Sermons and thoughts on faith on Scripture from my time at Old Presbyterian Meeting House and Falls Church Presbyterian Church, plus sermons and postings from "Pastor James," my blog while pastor at Boulevard Presbyterian in Columbus, OH.
I've always found today's reading in Acts somewhat curious. Paul comes across some fellows who are called simply "disciples" and "believers." There is no disciples of whom or believers in what, just disciples and believers. So these fellows must in some way be attempting to follow Jesus. But then we discover that these fellows didn't receive the Holy Spirit at their baptisms. In fact, their baptism apparently wasn't Christian but one connected with John the Baptist. (This doesn't necessarily mean that they had gone to be baptized by John in the wilderness. John's disciples were still active long after his death.)
So it would seem that these folks received a baptism of repentance from a disciple of John, and they also had heard and embraced the gospel of Jesus. But because they have not received the Holy Spirit, the story in Acts views them as not yet full Christians. They are almost Christian, but without the Holy Spirit, without being gifted by the Spirit in ways that would help build up the Church, they don't quite meet the minimum standards.
I once preached a sermon from this story that got one member terribly upset. She insisted that as long as she had faith she was "saved" (her word), and that was that. Everything else was icing on the cake. But these verses in Acts seem to disagree. They insist that if the Spirit is not present and at work in someone's life, they are not quite Christians, almost Christians. (I'm not talking here about the status of such folks when they die. I'm talking about whether or not they are part of the Jesus movement the Acts story calls "the Way.")
We Presbyterians have tended to be suspicious of things too associated with the Holy Spirit. We like things "decently and in order," and the Spirit is too unpredictable, too messy. Does that mean that we are almost Christians?
Today's reading from Luke continues the story of John the Baptist's ministry. Yesterday we heard John call those who came to be baptized "a brood of vipers." He warned them that the ax was poised to chop down trees that don't bear good fruit, and he said that whoever had two coats must share with anyone who has none; the same with food.
Today John says he is not the Messiah, but the Messiah is coming who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. Also, "His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." And after all these uplifting words about vipers, axes, winnowing forks, and unquenchable fire comes this, "So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people."
This is good news? The Messiah is coming, and he's ready to separate wheat from chaff, to chop down every tree that doesn't bear good fruit. This is something to get excited about?
Now one possibility is that Jesus is not exactly who John expected. He was hoping Jesus would give everyone their due but Jesus did a lot more forgiving than John foresaw. That's possible. But I think the reason Luke calls John's message good news is because it is the language of the coming day of the Lord, of God's Kingdom arriving.
The good news here is that God is about to inaugurate the new age. God is beginning the process of setting creation right, of lifting up the poor and freeing the oppressed. God has begun the work of transforming creation into what it was meant to be. Mary has already told us in her Magnificat that this will involve a leveling, a lifting up of some and pulling down of others. And John now uses traditional prophetic language to say this moment has arrived.
But still, I wonder how many of us with a lot more than two coats find this good news. When the inequalities of this world are in our favor, does a leveling sound like good news? I don't know about you, but I would prefer that people get lifted up to where I am rather than my being pulled down.
I wonder if welcoming the Kingdom doesn't require a radical sort of trust, trust that the things we count on for security are illusions, trust that letting go of what we have opens us to life that cannot be found in clinging to it, trust that I do not need to rise above others but need to move toward them. None of this is prosperity gospel type good news. But it seems to be good news in the eyes of God.
The governing board of the church I previously served once had a discussion about whether to sign a "commitment to peacemaking" from our denomination. Not a great deal is required of congregations that sign on, and it would seem a no-brainer given the Jesus says, "Blessed are the peacemakers." As a relatively new pastor, I had received something from our presbytery (that's our regional governing body) that indicated our church had never signed this commitment, and apparently presbyteries like to brag about having high percentages of congregations who have.
Assuming this had simply never come up before, I brought it to the next Session meeting and was stunned by the furor that ensued. Only a few board members were for signing the commitment, and the others thought this a blatant example of the church sticking its nose into politics, something it clearly shouldn't do. A couple of elders were offended and upset that this would somehow connect us to the Vietnam anti-war protests. By the way, this happened in 1997.
Today's gospel reading from Luke rattles off a long list of the politically powerful, beginning with the Roman emperor. Luke locates the ministry of John the Baptist squarely within the political structures of the day. And John tells the people of that day to get ready for something new. Interestingly, Luke specifically mentions tax collectors and soldiers, parts of the political structure of the day, among those who come to John for baptism. And what John tells them to do is contrary to the way the system worked. Tax collectors made their money by collecting "more than the amount prescribed," and it was expected that soldiers would use their power to supplement their meager salaries.
The verses that precede and that follow our reading also speak to the the political situation. The very fact that Jesus is a king and that he proclaims the kingdom of God speaks of politics. We modern Christians seem to forget that king and kingdom are political terms, and to proclaim an alternative kingdom to that of the Romans could get one killed. (Oh, that's what happened to Jesus, isn't it?)
The opening chapters of Luke are filled with political language. The poor are lifted up and the rich and powerful are pulled down. Jesus says he is the fulfillment of prophecies to release the captive and let the oppressed go free, that proclaim the year of God's jubilee, which by the way required the forgiveness of debts and the return of land to its original owners. What messy politics that would make.
There are certainly ways in which some Christians mix their faith and their politics badly, and this is the case for Christians on the right and the left politically. But there is simply no denying that John the Baptist calls people to get ready for a new day that is at odds with politics as usual. And Jesus calls people to become citizens of a coming Kingdom, a shift in loyalties that will, at the very least, call into question loyalties to current political structures and systems.
I don't think you can "spiritualize" the Kingdom Jesus proclaims. When it becomes divorced from how things are on earth, the status of the poor and oppressed; when it no longer calls the faithful to live in ways that conform to God's new day even if that causes conflict with this age, then the kingdom we proclaim is something quite different from what Jesus says has come near.
John the Baptist asks us all the question, What are we doing to get ready for a new regime, a new order, the one God is bringing? Are we living in ways that demonstrate our loyalty to the politics of our day, or are we living in ways that proclaim our loyalty to the promise, hope, and vision Jesus insists is drawing near?
For me and many of my seminary classmates, one of the most intimidating things about becoming a pastor was taking something called ordination exams. These were separate from seminary itself, given by the denomination. And they were really scary because until you passed them all, you could not be ordained, and generally were not allowed to look for a job in a congregation.
And so, most Presbyterian seminaries offer help with these exams. Just prior to my last year of seminary, we had a seminar on how to take and pass these exams. They walked us through the process, talked about how the exams were structured, and shared wisdom gleaned from exams in previous years. One time honored piece of wisdom went, “If you are struggling with a theological question, you can never go wrong talking about the sovereignty of God.”
The absolute sovereignty of God, the idea that nothing operates outside of God’s ultimate control, is a centerpiece of John Calvin’s work, and Calvin is the founder of our theological tradition. And this focus on God’s sovereignty lies behind a doctrine often associated with Presbyterians: Predestination.
Now the fact is that predestination was not dreamed up by Calvin nor is it restricted to Presbyterians. Augustine came up with the idea that God’s salvation is a gift given to whomever God chooses some 1600 years ago. And so predestination found its way into Roman Catholic theology. When Martin Luther broke off from the Catholic Church about 500 years ago, he emphasized Augustine’s teachings on grace and salvation as a gift, and so he kept predestination as a Lutheran doctrine.
So how did we Presbyterians get stuck with the predestination label? Well, it seems Calvin got a bit carried away talking about God’s sovereignty. Calvin reasoned that if God was totally sovereign, if nothing could happen without God’s okay, then not only did God choose those who are saved, the members of the elect, but God must have also chosen not to save the others. This is a little something that became known as double predestination. Some are predestined for salvation and some for damnation.
Even Calvin found this a bit uncomfortable and said it was a difficult doctrine. And Presbyterians essentially called the doctrine off a century ago. But I’ve always wondered how Calvin could have come up with the doctrine in the first place considering today’s verses from 1 Timothy. Is says right there that God desires everyone to be saved. And if God is totally sovereign, if everything God wills will be, then that sounds more like universal salvation than double predestination.
God desires everyone to be saved. Jesus is the mediator between God and all humanity, and he died for everyone. You’d have a hard time coming to that conclusion listening to some Christians. In their version of the faith, God seems almost gleeful at the prospect of sending folks who won’t believe the right things into eternal punishment. But according to 1 Timothy, God would surely be distraught and weeping at the prospect.
God desires everyone to be saved. Jesus died for everyone. Of course that begs the question of just what it means to be saved, of just what Jesus’ death accomplished.
I have become more and more convinced over the years that the Church went badly astray when it began to speak of salvation, of being saved, in terms of an either/or, in or out category. In this view, saved has to do with us believing certain things and so getting our tickets punched for eternity. Jesus’ death is a part of the magic formula that makes all this work. And we’ve been talking this way for so many centuries that we hear Jesus and we hear the Bible with salvation already defined this way. But I’m pretty sure Jesus didn’t understand saved or salvation this way.
Not everyone seems to realize this, but Jesus was never a Christian. He was a Jew. And as a Jew, his preeminent picture of salvation, of God’s saving activity, was the Exodus story. Passover is the biggest Jewish festival and holiday because of this. It celebrates God saving Israel, which of course has nothing to do with going to heaven. It is about being freed from slavery, about safety and security, about being rescued from oppression.
And not only was Jesus a Jew, he also identified himself as a prophet. Israel’s prophets had taken the salvation story of Exodus and envisioned a salvation extended to all creation, perhaps best known in Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom. This prophetic view sees God’s saving acts in the Exodus as prefiguring a bigger act that will rescue all, that will bring all creation to freedom, safety, and security, that will rescue all from oppression. And these prophets speak of this as a new day, as a new age, something Jesus calls the Kingdom of God.
Of course, just as freeing the Israelite slaves was a threat to Egypt’s Pharaoh, the Kingdom of God is a threat to all worldly kingdoms and governments and systems. All such systems depend on certain inequalities. Some must be poor so others can be rich. Some must lose for others to win. Some must work hard so others can enjoy leisure. Some must be at the bottom so others can be at the top. Some must die so others can live.
But Jesus says that the Kingdom, God’s new day, the end of all such inequalities, has drawn near. No wonder they had to kill Jesus. Speaking of a new way to heaven wouldn’t have been a problem. But declaring an end to Rome’s empire, to all empires, and calling his followers to become citizens of that coming community rather than this current one, well that’s something that will get you in serious trouble.
But Jesus stays true to God’s vision. He will not adopt the ways of this age, and he will not fight the powers of this age on their terms. He will not engage in hatred and violence. His Kingdom is one of love and peace and acceptance, and it does not come by force. And so Jesus dies.
His death makes clear how far our ways are from God’s. It shows clearly how far the powers of this age will go to preserve their power. His death condemns us all, for all of us, to varying degrees, are willing participants in and self-proclaimed citizens of this age.
But Jesus’ death also makes clear that the lengths God goes to draw us toward that new age, that new day that has come near. Jesus is willing to bear the brunt of human foolishness, of our commitment to systems that are passing away. God loves everyone, desires for everyone to become a part of a renewed and redeemed creation, and so God will not lash out. Instead, in Jesus, God will weep, suffer, and die. God will gently beckon, and God will wait.
But God does not just wait. Jesus also calls those who will follow him to be witnesses to the hope of God’s new day, to show by their lives the living Jesus, God’s love in the flesh, God’s desire for all people everywhere. And so we heard a letter to the followers of Jesus urging that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, including kings and those in high positions, the very people who sometimes persecuted and oppressed those early Christians.
God desires everyone to be saved. Jesus is the mediator between God and all humanity, and he died for everyone. And when we get caught up in this remarkable love and desire of God, when it takes root in our hearts, how can we help but see everyone with new eyes, with the eyes of Jesus. And when we do, how can we keep from sharing God’s love and embrace, with every single one of them?
In today's reading from John, Jesus' arrest is drawing near. In the midst of these deteriorating conditions, we hear this, "Nevertheless many, even of the authorities, believed in him. But because of the Pharisees they did not confess it, for fear that they would be put out of the synagogue; for they loved human glory more than the glory that comes from God."
Pharisees tossing folks out of the synagogue was not really an issue during the lifetime of Jesus, but it was a very pressing issue at the time John's gospel is written. After Jerusalem and the Temple were destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE, Priestly Judaism basically disappeared. In the struggle to control Judaism that ensued, the followers of Jesus (who considered themselves Jews) found themselves in competition with the Pharisees. The Pharisees (forerunners of modern rabbinical Judaism) were the much larger group, and in the manner typical of internal religious disputes, they insisted the Jesus followers drop their messianic claims for Jesus or risk expulsion. Apparently many Christians decided to keep their faith private so they would not be kicked out. And John's gospel is written, in part, to address these Christians and call them to bold, public faith.
Fast forward to our day, and I'm not in any danger from Pharisees for being too public about my faith. Nevertheless, there are other sorts of pressures that encourage me not to be too obvious about following Jesus. I suspect that many pastors feel a significant amount of pressure not to emphasize teachings of Jesus that make people uncomfortable or that challenge the prevailing cultural norms. And we've somehow managed to make following Jesus fully compatible with acquiring wealth and possessions no matter the cost to the environment or to those who labor under horrible conditions to produce our inexpensive food and clothes.
As a pastor, I'm as captive as the next person to our culture of success and consumerism. We pastors almost always receive "calls" to bigger churches with larger salaries. And our salaries are often the biggest single items in our church's budgets, budgets that often struggle to dedicate significant percentages of our monies to mission.
Many have noted that serving as a pastor is a difficult job that enjoys little of the status it once did. And certainly it does not pay at the same levels of many other similarly educated professionals. Yet despite these real difficulties, it strikes me that I want to serve as a pastor without it being really costly, without it including a cross. And it is very easy to hear John's gospel speaking of me when it says, "for they loved human glory more than the glory that comes from God."
If you happen to be a member of my congregation, don't worry that something dramatic is going to happen on Sunday. To be honest, I'm not at all sure how to address this captivity of Church and pastors to the prevailing culture, this fear we have of faithfully articulating what Jesus says and, even more, actually doing what he says. But we surely need to have some serious conversations in our congregations about what it actually means to be a follower of Jesus.
In today's verses from Acts, Paul and Silas are in prison when a violent earthquake throws open the doors and frees them. The jailer presumes that everyone has escaped and so pulls his sword to kill himself. (Apparently this was preferable to what would happen to him for letting prisoners escape.) But Paul shouted for him not to kill himself, that none of them had fled. The jailer rushes in to Paul, falls on his face, and cries out, "What must I do to be saved?"
This passage was used by Brian McLaren at the Church Unbound Conference I recently attended. And as Brian pointed out, seeing that the jailer was just about to kill himself, it seems highly unlikely that his desire to be saved has anything to do with the disposition of his eternal soul. His life has just been spared - for the moment - and he would probably like to make that a long term proposition.
This jailer is a part of the Roman empire, a small cog in that massive kingdom. His allegiance is to the emperor, but Paul suggests that he will be saved if he switches allegiance to a different king, Jesus.
We are so used to thinking that "saved" has to do with our approved or disapproved status in God's little black book that we presume a Roman jailer who moments earlier was more than ready to kill himself has somehow suddenly become concerned about the fate of his soul. Surely "saved" has a much more concrete meaning for him. Of course if we hear "saved" in the manner the jailer likely meant it, then that may require us to rethink what save means for us.
I think that the Church desperately needs this sort of saving. I think that our society and culture desperately need this sort of saving. Like the jailer, we need to turn away from our loyalty to Caesar, to the Almighty dollar, to a particular political view or ideology, to status and power, even to Church institutions and transfer that loyalty to Jesus. Two traditional titles for Jesus make this clear, Lord and Master. Both were ways to address someone who has power over you, who can tell you what to do. Caesar was supreme Lord in the First Century, Mediterranean world, but those who followed Jesus defected from Caesar and became obedient to Jesus.
This sort of thinking sometimes gets labeled heretical, but I would go so far as to say that if someone did all that Jesus commanded, but didn't believe in him, she would be closer to the Kingdom than lots of people who profess Jesus as their Savior but seem to have forgotten the Lord part. And Jesus himself says as much in a number of places, notably in the parable of the Judgment of Gentiles in Matthew 25:31-46.
And when I think of it this way, I need saving as much as anyone. Lord, save me!
A number of my Facebook friends have said they like a page called, "Let's see if there are 5 million people on FB who believe in God! Press Like if you do!" If they need me to make it to 5 million, they're going to come up short. Not that I don't believe in God. But all sorts of people believe in God. In fact, the vast majority of people believe in God. But for many of those it just doesn't make a great deal of difference in how they live their lives. And for another sizable group, it makes a great deal of difference, but in ways that are harmful and destructive.
A couple of today's readings speak to this. Job's three friends believe in God. In fact, they haves spent much of the book defending God to Job, insisting that Job accept his fate as just punishment from God. But God says to Eliphaz, one of these friends, "My wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends; for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has." So according to God, Job, who has shaken his fist at God and demanded God give account for his unjust suffering, has spoken "what is right." But those who have spouted the conventional rhetoric of religious belief earn God's anger.
To my ear, a great many religious folks sound a lot like Job's friends. And so it seems their religious belief may not be all that pleasing to God.
In the gospel reading today Jesus says, "Those who love their life lose it." Nearly everyone we meet in the New Testament gospels believes in God, many of them fervently. But this matters little to Jesus. Jesus wants to know if their lives conform to God's ways, if they would choose to suffer and even die for God's cause.
I saw a bumper sticker on a car yesterday that said simply, "Trust Jesus." I have no idea what the driver meant by this. But I know a lot of people who mean, "I believe in Jesus so I get to go to heaven." But it seems to me that trusting Jesus should mean trusting in and doing what he tells us. That includes things such as loving your enemy, giving to all who ask from you, taking up the cross, teaching others to do everything Jesus commands, and a great many other things many of us like to ignore.
If you believe in God (and you probably wouldn't be reading this if you didn't), that's great. But if that's the extent of your "faith," I'm not sure it matters very much. The world doesn't need more believers. It needs more disciples, people who follow Jesus and do as he says. But I'm not sure you can really cover that with a Facebook page.
"As it is written" is a common phrase in the New Testament (along with several variations meaning the same thing). It's there in today's gospel reading about "Palm Sunday." This is an effort by the writers to make clear how Jesus is in perfect continuity with what God has been doing all along through the people of Israel. In fact, the first several generations of Christians were quite content to have what we call the Old Testament as their only Scripture. When 2 Timothy 3:16 says, "All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction and for training in righteousness..." the scripture being referred to is, of course, our Old Testament.
Given the great lengths the New Testament writers go to connect Jesus to Judaism, it is remarkable how disconnected Christianity has become from it. Many Christians seem to think Jesus rejected the faith of his childhood and started a new one. And this divorcing of Christian faith from its Jewish roots has made it much easier to distort Jesus into someone who came to punch our tickets to heaven, rather than someone who stood firmly in the prophetic tradition of a coming Messianic age when all creation would be drawn back into right relationship with God and each other. Even though the prayer Jesus gives us broadcasts this clearly, "Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." People still think of Jesus saving them from earth for heaven.
It is an obvious fact, but many seem not to know it. Jesus was never a Christian. For his entire life, he was a Jew. And most of his followers considered themselves Jews for generations afterward. There is no reversing history, so I won't advocate calling our churches synagogues and such. But we Christians would do well always to remember that we follow a Jewish Messiah.
If you've been following the daily readings, you've heard Job complaining about how he has suffered unjustly, demanding a response from God. You've heard Job's friends insist that Job must have done something to deserve all his misfortune, and he should repent of his misdeeds. Now finally, God has answered Job, though to my mind, the answer is not terribly satisfactory.
As today's reading begins, God has already pummeled Job with a barrage of questions. "Who is this that darkens counsel by words without wisdom?.. Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?" And it has gone on like this for two chapters when we get to today's reading. But God does not say that Job's friends were correct. In fact, God will condemn them and their advice shortly.
In short, God's answer to Job, even if it is a flight of fancy three chapters long, amounts to, "I am God, and you're not."
I wonder if most faith crises don't struggle right here. In the face of so much suffering in the world, of so much that surely is at odds with any hoped for Kingdom of God, can we trust that God is indeed God, much less that God is good? When we judge God's apparent willingness to tolerate evil and suffering, can we be satisfied with, "I am God and you're not," as Job was?
In the end, Job's acceptance rests on the fact that God does indeed show Godself. I think I could use a little of that about now.
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