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.
Two days ago, the presbytery (our local governing body) of which I am a member voted on an amendment to our denomination's rules on ordaining pastors, elders, and deacons. This amendment was passed at last summer's General Assembly (our national governing body), and must now be approved by a majority of the presbyteries in order to become the standard. Ordinations standards have been a flash-point in this denomination for all my years as a pastor, with the question of whether we will ordain gays and lesbians who are in same sex relationships at the center of the fight.
The debate on this issue, having been engaged for so long, is fairly predictable. Generally the same folks stand up whenever the presbytery debates the issue and say pretty much the same thing, opening their Bibles to the the same scripture verses. In recent years, we've been fairly civil in our debates, but still there are times when a speaker's disdain for those on the other side is obvious. His or her opinion is clearly rooted in a correct and clear understanding of the Bible, not the patent distortion that the other side is suggesting. And failing to vote as this speaker recommends will most certainly draw God's ire and set the denomination on the road to ruin.
Sometimes it is very difficult to feel charitable toward such folk. It is much easier to dislike them and to think similar thoughts about them that they are thinking about me. In their arrogance and certainty they are the ones distorting the Bible and leading the denomination down the road to ruin.
I doubt that the psalmist had anything of this sort in mind while penning Psalm 36, but as I read it I was drawn up short by a single line there addressed to God. "You save humans and animals alike, O LORD." What a remarkable statement. God saves animals.
God's love and concern extends to the creatures I see as I gaze out my window. God takes notice of birds and dogs and cats, of rabbits and chipmunks and squirrels, and of all those animals I don't see right now. Beyond the obvious implications for those who suppose Christians needn't care about the environment or global climate change, I also see an implication for all too human tendency to dismiss those with whom we disagree.
If God saves animals, who cannot even understand the debates about ordination, biblical standards, or correct theological doctrine, surely God is well intended toward us even when our understandings are wrong; or more to the point, surely God has saving designs on those whose arrogance and certainty I deem as deserving of God's ire.
I would never say that it doesn't matter what we do, that God doesn't care how we act or what we endorse. We should attempt to live as we think God is directing us to do through Scripture. But I think we should also realize that God's capacity to love and God's desire to save are larger and more encompassing than ours. And so as we seek to be more Christ-like in our lives, we would do well expand our capacity for love, learning to love even "them."
But you wereangry, and we sinned; because you hid yourself we transgressed. Wehave all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deedsare like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities,like the wind, take us away. There is no one who calls on yourname, or attempts to take hold of you; for you have hidden your facefrom us, and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity. Yet,O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter;we are all the work of your hand. Do not be exceedingly angry, OLORD, and do not remember iniquity forever. Now consider, we are allyour people. (from Isaiah 64)
What striking words. Because God hid Godself, we sinned. We falter because God has disappeared. Usually it is stated the other way round. We sinned and so God has abandoned us to our own devices, but Isaiah here inverts that usual pattern. And who hasn't occasionally felt this way? I certainly have sometimes said, "God, I will do what you want, if only you will show me what that is."
I wonder if a meaningful relationship with God doesn't require that we, from time to time, call God into account. I know this sounds odd to many, but the Old Testament writers certainly have no problem insisting that God remember, that God honor covenant, that God stir Godself. And when Jesus quotes Psalm 22 from the cross, what is that but a cry to God pleading, "Show yourself!"
I realize that relationship with God is not a relationship between equals, but is there such thing as a true relationship when one cannot express her longings, her frustrations, her hopes, her fears, her needs to God? Can there be relationship with God when we cannot be honest with God?
I can fully appreciate those who would say that God does not need to be reminded or prodded or cajoled. But I wonder if humans are capable of true relationship with another where there is not some struggling. Can we grow in relationship with another, including God, without an engagement that sometimes sounds like today's words from the prophet?
The opening of Psalm 146 is typical of many psalms. "Praise the LORD!Praise the LORD, O my soul!I will praise the LORD as long as I live;I will sing praises to my God all my life long." The psalms are filled with God's praise. People of faith have long found this fitting. My own Presbyterian tradition says humanity's "chief end is to glorify God."
But why should we glorify God, and why should we praise the LORD? What is it about God that calls forth such behavior? I suppose there is a certain amount of a Wayne's World "We're not worthy," going on here. Recognizing the majesty of God does call us to bow in awe and wonder.
I also think that praising and glorifying God must surely be related to the command to love the Lord our God with heart, mind, and soul, a command found in the Old Testament and reiterated by Jesus as the greatest commandment. But can love be commanded? Can I love because I'm supposed to, or is something more required?
I've increasingly come to believe that much of Mainline Christianity's difficulty in recent years is related to this. We have trouble calling people into loving, praising, and glorifying God, because we have trouble helping people see the motivation side. We have trouble telling and, even more, demonstrating how we have experienced and felt God's love that calls us to love God back.
I've repeated this quote so many times that I imagine many in my congregation have grown tired of it. I think it was Roy Oswald of the Alban Institute who said it. "People come to us seeking an experience of God, and we give them information about God."
Much of our culture's interest in spirituality runs off in directions that I do not think helpful or life giving. But this spiritual hunger is a sign that many churches have somehow forgotten a big part of Christian life, encountering God's love in the Living Christ. This is not something that can be taught, although ways of being open to God's love can be taught. Knowing the biblical story is an essential piece of Christian life, but I can memorize the Bible and never meet God of feel God's love.
In his devotion for today, Richard Rohr writes that all the mystics speak of being overwhelmed by the experience of God loving them, by a "full body blow of the divine embrace, a radical acceptanceby God." And for all the things we Mainline Christians do well, sometimes helping people encounter this is not one of them. But that is changing. And as Mainline congregations begin to recover neglected and forgotten spiritual practices, I expect to see an energy and vitality emerging that may well be like another Great Awakening.
I gave my wife flowers this morning for Valentine's Day. Nothing terribly unique or creative about that. Lots of other husbands, lovers, and partners did the same. I enjoy giving my wife flowers. I mean it as an act of genuine love and affection, but it is not a very difficult act. It doesn't require much of me. And truth be told, it is probably not the best measure of love.
I imagine that there are many spouses out there who would happily trade flowers or chocolates for more costly acts of love, things such as helping out more around the house, doing things the other wants to do, spending more time together, or really listening to the other's concerns. Most all relationships get stuck in patterns that are less than ideal, and it would be an act of love to change those patterns. But change is difficult for most of us.
For some reason I thought of Valentine's flowers when I read about Palm Sunday in today's passage from Mark. I suppose it was all the greenery. The crowd showered Jesus with palms and praise. It seemed a wonderful moment, and is often called the Triumphal Entry. But in Mark's gospel, even Jesus' disciples abandon him when he is arrested few days later, when following him becomes too costly.
As a pastor, I often find myself wishing for the days when all a congregation need do was hold a quality worship service with decent sermons, and people would show up. But the culture doesn't funnel many folks to us any longer, and a lot of congregations are struggling. But it occurs to me that the cultural Christianity I grew up in didn't really ask much of me. A couple of hours out of my weekend and a little bit of money. If I wanted to do more, that was great, but it certainly was not required. Faith did not ask very much of me other than to believe the "right" things.
Not being propped up by the culture does make my life as a pastor more difficult, but still I think that the seeds of a renewal and revival in the Church are to be found in losing those old, cultural moorings. For faith to make sense today, it needs to call forth change. Congregations need to become places where people can see the Spirit at work in member's lives, changing them into disciples who know Jesus and follow him, who live in ways that are sometimes costly. And here and there, I see signs that this is indeed happening.
On Valentine's Day, my gift of flowers calls me to consider what changes a more profound love would ask of me. Surely Jesus' journey to the cross and his call to "follow," call me to consider what changes real faith asks of me.
It is fairly common for big sporting events to make the national news – things like the Super Bowl, championship games, or a major recruiting scandal – it is more unusual for everyday contests and games to be featured there. But last summer, an exception to this was coverage of Derek Jeter, shortstop for the New York Yankees, pretending to be hit by a pitch so that he could get on base.
In case you missed it, Jeter was at bat against the Tampa Bay Rays, and as the pitcher throws the ball, Jeter squares around to bunt. But the pitch is way inside, and Jeter pulls back, sliding his left hand off the bat as the pitch strikes the bat right on the knob at its base. Jeter throws the bat away and begins shaking his hand in pain. The trainer runs out to examine his “injury.” Then the umpire awards Jeter first base and he trots down the base path still shaking off the pain.
Replays clearly showed that the baseball never came anywhere close to Jeter’s hand, and Jeter himself later admitted as much. And from this episode a debate ensued about whether Jeter had pulled off a savvy play, or if he was a cheater. And it was this debate that landed Jeter’s at-bat on the evening news.
In some ways, this debate hinges on what you think of rules. What is their purpose? What are they for? Are they simply meant to define limits and boundaries, or are they meant to create an ethos, a way of understanding or viewing things? Those who see Jeter as a consummate competitor understand winning as the ultimate goal which is to be pursued by whatever means not actually prohibited, while those who see him as a cheater understand the rules to create something bigger than winning.
All of us function in a world filled with various sorts of rules. I remember going into my daughters’ elementary school classrooms and seeing the “Class Rules” listed on a poster. Every day most of us see speed limit signs. Sometimes we obey them and sometimes not. And questions about whether speeding is wrong or if it’s okay as long as you don’t get caught probably mirror questions about whether or not Derek Jeter was cheating.
And what about religious rules? The Bible is full of rules. There are well known rules such as the Ten Commandments. (Well, at least the fact of the Ten Commandments is well known; most people can’t name them.) Then there are more obscure rules. Flip through the pages of Leviticus or Deuteronomy some time. Did you know that there’s a rule against eating shrimp? It’s also forbidden for a woman to wear men’s clothing. And speaking of clothing, you had better not be wearing anything made of a blended fabric. If that label says “cotton/polyester,” you’re breaking the rules.
Of course most of us don’t get too worried about such rules. We’re Christians, and so we don’t have to obey those Old Testament rules. As long as we believe in Jesus, as long as we have faith, we’re okay.
But in the portion of the Sermon on the Mount we heard last week, Jesus said that he didn’t come to call off the law, the rules. He says that he comes to fulfill the law, and not a single letter of the law will pass away. And as he continues speaking to us today, far from calling off rules, he seems to be adding to them. Don’t murder is doable for most of us, but Jesus stretches the rule to include not getting angry. And in Jesus’ new version of the rules a middle aged man going through a mid-life crisis needn’t have an affair. He can just think about it, and it’s pretty much the same thing.
Now if we were to take Jesus seriously, it might be pretty troubling, which may explain why Christians have long opted for belief over any real attempt to do what Jesus says. But what if Jesus is not talking about raising the entrance requirements for heaven to some nearly impossible level? What if these expansions of the Law are instead meant to reveal what life in God’s Kingdom looks like? What if they are not frighteningly difficult demands but a description of new life that is possible in Christ?
Most of us are probably used to thinking of rules in terms of constraints on our freedoms, as components of some sort of reward and punishment system. But I’m not sure Jesus is using them this way. I think Jesus is using his rules to describe a new world, a new way of being, a new relationship to God and one another, one rooted in love and reconciliation.
Take Jesus’ new rule, “Do not swear at all.” We could view this as simply another rule to implement, and indeed a few Christian groups do just that, forbidding their members from taking an oath in a court of law. But think for a moment about why oaths are necessary in the first place. Why is the witness sworn in before taking the stand? And why does the attorney who has just asked a probing question add, “Now remember; you’re under oath?”
Our courts presume that people will lie, that without threats of punishment they will do whatever it takes to protect themselves or have the case go their way. But Jesus imagines a completely different world, one where your “Yes” means yes and your “No,” no. In this world Jesus imagines, there are no personal agendas or a desire to triumph over others, and so no need to lie, and so no need for oaths.
Rather than creating more demands on us, Jesus is describing something wonderful and new. He is describing the life we were created to live, life that rests so securely in God that we no longer need to impress people or be right all the time or win or have all the things other people have. In this new dominion of God, people would stand up in the middle of the worship service and say, “Stop! I need to reconcile with my neighbor. Then we can go back to worshipping.” Imagine that.
In this new day Jesus imagines, relationship with others, the dignity and well-being of others matters far more than any want or desire I might experience. But it is an imaginary world, isn’t it? It could never exist. People who tried to live by such rules would be chewed up and spit out by the real world.
But if the world thinks the day Jesus imagines impractical, foolish, and naïve, does that make it so? Being “in Christ,” is supposed to pull us out of the ways of the world, isn’t it? Richard Rohr, whose words have become a big influence in my spiritual life, wrote “We cannot see what we are never told to look for.”[1] And rather than binding us with new rules, I think Jesus is trying to open our eyes and show us the shape of what we, in our innermost beings, are meant for, even hope for and long for.
This new day Jesus envisions will not emerge because we work harder at keeping the rules, but it can begin to emerge when we open ourselves to Jesus and the Spirit. When we allow God’s living presence to touch us deep inside, what Jesus envisions becomes our deepest longing. And that begins to transform how we live as individuals and as a faith community.
New days never arrive without a vision of them, a dream. And Jesus casts a dream before us, and beckons us to become a part of it. Jesus doesn’t bring the Kingdom, God’s new day, by force or with an army. He does it by capturing our hearts and transforming our vision so that we see and long for and work for what the world cannot see. And as our lives and our mission show forth that vision, we beckon the world to catch the dream, too.
[1] Richard Rohr, The Naked Now (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Co. 2009), 107.
There is a popular form of Christianity, one well known in the media, that has little use for the earth, its creatures, the environment, and so on. This Christianity is so focused on the disposition of "souls" that it deems everything else superfluous. Why care for the earth when it's just going to end some day soon?
This sort of arrogance deservedly gives the faith a bad name, and it clearly misses the wonder and awe the Bible has for Creation and its creatures. In today's Psalm 104, God's glory is manifest in "your creatures... These all look to you to give them their food in due season." Lions roar, asking God for food, and God tends to them.
Faith that presumes God is only concerned with me and those like me, strikes me as terribly arrogant, egocentric, and utilitarian. It demands that God be focused on me, and that my needs are the business God should be concerned with. Such faith cannot see far beyond itself. It cannot deny itself as Jesus demands. It cannot lose its life for the sake of the gospel. Neither can it truly join with the psalmist in being awed by God's creation. Creation matters only insomuch as it is of use to me.
Albert Einstein once said, "The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." And I think that someone who has never looked at Creation and its creatures and found themselves feeling, "This is too wonderful; it must be preserved," knows the death of which Einstein speaks.
But this loss of awe and mystery has ramifications far beyond issues such as the environment. Egocentric faith easily views other people as having less worth than me. During the recent protests in Egypt, which have brought hope of freedom and new life to people in that country, many self professed Christians in America have viewed these events solely with reference to how it impacts our security or the "war on terror." The Egyptians themselves seem not to matter. And indeed, American foreign policy, regardless of the party in charge, is usually pragmatic and utilitarian, reflecting the same sort of arrogant, egocentrism that too often perverts Christian faith.
I could easily work myself into deep pessimism about the state of things, except that God is at work, reaching out in love despite our failing to see very far beyond our own interests. Jesus continues to call people to follow him, to find their lives transformed and reshaped by the example of his life. And even now, I see American Christianity being renewed and reborn into something a little less utilitarian, a little less arrogant and egocentric, as here and there, signs of God's coming reign continue to show forth.
The last time Psalm 51 caught my eye, I reflected on what it meant to be a "born sinner," to embrace that label in the manner recovering alcoholics routinely repeat, "Hi, my name is Joe, and I'm an alcoholic." This repeated admission is a step in being freed from the grip of their addiction, which presupposes that that they have found a source of hope, a promise of something better.
Perhaps the reason so many church goers find confessing their sinfulness such a "downer" is because it feels like nothing more than self flagellation, and not as an opening oneself to divine grace and healing. But the writer of Psalm 51, who writes of being born guilty, a sinner when his mother conceived him, also says, "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."
I had a theology professor in seminary who impressed upon me the necessity of always speaking of hope when asking a congregation to join in a prayer of confession. Saying to God, "I'm a sinner," makes no sense unless one is certain that God receives such a statement in a loving manner. If God were some sort of divine cop trying to catch us when we break the rules, then confessing would seem rather foolish.
My theology professor said that we confess our sin to God because in Jesus we have discovered a profound optimism. The closer we come to Jesus the more we realize that God's greatest desire is to reconcile and embrace. And this optimism allows us to let go of pretensions and the false images of ourselves that we project. We can stand before God, bearing even those dark corners of our lives we try to keep hidden, knowing that God loves even that part of us. And so we can be freed from our false selves, and discover the true children of God we are meant to be.
