Sermon: Temptation, Trust, and Identity

Matthew 4:1-11 (Genesis 3:1-7)

Temptation, Trust, and Identity

James Sledge                                                                                       March 9, 2014

How many of you, on a regular and recurring basis, must resist the urge to commit murder or to rob a bank? I hope it’s not very many of you. I know that we can say things such as, “I’d like to strangle him.” But that’s just hyperbole, right?

If you watch the news or read the paper, you know that some people actually are tempted to such things, but they are a very small segment of society. So what are the things that actually tempt us? No doubt some of our temptations are relatively trivial: temptations to have another piece of cake or watch one more episode of “House of Cards.” But I’m interested in more serious temptations. What are the temptations that can actually deflect us from the life we should live? What are those things that might cause us, when we have grown old, to look back and wish we had done things differently?

I think that a lot of people picture Jesus tempted in the wilderness along the lines of me being tempted to murder someone. Jesus can brush off such temptations as easily as I reject robbing a bank as a reasonable solution for dealing with an unexpected expense. But that is not at all the picture Matthew paints for us.

Matthew tells us that the Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness to be tested. This testing, these temptations, are necessary in some way. They serve some purpose and so they cannot be foregone conclusions. They must be actual temptations, not unlike the ones that tempt us to be something other than we are meant to be.

Theologian Douglas John Hall says that there are not really three temptations but three variations on a single theme. Echoing the story from Genesis, these temptations are about power. “You will be like God,” says the serpent. [1] Who wouldn’t want to be like God. No waiting for God to provide. You can take care of everything yourself. No need to entrust yourself to God.

What’s so bad about Jesus miraculously providing something to eat when he is starving? What’s so bad about putting on a display of divine power so overwhelming that no one could possibly deny Jesus is Lord? These temptations go to the heart of who Jesus is and what sort of Messiah he will be. Will he trust himself completely to God’s will, or will he be the sort of Messiah people want him to be, the sort many of us still wish him to be? Will he employ divine power on behalf of his people? Will he be willing to use force when necessary? Or will he remain true to God’s call and plan, even on the cross? Temptation will reappear there people taunt him. “If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” If many of us were scripting the story, that’s exactly what would happen.

Hunger and Gods of the Belly

"Their god is the belly." It's striking to read that line from Paul as we enter into the season of Lent, a time when so many give up chocolate or the like. I've never been one to give up things for Lent, but insomuch as our god is our desires, it may make sense to tame some of them. Of course most folks will renew their relationship with chocolate come Easter, if they make it that far.

My own Calvinist tradition has emphasized the problem of making gods out of things that aren't, and the belly (especially metaphorically) works quite well. Some folks literally seek fulfillment in food and eating. Many more chase after other sorts of hungers. Trouble is our hungers are not always the most reliable guides. America's struggle with obesity makes that point clear, and the same hold true for other sorts of hungers.

That's one reason I get a little nervous when people evaluate faith practices or worship based on whether or not it "feeds" them. As with actual food, we do have a need to be fed, but when we start to treat faith as a consumer item that we need more of to make our life better, there's a good chance we will misunderstand faith. If our faith practices are ultimately focused on feeding me or making me happy or some other  hunger, that hunger easily slips into God's place, becoming the thing I serve.

The first question in the catechism that Presbyterians used to learn says that the primary purpose of human beings "is to glorify God, and to enjoy (God) forever." The emphasis was on the former, and so there's a story/joke about prospective pastors being examined to see if they were of sufficient faith and orthodoxy to be ordained. The story relates an examination question that asked, "Would you be willing to be damned to hell for all eternity for the glory of God?" The question is admittedly absurd, but it does emphasize a willingness to go to almost any length to fulfill one's true purpose. (In the story the pastor candidate is willing. He is also willing for the entire assembly examining him to be so damned as well if that will help.)

No one would ask such a question today. Not only is it highly likely that the pastor candidate would know the story and so the story's tongue in cheek response, but neither are we inclined to think of ourselves as created for God and God's purposes. We are much more inclined to think - or at least act as though we think - that God was created for us and our happiness. This is a god that the Apostle Paul clearly knew well.

In the gospel reading for yesterday's Ash Wednesday services, Jesus labels as hypocrites those who give alms, say prayers, or fast so as to be noticed and praised. And he tells his followers to practice their piety in secret. I'm not sure Jesus is so much creating more religious rules as he is pointing out how easily our religious practice serves us rather than God. If I engage in faith activities because I think others will be impressed or that it will provide something beneficial to me, am I serving God or simply looking out for myself? But if I do such things in secret, it is perhaps more likely that I am doing them for God rather than some ulterior motive.

Even the best religious rules easily become trivialized, and trying to turn Jesus' words about private piety into a rigid rule of some sort will surely result in such trivial foolishness. One of the reasons I've tended not to give up things for Lent is because the practice often, though by no means always, smacks of such triviality. No doubt there is some benefit to learning any sort of discipline in our lives, but I'm not sure losing a few pounds during Lent really serves God in any significant way.

However, if I were able to find a Lenten discipline that helped me identify those god's of the belly that I serve, that would be another matter entirely. Perhaps it would be helpful to think of those things that I know I could never give up, for Lent or any other reason, and consider whether or not they might be gods of the belly that I actually serve rather than the God I am called to serve.

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What the Bible Says, or Doesn't

When I preach a sermon, I've usually spent a good deal of time preparing it. I have thought carefully about what it is I want to say and how best to say it. Some sermons are a lot better or worse than others. What I'm trying to say may be well thought out and faithful, or it may be wrongheaded, but generally, I think I communicate what I mean to communicate. However, I have learned over the years that this is not so.

It is not unusual for people to comment on sermons, thanking me for something I've said that was helpful to them. But often I can't figure out, for the life of me, what I might have said that caused them to feel this way. Sometimes we've discussed my "helpfulness" sufficiently for me to realize that they heard something I had  no intention of saying. Usually I chalk this up to the Spirit using my efforts to accomplish something more than I intended.

As I read today's verses from Philippians, I found myself wondering about how it is we hear the things we do. I was prompted by this phrase, "...as to righteousness under the law, blameless." Paul is describing the reasons he has to be confident "in the flesh." He is a good Jew from a good family who was raised with care under the law of Moses and has followed that Mosaic tradition faithfully. And, as he says quite clearly, he is "blameless" in terms of following the law. "Righteousness" here refers to being right in the eyes of God according to the law.

I was raised as a good Protestant, and so I knew well that being righteous, that is right before God, is a matter of God's grace and not my good efforts. Trying to make it via the law, through good works, would inevitably leave me in despair at the impossibility of such a task. Fortunately, the Apostle Paul had helped us understand about righteousness "that comes through faith in Christ," otherwise we'd know how far we were from God but have no way to close the gap.

Martin Luther got us started down this path. He was a man who was acutely aware of his failings. There are stories of him driving his confessor crazy trying to remember and confess every single sin and misstep. And Luther was mortified that he had forgotten some and so might not be forgiven them. Then he found Paul's words about being justified by grace through faith, and he was freed from his despair. And ever since, we have read the letters of Paul assuming that Paul shared Luther's despair at not being able to keep the law perfectly.

So what are we to do with today's words from Paul saying, "...as to righteousness under the law, blameless." Paul clearly didn't share Luther's despair about failing under the law. He was "blameless." (In all likelihood what he didn't mean by this that he never failed to keep the law. Rather, he tried to keep the law and sought forgiveness for those times when he did fail.) Paul's rejection of the law isn't because keeping it is an impossible or onerous task, and it is not because Jesus has relieved him of this terrible burden.

In other letters, Paul speaks much more about his issues with the law. There he seems to describe a problem of putting one's faith in the law rather than in God and God's grace. But in today's letter, Paul simply says that everything he once valued has been superseded by "the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord." He has experienced God's love and grace so powerfully in Jesus that all the things he once thought important have receded.

Paul couldn't be more clear about this, but for hundreds of years, we Protestants have insisted that Paul said something quite different. Luther heard something that was immensely helpful and liberating for him, even if it wasn't quite what Paul actually said. And we've been mishearing Paul with Luther ever since.

I wonder how many other places we mishear or misunderstand the Bible and the basics of our faith because we are hear and see through some inherited point of view, distortion, or bias. I've become increasingly aware of one in recent years. Both Protestants and Catholics have often acted as though the whole Christian faith was about getting folks to heaven when they die even though Jesus spoke much more often about God's reign coming to earth. Jesus was trying to transform creation, but the Church often seemed preoccupied with helping us escape it.

I'm thinking that a good Lenten project for me would be reading the lectionary passages while trying hard to let go of any assumptions that I already know what they are about. I have no illusions that I am completely capable of tuning out my own biases and assumptions, but still I suspect this might be beneficial. Who knows? I might hear a word from God I've never heard before because I have been mishearing something God never said.

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Sermon: To Whom Shall We Listen?

Matthew 17:1-9

To Whom Shall We Listen?

James Sledge                                                                                       March 2, 2014

Because Lent arrives later than usual this year, we’ve had the chance to hear to a great deal more of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount than is often the case. We’ve gotten to hear him tell us to love our enemies and put anger in the same camp as murder. We’ve heard him tell us to be salt and light to the world, life givers who we show the world a new way. We’ve heard Jesus say that those who mourn, who are meek, who long for a better world, who work for peace, and who are looked down on for doing as he says are those who are closest to God.

Because Lent arrives later than usual this year, we’ve had the chance to hear much of Jesus’ core teachings between Epiphany and Lent, but it’s not as though they are big secrets. Many of us have heard them before. Some of us are also familiar with the events leading up to Jesus transfigured on the mountain. We know that Peter confessed Jesus was “the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” and that Jesus then began to teach his followers that he would go to Jerusalem and be killed. That got Peter so upset he confronted Jesus, and Jesus in turn called him Satan. And Jesus then taught his disciples that any who wanted to follow him must deny themselves, take up the cross, and be willing to lose their lives for Jesus’ sake.

And of course we know that Jesus does go to Jerusalem where he is arrested, tortured, and executed. If we’ve been long in the church and paid attention at all, we know much of Jesus’ story and we’ve heard many of his teachings. But as many parents have said to children, there’s often a difference between hearing and listening.

I’ve been reading Brian McLaren’s latest book, Why Did Jesus, Moses, the Buddha, and Mohammed Cross the Road?: Christian Identity in a Multi-Faith World. It’s a book about the need for Christians to develop a strong Christian identity that is also benevolent, welcoming, and respectful to outsiders. In it, McLaren describes having lunch with a Muslim friend who is an imam. In the course of their conversation, he asked his friend to tell him about how he became and imam and what he loved most about Islam. In turn, his friend asked him about how he became a pastor and what he loved most about Christianity.

McLaren began by telling him what he loved about Jesus. The imam confessed that all he knew about Christianity was what he’d heard from other Muslims, and he was thrilled to hear McLaren speak about Jesus. “When you say that you love Jesus, it fills my heart with joy,” he said. “We Muslims love Jesus, too. We believe Jesus is a great prophet and we love him dearly. So you and I— we have this in common. We both love Jesus.”

McLaren noted that he could, at that point, have engaged in an argument over the need to believe that Jesus was more than a prophet, but instead, he asked his friend what it meant for a Muslim to think Jesus was a great prophet. His friend said that Jesus’ teachings and example must be followed and God would judge us by that measure. As his friend spoke, McLaren was struck by an irony, and he writes,

We Christians believe that Jesus was more than a prophet, but that means, all too often for all too many of us, that his life and teaching can be largely ignored. As long as we believe certain things about his divinity, death, and resurrection, maybe with some auxiliary beliefs about (depending on our denomination) Mary, Peter, or the Bible, we’re Christians in good standing, no questions asked. Then I thought of Jesus’ own words, “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ but do not do the things I say?”[1]

Crying to a Hidden God

It is striking how frequently the psalms cry out in anguish to God. By most counts, the "psalms of lament" are the largest single category of psalms, and in these prayer/song/poems, it is often God Godself who is longed for. Some verses from today are a good example.

Answer me quickly, O LORD;
     my spirit fails. 
Do not hide your face from me,
     or I shall be like those who go down to the Pit. 

It seems a bit strange to think that the God who comes to us in Jesus, who desires relationship with us, nonetheless hides from us. Perhaps it only seems that God hides, but I've not know many people whose faith I admire who do not admit to experiencing God's hiddenness. In fact, I doubt that it is possible to enter into a serious life of faith without occasionally encountering this absence, this experience of a hidden God.

On the one hand, this may sound terribly distressing. From time to time I speak with folks who assume that pastors don't have faith doubts and struggles. They think that faith sufficient to draw one to seminary surely insulates pastors from such difficulties, and to hear that their pastor is struggling in a manner similar to them is not at all comforting.

But on the other hand, knowing that one's pastor struggles with faith - not to mention people whose faith is in an entirely different league from this pastor - can be liberating. To realize that struggling to find God is not necessarily a sign of failed faith can be a tremendous relief, one that may allow people to cry out with the psalmist, and so to share in the psalmist's hope that God will indeed respond to such cries.

I have discovered in my years as a pastor that some people need permission to cry to God or to yell at God. They have somehow learned that faith is about proper decorum, and so they dare not speak in an unseemly way toward God. Yet the psalms are full of such cries, and in some of these psalms, decorum gets lost in anguish. "My God, my God, Why have  you forsaken me?" comes to mind. Indeed, that huge collection of lament psalms seems almost tailor made to encourage those struggling with God's hiddenness to demand that God show Godself.

I wonder if it does not take a faith of some depth to speak so to God. Even though some people think yelling at God inappropriate and even sacrilege, such speech makes little sense in the absence of faith. If faith has been lost, there's little reason to expend energy crying out or yelling.

So... yell at God any lately?

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Sermon video: Odd Like God

Audios of sermons and worship can be found on the FCPC website.

Idolatry and Income Inequality

This blog is an outgrowth of my own devotional practices, a private practice of reading the lectionary passages and journaling on them that "went public." As I recall, I thought making it public would be added motivation for me to maintain this discipline. And so most of my posts are still reflections on the lectionary readings for that day. This one is not.

I woke up this morning with this post already bouncing around in my head. I'm not sure why. I had not been thinking about it yesterday nor had I read or watched anything on the topic. Nonetheless, I awoke to thoughts about income inequality, "the market," and idolatry.

For those not overly familiar with Presbyterian/Reformed theology, idolatry is a big one for us. When the Presbyterian Book of Order outlines the basic tenets of our faith documents, the last bullet point reads, "The recognition of the human tendency to idolatry and tyranny, which calls the people of God to work for the transformation of society by seeking justice and living in obedience to the Word of God."

Idolatry is not understood as worshiping statues or other cultic objects. Rather is describes anything other than God in which we place ultimate trust or give ultimate authority over out lives. In this sense, all manner of things can become idols, even things that are not necessarily bad. Some Christians make an idol out of the Bible or the church itself. Country or family can also become idols. That is not a statement about some latent problem lurking in such institutions. Rather it is a statement of the human tendency to put inordinate trust and authority in things that do not deserve our absolute loyalty and obedience.

This morning I awoke thinking about the loyalty and authority some people accord "the market." I'm thinking of phrases such as "the invisible hand of the market." Some people use the phrase in an almost religious manner, and some seem unable to imagine any higher authority.

The phrase itself came from Adam Smith more than 200 years ago. I'm no economist, and I don't know much about the level of authority and trust he had in markets. But I do know that in our country's history, we have often felt the need to intervene in the market in order to restrain it and make it accountable to our values of fairness and moral obligations to care for those the market seemed willing to trample over.

The "trust busting" that happened 100 years ago in this country (hard to imagine a Republican president leading such things as Teddy Roosevelt once did) put significant restraints on the market, on our capitalist system. I see a fundamental theological truth here. No human institution can operate without restraints and checks on its power and authority. But in our day, many seem able to see this only with government institutions. For some reason, they place remarkable faith in business, capitalism, and the market to solve our problems, and that sounds like the start of a great idol to me.

The yawning and growing income gap between hourly workers and their bosses, between CEOs and regular employees, has entered uncharted territory in this country and shows no sign of abating. And I am convinced that those who think this is simply the market determining what people are actually worth, who imagine that the market can be trusted to do what is best for our society, have placed their trust in a pernicious idol. Pernicious, not because the market is inherently evil, but because, as the saying goes, "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

I regularly hear conservative Christians lament the loss of our Christian values, but often these seem restricted to a few social issues. In Luke's gospel, Jesus begins his ministry by saying he fulfills these words from the prophet Isaiah. "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

This year of jubilee (see Leviticus 25) was a time when all debts were to be forgiven. I'm guessing the the market and those beholding to it are not much interested in such a practice. There was actually an attempt to encourage such a practice with the debts of some third world countries back when we crossed into the current millennium, but business interests would have nothing of the sort. In fact, the market has little inherent interest in Christian values or principles at all.

Thus it would seem that Christians should be heavily invested in reigning in any idolatrous bowing to the forces of the market, yet I see little evidence that Christians as a group are much worried about such idolatry.

I read something the other day in Brian McLaren's book, Why did Jesus, Moses, the Buddha, and Mohammed Cross the Road? where he spoke of a conversation with a friend who is an imam. Discussing the different ways they understood Jesus, McLaren was struck with how his Muslim friend thought of Jesus as a great prophet, meaning that God would judge us by how well we followed Jesus' teachings. Meanwhile Christians, who claim Jesus is much more than prophet, often feel little need to follow Jesus' teachings. As long as we "believe in him" and think rightly about a few doctrinal points, doing as Jesus says is not really a core Christian expectation.

In most Christian denominations, proclaiming Jesus as Lord is a basic faith affirmation. The religious symbolism of the word "Lord" sometimes blots out its actual meaning, but it is fundamentally a statement about loyalty and authority, one insisting that Jesus alone is owed ultimate allegiance, loyalty, and obedience. Such allegiance loyalty, and obedience demands that Christians struggle against idolatries and work for a just and better society, not leaving people's fates in the hands of the market.

I'm not suggesting any particular plan of action. I appreciate that people of faith can legitimately disagree about the best ways to bring good news to the poor and restrain idolatries that lead to tyranny, poverty, and a situation where working hard for 60 hours a week may well not provide an income adequate to live on. But I do not see how Christians can ignore growing income disparity and suffering by "the least of these." Even more, I do not understand how we can fail to see the blatant idolatry that is a significant part of this problem.

Resurrection Now

Very often the first words I speak at a funeral service are, "I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die." These words come from today's gospel, a portion of John's account of the raising of Lazarus. Their reading at a funeral means to recall our hope of resurrection in the face of death. In fact, the official name for a funeral in the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship is "A Service of Witness to the Resurrection."

Curiously, however, when Jesus first speaks this words, he is not speaking of a hope for life after death. He is talking to Lazarus' sister, Martha, who laments that her brother would not have died if Jesus had been there. Assured by Jesus that her brother will rise again, she responds, "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day."

Martha already believes in a resurrection. Her hope of resurrection is similar to that found in Paul's letters, where he also speaks of the resurrection of the dead when Jesus returns. But Jesus seems to want Martha to see something more. Resurrection is not just some far off hope. It is present to her now, and so Jesus says, "I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die."

John's gospel, here and in other places, insists on a resurrection that is both future promise and current reality. There is a new quality of life that manifests itself in believers. Jesus speaks of the Father and himself coming and making their home with believers, leading to an abundant life marked by love, a Spirit guided life marked by truth.

It is surprisingly easy to forget the witness of John's gospel, to turn the Christian life into a belief system (sometimes with and sometimes without a life of following Jesus' teachings) that gets one a ticket to heaven when we die. But in Jesus' words today, he speaks of something more.

What are the signs of new life, of resurrection, that manifest themselves in your life and in the life of your faith community?

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Sermon: Odd Like God

Matthew 5:38-48; Leviticus 19:1-2

Odd like God

James Sledge                                                                                       February 23, 2014

There’s a Stephen Colbert quote about the US  being a “Christian nation” that shows up regularly on the internet. Unlike some internet quotes, this one is genuine. I know because I happened to be watching his show the night he said it. It was the very end of one of his hilarious bits, this one a Christmas piece that took on some comments by Bill O’Reilly about the right way for Christians to help the poor. In the course of the segment Colbert gets worked up over the possibility of Jesus actually being a liberal Democrat, leading him to the disturbing conclusion that it might indeed be necessary to take Christ out of Christmas. “Because,” he says, “If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn't help the poor, either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we've got to acknowledge that he commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don't want to do it.”

Colbert offers a scathing commentary on the ease with which the label “Christian” is applied. In this case, he skewered conservative hypocrisy, but I think that his commentary cuts both ways. In fact, he might well have aimed his words at the church itself, saying something like, “If this is going to be a Christian church that expends most of its resources on itself and never risks its institutional life for those in need, either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as self-centered as we are, or we’ve got to acknowledge that he commanded us to love our enemies, care for anyone who asks our help, and be willing to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of God’s new day and then admit that we just don’t want to do it.”

All too often, Christian churches have provided easy targets for those who label us “hypocrites.” At times we have even led people to believe that belonging to or going to church makes one Christian, regardless of whether their lives demonstrate Jesus’ commands.

I’ve actually heard sermons and read commentaries on today’s scripture saying that we don’t need to do what Jesus says. They suggest that Jesus gives us an impossible list of commands so that we will despair and turn to God’s grace and mercy. I’m a big fan of God’s grace and mercy, but I’m still quite sure that Jesus is serious when he calls us to love enemies, not resist the adversary who strikes us, and give to all who ask our help. He is serious when, as the Sermon on the Mount continues, he says that we cannot serve both God and wealth. He is serious when he says that what really matters is not whether or not we call him Lord, but whether we do God’s will.

Nothing in Matthew’s gospel indicates these teachings are not exactly what Jesus says they are. Jesus makes no apologies for the fact that following him is hard. And in the very last words he speaks in Matthew’s gospel, he commands his original disciples to go into all the world to make more disciples by baptizing them and by “teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.”

Now some care is needed here. It is easy to make it sound as though Jesus tells someone being abused to stay and take it. It is easy to take Jesus’ words and create a faith community that beats up on those who don’t meet certain rigorous standards. But neither of these honor what Jesus is actually teaching: a way of life befitting a member of God’s kingdom, a life modeled on the one Jesus lived.

Signifying Nothing

"If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly." Jesus answered, "I have told you, and you do not believe." So goes a conversation between Jesus and some "Jews." Of course Jesus is a Jew, as are both the writer of John's gospel and the community of Jewish Christians for which the gospel was originally written. But in this gospel, the term "Jew" usually refers only to those Jews who oppose Jesus or do not accept  him as Messiah. John's gospel has likely been used more than any other New Testament writings to justify anti-Semitism, even though the community receiving this gospel considered itself to be Jewish.

"Believing in Jesus" is often seen as a dividing line between Christians and Jews, along with other religions. It is also seen by many as what makes someone Christian. But I would suggest that the believing and disbelieving in John's gospel is of a different sort than some in our day.

The Christians who first read John's gospel were Jewish in every sense of the word, and they had no  intention of giving up that identity. But some of them were being told to keep quiet about Jesus at the synagogue. If they wanted to participate in the customs and rituals of their faith, if they wanted to remain members of their home church, so to speak, they would need to tone down the Jesus stuff.

In John's gospel, believing in Jesus and saying so out loud could be quite costly. It would likely require people to give up things they cherished dearly. This led some Jewish Christians to rethink their belief in Jesus, and it made it difficult for other Jews to embrace Jesus. No wonder they wanted absolute proof before making such a move. I often do something similar. I can think of plenty of times when I've failed to speak or act as I should because "I'm not sure what God wants me to do." But more often, it's simply a matter of not liking what God would have me do, but I nonetheless claim ignorance.

I believe in Jesus. It's remarkably easy to say, but all too often a statement "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," to steal a line from Shakespeare. We Christians are far too practiced at believing in Jesus in ways that signify little and amount to nothing. Our belief is often at no cost to self and of no good to the world, and that is not at all the situation for the Jewish Christians addressed by John's gospel.

In Luke's gospel, Jesus asks, "Why do you call me 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I tell you?"Jesus clearly is describing an empty sort of belief in him that is all "sound and fury, signifying nothing."

In our time, questions about belief in Jesus are often of little significance. People claim to believe in all manner of things without it mattering much in their daily lives. Belief in Jesus is only significant if it impacts how I act and live. Would those first-century Jewish Christians risk being tossed from their long time faith community because of their belief? Will I risk being belittled or hated? Will I change the way I interact with others, the way I allocate my income, or the way I vote? Will I live and act in ways that reflect Jesus' teachings because I believe in him? If so, that might describe a faith and a life that is more than "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound a fury, signifying nothing."

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Powerball, More, and God's Subversive Narrative

In case you missed it, the value of the winning Powerball ticket has now surpassed 400 million dollars. That prompted a Facebook "friend" to post this. "How would $400 million change your life?" The responses were fairly predictable and covered a wide gamut, from the money changing "everything" to "nothing," from the good a person would do with the money to all the goodies that money would buy."

I thought of that question when I read today's verses from 1 John. "Do not love the world or the things in the world. The love of the Father is not in those who love the world; for all that is in the world - the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes, the pride in riches - comes not from the Father but from the world." 1 John may not be the same person that wrote the gospel of John, but if not, they very much share the same point of view. And so 1 John surely knows of God as the one who "so loved the world." That means some nuance is required when understanding today's commands.

In John's gospel and 1 John, the world is less a place, the planet, than it is a term for that arena where God is resisted. (We can use the term in similar ways with the phrase "the ways of the world" or someone who is "worldly.") Such Bible passages speak of a "world" that  has an agenda that runs contrary to God's, and following Jesus is therefore about choosing God's agenda over that of this "world." Such a choice seems no easier today than it was in biblical times.

In yesterday's blog, I wrote of our culture's dominant narrative, an individualistic one marked by the belief that "more" is the answer. But Jesus presents a subversive, counter-narrative where God's special blessing is with the poor, those who mourn, the oppressed, those who work for peace, and those who ache and long for a world set right. This counter-narrative seeks to undo the dominant narrative, the ways of the world, but that requires people to embrace it.

To say that "The love of the Father is not in those who love the world," is not calling us to an otherworldly faith, one focused on getting from this world to heaven through believing the right things. Rather it is saying that to be filled with a love like God's is to see things differently, in a totally new way. The promises of the world that happiness will come when we get enough of everything are seen for what they truly are: a false narrative that enslaves us to endless striving and an insatiable addiction to "more." Over and over the world promises that all will be well when we get just a little "more," but as will all enslaving addictions, it is never enough.

I'm not suggesting that everyone needs to take a vow of poverty, but I am suggesting that many of us Christians have fundamentally misunderstood the faith. The blessings of Jesus, of faith, are not about getting more of what the world values. They are about discovering our true identities as children of God, an identity most fully demonstrated and lived out by Jesus.

Jesus could enjoy a good party, a nice meal, and good glass of wine. But the life he lived did not look much like the one the world recommends. He did not use power the way the world does. He did not respond to hurts or opposition the way the world does. He was not impressed with status the way the world is. He was not motivated by any of the "more" that motivates much of our lives, and he invites us to discover a wonderful joy and freedom in the sort of life he lived.

It's a hard sell, because the world makes a very good case, and its promises are very enticing. At least they are to me. But Jesus continues to invite. He does not demand or threaten. He invites, never giving up hope that we will finally see that he knows the way better than the "world" does.

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Commandments and Counter Narratives

Too often, I think of what I should have said long after the conversation is over. It happened again on Sunday. A church member spoke with me regarding the reading from the Sermon on the Mount. In it Jesus works his way from the commandment against murder to saying that being angry is equally problematic, and he says that calling someone a nasty name makes you liable to hell.

Diane, the other pastor here, had preached what I thought was a very well done sermon that was gentle yet also called people to embrace Jesus' call to live differently. But I don't think this person I spoke with was reacting to her sermon. Rather, he seemed to be focused on the scripture itself and on what seemed to him the near impossibility of its demand.

I took various approaches to helping him take Jesus' call seriously without being driven into some sort of despair, none of them very successful. Only later did it occur to me that Matthew's gospel also reports Jesus saying, "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Surely that means Jesus does not expect us to despair about his call not to be angry, to reconcile with any who have something against us, not to look with lust at women (I take that in part to mean not viewing women as objects.), etc. I don't think Jesus is simply heaping up demands on us. Rather he is describing what life looks like when it is motivated fundamentally be love.

That point is really hammered home in today's epistle reading. "I am writing you a new commandment that is true in him and in you, because the darkness is passing away and the true light is already shining. Whoever says, 'I am in the light,' while hating a brother or sister, is still in the darkness. Whoever loves a brother or sister lives in the light, and in such a person there is no cause for stumbling."

Neither Jesus nor the writer of 1 John expects that we will never fail as we seek to be faithful. 1 John says as much at the opening of today's verses. But both expect that our lives will be transformed when a divine-like love motivates and undergirds our lives.

There has been an unfortunate tendency, especially in Protestant Christianity, to view God's commandments primarily as things that drive us to despair and into the arms of God's mercy. I don't want totally to discount this, but I do think we horribly overemphasize it. Jesus clearly thinks his commandments are in some way doable, and he expects that we will discover a new way of life as we seek to embody them.

In my own, Reformed Tradition, John Calvin spoke of something called the "third use of the law." He was adding to Luther's idea that the law first restrained evil and secondly caused us to despair and turn to God's grace. Calvin accepted both of these, but added that when we are brought into new relationship with God through Jesus, the commandments become for us a guide be becoming more holy. They are not things by which we are judged for doing or failing to do. Rather they are a road map for the life we long to live.

I've always been fond of this third use of the law, but I wonder if Calvin went far enough. Beyond simply being a map to get us somewhere we long to be, God's commands might also be seen as a way of living, or of trying to live, that have power to shape and form us into people who long for the same thing God longs for.

Compare this, for instance, to the way of living, the practices, that our society encourages. Above all, our culture calls us into practices of consumerism, practices that form us as people who think that happiness and fulfillment come from acquiring "more." Even much of the hunger for spirituality in our culture is understood out of this consumer model. And you don't need to be a perfect consumer to be powerfully shaped and formed by its teachings. It is enough that this striving for more becomes the dominant narrative of people's lives.

I his teachings, Jesus tries to instill in us a counter-narrative. He understands the law and commandments not as restraints on aberrant behaviors like murder, but as practices that shape us for life in God's new day, practices that embody God's mercy and love. It is not necessary for us to keep his commandments without fail for his narrative to shape and form us in powerful ways. Indeed, Jesus becomes transforming for us when his narrative becomes the dominant one of our lives, when we aspire, above all else, to the sort of life he envisions for us.

What is the dominant narrative that drives, motivates, and makes sense of life for you? And to what degree is that narrative compatible with what Jesus taught and the life he invites us to live?

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