Sermon: 12 Pentecost (19 August 2007)

Pentecost 12: 19 August 2007
(Isaiah 5:1-7/Psalm 80:1-2, 8-19/Hebrews 11:29-12:2/Luke 12:49-56)
…the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

For had it been an adversary who taunted me,
then I could have borne it;
or had it been an enemy who vaunted himself against me,
then I could have hidden from him.
But it was you, a man after my own heart,
my companion, my own familiar friend.
We took sweet counsel together,
and walked with the throng in the house of God.

My companion stretched forth his hand against his comrade;
he has broken his covenant.
His speech is softer than butter,
but war is in his heart.
His words are smoother than oil,
but they are drawn swords (Ps 55:13-15, 21-23, BCP).

Several Psalms give voice to human struggle, confusion, and disappointment – lament, we call these. Few are as poignant to me as this Psalm 55, this great cry of betrayal. A friend, a companion, a kindred spirit has proven untrue and the psalmist can scarce contend with his treachery. Had it been an adversary, yes; but, you – a man after my own heart? How to understand that, how to cope with that: such things elude the psalmist.

We’ve all felt this at one time or another, haven’t we: a sense of betrayal, a sense of trust broken? It happens in ways great and small – though none seem small at the time – to old and young alike. A husband has an affair. A mother abandons her children. A close colleague plots an office coup. A friend violates a confidence. A schoolmate ridicules and excludes. A teacher taunts and humiliates. The deeper the trust, the greater the pain of betrayal. And so we learn – early on – to protect ourselves, to trust only haltingly and sparingly. To say someone is a trusting soul is not necessarily a compliment.

The opening words of the Creed – I believe in God – are bold and risky words. I put my faith in God, I trust in God, are not words which come naturally to those who have known betrayal, which is to say to most all of us. They are bold words, risky words, foolish words unless the character of this God is known, unless the agenda of this God includes my welfare, unless the track record of this God is one of unfailing faithfulness. That’s why the next few words of the Creed are so critical: I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. This God is worthy of the great risk of trust because his character is known – because he is Father, because he is almighty, because he is creator.

Of course, when we try to describe the character of God we quickly bump hard against the limits of revelation and language. Our knowledge of God is limited to what God has revealed: speculation and philosophy are not so trustworthy here where the issue is very much one of trust. Nor is our language adequate to express God’s self-revelation. How can human words do justice to God whose own words have the power to create worlds? We are limited to analogy, metaphor, simile – essentially to comparison. So, to what do you compare the God who is unique, who is, almost by definition, that being beyond compare? The framers of the Creed settled on Father as that comparison most in keeping with God’s self-revelation and with human experience and language.

As soon as you describe God as Father though, objections arise. Surely, you’re not saying God is male: Why should we not consider God as Mother or perhaps generically as Parent? What about those who have had terrible experiences with their own fathers: neglect, abuse, abandonment? Such experiences certainly distort a view of God as Father. These are understandable concerns; we shouldn’t dismiss them out of hand. They are stumbling blocks to some and we should address them with sensitivity. But we need not, and really should not, let these concerns force us to abandon the Father language and image. It is, after all, how Jesus referred to God and how he taught us to think about and pray to the God who is also our Father.

Just what kind of father God is emerges clearly from the Sermon on the Mount.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt 5:43-48).

“[But] when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Mt 6:3-4).

“[But] whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Mt 6:6).

“[But] if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Mt 6:14-15).

“Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Mt 6:31-33).

“If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask him” (Mt 7:11).

A Father who is prodigal in his providence, who pours out blessing and provision on the good and evil alike; a Father who knows and sees our inmost, truest selves – not what we project to others – and who loves and rewards our feeble attempts to give, to serve, to pray; a Father who longs to forgive errant sons and daughters and who longs for them to forgive errant brothers and sisters; a Father who is poised to answer, eager to be found, and ready to open himself; a Father who is good, perfect, and gracious: this is the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. This is our Father. This is a Father worthy of our trust. This is why we can say, I believe in God the Father.

The Creed tells that us that, in addition to all this, God the Father is almighty. And here we must be careful because our concepts of might and power are likely distorted; the cross certainly tells us that God’s thoughts on power are not our own. Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury, suggests a particularly helpful approach in his book Tokens of Trust.

The word translated ‘almighty’ in fact in the Greek means ‘ruler of everything’ or even something like ‘holder of everything’; and this suggests a slightly different approach. It means that there is nowhere God is absent, powerless or irrelevant; no situation in the universe in the face of which God is at a loss. Which is much the same as saying that there is no situation in which God is not to be relied upon…that his love never exhausts its resources, whatever may happen in the universe in general or in my life in particular. [‘Almighty’ is] a way of saying that God always has the capacity to do something fresh and different, to bring something new out of a situation – because nothing outside himself can finally frustrate his longing. So almightiness in this sense becomes another reason for trust (Rowan Williams. Tokens of trust. Westminster John Knox Press. Louisville, KY. 2007, p. 16.).

This concept of almighty seems a bit more nuanced than I might like. What I really want is a Father almighty who will step in at the first sign that life might not be going exactly to my liking – who will step in to straighten it out with miracles flying and lightening flashing, who will let no harm come to me ever, who will do my bidding on-command. I want a genie and endless wishes. I want what Bruce wanted in Bruce Almighty: all that power – omnipotence – at my command. But – thanks be to God – that’s not the kind of Father almighty that we have.

What the Bible puts before us in not a record of a God who is always triumphantly getting his way [or my way] by doing miracles…but a God who gets his way by patiently struggling to make himself clear to human beings, to make his love real to them, especially when they seem not to want to know, or to want to avoid him and retreat into their own fantasies about him (Williams, pp 16-17).

What the Bible shows us is a God who is determined to put creation to rights not by an overwhelming exercise of miraculous power, but by entering into the pain and struggle of creation himself – supremely in Jesus Christ – and by holding all things together in his love as his will unfolds toward new creation. This way of God’s being almighty can allow things seemingly to go pretty badly wrong in the short term. There are Darfur and Iraq. There are the Indonesian tsunami and the Minneapolis bridge collapse. There are Columbine and Virginia Tech. There are poverty and hunger and disease. There are…well you can continue the list of horrors we wish God would eliminate, wrongs we wish he would right immediately. But, right in the midst of all these evils and horrors there’s a cross planted atop a hill with a dying man groaning out his last words, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” And that’s the ultimate example, the ultimate proof, of the almightiness of God – the ability to absorb all the pain and evil of the world and to turn it to the greatest good, the willingness to suffer death to bring forth life, the power to conquer hatred through love alone. We may not understand the ways of God; in fact, we often do not. But we can see and know his character. We can say, with Paul,

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor power, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom 8:38-39).

That’s something like what it means to say, I believe in God, the Father almighty. We can see this incarnated – a flesh and blood example – in the life of Job. This poor man clearly does not understand what is happening to him, the terrors that he is receiving – so he thinks – at God’s hands. His doctrine of God’s justice and righteousness lies as shattered as the pots with whose shards he scrapes the boils covering his body. He wants to plead his case, and does so to his worse than useless friends: all they do is spout the conventional misunderstanding of God that Job now knows to be false. All is pain. All is despair. All is anger. And yet. And yet Job holds on. As much as he might want to, he can’t bring himself to let go of the God he has known in the past as Father almighty.

Even if he slays me, I will hope in him. I will surely defend my ways to his face (Job 13:15, NET Bible)!

It’s hard to tell if this is a cry of faith or of despair, but it certainly is the cry of a man who has known God to be Father almighty in the past and can’t understand why he fails to be in the present. Like Jacob wrestling the angel at the Jabbok, Job knows he can’t win, but he’s afraid to let go. The way through this impasse is a deeper understanding, a deeper experience of God, the Father almighty. And God appears – not just as the Father almighty, but as the creator of heaven and earth.

Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind: 2‘Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge? 3Gird up your loins like a man, I will question you, and you shall declare to me.
4‘Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. 5Who determined its measurements—surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? 6On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone 7when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy (Job 38:1-7)?

Verse after verse, page after page, God bombards Job with similar questions – all of them rhetorical and all directed toward the same conclusion: I am the creator and sustainer of heaven and earth. All things exist and are preserved by my power. I know things you do not know. I do things you cannot conceive. This God who speaks to Job from the whirlwind is no passive deity who winds the clockwork of his creation and steps aside to let it tick away without him. No. This God – the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth – is always and everywhere present within creation, caring for it, nurturing it, drawing forth righteousness and justice where none seem possible.

Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind: 7‘Gird up your loins like a man; I will question you, and you declare to me. 8Will you even put me in the wrong? Will you condemn me that you may be justified? 9Have you an arm like God, and can you thunder with a voice like his?
10‘Deck yourself with majesty and dignity; clothe yourself with glory and splendour. 11Pour out the overflowings of your anger, and look on all who are proud, and abase them. 12Look on all who are proud, and bring them low; tread down the wicked where they stand. 13Hide them all in the dust together; bind their faces in the world below. 14Then I will also acknowledge to you that your own right hand can give you victory (Job 40:7-14).

Do you really believe, Job, that your justice, your righteousness, are more to be trusted than those of the God who created and sustained the world? Well, since you put it that way…

Then Job answered the Lord: 2‘I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. 3“Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?” Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know (Job 42:1-3).

Had Job known the words of the Creed I suspect he might have added this to his response: I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.

Amen.

Sermon: 11 Pentecost (12 Aug 2007)

11 Pentecost: 12 August 2007
(Isaiah 1:1, 10-20/Psalm 107:1-9/Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16/Luke 12:32-40)
I Believe…

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

When the church marries a couple we have them stand up before family and friends, before the communion of saints and all the company of heaven and God himself, and we ask them questions: “Do you?” and “Will you?” questions. Do you take this man to be your husband or this woman to be your wife? Will you love and comfort, honor and keep, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, be faithful as long as you both shall live? If the bride and groom are young, they stand there before the church overdosed on endorphins, superfueled by hormones and we try to put the brakes on. “Listen here, young man. Before we authorize you to have sex with this young woman you’re going to have to make her some promises – and we’re going to expect you to keep them. And you, young woman, wake up. This Prince Charming beside you is going to grow old, fat, and bald and will certainly disappoint you in countless ways. Can you handle that?” A good marriage ceremony is designed to scare the living daylights out of the bride and groom. It is a solemn and holy commitment they make, a sacrament of Christ and his church. We want them to know just what they’re getting themselves into.

Likewise, when the church baptizes candidates we have them stand up before family and friends, before the communion of saints and all the company of heaven and God himself, and we ask them questions: “Do you?” and “Will you?” questions. Do you renounce? Do you turn? Do you promise? Do you believe? Will you continue, persevere, proclaim, seek, serve, strive, and respect? In a way, here too we’re trying to put the brakes on. No less than a marriage ceremony, the baptismal liturgy should scare the candidates; it begins with death and burial, after all. It is a solemn and holy commitment they make. We want them to count the cost (Lk 9:57-62). We want them to know just what they’re getting themselves into.

The Do you believe? questions in the baptismal liturgy follow the Apostles’ Creed, which likely developed as a form of catechesis, a pattern and method of instruction for baptismal candidates. It is the Cliff Notes of Christian faith and theology – not all we will grow to believe, but an essential starting point, a common foundation upon which the theology of the church rests. There should be nothing objectionable here to Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican, or Protestant Christians and nothing that any group would leave out. In the familiar slogan, In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, in all things love, the Apostles’ Creed falls under essentials. Though the non-denominational church of my youth rejected all manmade creeds as superfluous and even divisive, even they affirmed all the truths of the Apostles’ Creed.

The early church considered the Apostles’ Creed, or an early precursor of it, as the regula fidei, the rule of faith – the standard of truth by which they measured all spiritual understanding. "Christ was pure spirit and therefore only appeared to die," said the Docetists. "Not so," replied the church. "He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried." "There was no resurrection. Jesus’ body was likely thrown on the garbage heap outside Jerusalem and eaten by dogs," says John Shelby Spong. "Not so," replies the church. "On the third day he rose again." So much nonsense, so many heresies, can be swept aside by the Creed. It remains the regula fidei of the church. So, for the next few weeks, as part of our confirmation instruction, we will explore the Creed together, this summary of the faith that we have gotten ourselves into.

The basic structure of the Creed, like the basic structure of our faith is Trinitarian. There are three sections: one dedicated to the Father, one to the Son, and one to the Holy Spirit. Each section begins with a bold declaration: I believe.

I believe lots of things. Some of my beliefs are simple statements of fact – usually facts beyond my power of observation or verification, facts discerned by experts and communicated to the rest of us. I believe that the earth revolves about the sun as Copernicus said and not the other way round as generations before thought. Few today believe otherwise. Why do I believe this? It’s in the science textbooks and my teachers assured me it’s true, and really for no other reasons. It’s presented as fact and I accept it as fact. (Whether that acceptance is a good or bad thing is itself worth exploring – both science and public education have agendas, after all, and those agendas deserve careful scrutiny. But that’s another story.) Some others of my beliefs are merely opinions, expressions of personal preference. I believe that Starbuck’s coffee is superior to Seattle’s Best; I believe that most any coffee is superior to Seattle’s Best. I believe that rap music is an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms. And yet there are almost certainly people who go to Border’s Bookstore café on a rainy Saturday afternoon to enjoy a cup of Seattle’s Best coffee while listening to rap music on their iPods – and consider that time well spent. My opinions notwithstanding, they believe otherwise. And they’re not wrong; on these type of beliefs we may agree to disagree.

Some beliefs are statements of fact and some are expressions of opinion. I believe in God, we say in the opening words of the Creed. But what do we mean? Are we saying that we accept the existence of God as a fact discerned by the experts – Who would they be? – and communicated to the rest of us? Well sure, in some sense this is exactly what we mean. Most of us believe because our parents believed – those are the immediate experts – or because some other significant person in our lives believed and passed that on to us. The notion of the self-made man or woman is highly exaggerated; we are formed by others and belief is often part of that formation. Part of the agenda of the church – and we don’t try to hide this – is spiritual formation, the passing on of beliefs from one generation to the next. That’s why we use ancient liturgies, gather around an ancient book, and practice ancient rituals. We have received these and we are determined to pass them on. So yes, we say we believe in God as a statement of fact, though others might question our conviction. Are we saying that we accept the existence of God as an opinion, as a personal preference? Again, yes; in some sense this is exactly what we mean. We choose to view our lives as created, meaningful, relational, and transcendent – in short, we prefer to live in a world created by God and endowed with meaning and purpose. We prefer and pursue a relationship with that God and we hope that relationship will transcend the boundaries of our very brief physical existence. In our opinion it will. Of course, our opinion notwithstanding, many believe otherwise. Our culture, which values diversity and tolerance above all else, assures us that they are not wrong; on these types of beliefs we may agree to disagree. (Whether such tolerance and the view of faith as solely personal preference relegated to the private and not the public realm is a good or bad thing is itself worth exploring – our culture has an agenda, after all, and that agenda deserves careful scrutiny. But that’s another story.)

This September I will have been married thirty years – good years that have passed all too quickly. I hope for thirty more. Out of these thirty years comes this simple statement: I believe in my wife. What do I mean by that? Is it a statement of fact, a simple acknowledgement of the existence of this other human being who is in a particular relationship with me? No, it’s much more than that. Is it an expression of personal opinion or preference – I prefer this wife to my other ones or I prefer this woman to all others I might have chosen as wife? Well, at some personal risk, I must admit that this is not exactly what I mean either. I believe in my wife is not merely a statement of fact or an expression of opinion or personal preference. This belief is in another category altogether – a category it shares with the opening statement of the Creed: I believe in God.

When I say I believe in my wife I mean that I trust her, that I’m convinced her prime agenda is for my good – really for our mutual good. I mean that our relationship is life-giving. Do you remember all those marriage promises we spoke of earlier: to love and comfort, honor and keep, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, to be faithful as long as you both shall live? I mean that she has kept her promises to me and that I have every reason to believe she will continue to do so as long as we both shall live. This isn’t merely a statement of fact or an expression of opinion; it is relationally verified reality. Thirty years of life together, thirty years in which my wife has been faithful to me – to our relationship – have engendered and nourished my belief in her. This belief certainly includes both fact and opinion; but, it subsumes them, it transcends them. This belief is trust.

The church means – I mean – something quite akin to this in the opening line of the Creed: I believe in God. I mean that I trust God, that I’m convinced that God’s prime agenda is for my good – that God has no agenda which does not include my good. I mean that my relationship with God – and what an astounding notion a relationship with God actually is! – my relationship with God is life-giving. I mean that God has kept all his promises to me – promises contained in covenant and cross and revealed in the word written and the Word made flesh – and that I have every reason to believe that God will continue to do so throughout eternity. And all this in spite of the reality that I have broken my promises to God time and again! The years of my life with God, years in which God has always been faithful to me, have engendered and nourished my belief in God. This belief certainly includes both fact and opinion; but, it subsumes them, it transcends them. This belief is trust. Most days, anyway. But not always and equally so. My trust is strained easily by lack of understanding. It is brought into question by difficult circumstances. I argue with God as I argue with my wife – usually over something quite selfish and petty – and then I sulk and withdraw for a time. Trust doesn’t come easily or naturally for most of us. We have to work at it. We need help. And that is part of the importance of the Creed, of this corporate confession of the church. On those days when I can’t honest say I believe in God as a conviction of trust, it means everything to me to be surrounded by people who can, at that moment, say the words to me and for me. You don’t believe right now? Well, we do. It’s all true. You have no trust right now? Well, we do. Share some of ours. The Creed reminds me that I need you, that I need this community of trust in and through which God becomes flesh and shows himself trustworthy. When I say I believe in God I’m also saying that I believe in God’s people, the church – that I believe in you. I’m not sure it’s possible to separate the two; I’m sure it’s unwise to try. So, some days I believe in God only as one fact among many. Some days I believe in God only as preference – the Word over silence, meaning over meaninglessness. But most days I believe in God as trust. I want that for all my days.

I think our society overestimates the power of facts. Take sex, for instance – more specifically sex education. Why do we have sex education in public school? (We call it Wellness now, but there’s still a healthy dose of sex in the curriculum.) It all comes down to disease and unwanted, early pregnancies, both of which are costly to and disruptive of society. And so the schools have been tasked with presenting the facts of life – physiology and mechanics, yes, but those only secondarily so. Our culture has an agenda, remember? Mainly we want to present our young people the facts about the risks and dangers of unprotected sex so they’ll stop it. (Isn’t it interesting that we talk about sex as safe so long as there is only a slim chance of disease or pregnancy? No matter the devastating emotional and spiritual consequences sex may have – anything but safe there.) Our government and culture are convinced that knowledge of the facts will change the sexual behavior of young people. All I can say is that they obviously don’t know our young people. They don’t understand that hormones trump facts, that pleasure vanquishes reason. You know as well as I, the teenage couple in the back seat of the car aren’t going over the facts. Besides, pregnancy and disease happen to other people, not to them. And how long have we known now that cigarette smoking causes cancer – known it as unquestionable fact? We teach that fact in Wellness also. Yet how many people start smoking each year – young people who just know they are ten feet tall and bulletproof? And have you noticed how large our society is now? Knowledge of the tremendous health risks associated with obesity don’t seem to stop people from saying, “Supersize that.” Of course it’s generally better to know than not to know, to have the facts than not to have them. I just don’t share our society’s conviction that facts significantly alter behavior.

That’s surely one reason the Creed aims for belief in God not just as a statement of fact or of opinion, but of trust. It matters not only what we know, but how we live. And for that, trust is more important than facts. I can believe that God exists – accept that as fact – without it affecting my behavior in the least. In fact – pun intended – James says that the demons believe in God and shudder (James 2:19); but, they go right on being demons in rebellion against God. But trust? Well, that’s another matter entirely. Trust caused Peter and Andrew and James and John to leave their fishing nets to become fishers of men. Trust caused Levi to abandon his lucrative tax-collecting station and strike out with this carpenter-turned-rabbi. Curiosity took Zacchaeus up the sycamore tree but trust brought him down and trust compelled him to restore all he had stolen. Trust nailed Jesus to the cross and held him there: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit,” is the sound of trust. And trust broke the power of sin and death and rolled back the stone on the morning of our Lord’s great victory. I believe in God all these said in the word of the Creed – not with their lips, but with their lives.

Amen.

Sermon: 8 Pentecost 2007 (22 July 2007)

8 Pentecost: 22 July 2007
(Amos 8:1-12/Psalm 52/Colossians 1:15-28/Luke 10:38-42)
God as you understand him / God as he is

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Alcoholics Anonymous (A. A.) wants you to believe in a Power greater than yourself, to accept that only that Power can restore you to sanity. God, the name they give to this higher Power, is central to the program and to the alcoholic’s recovery. Not that A. A. is very picky about God; any one will do provided you make a decision to turn your will and life over to the care of God as you understand him. No matter that the Twelve Step program actually implies a certain understanding of God – a God who relates to people, who hears confession and removes shortcomings and defects of character, who has a will for each individual, who makes that will known through prayer and meditation, and who empowers the alcoholic to carry out His will – officially A. A. is non-discriminatory: God as you understand him/her/it will do (http://www.aa.org.au/factfile/fact_file_twelve_steps.php?nav=mb, accessed 7/16/07).

Now, don’t get me wrong. A. A. is a highly successful recovery program and the church could take some lessons from them about community and accountability. I applaud their efforts. But this God as you understand him business? Well, that’s just not the church. We have funny ideas about such things. We don’t really care about God as you understand him; in fact we’re a little suspicious that your understanding of God is at least partly responsible for your life spinning out of control. No. We’re going to tell you how to understand God. We’re going to tell you who God is and who God is not, so you can winnow out all the false understandings and false gods you create and society offers. You can’t kneel with us or eat with us and understand God to be Allah or Vishnu or some nameless, faceless, cosmic Principle. The church isn’t really interested in political correctness in that sense. Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Atheists may all be wrong in their understandings of God – but only one can possibly be right. The church is that one; so we believe. We respect the adherents of other faiths, or even of no faith. We believe there is much good in what they teach and in how they live. But we believe they are wrong in some fundamental ways when it comes to their understanding of God. And that matters. How you understand God matters. The success and value of A. A. notwithstanding, God as you understand him just won’t do – not for the church. We’re much more concerned – solely concerned – with God as he is. Much of the sacred story we call the Bible is a revelation of this God as he is.

God is a bush, the story tells us – or a flame of fire, or a voice, or all three in a way that Moses didn’t quite understand. The sight of a bush blazing but not consumed caught his attention and he turned aside to see it. And the voice spoke from it: “I am God as you understand me to be, a Power greater than yourself. Go to Egypt.” Well, of course not; that’s not the story the church tells. The voice spoke all right, spoke a word of revelation telling Moses how to understand God. “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (Ex 3:6, 10, NRSV). And with these words, the Voice connected itself to a story, to a history, to a covenant – to a very particular understanding of God. But even that wasn’t enough for Moses. If he was going to risk his life returning to Egypt, if he was expected to take on single-handedly a major world power, he wanted to understand exactly who this God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was – who this God was for him. God as you understand him isn’t good enough for such challenges; only God as he is will do.

But Moses said to God, ‘If I come to the Israelites and say to them, “The God of your ancestors has sent me to you”, and they ask me, “What is his name?” what shall I say to them?’ God said to Moses, ‘I am who I am.’ He said further, ‘Thus you shall say to the Israelites, “I am has sent me to you.”’ God also said to Moses, “The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you”:
This is my name for ever,
and this is my title for all generations’(Ex 3:13-15, NRSV).

So, armed with this new understanding of God – God’s name – Moses went to Egypt. There, through plague and pestilence and death and deliverance, God continued to reveal his identity to Moses, to deepen Moses’ understanding of God as he is. Standing on the far side of the Red Sea, with Egypt behind and the land of promise before, Moses sang what he had learned of God, what God had revealed himself to be.

I will sing to the Lord, for he is lofty and uplifted;
the horse and its rider has he hurled into the sea.
The Lord is my strength and my refuge;
the Lord has become my Savior.
This is my God and I will praise him,
the God of my people and I will exalt him.
The Lord is a might warrior;
Yahweh is is Name.
The chariots of Pharaoh and his army has he hurled into the sea;
the finest of those who bear armor have been
drowned in the Red Sea.
The fathomless deep has overwhelmed them;
they sank into the depths like a stone.
Your right hand, O Lord, is glorious in might;
your right hand, O Lord, has overthrown the enemy.
Who can be compared with you, O Lord, among the gods?
who is like you, glorious in holiness,
awesome in renown, and worker of wonders?
You stretched forth your right hand;
the earth swallowed them up.
With your constant love you led the people you redeemed;
with your might you brought them in safety to
your holy dwelling.
You will bring them in and plant them
on the mount of your possession,
The resting-place you have made for yourself, O Lord,
the sanctuary, O Lord, that your hand has established.
The Lord shall reign
for ever and for ever (The Song of Moses, BCP 85).

And there was more to come: a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night to lead the Israelites to Sinai and beyond; manna and quail from heaven and water from a rock to sustain them on the way; a mountain covered in thick cloud and smoke, rumbling from the fiery presence of God; the Law. This is God – the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob -- I am who I am, not God as Israel had always understood him, but God as he is, as he revealed himself to be.

Even so, Moses was not content. As he prepared to lead Israel away from Sinai,

Moses said [to the Lord], ‘Show me your glory, I pray.’ And he said, ‘I will make all my goodness pass before you, and will proclaim before you the name, “the Lord”; and I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. But’, he said, ‘you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live.’ And the Lord continued, ‘See, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock; and while my glory passes by I will put you in the cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen’ (Ex 33:18-23, NRSV).

First God’s name – YHWH, I am who I am – then the merest glimpse of the back of his glory: that was enough for a while. This self-revelation sustained the Israelites through the wilderness and brought them to the Promised Land. In the generations to follow God revealed much more of himself to his people through the prophets; God seems to want to be understood as he is. But never, never did he reveal himself fully. His full glory remained hidden behind the curtain of the Most Holy Place first in the Tabernacle and later in the Temple. God was known only in part. God was invisible. Immortal, invisible God only wise / in light inaccessible hid from our eyes: the hymn sings the truth.

Yet, partly known is partly unknown. Partly known leaves ample room for us to worship God as we understand him instead of God as he is. And that won’t do. So God, who relentlessly reveals himself to creation, takes the initiative as always, takes the next step – an unprecedented step of full disclosure.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known (John 1:1, 14, 18, NRSV).

God became flesh and pitched his tent right here among us – moved into the neighborhood, as Eugene Peterson translates this passage – so that we might see him face to face, hear his voice, touch him, eat with him – so that we might know God as he is. And God as he is is Jesus. God as you understand him can be…well, anything you want, anything your imagination can conceive. But God as he is…well, God as he is is Jesus. And, of course, this specificity, this concreteness, is irritating to those who would prefer the ambiguity and freedom of God as you understand him. If Jesus is not God as you understand him, then you don’t understand him.

Paul drives this point home to the Colossian Christians. He sings to them – or rather, he quotes from an early hymn of the church extolling the supremacy of Christ. Before Jesus we could only sing, Immortal, invisible God only wise / in light inaccessible hid from our eyes. Now, Paul leads us in a new song.

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation;
for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created,
things visible and invisible,
whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers –
all things have been created through him and for him.
He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
He is the head of the body, the church;
he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead,
so that he might come to have first place in everything.
For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,
and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things,
whether on earth or in heaven,
by making peace through the blood of the cross (Col 1:15-20, NRSV).

This song is overwhelming in its revelation of God. God has uncovered the cleft of the rock and we have beheld the fullness of his glory. God has torn the temple’s curtain in two from top to bottom and has unleashed his glory into the world. And that glory is Jesus.

He is the image of the invisible God: hos estin eikon tou Theou aopatou-- Jesus is the icon of God. Icons have a checkered history in the church. Always fearful of idolatry, always aware of the prohibition on graven images, some in the early church opposed the use of icons in worship. They rightly understood that an icon is more than art, more than just another picture. But they were wrong in fearing that. An icon is a window into the reality it represents. An icon is a revelation. An icon – one truly written – reveals its subject not as we understand it to be, but as it is. Jesus – the Word truly written – is the icon of God: the perfect image, the perfect window into reality, the perfect revelation of God. Jesus is God full-out, nothing lacking, nothing held back: For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell (Col 1:19, NRSV).

What does this mean for us? It means that Jesus – God as he is – is the corrective for all the false God as you understand him notions that we hold so dear, the true north of the God as you understand him compass. It means that we cannot understand God apart from Jesus. What God is Jesus is. What Jesus is God is. Every notion we have of God must be laid alongside Jesus.

It means that we need no longer speak in the abstract – in fact we can no longer speak in the abstract: truth, justice, sin, mercy, judgment – all these abstract concepts that theologians love to debate and we love to quibble about – become concrete in Jesus. It means that we can – we must – say, “Don’t talk to me of God’s will in the abstract. Show it to me in Jesus.” TDOT (Tennessee Department of Transportation) builds fences around interstate overpasses and places large rocks under viaducts in order to keep the homeless from camping there. Each day the Knoxville police dismantle these homeless camps and move their residents out. All the while our city administration admits that Knoxville does not have adequate facilities to house or care for our poor. What are Christians to make of this? We can argue this in the abstract – law, justice, mercy, and the like – or we can look to Jesus, to Jesus who said, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation” (Luke 6:20, 24, NRSV). We can wax philosophical with platitudes like, “God helps those who help themselves,” or we can look to Jesus who fed the hungry, healed the sick, ate with sinners, helped those who could not help themselves – which, of course, includes all of us. Don’t you just hate this? We can’t speculate about God anymore. We can’t worship God as we understand him. We can’t create God in our own image. No. We have Jesus – God as he is. We have Jesus – the image of the invisible God.

Jesus, the image, the icon of God, is more than a bust, more than a face: the head has a body. The church is that body: “He is the head of the body, the church,” Paul writes. Just as Jesus shares the life and nature of God, we share the life and nature of Jesus – “provided [we] continue securely established and steadfast in the faith, without shifting from the hope promised by the gospel” (Col 1:23a, NRSV). As Jesus is to the church the icon of God, the church must be to the world the icon of Jesus. And this is our great challenge – to refuse to be Jesus as the world understands him or Jesus as the world wants him, but to be Jesus as he is: Jesus for whom the world had no room, relegated to the barn, to the manger; Jesus, friend of prostitutes, tax collectors, Samaritans, and sinners and scandal to the self-righteous, the religious, the pure; Jesus rejected, betrayed, crucified; Jesus pouring out his love and his life for the estranged and the hostile and the evil so that they – we – might be reconciled in his fleshly body through death and presented holy and blameless and irreproachable before him. Yes, this is Jesus as he is and the Church as it must be.

The world worships gods that they little understand. They need God as he is as revealed in Jesus Christ and as made flesh and blood in a church created in his image.

Amen.

Sermon: 7 Pentecost 2007 (15 July 2007)

7 Pentecost: 15 July 2007
(Amos 7:7-17/Psalm 82/Colossians 1:1-14/Luke 10:25-37)
The Church, This Church, Any Church

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

It’s a pleasant afternoon at the beach – not too hot, refreshing ocean breeze. We’re ambling down Beach Street in the older part of town, a restored area of curio shops and restaurants. There’s no agenda for the day; we’re just browsing, pausing for ice cream, relaxing, enjoying the time with old friends. As we come out of Mandala Books she approaches us, a slight woman of indeterminable age. It’s clear, as my Dad used to say, that she’s been “rode hard and put up wet,” meaning she’s lived a rough life that will make a young woman old long before her time. It hasn’t been long since her last beating – likely not the first. The black eyes, bruises, and stitches along the line of her cheekbone tell the story. She speaks to me in a low, mushy mumble that takes real effort to understand on a noisy street – I think she’s missing a few teeth – and tells me she’s hungry. Can I spare some change to help out?

We’ve all had similar experiences, different in detail but not in kind. What’s our usual, initial response? I’m not talking about what we actually end up doing, but rather about how we feel when we first realize we’re “caught” in a situation like this. What did I feel this pleasant afternoon at the beach? Honestly, I felt hijacked. I felt interrupted. I felt put upon. I’m on vacation, after all! And here was this stranger calling me out, making demands on me. And I knew this was going to cost me something: time, money, and inconvenience if I helped her or guilt if I didn’t. I would like to tell you that I felt a deep sense of gratitude that God had given me an opportunity to minister to Christ in the guise of this broken, hurting, hungry woman. But, I’m no Mother Teresa, and that’s not what I felt in the moment. It’s taken some distance, some reflection, some prayer for me to reach that point.

We walked to a nearby Burger King – her choice – where she could sit for a moment in a cool place and get something soft to eat. I’m really not very good at times like these; I never know quite what to say. But the woman behind the counter at Burger King did. “Lord, child, what’s happened to you? Has some man beat you up?” When my companion admitted that her drunken boyfriend had abused her in a dispute over a small bit of money – “But, he loves me,” she insisted – the server – and here you have to imagine an indignant, Spirit-filled, church-going African-American woman – started preaching: “Child, that’s not love. Love is patient. Love is kind…” She preached her way through 1 Corinthians 13 right there in Burger King and ended her sermon with the words, “Ain’t no man got the right to treat you like that. Ain’t no man got the right.”

I told the Reverend of the First Church of Burger King that I was a vacationer and about all I could do was buy the woman a meal. But she, I suggested – well she could do a lot more. She could help this woman find a church that might be able to provide some long-term assistance. I knew that she knew just such a church; you don’t learn to preach 1 Corinthians 13 like that anywhere else. She said she’d take over from here, and I’ll bet she did just that. I wish now that I had gotten the name of her church. Next time in Daytona I’d sure like to worship there.

Well, it’s now a pleasant Sunday morning as we wake from sleep. The bed is soft and welcoming. The whole day stretches before us – no agenda, just ambling through the moments, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, relaxing, enjoying time with family. And then he approaches us, this man of indeterminable age. Like the woman at the beach, he too bears scars of a brutal beating – old scars on his hands and feet and side. He calls out to us – calls us, actually to come meet him in a place where others have heard his call and gathered. He calls us to meet him in praise and prayer, in confession and absolution, in word and symbol, in bread and wine. His call, his invitation, feels sometimes like a demand and we’re caught in that familiar situation once again. And we know this is going to cost us something: time, money, and inconvenience if we respond to him or guilt if we don’t. Yes, I’m talking about this intrusive business of church – of being called out of a warm, soft bed each Sunday to assemble with other saints and sinners.

So how do you feel lying in your warm, soft, bed on Sunday morning when Jesus comes calling? I’m not asking so much about what you do, but about how you feel when you realize you’re caught. Hijacked? Interrupted? Put upon?

It’s just another day in prison. He’s been here … well, he’s lost track of the time, actually. And God only knows when or if he’ll ever be released. Epaphras has come to visit again and, as usual, he can’t stop talking about Colossae, about the church he planted there. They’re good folk he insists again to Paul, who has never laid eyes on a single one of them. Good folk, but a bit confused: philosophy, mysticism, Jewish legality – all these have crept in and blended in a theological hodge-podge that has them confused on just who Christ Jesus is and what his cross means for them. Would you write and straighten them out, Paul? A word from you – you know, from an apostle – might go a long way. And there he is again, that Jesus, calling out to Paul in the voice of Epaphras, calling him to church – to a church he’s never seen. This call has already cost Paul so much: family, friends, reputation, innumerable beatings, shipwrecks, arrest, trials, and imprisonment. What does he feel, confined there in prison, when Jesus comes calling yet again? How does he really feel about the call to and from the church?

He begins to speak and someone – maybe Epaphras, maybe Timothy – takes up pen and parchment and writes.

Paul, apostle of Jesus Christ through the will of God, and brother Timothy, to the saints and faithful brothers in Christ in Colossae: Grace to you and peace from God our father.

We give thanks to God the father of our Lord Jesus Christ, always praying for you, having heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and of the love you have for all the saints (Col 1:1-4).

How does Paul really feel about the call to and from the church – this church he’s never even seen? This apostle who has suffered so much and so long for the church is overwhelmed with a deep and abiding sense of thanksgiving for the church in Colossae, a thanksgiving that drives him to his old, calloused knees in prayer. The church, this church, any church, is for Paul an act of God, an in-breaking of the kingdom, a sacrament of new creation – all grace, all gift, all love. The great miracle here is simply the existence of the church – the new life of Christ manifest in a people “rescued … from the power of darkness, and transferred … into the kingdom of [God’s] beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins” (Col 1:13-14, NRSV). To be part of this, to be included in God’s family, to share in God’s great adventure of cosmic redemption and recreation – in short, to be and to do church – is an incomprehensible blessing beyond compare. To really begin to see that is to drop to our knees in a prayer of thanksgiving. Or perhaps it’s the other way around – to drop to our knees in thanksgiving for the church, this church, any church, is to begin to see the reality of this great blessing of God.

This reality is easily obscured though, isn’t it? There are many enemies of this truth. Sitting in yet another committee meeting it’s hard to believe that the church – at that moment – has anything at all to do with God’s plan to restore the cosmos. Singing yet another sappy praise chorus it’s hard to believe that the church – at that moment – is joining its voices with angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven who forever sing God’s praise. Listening to one more uninspired, psycho-babble sermon it’s hard to believe – at that moment – that the church has been given the Gospel, the good news, the word of life for all the world. Sitting in a living room sanctuary, singing, praying, gathering around Word and Table it’s hard to believe – at that moment – that the church, as Thomas Merton insists, holds the universe together by our presence and our prayers. It’s hard to believe that it all matters. It’s hard to believe that it makes any difference. But it does. May God open our eyes to see that it does, to see that nothing is more important than the church – this church, any church – gathered in praise and prayer, gathered around Word and Table, and then temporarily scattered into the world to love and serve the Lord in the Spirit of the risen Christ. Christ died for the church. Christ rose for the church. Christ lives in the church. The church is God’s plan, from the foundations of the world, for the redemption of the world through Christ Jesus, and we are part of that. Let’s see … sleep in or rescue the world? That’s the choice on Sunday morning.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix opened this Wednesday (11 July 2007). I’m sure thousands stood in line for hours to be among the first to vicariously engage in this fictional battle of good versus evil, longing to be part of the DA, Dumbledore’s Army, fighting to save the wizarding world from the Dark Lord. Why all the interest? Why all the excitement? People want to project themselves into the grand story of Harry and Voldemort, to enter a world where the struggle between good and evil is clear and important, to engage in significance beyond themselves, to feel that it is possible – no matter that you are a minor character – to make a difference in the fate of the world. How hard do we have to be smacked on the head to get it? Harry Potter, Dumbledore’s Army, the Dark Lord, the story itself – all real. It’s the church, this church, any church. It’s our grand story – the story of creation, fallen and scarred by evil, struggling against the power of evil through the redemptive work of a savior, heading inexorably toward new creation – it our grand story retold compellingly as myth. And we are there, not as minor characters, but as heirs of God, strong in the power of his might and equipped for the battle.

[Finally] be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armour of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places (Eph 6:10-12, NRSV).

These are St. Paul’s words to the church, but, with a few minor changes, can’t you just hear Harry Potter saying them to the DA – to that small but committed band of friends – of spiritual brothers and sisters – who will change their world? So thousands wait anxiously, stand in long lines, and pay exorbitant ticket prices just to live in this myth for two hours – and then sleep in next Sunday morning when given the chance to live in the reality to which the myth only points. Not that I blame them, really. They’ve likely never rightly heard the story, likely never been recruited for God’s great adventure, likely never seen the church for what it is, likely never been driven to their knees in prayers of thanksgiving for that great gift of grace that is the church, this church, any church. Maybe we should rent a theater on Sunday morning, distribute free tickets to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and at the end of the movie break out the bread and wine and say, “Now, here’s the real adventure. And you can be part of it.” Maybe we should have J. K. Rowling translate the Bible into a novel – she needs a new project, after all. I don’t know. But this I do know: Paul was overwhelmingly thankful for the church, immeasurably grateful for the opportunity to pour himself out on behalf of the church – even the church at Colossae, even a church he had never seen. For he knew the church, this church, any church, to be God’s plan from the foundations of the world, for the redemption of the world through Christ Jesus our Lord.

And so, Paul, confined in prison, prays for this church he has never seen.

For this reason, since the day we heard [of your faith and love], we have not ceased praying for you and asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so that you may lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, as you bear fruit in every good work and as you grow in the knowledge of God. May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins (Col 1:9-14, NRSV).

Paul’s letter to Colossae is largely about identity. These new Colossian Christians have not yet sufficiently grasped who they are in Christ and who Christ is for them and for the world. So, the basis of Paul’s prayer is their Christian identity: You – the church – are those whom the Father has rescued from the power of darkness and transferred into the kingdom of his beloved Son where we have redemption and forgiveness. That’s who you are and everything else flows from this new identity. Now you may, you must, grow in the knowledge of God’s will and lead worthy lives. Now you may, you must, grow in wisdom and understanding and bear fruit. Now you may, you must, be strengthened by His power to endure every challenge to your new identity. Now you may, you must, give thanks and share in the inheritance of the saints in light. Identity and mission are the two uplifted hands of Paul’s prayer for the church, this church, any church.

Well, there’s an old adage in preaching: never preach about people not coming to church to those people who are sitting in the pews. That makes perfect sense. But it is important – I think it’s essential – that we all be reminded from time to time, why we come to church and who we are as church. We come because the church, this church, any church, is an act of God, an in-breaking of the kingdom, a sacrament of new creation – all grace, all gift, all love. We come because the church, this church, any church, is God’s plan, from the foundations of the world, for the redemption of the world through Christ Jesus, and we are part of that. We come because the church, this church, any church is a place of redemption and forgiveness, a place of light amidst the darkness of this fallen world – a place where we hear and learn and live our true identity in God’s great adventure of cosmic redemption and recreation. We come because the opportunity to be and to do church – is an incomprehensible blessing beyond compare.

In 1935 the German Lutheran pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer received a call from the Confessing Church – that church which refused to bow before Hitler and which spoke openly against him – a call to lead an illegal, underground seminary. Despite the danger he accepted and moved to Finkenwald, where he lived in Christian community for three years until the seminary was discovered and closed by the Gestapo. Bonhoeffer’s book Life Together came from that experience. It is a prayer of thanksgiving for the church. He writes:

It is easily forgotten that the fellowship of Christian brethren is a gift of grace, a gift of the Kingdom of God that any day may be taken from us, that the time that still separates us from utter loneliness may be brief indeed. Therefore, let him who until now has had the privilege of living a common Christian life with other Christians praise God’s grace from the bottom of his heart. Let him thank God on his knees and declare: It is grace, nothing but grace, that we are allowed to live in community with Christian brethren.

Amen.

Sermon: 6 Pentecost (8 July 2007)

6 Pentecost: 8 July 2007
(2 Kings 5:1-14/Psalm 30/Galatians 6:1-16/Luke 10:1-11, 16-20)
A Long Obedience In the Same Direction

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

People’s concepts of God are always and everywhere on display in countless fascinating ways. It was so in 1st century Athens where Paul was “deeply distressed to see that the city was full of idols” (Acts 17:16) and noted, in his speech before the Areopagus how very religious the Athenians were, “For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god’” (Acts 17:22-23). What they worshiped in ignorance Paul hoped to reveal to them in truth – “the God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth” (Acts 17 23-24).

For me, pulling into the parking lot at a local Border’s bookstore is not so different in kind from Paul walking into Athens. People’s concepts of God are openly on display – people are still very religious and there are still many unknown gods in evidence. Start with the bumper stickers, with an assortment of ones I’ve seen recently.

Goddess on board.

Coexist (with the word comprised of symbols of Judaism,
Christianity and Islam).

Dirt worshipping tree hugger.

God is too large for any religion.

“Fish” emblems ranging from Jesus to Darwin.

My other car is a broom.

People are still very religious – though they often describe it now as spiritual – and they still proclaim the fact openly.

Entering the store I’m invited by the placement of a bookstand to browse the new releases. There are always religious books among them, though typically of the new age variety (The Secret) or the neo-gnostic ilk (The Lost Gospel of … or yet another book on Mary Magdalene – wife of Jesus, mother of the grandson of God, super-apostle, and true founder of the faith).

I usually make my way to the café then – there is coffee there, after all. It often resembles a United Nations meeting or an ecumenical conference if dress and choice of reading material are reliable indicators. Often there are Sikhs and Muslims there. The books on Zen hint at a smattering of Buddhists just as the books on tarot and witchcraft point to pagans and Wiccans. Of course there are Bibles on some tables; I’ve even heard that middle-aged ministers work on sermons in the café – there is coffee there, after all.

Eventually I make my way to the religion section. Many are represented: Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, New Age, Wiccan, and atheism. I gravitate toward the Christian section. Even the way the books are arranged there speaks volumes about Border’s concept of God – our God. There are two major divisions in their Christian book section: Christian Living and Theology. Each is subdivided: Christian Living into Spiritual Growth and Prayer, Relationship and Family Life, Practical Life, and Devotional and Motivational, and Theology into Classics, Popular, Protestant, and Catholic and Orthodox. Recently when I perused this section I jotted down some book titles. I’ll bet you can place them in the proper division – Christian Living or Theology – with no more information than the title.

Fall In Love, Stay In Love (Christian Living)
The Spirit of Early Christian Thought (Theology)
Jesus, Life Coach (Christian Living)
Thin Within (Christian Living)
The Christian Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas (Theology)
The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (Theology)
The Secrets Men Keep (Christian Living)

Do you see the concept of our God – of our faith – behind these divisions? How we think about and worship God (Theology) is distinct from the practical matters of life (Christian Living). The two may be disintegrated and considered separately.

Now, here’s a question for you; it’s a trick question so be forewarned. I have another book I want you to place in either Christian Living or Theology: The Holy Bible. Where does it go? Border’s clearly couldn’t decide so they created yet another major division: Bibles. (That’s why it was a trick question, of course.) The Bible joins in marriage Theology and Christian Living and adamantly refuses to allow any man to separate what God has joined together. The same is true of any of the books or letters in the Bible – Galatians, for example. It simple does not recognize our arbitrary and false distinctions of Theology and Christian Living. For the people of God – of the God worshipped as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – theology is not merely what we think about God. Theology is not simply an academic exercise performed in studies and libraries and academies by highly educated professionals. As the Catholic theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar insisted, “Theology is done on the knees.” Theology is prayer and worship and yes, even Christian living. We are theologians, Christian theologians, all – all of us who bend the knee in prayer, who lift hearts and voices in worship, who gather at the Table, who go in peace to love and serve the Lord in our Christian living. Cedar Springs Christian Stores gets it just right in their motto: What goes in a mind comes out a life. Border’s notwithstanding, Christian living is Christian theology with hands and feet. Our concept of God is always and everywhere on display in countless ways – not just in what we think and say, but in how we live.

So, in Galatians Paul moves seamlessly between the theological doctrine of the formation of God’s one new people in Christ and the theological practice of how that new people is to live out its identity.

My friends, if anyone is detected in a transgression, you who have received the Spirit should restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness. Take care that you yourselves are not tempted. Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ. For if those who are nothing think they are something, they deceive themselves. All must test their own work; then that work, rather than their neighbour’s work, will become a cause for pride. For all must carry their own loads (Gal 6:1-5, NRSV).

Isn’t it interesting that Paul starts with the assumption of sin present in the Christian community? Yes, he insists, we are in Christ. Yes, we have been crucified with Christ, we have risen with Christ, we have been justified by the faithfulness of Christ, and now Christ lives in us. Yes,

when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’ So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God (Gal 4:4-7, NRSV).

Yes, all of this theological doctrine is beyond dispute. Also beyond dispute – We see it all the time, don’t we? – is the continued presence of sin in the Christian community. So what do we do about it? How do we work out Christian doctrine in the practice of Christian living in the presence of sin?

The resolution of sin in the Christian community is a pastoral matter for the pneumatikoi, the word Paul uses for those who are spiritual – not in the sense the word is typically used today, but in the very specific sense of acting under the direction and inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Paul’s letter to the Galatians is a polemic against the legalists of his day and that attitude must prevail here, as well. The resolution of sin is far too important to be relinquished to the legalists among us: to the finger-pointers and name-callers. It is the task of those who live by the Spirit, of those who are guided by the Spirit, of those who exhibit the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. None others can be entrusted with the reconciliation of Christian brothers and sisters to Christ and to the church. There is no role for those governed by the flesh, for those who exhibit enmity, strife, anger, quarrels, dissensions, and factions – though these are often the very ones most eager to address sin aggressively, publicly, and punitively. Paul insists, instead, on a spirit of gentleness. And not just a spirit of gentleness but also of self-knowledge, humility, and fear, lest the pneumatikoi likewise fall prey to temptation and fall into sin. Only those simultaneously aware of their own frailty and of the Spirit’s abundant grace and power can safely embrace the fallen and raise them up. “Take care that you yourselves are not tempted” (Gal 6:1), Paul cautions and implies that pride is one of those temptations.

Though sin is always present in the Christian community it is often subtle, often hidden, often ignored. Though I intensely dislike the language, we, too, are comprised of the dysfunctional and the enablers. It is not easy to see or admit our own sin. Though we must continually test our own work, examine our own lives, sin may well first be detected by others in the body. How hard it is for those who notice, for those who are gifted and charged and burdened with the care of souls. How much easier it is to look away, to hope that “all shall be well.” But Paul knows better and so do we. We dare not ignore the presence of sin in the Christian community; it has great power to destroy us individually and collectively. We must react to sin – better still we must be proactive to teach and empower and support our brothers and sisters in recognizing and resisting temptation – we must react to sin without being reactionary, without treating our brothers and sisters as enemies of the faith, as hell-bent reprobates. Sin is a burden under which we all struggle and sometimes fall. The spiritual ones among us – and we all aim to be such – are those who, without stumbling themselves, help bear the burden of others, and so fulfil the law of Christ, the law of love.

‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light’ (Mt 11:28-30, NRSV).

The Christian community must never be a place where the burdens of sin are hidden and ignored but rather where they are confessed and acknowledged – and not just in the corporate, liturgical confession but in an appropriately intimate Christian relationship with spiritual mentors, pastors, the pneumatikoi – with those who, in the Spirit of Christ can ease the burden, can share the load. And all in a spirit of gentleness and humility.

What if we begin to envision the Christian experience not in separate categories of theology and Christian living, but as an apprenticeship where we both learn and practice? We do not expect an apprentice to demonstrate the understanding and expertise of the master. In fact, we expect the apprentice to fail, sometimes spectacularly and repeatedly. What is needed in the face of such failures is not condemnation but correction, not diatribe but diagnosis. “What went wrong?” the master asks the apprentice. A lesson was not fully grasped or the apprentice tackled something beyond the apprentice’s fledgling ability or, most likely, the apprentice lapsed back into old habits – prior modes of thinking and acting – that are no longer appropriate to the new life-craft of the faith. And so the master – the pneumatikos – reteaches, retrains, retraces the steps that went wrong and makes the necessary corrections. What we really expect from the apprentice then – the one thing that is truly essential – is that the apprentice will continue to strive for mastery, to fall not quite so low the next time and to rise to a new height, to grow. Not perfection, but growth. Otherwise, the apprentice ceases to be an apprentice at all. And – God forbid! – then there is the real potential for great loss.

Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow. If you sow to your own flesh, you will reap corruption from the flesh; but if you sow to the Spirit, you will reap eternal life from the Spirit. So let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up. So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith (Gal 6:7-10, NRSV).

Eugene Peterson rightly describes Christian discipleship as “a long obedience in the same direction.” That captures Paul’s thought perfectly. To the Galatians, to those who are being enticed by the Law, Paul says, “Binding yourselves to the flesh – to feasts and fasts, to kosher foods, to circumcision – brings you under the Law and the corruption that follows from it. Sow instead to the Spirit – bind yourselves to the faithfulness of Christ – and you will reap eternal life.” Few, if any of us, are tempted by the Law. But we are tempted by the flesh, by every self-serving impulse and thought and behavior that wars against the Spirit of God. Do not plant this seed in this field, for the harvest is death. Sow the long row of faith, of obedience, in the same direction. Do not grow weary. Let others bear the burden alongside you. Do not give up. The harvest will come in proper season.

Those who sow in tears
[will] reap with shouts of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy,
carrying their sheaves (Ps 126:5-6, NRSV).

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit, brothers and sisters. Amen.

Sermon: 5 Pentecost (1 July 2007)

To Trinity Church:

The Lord be with you! Though we are briefly apart we are not separated, for we are one body in Christ. When my family breaks bread and lifts the cup this day, we will do so with you – in our hearts – no matter where we are.

While away, I do not want to weary you with words, but neither do I wish to leave you without a word. Indulge me, then, I ask, as I continue with Paul’s letter to the Galatians. Perhaps you will gather on Sunday and read this aloud. If so, I will be with you in Spirit.

John
__________________________________________________

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Let’s begin with a summary of Paul’s letter to this point, written in a paraphrase of his own voice.

Paul, to the churches in Galatia province: Greetings.

I have always spoken the truth to you, a truth revealed to me not by word of man but by revelation of God through the vision I was granted of our resurrected Lord. It was he who appointed me an apostle to the Gentiles. It was he who established my right and authority to speak the gospel, so that I take no second place to the “pillars of the Church” in Jerusalem: Peter, James, and the rest.

Some have come to you preaching a gospel different from that which I delivered to you, a gospel which will bind you to vain observances of the Law: feasts and fasts and Sabbaths, kosher rules, and circumcision. Theirs is a false gospel and the punishment for their lies awaits them at the proper time. Think back: Did you receive the Holy Spirit – the seal of your acceptance by God – by observing the Law as they insist? Or did you receive the Holy Spirit through your faith in the gospel I preached to you? By faith, of course! Why then step backward into bondage to the law? It is “damned” foolishness. Those who preach it are anathema – accursed.

It is not the Law but the faithfulness of Christ that matters. He did what we could not: he fulfilled the righteous requirements of the Law in his life and bore the curse of it in his death. Then – thanks be to God! – he established his freedom from it –his and ours – through the power of his resurrection. It is his faithfulness to the will of God – his life, death, and resurrection – that sets us free from bondage to sin and death and the Law. We need nothing but the faithfulness of Christ and nothing else will do.

And all this is true for Jews and Gentiles alike: there is no difference – no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, no man and woman. All are one in Christ. In fact – and this is a great mystery now revealed in Christ – God always intended to make for himself one holy people in Christ, one people from every tribe and tongue and nation, a people marked out not by Torah observance but by their faith in Jesus Christ. And you are among that people. You were “brought into the fold” by your baptism. Before that time you were strangers and aliens; now you are citizens of God’s kingdom, members of God’s household of faith.

Do not, then, let these messengers of the Law confuse or trap you. You have been set free from the Law by grace – the free gift of God through Christ Jesus. Do not submit to its bondage, but instead live in freedom as God’s holy people.

So, Paul has proclaimed freedom from the Law. But there is a great danger of being misunderstood here; after all, the Galatian Christians have shown themselves easily sidetracked and led astray. Freedom from the Law – and by the Law Paul really means those aspects of the Law that marked one out as a faithful Jew (Sabbath, diet, and circumcision) – freedom from the Law must not be confused with moral license, Paul insists. To be free from the Law does not mean that one may indulge sin. If, through Christ, you have become God’s holy people, then you must live as God’s holy people – not according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit. (When Paul speaks of the flesh he does not mean the physical body; instead he means that constellation of desires that are contrary to the will of God and war against us. Of course, many of these desires concern an indulgence of the physical body – inappropriate sexuality, drunkenness, etc. – so Paul reasonably summarizes and personifies them as the flesh.)

As surely as faith leads to freedom, faith must also lead to holiness. Our true freedom is freedom from the flesh – from everything that wars against God. Our true freedom is freedom to live by the Spirit – to live as the holy people of our holy God. As with many aspects of our faith there is paradox here: we are truly free only when we submit ourselves to obedient lives empowered by the Holy Spirit.

Let’s let Paul speak for himself now.

A reading from the letter of the apostle and our brother Paul to the churches in Galatia:

For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.

Listen! I, Paul, am telling you that if you let yourselves be circumcised, Christ will be of no benefit to you. Once again I testify to every man who lets himself be circumcised that he is obliged to obey the entire law. You who want to be justified by the law have cut yourselves off from Christ; you have fallen away from grace. For through the Spirit, by faith, we eagerly wait for the hope of righteousness. For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything; the only thing that counts is faith working through love.

You were running well; who prevented you from obeying the truth? Such persuasion does not come from the one who calls you. A little yeast leavens the whole batch of dough. I am confident about you in the Lord that you will not think otherwise. But whoever it is that is confusing you will pay the penalty. But my friends, why am I still being persecuted if I am still preaching circumcision? In that case the offence of the cross has been removed. I wish those who unsettle you would castrate themselves!

For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.
Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not subject to the law. Now the works of the flesh are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these. I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, competing against one another, envying one another (Gal 5, NRSV).

The word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

Live in freedom to the flesh but in blessed bondage to the Spirit. Submit yourselves as slaves to righteousness. You have been sealed with the Holy Spirit and that same Spirit will empower you for love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Set you minds on these things and through love fulfill the whole law of God.

This is Paul’s message to the Galatians and, of course, to us.

Sometime between the 2nd and 4th centuries Mathetes, a Christian, penned a letter to a non-Christian acquaintance, Diognetus, answering questions about Christian faith and practice. His description of a life lived in the Spirit shows a firm grasp of Paul’s words to the Galatians. I close with an excerpt from The Letter of Mathetes to Diognetus.

Christians are indistinguishable from other men either by nationality, language or customs. They do not inhabit separate cities of their own, or speak a strange dialect, or follow some outlandish way of life. Their teaching is not based upon reveries inspired by the curiosity of men. Unlike some other people, they champion no purely human doctrine. With regard to dress, food and manner of life in general, they follow the customs of whatever city they happen to be living in, whether it is Greek or foreign.
And yet there is something extraordinary about their lives. They live in their own countries as though they were only passing through. They play their full role as citizens, but labor under all the disabilities of aliens. Any country can be their homeland, but for them their homeland, wherever it may be, is a foreign country. Like others, they marry and have children, but they do not expose them. They share their meals, but not their wives.

They live in the flesh, but they are not governed by the desires of the flesh. They pass their days upon earth, but they are citizens of heaven. Obedient to the laws, they yet live on a level that transcends the law. Christians love all men, but all men persecute them. Condemned because they are not understood, they are put to death, but raised to life again. They live in poverty, but enrich many; they are totally destitute, but possess an abundance of everything. They suffer dishonor, but that is their glory. They are defamed, but vindicated. A blessing is their answer to abuse, deference their response to insult. For the good they do they receive the punishment of malefactors, but even then they, rejoice, as though receiving the gift of life. They are attacked by the Jews as aliens, they are persecuted by the Greeks, yet no one can explain the reason for this hatred.

To speak in general terms, we may say that the Christian is to the world what the soul is to the body. As the soul is present in every part of the body, while remaining distinct from it, so Christians are found in all the cities of the world, but cannot be identified with the world. As the visible body contains the invisible soul, so Christians are seen living in the world, but their religious life remains unseen. The body hates the soul and wars against it, not because of any injury the soul has done it, but because of the restriction the soul places on its pleasures. Similarly, the world hates the Christians, not because they have done it any wrong, but because they are opposed to its enjoyments.

Christians love those who hate them just as the soul loves the body and all its members despite the body's hatred. It is by the soul, enclosed within the body, that the body is held together, and similarly, it is by the Christians, detained in the world as in a prison, that the world is held together. The soul, though immortal, has a mortal dwelling place; and Christians also live for a time amidst perishable things, while awaiting the freedom from change and decay that will be theirs in heaven. As the soul benefits from the deprivation of food and drink, so Christians flourish under persecution. Such is the Christian’s lofty and divinely appointed function, from which he is not permitted to excuse himself.

Live in the freedom of the Spirit as the holy people of God.

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you now and for ever. Amen.

Sermon: The Politics of Baptism (4 Pentecost/ 24 June 2007)

4 Pentecost: 24 June 2007
(1 Kings 19:1-15a/Psalm 42/Galatians 3:23-29/Luke 8:26-39)
The Politics of Baptism

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In a bit over a week our country will celebrate the 231st anniversary of its independence. On this July 4th we are engaged in war in Iraq and Afghanistan – a war lacking a definition of victory and a strategy for exit. Governmental approval ratings are amongst the lowest ever; we have lost confidence in our elected leaders from both parties. The majority of citizens recently polled are convinced that America is headed in the wrong direction, though I doubt that same majority could agree on what the right direction would be. Still, on July 4th there will be flags and bunting, parades and picnics, fireworks and the National Anthem, and speeches – many speeches. And for a time – albeit brief – we will feel better about ourselves, about this enterprise of freedom and democracy. Though we fail to reach it, the American ideal still beckons, and many – not least those against whom we erect fences both concrete and political – strain toward it, long for it as did our ancestors.

In some churches next Sunday the American flag will lead the cross in the processional and dominate the sanctuaries. The National Anthem and God Bless America will be interspersed with The Old Rugged Cross and To God Be the Glory. The Pledge of Allegiance will supplement or supplant the Creed. The blood of fallen soldiers will be mingled with the blood of the Lamb. In a paroxysm of patriotism the dividing wall between Church and State will be leveled. Religious language will be co-opted for patriotic purposes: America will become the light of the world, the city on a hill, the New Jerusalem. Go into all the world making disciples will become go into all the world spreading democracy. Independence Day will eclipse Easter in its power to thrill and motivate and identify a people.

On Independence Day there are no Democrats or Republicans, no Conservatives or Liberals, no Hawks or Doves; all are one, all are Americans. Such is the power of a national celebration to unify a people. Independence Day not only celebrates the political act of our forebears, it is a political act – as much, or perhaps more so, than voting. The most basic meaning of polis, the Greek root of politics, is city or town. But it connotes much more: the building of a city, the formation of a people to inhabit the city, and the governance of that people. Politics is the creation of a distinctive people: calling them, forming them, uniting them, and governing them. So, on Independence Day we call our people together – the 4th of July is a collective celebration with events designed to appeal to groups of people. We tell the distinctive American story and extol the formative values of our country as expressed in our founding documents – the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. We display our national symbols and offer all citizens ample opportunities to pledge their allegiance to our flag, a unifying act reminding us that we are one nation under God. We listen as our elected officials assure us of the superiority of our government and our way of life, assure us that all people everywhere aspire to them. Political activities all, for politics is the creation of a distinctive people: calling them, forming them, uniting them, and governing them. And that’s why it’s impossible to separate faith and politics – at least impossible to separate the Christian faith and politics. The story we tell, the story we live, is inescapably political, for it too is about the creation of a distinctive people: calling them, forming them, uniting them, and governing them.

Our national government currently is divided over an immigration bill, a political issue in every sense of the word. It’s all about who gets to be counted among our people, about who gets the benefits of citizenship. Those blessed to be “in” through accident of birth debate membership requirements. Who’s more useful, someone to pick our vegetables, slaughter our chickens, and do our day labor, or someone with a college degree – a doctor or a computer engineer? Is reuniting families important or is utilitarian value the sole criterion? What about those illegal aliens – let’s not humanize them by calling them neighbors and friends – those illegal aliens already among us? Do we deport them? Do we give them amnesty? Do we create for them a hopelessly complex legal path to citizenship? Those of us who were never on the outside looking in get to decide these issues, those of us who received citizenship as a gift from our parents, those of us who never were aliens. Such is American politics.

But it’s not God’s politics. No one is among God’s people by accident of birth. No one receives citizenship as a parental gift. All of us who are now citizens were once aliens – illegal aliens – for we had broken God’s law. We were insurgents in rebellion against him. We were, by human standards, of no value at all, with no hope of inclusion among God’s people.

Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived! Fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, sodomites, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, robbers – none of these will inherit the kingdom of God. And this is what some of you used to be (1 Cor 6:9-11a, NRSV).

Paul actually understates the case, here, when he says “some of you.” All of you. All of you, it should be, for every person apart from God is an idolater, every person worships some god, even if it’s the god of the atheists.

How from this mass of illegal aliens did God ever form a people?

And this is what some of you used to be. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God (1 Cor 6:11, NRSV).

Some cross the Rio Grande, some cross the Atlantic, some cross the Pacific to become citizens of the United States. But all of us, without exception, cross through the waters of baptism to become citizens of the household of God. And in those waters we are washed – we cease to be among the great unwashed masses of humanity. In those waters we are sanctified – made holy and set aside for sacred use. In those waters we are justified – declared by God to be in the right before God, declared to be among his people. All in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. All through the power of the Holy Spirit.

Through the gospel of Christ God calls a people. Through baptism he forms them and unites them.

For in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus (Gal 3:26-28, NRSV).

Whatever else baptism is – and it is always more than we can say at any given moment – it is initiation into the distinctive people of God, naturalization – or, more appropriately, “super-naturalization,” since it is an act of God. Baptism is always political because it is always about forming a people for God. The old distinctions that used to matter – Jew/Gentile, slave/free, male/female – are subsumed by the only distinctive that now matters, being one new people, those in Christ Jesus. This makes baptism a profoundly political and profoundly subversive act, so much so that if our government ever really got the implications of Christian baptism we might all be taken dripping wet directly from the font and thrown into solitary confinement in Guantanamo. I’m not really trying to be dramatic. Rome got it and they exiled the baptized, or crucified them, or immolated them, or otherwise eliminated them as troublers of the empire. The Communist Russia of recent past – no different. China, Indonesia – they get it and they persecute the baptized who will not compromise the gospel of Christ. We like to think that couldn’t happen here, that America is different, that it is a Christian nation, for God’s sake. But it’s not, it never has been, and it never can be. The evangelical moral majority who were, or are, on a quest to win back America for God are simply deluded. America never was God’s and so can’t be won back for him or to him. God has no country. God has a people – all those who have been baptized into Christ Jesus and unified in the one Spirit.

This new Christian political reality challenges all other political realities; that’s what makes it subversive and threatening to the status quo. It’s an issue of loyalty, really. Is our allegiance to the flag or to our Lord Jesus Christ, to the Constitution or to Scripture? And if we don’t see the inherent conflicts it may be because we have closed our eyes.

The United States has the right to secure and protect its borders, to keep out the undesirable aliens. I wonder, are there borders in the kingdom of God – fences and patrols?

The United States has the right to defend itself from aggression, from all enemies foreign and domestic. I wonder, is the sword drawn in the kingdom of God, is the Prince of Peace served by acts of war?

The United States has the right to enact and enforce law. I wonder, are the laws of the land always compatible with the will of God?

We could go on but it would belabor the point. Baptism is a profoundly political act because it forms the distinctive people of God in Christ Jesus. Baptism is a profoundly subversive act because it creates a new set of loyalties that challenge the status quo. What a scandal Jesus presented on that day when

his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside, they sent to him and called him. A crowd was sitting around him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you.” And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” (Mark 3:31-35, NRSV).

What a scandal Paul presented when he insisted that in Christ there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; all are welcomed around the same table.

What a scandal we will present when we say, “Come Sunni, come Shiite. Come Hutu, come Tootsie. Come white Afrikaner, come black South African. Come Hindu, come Muslim. Come Republican, come Democrat. Come liberal, come conservative. Come citizen, come illegal alien. Come death row inmate, come innocent victim. Come to the water of baptism. Come to Christ. Come to the one, holy people of God – a kingdom of priests from every tribe and tongue and nation. Reject the old politics of race and religion and nationality and division and embrace the new politics of God. Relinquish the old loyalties of flag and family and embrace the new loyalties of cross and church.”

William Willimon tells this story.

Last fall we had a panel discussion on “Homosexuality and the Church.” (Who told us to call people “homosexual”? A nineteenth-century Viennese psychotherapist who wrote a book arguing that there were males, females, and a third sex, homosexuals. What on earth are we talking about when we talk this way? Why should the church be interested in such labeling of people?) After the discussion, a young man came up to me saying that he was “a baptized Episcopalian” and “none of you have a right to tell me who I am. I define myself.”
I noted that if this first declaration were true (“I am a baptized Episcopalian”) his second was false. In baptizing this young man the church was quite clear, or at least should have been clear (false advertising is so wrong), that we were telling him who he was, namely a cherished child of God who was washed, gifted, chosen, called, and named.[1]

Whatever else Willimon intends by this story, it must mean that nothing is more constituative of our identity than baptism. Sexuality, gender, race, nationality: all subverted by and subsumed under baptism. If we primarily define ourselves by anything other than our baptism, we have forgotten who we are. It is our baptism that defines us, and not we ourselves. Our identity is baptismal identity. Our loyalties are baptismal loyalties. Our politics are baptismal politics.

Somewhere along the way – and you can blame Augustine or the Protestant Reformers or modern evangelicals, we are all complicit – the church lost the political nature of baptism. It became a private transaction between God and the individual and not a matter of calling and forming a distinctive people. But once when people came to the water, once they were required to relinquish old loyalties and accept the new political realities of the people of God. Once, in the 3rd-century, the politics of baptism were clear. Once the presbyter Hippolytus could write:

2If someone is a pimp who supports prostitutes, he shall cease or shall be rejected. 3If someone is a sculptor or a painter, let them be taught not to make idols. Either let them cease or let them be rejected. 4If someone is an actor or does shows in the theater, either he shall cease or he shall be rejected. 5If someone teaches children (worldly knowledge), it is good that he cease. But if he has no (other) trade, let him be permitted. 6A charioteer, likewise, or one who takes part in the games, or one who goes to the games, he shall cease or he shall be rejected. 7If someone is a gladiator, or one who teaches those among the gladiators how to fight, or a hunter who is in the wild beast shows in the arena, or a public official who is concerned with gladiator shows, either he shall cease, or he shall be rejected. 8If someone is a priest of idols, or an attendant of idols, he shall cease or he shall be rejected. 9A military man in authority must not execute men. If he is ordered, he must not carry it out. Nor must he take military oath. If he refuses, he shall be rejected. 10If someone is a military governor, or the ruler of a city who wears the purple, he shall cease or he shall be rejected. 11The catechumen or faithful who wants to become a soldier is to be rejected, for he has despised God. 12The prostitute, the wanton man, the one who castrates himself, or one who does that which may not be mentioned, are to be rejected, for they are impure. 13A magus shall not even be brought forward for consideration. 14An enchanter, or astrologer, or diviner, or interpreter of dreams, or a charlatan, or one who makes amulets, either they shall cease or they shall be rejected. 15If someone's concubine is a slave, as long as she has raised her children and has clung only to him, let her hear. Otherwise, she shall be rejected. 16The man who has a concubine must cease and take a wife according to the law. If he will not, he shall be rejected.[2]

Hippolytus knew – following Jesus and Paul – that human existence is inherently political, that we are always being formed into a people, always developing and exercising loyalties. The only question is, Which politics will govern? We find the answer in the waters of baptism.

Amen.


[1] William Willimon, Peculiar Speech (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1992) p. 7.
[2] Hippolytus, The Apostolic Tradition, 16:2-16.