Sunday Sermon text - Abundance

Acts 2:42-47; John 10:1-10

Abundance

James Sledge                                                                             May 15, 2011

About ten years ago, a little book called The Prayer of Jabez came out, offering to teach you the secrets of “breaking through to the blessed life.” It quickly became a best seller, and as often happens when something “religious” becomes extremely popular, many churches started offering classes and seminars based on the book, and the ministry founded by the author made available a DVD set and workbook, not to mention Prayer of Jabez greeting cards, a Prayer of Jabez journal, and so on.

Now if you had never heard of Jabez before this book came out, there is good reason.  Even serious students of the Bible easily could have missed Jabez’s solitary appearance in 1 Chronicles.  That’s obscure enough, but Jabez’s brief moment is embedded in a long genealogy of the descendants of Judah, one of Jacob’s sons.  Sandwiched between the listings of Ahuzzam, Hepher, Temeni, and Zobebah; Chelub, Shuhah, Kenaz, and Hathath – every one of which my computer’s spellcheck flagged in red – we meet Jabez. 

It turns out that the name Jabez is related to the Hebrew word for pain, and he has received this rather troublesome name because his mother experienced a great deal of pain in childbirth.  But she had more than gotten back at her son.  In the thinking of ancient Israelites, names had real power, and to name her son Jabez was to curse him in a way. 

To call someone “Pain” or “Hurt” was to fate him to a life of pain and hurt.  But Jabez called out to God asking to be blessed instead, and God granted his prayer.

It’s difficult to know exactly what to make of these two brief verses in the Bible.  It seems likely they are fragments of a larger story, but still it seems reasonable to conclude that they means to say something about the saving power of God.  Even though Jabez is cursed by his name and fate, God’s power to save and bless is greater.

Based on my admittedly cursory reading of the book, The Prayer of Jabez, I’m not certain its author fully appreciates this.  Rather, he seems to have appropriated Jabez’s prayer as a kind of magic formula.  Say this prayer every morning and great things will happen to you.  A look at The Prayer of Jabez website seems to confirm this.  There you can download studies on scripturally based financial freedom, spiritual principles for obtaining God’s blessings, for profitable personal godliness, and more.  Learn the secrets that will allow you to tap into God’s power to make you wealthy and happy and whatever else you are seeking.

In our gospel today, Jesus says, “I am the gate.  Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture… I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”  Images of sheep and shepherds are foreign to many of us, but even we recognize that finding pasture is about provision, about preparing a table for us, and this abundantly.  We will have all we need and more.  God’s blessings will rain down on us.  We’ll achieve financial freedom.  Our cups will overflow. 

Food and drink are often associated with abundance: $600 an ounce caviar, a $500 bottle of Dom Perignon champagne (more than $1000 if you want a really good year), and a $300 Kobe beef steak.  Ah, the good life, the abundant life.

Interestingly, food is mentioned several times in today’s reading from Acts, although there’s no caviar or Dom Perignon.  In the span of five short verses we hear twice about breaking bread, and of how they ate their food with glad and generous hearts. But this joyful fellowship and dining doesn’t have the feel of Bon Appétit or Wine Enthusiast magazines.  After all, we are told that they had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.  That hardly fits with the typical understanding of abundance, which usually means, “I have more than you do.  I can afford better stuff than you can.”

I’m not sure when I first learned that Jesus promises us abundant life.  It seems to me that I’ve always “known” this.  Jesus came that we might have life, and have it abundantly.  So you can imagine my surprise when I did a little digging and discovered that the phrase “abundant life” appears nowhere in the Bible.  And the word Jesus uses when he speaks of our having life “abundantly” is quite rare.  Only here is it translated “abundantly.” Elsewhere it is translated “more” or “unnecessary,” but a quick trip to the Greek dictionary showed that the first definition is “extraordinary” or “remarkable.”

I thought about that and heard Jesus saying, “I came that they may have life, and have it remarkably, extraordinarily.”  And it occurred to me that the life of the community described in our reading from Acts was pretty remarkable and extraordinary, a Spirit filled community marked by fellowship and worship, by radical sharing where everyone had enough, a community filled with gladness and generosity.  No wonder they had the goodwill of all the people, Jew and Gentile alike.  It was such a remarkable, extraordinary community how could people not notice, not admire it, not want something similar for themselves?

This extraordinary community in Acts is not something they created by trying hard.  It was a gift.  As the people gave themselves over to God’s presence, the Spirit began to transform their community so that it started to look more like God’s coming Kingdom than it did the world.  Too often, people think of faith as a way to get God on our side and bless us with all the things the world says we need.  But this remarkable community in Acts is something altogether different.  It has become a preview of God’s new day, God’s dream for a better world, a world of joy and generosity.

I shared during our Lenten study that Shawn and I used to be big fans of the TV show ER.  The show ran from 1994 to 2009, and for the first eight seasons Anthony Edwards starred as Dr. Mark Green.  One of the real tearjerker episodes on ER was when Mark Green dies.  He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor that did not respond to treatments.  Finally, with only a short time left to live, he journeyed to Hawaii, where he had lived as a child, to die.  In his last moments, he has some time alone with his daughter.  Lying in his bed he tells her that he has been trying to think of something important to say to her, “something every father should impart to his daughter.  Generosity,” he says.  “Be generous— with your time,    with your love,    with your life.”

We Christians are often very good at charity, at doing things for people who need help, bringing food for those less fortunate than us.  But I’m not sure charity is quite the same thing that Mark Green was recommending to his daughter.  I think maybe Mark Green had discovered something akin to what that remarkable community in Acts had discovered, something I think that a lot of people would be overjoyed to discover.

Regulars in worship here know that I am not one to use poetry in my sermons.  But as I was finishing work on this one, I stumbled onto a poem by Walter Brueggemann, scholar, theologian, Old Testament professor, and wonderful writer.  It is called “On Generosity,” and since this poem is also a prayer, I think I will pray it.  Let us pray.

On our own, we conclude:

that there is not enough to go around

we are going to run short

of money

of love

of grades

of publications

of sex

of beer

of members

of years

of life

we should seize the day

seize the goods

seize our neighbor’s goods

because there is not enough to go around.

And in the midst of our perceived deficit:

You come

You come giving bread in the wilderness

You come giving children at the 11^th hour

You come giving homes to exiles

You come giving futures to the shut-down

You come giving Easter joy to the dead

You come—fleshed in Jesus.

And we watch while

the blind receive their sight

the lame walk

the lepers are cleansed

the deaf hear

the dead are raised

the poor dance and sing.

We watch

and we take food we did not grow and

life we did not invent and

future that is gift and gift and gift and

families and neighbors who sustain us

when we did not deserve it.

It dawns on us—late rather than soon—

that “you give food in due season

you open your hand

and satisfy the desire of every living thing.”

By your giving, break our cycles of imagined scarcity

override our presumed deficits

quiet our anxieties of lack

transform our perceptual field to see

the abundance… mercy upon mercy

blessing upon blessing.

Sink your generosity deep into our lives

that your muchness may expose our false lack

that endlessly receiving, we may endlessly give,

so that the world may be made Easter new,

without greedy lack, but only wonder

without coercive need, but only love

without destructive greed, but only praise

without aggression and invasiveness…

all things Easter new…

all around us, toward us and

by us

all things Easter new.

Finish your creation… in wonder, love, and praise. Amen. [1]

Amen.

---

[1] Walter Brueggemann, Inscribing the Text: Sermons and Prayers of Walter Brueggemann (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2004) p. 3.

Spiritual Hiccups - Now What?

"Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has been born of God,"says today's reading from first John.  Can it really be that simple?  Are all who hold that Jesus is from God and reveals to us the true nature of God fellow children of God, brothers and sisters in Christ?

If this is true, then the Christian Church sure has problems living in ways that demonstrate it.  Sometimes we seem to be much better at dividing over our differences than we are at acting like brothers and sisters, like one family.  Some of our divisions are minor, and don't really undo family ties.  Members of my own, biological family have different tastes, interests, politics, preferences, etc. and agreeing on all of these is not a requisite for being a family.  I'm unaware of anyone in my family ever stating that only Republicans or Democrats could stay, or that an appreciation of classical music was required to come for Christmas dinner.

And so I'm not all that worried over the fact that different Christian congregations worship in different ways, prefer different sorts of buildings, or forms of governance.  We can be family without agreeing on these things.  At least we can until someone states that you must like this worship style or abide by this form of church government in order to be a real Christian.  Such statements are rare, it turns out.  However, when issues get a bit more substantive, this is not always true. 

Yesterday the Presbyterian Church (USA) passed an amendment to its constitution that will allow the ordination of gays and lesbians who are in same-sex relationships.  Exact figures are difficult to come by, but the votes so far suggest that a bit over 55% of those voting favored this change, which of course means that nearly 45% didn't.  And many of those who didn't see this change as an abandonment of biblical teachings.  I disagree with them, but the more burning issue for me at this point is: Are we still brothers and sisters in Christ?

I've already heard of threats from some who want to leave the denomination as well as "Don't let the door hit you on the way out" comments from some happy with yesterday's outcome.  My hope is these are emotional outbursts in the midst of a family squabble.  My hope is that when emotions cool a bit we will still say to one another, "I love you, sister.  I love you, brother."

A lot of biological families can be a bit on the dysfunctional side, and probably none of us come from families with no dysfunction.  But for most families, the family connection somehow remains intact.  Church congregations are every bit as dysfunctional as biological families.  But for some reason, the family connection often seems more tenuous there.  But how can this be when our family connection is Christ?

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Spiritual Hiccups - Victory, Loss, and Love

Barring some remarkable, unexpected turn, my denomination, the Presbyterian Church (USA), will today pass an amendment to our Book of Order removing the requirement that all to be ordained (as pastor, elder, or deacon) must live either in the covenant of marriage between a man and a woman, or in chaste singleness.  And while the soon to be removed language did not use the words gay, lesbian, or homosexual, the bulk of our arguments have revolved around whether or not we will ordain those in same sex relationships.

Exactly how this change will be lived out and the impact it will have remains to be seen.  But one thing is certain: some will be overjoyed at the threshold crossed today, and others will be deeply upset and angry.  And a huge question facing us in light of this is: How will we love one another?

"Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.  Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love."  These words from 1 John compose a challenge to us regardless of where we stand on the issues.  And if I am to love the other, I must consider how my actions impact them.

I am among those who welcomes this day, who will rejoice when the vote today creates a majority of presbyteries in favor of changing our ordination standards.  But I also believe that the command to love is especially incumbent upon "winners."

We live in a time when end zone celebrations by players who have scored a touchdown are an accepted part of football games.  Such celebrations are far from genuine eruptions of joy.  Rather, they are choreographed routines that sometimes seek to embarrass and show up the opponent. 

Consideration for "the other" is often far down our list of things to do.  But Christians are called to be a different sort of community.  We are called to model an alternative way of being and living in the world.  And I can think of few places where the opportunity to be different is greater than at moments such as this.

How will we love one another?  That is a question we must ask ourselves whether we are thrilled or terrified at today's outcome.  It is a question we must ask whether we are convinced this opens the way to a bold new day for the church or we are convinced that it spells doom for the church.  Whether we weep or rejoice or don't know what we think, we are still called to love one another.  And if "in Christ" we were truly to do that, what an amazing witness that might be to the world.

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Sunday Sermon video - Headed to Emmaus

Sermons also available on YouTube.

Spiritual Hiccups - Troublemaker Jesus

Luke's gospel puts an interesting spin on the story of Jesus visiting his hometown of Nazareth.  Luke not only places this story earlier than in Matthew or Mark, but in Luke, Jesus seems to provoke the crowd's upset.  In Matthew and Mark, people are put off by the fact that they know Jesus and "know" that he's not anyone all that special.  But in Luke, "all speak well of (Jesus);" at least they do until he begins reminding them of times when God helped outsiders over Israelites. 

Very few pastors would dare speak to their congregations the way Jesus does the folks at Nazareth.  It is a prescription for disaster.  The synagogue folks tried to kill Jesus.  Not likely to happen to a pastor, but she's probably be looking for a new job pretty quickly if she didn't display a little more tact than Jesus did. 

Almost all cultures weave a dominant religion into their status quo.  Step into a typical church sanctuary in America, and you will likely find an American flag displayed somewhere.  Many of those churches' members presume that national interests and God's interests run roughly parallel.  Nations aren't perfect and so there are some problems, but by and large...

When I get myself in trouble as a pastor, it usually isn't because I've taken a bold but unpopular stand on some issue.  More likely it is because I didn't think before I spoke, that I wasn't paying attention to other people's feelings, or I was just being a dolt.  And when I try to improve as a pastor, along with learning to preach better sermons or do better strategic planning, I want to improve my "people skills."  I worry about communicating well without giving offense, keeping people happy, doing things in a loving manner, etc.

I still think these important things for me to work on, but I also wonder sometimes about how rarely I encounter the sort of hostility Jesus did.  Maybe my political and people skills are better than his were.  Or maybe I'm just a coward.

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Sunday Sermon audio - Headed to Emmaus

Sunday Sermon text - Headed to Emmaus

Luke 24:13-35

Headed to Emmaus

James Sledge                                                                                        May 8, 2011

If you go to your computer and Google the term “Emmaus walk,” you will find numerous listings for retreats and other events designed to foster spiritual renewal and revival.  “Emmaus walk” and “Emmaus road” have become metaphors that speak of spiritual discovery, of encountering the presence of the living Christ.

I suppose that’s just as well considering that no one knows where the real Emmaus is.  Luke tells us it was seven miles from Jerusalem, and so a number of places have been suggested, but it’s all speculation.  And so we’re left with Emmaus as this wonderful metaphorical destination that people hope for, that they seek out.

But Emmaus does not start out as a happy place.  Emmaus is a stop on the way out of town after everything has gone wrong and fallen apart.  The two otherwise unnamed disciples in our gospel reading today are not headed there for a spiritual retreat.  They are not headed there for enlightenment.  They’re headed there because their hopes and dreams have been shattered.  They’re headed to Emmaus because hope is gone.

It is evening on that first Easter Sunday, and so these disciples have heard the wild story told by the women about visions of angels who said Jesus was alive.  But Luke tells us that the disciples thought their story “an idle tale, and they did not believe them.”  And so these disciples say to Jesus as he walks along beside them incognito, “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.  We had hoped that he was the one…  We had hoped…” 

They know the entire Easter story.  They even explain it in great detail to the stranger walking beside them.  Yet still they journey to Emmaus.  Still the mutter, “We had hoped…”  We are all familiar with this Emmaus.  We’ve all headed there.  We’ve all said, “We had hoped… ” 

In his book, The Magnificent Defeat, Frederick Buechner writes,

…there is not one of us who has not gone to Emmaus with them.  Emmaus can be a trip to the movies just for the sake of seeing a movie or to a cocktail party just for the sake of the cocktails.  Emmaus may be buying a new suit or a new car or smoking more cigarettes than you really want, or reading a second-rate novel or even writing one.  Emmaus may be going to church on Sunday.  Emmaus is whatever we do or wherever we go to make ourselves forget that the world holds nothing sacred: that even the wisest and bravest and loveliest decay and die; that even the noblest ideas that [people] have had—ideas about love and freedom and justice—have always in time been twisted out of shape by selfish [people] for selfish ends.  Emmaus is where we go, where these two went, to try to forget about Jesus and the great failure of his life.  …[Emmaus] is the place where we spend much of our lives, you and I, the place that we go in order to escape—a bar, a movie, wherever it is we throw up our hands and say, “Let the whole damned thing go hang.  It makes no difference anyway.”[1]

“We had hoped the doctors would be able to cure our little girl’s leukemia.”  “We had hoped that Obama would bring real change to a bitter and broken political process.”  “He had hoped to reconcile with his son before he died.”  “We had hoped this would make a real difference in homelessness in our community.”  We had hoped… We had hoped…

“We had hoped…” easily leads to cynicism, apathy, anger, and despair.  If it makes no difference anyway, then my compassion, my sacrifice, my time, my energy aren’t worth the effort.  What’s the point?

I think there must be significance to the fact that the very first appearance of the risen Jesus in Luke’s gospel is on the way to Emmaus.  Just as Jesus enters fully into the suffering and brokenness of humanity there on the cross, so too he also joins us in our moments of hopelessness and despair, headed to Emmaus, caught up in the throes of “We had hoped…”  Jesus joins us there, though we may well not recognize him.  Perhaps he hides himself because we need to learn something along the way.  Perhaps we do not see him because at that moment we cannot see beyond, “We had hoped…”

I wonder if either Cleopas or the other, unnamed disciple were introverts like me.  When I find myself wondering if there is any point, headed on the way to Emmaus, I want to withdraw, to be by myself.  But Cleopas and his companion welcome a stranger into their company, even insisting that he stay with them that evening.  They offer him true hospitality and share their meal with him.  And in breaking bread together, they meet their risen Lord.

His presence is fleeting – God’s presence often is – but nothing is quite the same afterward.  They immediately head back to Jerusalem.  Emmaus is forgotten.  “We had hoped…” is forgotten.

One of the wrong turns that Christian faith sometimes takes is the notion that faith is mostly a private thing between us and God, that as long as we know the facts of the story and say we believe them, that’s faith.  But if the road to Emmaus is any guide, the Jesus who walks beside us becomes fully present to us when we turn out from ourselves, when we welcome the stranger, when we show true hospitality, when we share our fellowship, our hopes, our table, our meal.

The other day a read a story about Anglican priest Desmond Tutu that took place in the days of South Africa’s apartheid system.  More accurately, the story was about a white supporter of apartheid who thought Tutu a rabble rousing trouble maker, a communist, and a heretic.  That’s what the leaders of his country told him and he believed it.  One day this white South African happened to cross paths with Tutu in an airport.  Enraged at the sight of this enemy of his country, he moved toward the much smaller Tutu, intentionally and roughly bumping him as they passed, sending the priest sprawling onto his backside with a thud.  The man glared down at the stunned Tutu whose dazed look gradually gave way to a smile.  Then Tutu said, “God bless you, my child.”

The man stormed off, angered that he had not upset Tutu or provoked a confrontation with his enemy.  But over the days that followed, those words of blessing ate at this fellow until he found himself deeply sorry for what he had done, until he saw Tutu in a whole new light. [2]

But how could Desmond Tutu possibly have offered that blessing to someone who hated him, who wished him ill, who in a dark alley might have done much worse than simply knock him down?  What did Tutu know that allowed him to act in such a strange manner?

Someone headed to Emmaus, someone whom life had beaten into “We had hoped…” could not have offered that blessing.  And considering the treatment of  blacks in apartheid South Africa, there must have been times when Desmond Tutu thought that things would never get any better, when he lapsed into despair and said, “I had hoped; we had hoped…”  Tutu, of all people, must surely have walked that road to Emmaus.  But clearly he must have met the risen Jesus somewhere along the way.

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[1] Frederick Buechner, The Magnificent Defeat (New York: Seabury Press, 1966) pp. 85-86.

[2] From Brian McLaren, Naked Spirituality: A Life with God in 12 Simple Words (New York: HarperCollins e-books, 2011) Locations 2353-69.

Spiritual Hiccups - Turning toward the Kingdom

Sun just clearing the treeline when my day begins.
Slippery ice on the bridges, northeastern wind coming in.
You will bruise my head, I will strike your heel.
Drive past wind of northern pine, try not to let go of the wheel.
Dream at night
Girl with a cobra tattoo on her arm,
It's head flaring out like a parachute.

Prisms in the dew drops in the underbrush
Skatecase sailor's purses floating down in the black needlerush
Higher than the stars I will set my throne.
God does not need Abraham, God can raise children from stones.
Dream at night
Girl with a cobra tattoo 
And try to hear the garbled transmissions come through.

I'm not really sure why I posted the lyrics to The Mountain Goats song, "Cobra Tattoo."  The Mountain Goats are one of my all-time favorites, and I really like this song.  And so today's gospel, where John the Baptist speaks of vipers and of God raising children to Abraham from stones, was enough of an excuse for me to share some of John Darnielle's wonderful poetry.

Scripture can often be every bit as enigmatic as a Mountain Goat song.  What you hear often depends on the way certain emotionally freighted words impact you.  Take the words "repent" and "repentance."  To a lot of people these are fire and brimstone sorts of words hurled at pagans, heathens, or those caught up in immorality and debauchery.  Such words fit well with many portraits of John the Baptist as a kind of wild eyed firebrand yelling that we had better straighten up before it is too late.

But of course Jesus uses the very same language about repenting.  And Luke, in the verses just after today's reading, says of John the Baptists' words, "he proclaimed the good news to the people."

Religion gets branded - sometimes correctly - as a downer and a party-pooper.  It's about "Don't do that," a nun with a steel ruler who's just itching to crack some knuckles.  But Luke insists that John the Baptist brings "good news."  And Jesus often connects repentance to the good news of the kingdom, God's glorious new day that has drawn near.

Repentance is about turning, heading in a new direction.  And if you're trying to get somewhere, but you've gotten a bit lost, a helpful voice that says, "You don't want to go that way; you need to turn and go down that road," does indeed bring good news.

John the Baptist says to turn and head toward God's new day.  "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise."  This is apparently what God's new day looks like, a world where no one need step on anyone else to get theirs, a world where all rest so comfortably in the promises of God's grace that they are free to share, to be truly generous. Generosity, by the way, is quite different than charity.

Good news, says John.  A better world is drawing near.  Turn toward it.

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Spiritual Hiccups - Overcoming Evil

I've told this story many times.  A colleague of mine was attending an ecumenical pastors' luncheon. Being pastors, the folks at her table we talking about pastor stuff, and someone asked what their day off was.  (Because they work on Sunday, a lot of pastors take either Monday or Friday off.)  As the different pastors discussed the pluses and minuses of Monday versus Friday, one conservative Baptist said, "I never take a day off.  The devil never takes a day off!"  My quick witted friend replied, "But God does."

The God of the Bible doesn't seem all that anxious about tomorrow, and sees no need to work 24/7, but lot of Christians seem not to share this relaxed demeanor.  I have met more that a few very dedicated people of faith like that Baptist pastor who seem to think that without extreme vigilance, evil might triumph. 

This week's killing of Osama bin Laden has produced a some exuberant celebrations, notably on college campuses.  Here in Columbus, OH, students at OSU jumped into Mirror Lake, the sort of thing done to celebrate a victory over Michigan.  I don't suppose this is so surprising.  For people of college age, bin Laden was their boogeyman, the face of evil.  And the college campus celebrations had Wizard of Oz feel; "Ding, dong, the witch is dead!"

But for all the damage bin Laden did, for all the people he killed, and all the fear he inspired, he was basically a failure.  His dreams of creating Muslim/Arab states based on his perverted understanding of Islam never happened.  He never found favor with very many Muslims.  And as this Spring produced uprising after uprising against Arab dictators, bin Laden's name and ideas were virtually absent.  If anything these revolutions in Egypt and Syria and Yemen are the opposite of what bin Laden wanted, seeking more freedom and resisting religious fundamentalism or repression.  If bin Laden is evil personified, evil is a pretty colossal failure.

Christians should already know this.  Christians who live in constant worry and fear over what evil may try next seem to have missed the message of Easter.  The very worst that evil could do - the death of God's Son on a cross - led only to the good news of Resurrection.  Evil's best laid plans led to victory over sin and death.  Surely that is why today's reading from 1 John can say to people that they "have conquered the evil one."

I don't for a moment mean to say that there is no need for vigilance, that we need not worry about who plot terror and violence.  Bin Laden, Adolf Hitler, and countless others remind us that evil is not entirely impotent.  But Christians know that evil is mortally wounded.  And so while we are realists, we are also cosmic optimists.  We know that for the foreseeable future there will always be those align themselves with evil, people who will cause great suffering and pain and who will have to be dealt with.  But we also know that they are fighting a lost cause that they can never win.

Christ is risen! Love, good, and hope have triumphed!  Thanks be to God.

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Spiritual Hiccups - For the Whole World

The Bible speaks about the meaning of Jesus' death in a number of different ways.  The notion of his death as an "atoning sacrifice for our sins" is one of my least favorite.  Temples and sacrifices were an accepted part of the world Jesus lived in, whether you were Jewish, Roman, Greek, or anything else.  But in our day when they are not, the idea seems to say that God needs blood.  Perhaps you see my discomfort.  And so I tend to read today's verses from 1 John to say that God provides what is needed to set things right, using the well accepted norm of sacrifice.  I certainly hope it doesn't mean that God in fact requires blood. (And I think there are numerous other verses that support this hope.)

But regardless of how one deals with the mechanics of sacrifice, John says that more than fixing the problem of our sins, Jesus' death is "for the sins of the whole world."  For the whole world... To be honest, I'm not entirely certain how to understand this.  Does Jesus' death somehow absolve the whole world, and that's it?  Or do you have to plug into the absolution in some way - say the magic words, be sorry for what you've done, believe in Jesus, etc? 

Churches like clear answers to such questions.  They are organizations, and like most organizations they want to be clear about their structures, purposes, mission, beliefs, etc.  And so churches like doctrine, but no more than political parties or corporations.  Such doctrines are necessary to give any sense of order to things.  But inevitably questions arise as to which parts of a doctrine are absolutely essential and which are optional.  Where is the line that determines whether I am inside or outside the camp?

The Church seems to be going through a lot of renegotiating on such things of late.  Especially in Protestant circles, after centuries of defining the essentials as being about faith or belief, many have begun reengaging the question of just how one plugs into that for the whole world promise found in Jesus' death. 

I think the Bible actually welcomes this process.  I see quite a few divergent conversations going on in the Bible about just how it is that Jesus' death is for the whole world.  And if we can step back, for the moment, from the assumption that many of us grew up with - that the main point of Jesus was to help us get to heaven - then we may hear the Bible saying some surprising things to us.

While many of us presume that "being saved" is synonymous with going to heaven, there is scant support for such a belief in anything Jesus said.  In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus speaks mostly about "the kingdom," God's reign which is imminent and coming to this earth.  And in John, Jesus speaks of "abundant life" and "eternal life."  And while eternal life certainly speaks of a life beyond death, John is clear that eternal life is something that is a part of life now.  "And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the one true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent."  (John 17:3)

All theologies are provisional and subject to revision, my personal theologies much more so, but I find myself more and more rejecting traditional in-or-out boundaries that the Church has used.  Perhaps better, I find myself rejecting the meaning of such boundaries.  Abiding in Christ and obeying his commandments do form a distinct community, a community of love.  But I don't know that such boundaries are ultimate boundaries.  I wonder if the God who sends Jesus for the whole world sees them differently than we do.

What if "for the sins of the whole world" describes the nature of reality in God's new day?  What if it is simply how things are, the true reality that cannot be seen or experienced until God's new day invades us, until our lives begin to be transformed by God's grace so that they fit this new and true reality?  What if faith, relationship with Jesus, obedience, and love are not about getting our tickets punched for heaven, but are instead gateways to a still largely unseen reality that already is for the whole world?

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Sunday Sermon video - Post Easter Let-Down

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Spiritual Hiccups - Bin Laden, Faith, and Darkness

I'm feeling a bit disoriented today.  When I turned on the eleven o'clock news last night, instead of some local, perky, news anchor, I found a special report on the killing of Osama bin Laden.  When the president finally came on the air and confirmed that bin Laden was in fact dead, it was hard not to say, "YES!!" to give a little fist pump.  But as the news began to show celebrations outside the White House and on the streets of New York City, my feelings became a little more mixed.

The military operation against bin Laden seems necessary to me, even from a Christian perspective.  He was a mass murderer of thousands of Americans and of many more Muslims in the Middle East.  It seems more than justifiable to go after him, to prevent him from killing any more innocent people, here  or anywhere else in the world (though I harbor no illusions that bin Laden's death will end the threat of terrorism).  Yet at the same time I claim to serve a Lord and Master who says, "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you," a Savior who prayed from the cross on which he was brutally killed, "Father forgive them."  And I find it almost inconceivable that this Jesus would dance to celebrate anyone's death.

The fact that operations such as the one against bin Laden are necessary speaks of the brokenness and darkness that are all too much a part of this world.  That this is so seems to me a cause for lament.  And while this sad state of affairs may require that we wield the sword, that we kill, there is a sense in which we are thus drawn into the world's darkness.

I still recall watching a portion of the service at the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. just after 9-11.  The pastor warned us that while it might indeed be necessary to address the threat of terrorism, to bring guilty parties to justice, that we needed to be careful "lest we become the evil we deplore."

Although it troubles me at times, I am no pacifist.  As a Christian I am convinced that there are times when violence is justified, when it must be employed for the sake of the innocent.  But this is no joyful task; it is grim business.  And while it may be necessary to use violence against the violent, to inflict pain and death upon those who deal in pain and death, I am not sure that this necessity accomplishes as much as we would hope.  My faith insists that "God is love," and that God's greatest power is the cross.  And it is very difficult to hold onto love and bear the cross while engaging in violence, however necessary.

And so while I find myself heartened by the president's announcement last night, I will not dance.  I will not celebrate that the world's darkness compels us to employ the methods of darkness.  I will continue to trust that the greatest weapon we have, and the one we need to employ much more often, is love.

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