living out her faith
in a way that transformed me.
And living the faith today
is living out this greatest commandment.
Because God loves us
with all his heart and all his soul and all his mind,
we can do the same for our neighbor.
And when even one individual or group of people takes seriously
the awesome reality that they are a beloved woman or man of God,
it is very powerful and becomes the life-giving source
from which they draw from to do incredible things
for the sake of their neighbor.
We will be amazed at the power and love of God in our life
when we live by this faith.
The early church took this greatest command seriously.
We see in our reading in Acts today
the early church acting in one accord.
They were so captivated by the power and love
of the crucified and resurrected Christ
that they all acted as one.
But over the centuries and today churches
have been marked by division.
And when division happens among churches
there’s no chance of the unity
that Acts speaks of in today’s reading.
There’s no chance of being of one heart and soul
when there is division.
And to the outside observer,
to the world we are to be a witness to,
the church looks like any other worldly organization.
Our ability to demonstrate the love of God,
and to live out the greatest commandment,
is diminished when we are divided.
God does not issue commandments
that he does not keep himself.
God loves us with his whole heart, mind and soul.
And that love is larger than our thoughts and belief systems,
it is larger than our fears,
it is larger than our lives.
We worry about our job security
or our government
or the health of a family member.
We worry about our children and grandchildren.
We wonder about their future.
We worry about a lot of things.
Today the world
is a rapidly changing place
and it’s sometimes scary.
But God’s love sustains us through the storm.
It’s a love that sustains
and yet pushes us beyond our anxiety,
and pushes us beyond our desire to turn inward.
It’s a love that turns us outward
to serve and love our neighbor as ourselves.
Sometimes this turning outward
is a painful and scary thing.
It’s so much more comfortable
to turn inward and not face the world.
But precisely because God loves us heart, mind and soul,
that love will sometimes lead us
where we don’t want to go,
but to places where we need to go
for our sake and for the sake of God’s kingdom.
God’s love leads us to help and shelter those
who are being trampled by
the fast moving stampede of our times.
This love may mean going into prisons
or hospice nursing homes,
or helping some kid out whose family has given up on him. This love allows us to hang in there
with people we disagree with or don’t like.
It allows us to love even our enemies
and see them as people in whom Christ died for too.
No matter what happens to our lives or our families’ lives,
this love of God goes on and on.
It picks us up and carries us along
ever deepening channels of mercy and grace,
taking us to unexpected and surprising places.
It is a joyful, generous love.
A love that burns bright in us
and bears witness
to the burning light of Christ’s own love.
It was a hot and dusty afternoon in Jerusalem
as the scholars and theologians gathered together
near the Temple to test this charismatic newcomer.
He’d been wandering around Galilee and Judea,
disturbing the peace with his teachings.
Now here he was in Jerusalem.
Everyone had been raising a fuss over him.
He was asked many, many questions
and he often gave shocking and daring answers
to these questions concerning the Torah.
So these theologians and experts of the law
prepared their questions in advance.
Some had bad motives,
hoping to trap and humiliate this young teacher,
yet others had good motives,
truly hoping to better understand the Torah
and the Lord their God.
So when Jesus arrived
they peppered him with various questions.
They asked him about the lawfulness of paying taxes,
and about the resurrection of the dead.
Jesus answered these questions skillfully.
Some thought he was some kind of whiz kid.
He seemed to have
an instinctive mind for these debates.
Or better yet,
he was intimately in-tune with the Torah,
with the living Word of God.
So then another young Jewish scholar
comes up and asks Jesus,
‘Okay, Rabbi, out of all the commandments in the Torah,
out of all of them,
which of these commandments is the greatest?’
Wow, this was like the ultimate question.
This question certainly cut to the chase.
The large crowd of curious spectators
who had gathered around leaned in close
and held their collective breath.
You could have heard a pin drop
as all eyes of the townspeople
and scholars gazed upon Jesus,
waiting for the answer to this big question…
Which commandment in the law is greatest?
In our reading today Jesus gives the answer
to this awesome question.
‘You shall love the Lord your God
with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’
This is the greatest and first commandment.
And the second is like it,
‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’
Many times when Jesus
was asked a question in these forums
he would tell a parable rather than give a direct answer,
or he’d pose a counter-question
that stymied the questioner.
But this time he gives a simple,
straight-forward answer-
Astonishingly simple, really.
Yet, to truly understand this greatest commandment,
we need to realize the love of the one who uttered it.
One theologian noted that,
“The command to love
can only come from the mouth of the lover” (Rosenzweig).
This means that only a God
who loves us with his whole heart, soul, and mind
can command us to love him with our whole heart, soul and mind.
Only a Savior who loves us and holds us in a higher regard
than he does his own life and wellbeing,
could command that we love our neighbor as ourselves.
An impersonal deity, one that is neutral and does not love,
or is full of anger and wrath,
cannot command love.
God does not issue commands
that he does not keep himself.
No, only a God who loves us with his whole heart, soul and mind
could command us to love him that way in return.
And because God loves us so much,
the greatest commandment must necessarily
be a two-part commandment
in which the love of God and love neighbor
are intimately linked.
We cannot love God without loving our neighbor.
We cannot love our neighbor without loving God.
Our Christian faith makes every relationship
into a God relationship.
Every encounter with our neighbor
is an encounter with a beloved of God.
Even the people whom we dislike or disagree with-
they are God’s people too.
They are people for whom Christ loved and died on the cross for.
This ups the ante significantly.
It raises the stakes in the way we treat God and others.
In light of the fact that God himself loves us
with his whole heart, soul, and mind,
in light of the fact that our lives
are so valuable to God that he sent us Christ,
now a Christian love ethic is raised
to an infinitely higher standard
than the world’s standard of love.
No longer can we inquire
as to what is reasonably asked of us
in any given situation.
Questions of reasonableness
don’t arise for the one who lives by this commandment.
Neither do questions
of the likeability of the other arise.
This is because God loves us
with his whole heart, soul and mind,
even as we are sinners and, at times, unlikable.
To grasp even a glimpse of this awesome love
makes us feel infinitely indebted to it.
We feel indebted and can do no other
than respond in love to the one who loved us first.
“The commandment of love is mild and merciful,
but ‘there is rigor in it.’” (Kierkegaard).
It is not a coddling, sentimental love of warm feelings,
but a mature love that takes action
and seeks the ultimate well-being of the neighbor.
It’s a constant striving to look out for the neighbor,
going beyond what is reasonably asked of us or fair,
just as God’s love goes beyond what is reasonable or fair.
Our actions of love may not seem like a big deal,
but they are a big deal to the people they touch.
It may even change their life.
In my seminary journey,
someone cared about me in a way that changed me.
At seminary many students are ardent followers of Martin Luther,
not only in his teachings but also in his love of beer.
Many gatherings and social events around the seminary
are celebrated with beer or wine.
And while few if any go overboard in their consumption,
I sometimes felt like an outsider.
I don’t drink anymore.
And I attended these events,
but sometimes I would feel a little out of place
being one of the only people not to drink.
One day I was talking
to a friend of mine in the library,
and I told her about my feelings
of self-consciousness and awkwardness
at these gatherings.
She listened to me and was sympathetic to my problems.
A few days later I found out
that there was going to be a birthday party
at a friend’s apartment coming up
and I planned on attending.
But something happened that really floored me.
A day or two before the party
I received an e-mail from my friend.
She wrote,
‘Hey Rick I’m going to the party too,
and if it will make you feel better about it
I won’t drink either.
We could hang out and drink Pepsi together!
Let me know what you think.’
After I read the e-mail I was like,
‘Wow, that was one of the coolest things
anyone has ever done for me.’
Here was a friend who was willing
to refrain from drinking at a birthday party
in order to show solidarity with me
and make me feel more welcome.
My friend’s very caring and thoughtful gesture
made me feel like I was cared for and accepted.
It was hard for me to believe that someone
would care so much for me
and make me feel so welcome.
I responded and thanked her for her consideration,
but told her I’d be okay
and that she didn’t have to change because of me.
And I went and saw her there
and we had a good time.
My friend was living out her faith
in a way that transformed me.
And living the faith today
is living out this greatest commandment.
Because God loves us
with all his heart and all his soul and all his mind,
we can do the same for our neighbor.
And when even one individual or group of people takes seriously
the awesome reality that they are a beloved woman or man of God,
it is very powerful and becomes the life-giving source
from which they draw from to do incredible things
for the sake of their neighbor.
We will be amazed at the power and love of God in our life
when we live by this faith.
The early church took this greatest command seriously.
We see in our reading in Acts today
the early church acting in one accord.
They were so captivated by the power and love
of the crucified and resurrected Christ
that they all acted as one.
But over the centuries and today churches
have been marked by division.
And when division happens among churches
there’s no chance of the unity
that Acts speaks of in today’s reading.
There’s no chance of being of one heart and soul
when there is division.
And to the outside observer,
to the world we are to be a witness to,
the church looks like any other worldly organization.
Our ability to demonstrate the love of God,
and to live out the greatest commandment,
is diminished when we are divided.
God does not issue commandments
that he does not keep himself.
God loves us with his whole heart, mind and soul.
And that love is larger than our thoughts and belief systems,
it is larger than our fears,
it is larger than our lives.
We worry about our job security
or our government
or the health of a family member.
We worry about our children and grandchildren.
We wonder about their future.
We worry about a lot of things.
Today the world
is a rapidly changing place
and it’s sometimes scary.
But God’s love sustains us through the storm.
It’s a love that sustains
and yet pushes us beyond our anxiety,
and pushes us beyond our desire to turn inward.
It’s a love that turns us outward
to serve and love our neighbor as ourselves.
Sometimes this turning outward
is a painful and scary thing.
It’s so much more comfortable
to turn inward and not face the world.
But precisely because God loves us heart, mind and soul,
that love will sometimes lead us
where we don’t want to go,
but to places where we need to go
for our sake and for the sake of God’s kingdom.
God’s love leads us to help and shelter those
who are being trampled by
the fast moving stampede of our times.
This love may mean going into prisons
or hospice nursing homes,
or helping some kid out whose family has given up on him. This love allows us to hang in there
with people we disagree with or don’t like.
It allows us to love even our enemies
and see them as people in whom Christ died for too.
No matter what happens to our lives or our families’ lives,
this love of God goes on and on.
It picks us up and carries us along
ever deepening channels of mercy and grace,
taking us to unexpected and surprising places.
It is a joyful, generous love.
A love that burns bright in us
and bears witness
to the burning light of Christ’s own love.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Journeying Through Mark
Mark is a fast paced, action packed gospel. It’s the shortest of the four gospels, and a sense of urgency is palpable from beginning to end. There’s no lengthy prologue at the beginning, no chance to settle in and get comfortable. Instead, there are a few short verses from Isaiah that introduce us to the fiery preacher, John the Baptist. And within the first twelve verses Jesus is baptized and immediately driven into the wilderness by the Spirit and tempted by Satan.
After Jesus’ temptation, a chain of fast moving events unfold before our eyes. You won’t find long teachings in Mark, no big paragraphs in red letters. There’s no leisurely musings about lilies in the field. There’s no time for it. Jesus is waist deep in a demon soaked world, working to conquer satanic forces in a highly charged apocalyptic atmosphere. God was primed to radically step onto the world stage and topple everything. Maybe this is why in Mark we see Jesus occasionally behaving like a shrill, evangelical street preacher. But in a world so full of suffering and evil, who can blame him? Jesus wasn’t deceived. He saw with eyes wide open. Evil was present in the world- real, stark, and unambiguous.
And it had to be conquered. Jesus knew that God’s kingdom was at hand. He saw that nothing could stop God’s reign from being realized on earth, and he had the faith to see it through. He wouldn’t compromise with the powers that be, and gave his life for the realization of this kingdom. Mark ends as an open-ended story with a young man relaying a message to the shocked women at the tomb: Jesus has been raised from the dead- Tell the disciples to meet him in Galilee!
It’s difficult in modern times, with its tepid sensibilities and prudence, to comprehend the radical world that Mark describes. Nevertheless, even in our times we know the reality of suffering, and the struggle against evil. We know what it feels like when suffering pulls us inward, away from God and neighbor, and into darkness. Yet, our faith is a witness to a God who doesn’t leave us to battle suffering and evil alone. There’s no benign God that hovers pristinely above the earth. Rather, in Jesus God himself chooses to take the hard path of suffering, feeling our aches and pains, feeling the daily trials and headaches and banalities that we face. We have a Savior who wades waist deep in the thick of our suffering, crying out on our behalf- a Savior who strikes at the storm clouds of our hearts, opens us to glimpses of his kingdom, and pulls us along.
After Jesus’ temptation, a chain of fast moving events unfold before our eyes. You won’t find long teachings in Mark, no big paragraphs in red letters. There’s no leisurely musings about lilies in the field. There’s no time for it. Jesus is waist deep in a demon soaked world, working to conquer satanic forces in a highly charged apocalyptic atmosphere. God was primed to radically step onto the world stage and topple everything. Maybe this is why in Mark we see Jesus occasionally behaving like a shrill, evangelical street preacher. But in a world so full of suffering and evil, who can blame him? Jesus wasn’t deceived. He saw with eyes wide open. Evil was present in the world- real, stark, and unambiguous.
And it had to be conquered. Jesus knew that God’s kingdom was at hand. He saw that nothing could stop God’s reign from being realized on earth, and he had the faith to see it through. He wouldn’t compromise with the powers that be, and gave his life for the realization of this kingdom. Mark ends as an open-ended story with a young man relaying a message to the shocked women at the tomb: Jesus has been raised from the dead- Tell the disciples to meet him in Galilee!
It’s difficult in modern times, with its tepid sensibilities and prudence, to comprehend the radical world that Mark describes. Nevertheless, even in our times we know the reality of suffering, and the struggle against evil. We know what it feels like when suffering pulls us inward, away from God and neighbor, and into darkness. Yet, our faith is a witness to a God who doesn’t leave us to battle suffering and evil alone. There’s no benign God that hovers pristinely above the earth. Rather, in Jesus God himself chooses to take the hard path of suffering, feeling our aches and pains, feeling the daily trials and headaches and banalities that we face. We have a Savior who wades waist deep in the thick of our suffering, crying out on our behalf- a Savior who strikes at the storm clouds of our hearts, opens us to glimpses of his kingdom, and pulls us along.
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