Easter 6: 13 May 2007
(Acts 16:9-15/Psalm 67/Revelation 21:1-10, 22-22:5/John 14:23-29)
Don’t Make Me Come Down There
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
You’ve seen them: stark black billboards, white block lettering, messages from God. They’re not deep theology – it’s hard to do that on a billboard. They’re more like clever bits of folksy religious wisdom – homespun proverbs to encourage or admonish or just to provoke thought.
Let’s meet at my house Sunday before the Game. – God
C’mon over and bring the kids. – God
What part of “Thou Shalt Not…” didn’t you understand? – God
We need to talk. – God
That “Love Thy Neighbor” thing … I meant it. – God
They’re cute. They bring a smile and a thought of God, neither of which are bad things – especially when caught in rush hour traffic. They generally follow the primary rule of first aid and preaching: First, do no harm. But not always. Sometimes in their attempts to be clever they get the message exactly wrong: wrong in a harmful way, wrong in a way that shows a real lack of understanding of God, wrong in a way that borders on using God’s name in vain.
The particular billboard I have in mind is one I pass several times each week.
Don’t make me come down there. – God
That message is not from God. It is exactly wrong, and wrong on so many levels.
The message projects a false image of God. “Don’t make me come down there.” Now, what story could have that as its punch line? A weary father – or mother, but since the thrust of the story is negative and it is Mothers’ Day I’ve chosen to make the father the villain – a weary father comes home from a devastatingly bad day at work and wants nothing more than to sit down, have a cup of coffee, read the newspaper and be left alone for just a few minutes. The kids are downstairs playing when the ruckus begins; it sounds like they’re tearing down the house. “What’s going on down there?” the father yells. “Quiet down.” This works for just a minute or two and then the racket begins anew. The father hollers. The noise stops then starts again shortly. This cycle repeats three or four times until finally the father has had enough. “Don’t make me come down there,” he bellows down the stairs. And his message is clear: If I have to come down there, there’s going to be hell to pay. Weary, exasperated, angry, bent on punishment – this is the image of the father in our story. And it is the image of God projected by the billboard. God is world-weary; he just wants to be left alone for an age or two. He is exasperated by our refusal to pay attention, angry at our disobedience, and bent on punishment. “Don’t make me come down there.” The message is clear: If God has to come down here, there’s going to be hell to pay – literally.
But is that it, really? Is that what we think about God – and, more importantly, is that a right image? Let me propose another billboard: same black background, two simple, intersecting white lines – one vertical and one horizontal. A cross. You see, we did make God come down here, or rather his love for us made him come down here. And there was hell to pay – and he paid it.
God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins (1 John 4:9-10, NRSV).
“Don’t make me come down there.” Not only does this message project a false image of God, it is the antithesis, the negation, of the most fundamental of all Christian prayer – of the prayer that Jesus himself gave us, of the prayer that we are bold to say.
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy Name,
thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
“Thy kingdom come,” we pray, come on earth. Lord, come down here! is our prayer. We are taught first to make God’s name holy and second to pray for the coming of God’s kingdom to earth. We have a God who loves us – the cross is proof enough. And we have a God whom we love and for whose immanent presence we long and pray.
Don’t make me come down there, the billboard says. And why not? Because we seem to feel instinctively that when God comes it will be in judgment and because judgment is a fearful thing, a thing no one in his right mind wants. Right? Wrong. Here the billboard gets it exactly wrong once again. Let those with ears hear.
Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, ‘In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, “Grant me justice against my opponent.” For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” ’ And the Lord said, ‘Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth’ (Luke 18:1-8, NRSV)?
The point of this parable is not that God is to be compared to an unjust judge. The point is that, if even an unjust judge will finally relent and grant justice to the oppressed, how much more will our good God and Father grant justice to his oppressed people. So, pray continually, Jesus says. Pray for God’s justice. Pray for God’s judgment. This is the predominant view of judgment throughout Scripture – not an arbitrary meting out of punishment, but a vindication, a rescue, of God’s oppressed people. When God heard the cry of the Israelites in Egypt – a cry of oppression and bondage – God came in judgment. And that judgment meant liberation and deliverance. When God heard the cry of the exiles in Babylon – a cry of homesick longing – God came in judgment. And that judgment meant release and return.
126 In convertendo
1 When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, *
then were we like those who dream.
2 Then was our mouth filled with laughter, *
and our tongue with shouts of joy.
3 Then they said among the nations, *
“The Lord has done great things for them.”
4 The Lord has done great things for us, *
and we are glad indeed.
5 Restore our fortunes, O Lord, *
like the watercourses of the Negev.
6 Those who sowed with tears *
will reap with songs of joy.
7 Those who go out weeping, carrying the seed, *
will come again with joy, shouldering their sheaves.
This is the biblical picture of judgment – a dream come true, a bountiful harvest in a time of famine, our God doing great things for us. Judgment is justice. Judgment is rescue. Judgment is liberation. Judgment is deliverance. Judgment is vindication of the righteous – proof that they have been right all along, declaration that they have been the people of God all along. And judgment is a thing devoutly to be desired. Unless, of course, you are the oppressors of God’s people. Unless, of course, you have perverted justice. Unless, of course, you have rebelled against God and against his anointed. Then judgment is, indeed, a thing to be feared.
But would we really have it any other way? Do we really want a God who makes no distinction between good and evil, who looks humanity’s wickedness in the face – all the abuse, cruelty, war, genocide – and says, “That’s all right; let’s just pretend it never happened”? Do we really want a God who leaves the just grievances of the righteous unredressed for all time? Or do we really want the God we have – the God in whom mercy and justice have embraced; the God who is outraged that sin has despoiled his good creation; the God who has destroyed – in Christ – the power of sin and will one day eliminate its presence; the God who will ultimately exclude from the kingdom all that defiles it, all that harms it, all that opposes his perfect and sovereign will; the God who alone has the wisdom to judge rightly? The billboard says, “Don’t make me come down there.” We pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” As God’s holy people, we do not fear judgment; we long for it.
“Don’t make me come down there.” This message gets the end of the story exactly wrong. “Stay away, God,” it says. “Go do your own thing and leave us alone.” The legacy of the Enlightenment is the story that ends precisely with God going away and doing his own thing, leaving us entirely on our own. That’s the story Western culture has inherited and embraced. “Go away, God; let us worship the gods of progress and science.” And what do we do now that science and technology have outpaced our ability to manage them ethically? How do we answer questions of stem cell research and dwindling energy supplies and climate change? “Go away, God; let us worship the gods of silver and gold, the power of our wealth.” And what do we do now that our greed has outpaced our compassion? How do we answer questions of crippling third world debt; the growing disparity between rich and poor; the looming industrialization of India and China and Eastern Europe; the economic refugees on our borders? “Go away, God; let us worship the gods of power and war.” And what do we do now that war has failed to end war, now that a new type of war – terrorism – threatens us all and consumes our attention and resources and the lives of our young men and women, now that we are beginning to see that the gods of war require an unending stream of blood sacrifices from our young and old alike? “Stay away, God. Go do your own thing and leave us alone,” is the wrong end to the story.
These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.
In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and no herb of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; but a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground— then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
A river flows out of Eden to water the garden (Gen 2:4-10a, NRSV).
This is how the story begins: with God’s good creation, with a garden, with a river, with two trees, with God and man together. And though soon the story goes wrong, though soon we find ourselves – all of us – expelled from the garden and wandering the face of earth in exile, we know deep in our bones, deep in our God-given spirits, that the story cannot end until we find ourselves once again in the presence of God, with a river, with a tree.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,‘See, the home of God is among mortals.He will dwell with them;they will be his peoples,and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes.Death will be no more;mourning and crying and pain will be no more,for the first things have passed away.’
And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ Also he said, ‘Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.’ Then he said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life’ (Rev 21:1-6, NRSV).
Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign for ever and ever (Rev 22:1-5, NRSV).
That’s the end of the story. God comes down here. God lives with us. God puts to right all that is wrong with creation and with us. We wake from the dream of exile to find ourselves once again in the garden. And there is a river – the river of the water of life from which all may drink freely. And there is a tree – the tree of life bearing fruit which all may eat freely and leaves which heal the wounds of all the world: one tree and only one tree. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil – the tree that brought the curse – is nowhere to be found. We have known a little of good and more than enough of evil. We are no longer tempted to play at being God. We are finally content to embrace life as God has given it and to look to God and to the Lamb to be our light. This is the right end to the story.
And here are the final words in the story – the final message to replace the billboard, “Don’t make me come down there.”
The one who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming soon.’
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!
The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen.
(Acts 16:9-15/Psalm 67/Revelation 21:1-10, 22-22:5/John 14:23-29)
Don’t Make Me Come Down There
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
You’ve seen them: stark black billboards, white block lettering, messages from God. They’re not deep theology – it’s hard to do that on a billboard. They’re more like clever bits of folksy religious wisdom – homespun proverbs to encourage or admonish or just to provoke thought.
Let’s meet at my house Sunday before the Game. – God
C’mon over and bring the kids. – God
What part of “Thou Shalt Not…” didn’t you understand? – God
We need to talk. – God
That “Love Thy Neighbor” thing … I meant it. – God
They’re cute. They bring a smile and a thought of God, neither of which are bad things – especially when caught in rush hour traffic. They generally follow the primary rule of first aid and preaching: First, do no harm. But not always. Sometimes in their attempts to be clever they get the message exactly wrong: wrong in a harmful way, wrong in a way that shows a real lack of understanding of God, wrong in a way that borders on using God’s name in vain.
The particular billboard I have in mind is one I pass several times each week.
Don’t make me come down there. – God
That message is not from God. It is exactly wrong, and wrong on so many levels.
The message projects a false image of God. “Don’t make me come down there.” Now, what story could have that as its punch line? A weary father – or mother, but since the thrust of the story is negative and it is Mothers’ Day I’ve chosen to make the father the villain – a weary father comes home from a devastatingly bad day at work and wants nothing more than to sit down, have a cup of coffee, read the newspaper and be left alone for just a few minutes. The kids are downstairs playing when the ruckus begins; it sounds like they’re tearing down the house. “What’s going on down there?” the father yells. “Quiet down.” This works for just a minute or two and then the racket begins anew. The father hollers. The noise stops then starts again shortly. This cycle repeats three or four times until finally the father has had enough. “Don’t make me come down there,” he bellows down the stairs. And his message is clear: If I have to come down there, there’s going to be hell to pay. Weary, exasperated, angry, bent on punishment – this is the image of the father in our story. And it is the image of God projected by the billboard. God is world-weary; he just wants to be left alone for an age or two. He is exasperated by our refusal to pay attention, angry at our disobedience, and bent on punishment. “Don’t make me come down there.” The message is clear: If God has to come down here, there’s going to be hell to pay – literally.
But is that it, really? Is that what we think about God – and, more importantly, is that a right image? Let me propose another billboard: same black background, two simple, intersecting white lines – one vertical and one horizontal. A cross. You see, we did make God come down here, or rather his love for us made him come down here. And there was hell to pay – and he paid it.
God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins (1 John 4:9-10, NRSV).
“Don’t make me come down there.” Not only does this message project a false image of God, it is the antithesis, the negation, of the most fundamental of all Christian prayer – of the prayer that Jesus himself gave us, of the prayer that we are bold to say.
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy Name,
thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
“Thy kingdom come,” we pray, come on earth. Lord, come down here! is our prayer. We are taught first to make God’s name holy and second to pray for the coming of God’s kingdom to earth. We have a God who loves us – the cross is proof enough. And we have a God whom we love and for whose immanent presence we long and pray.
Don’t make me come down there, the billboard says. And why not? Because we seem to feel instinctively that when God comes it will be in judgment and because judgment is a fearful thing, a thing no one in his right mind wants. Right? Wrong. Here the billboard gets it exactly wrong once again. Let those with ears hear.
Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, ‘In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, “Grant me justice against my opponent.” For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” ’ And the Lord said, ‘Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth’ (Luke 18:1-8, NRSV)?
The point of this parable is not that God is to be compared to an unjust judge. The point is that, if even an unjust judge will finally relent and grant justice to the oppressed, how much more will our good God and Father grant justice to his oppressed people. So, pray continually, Jesus says. Pray for God’s justice. Pray for God’s judgment. This is the predominant view of judgment throughout Scripture – not an arbitrary meting out of punishment, but a vindication, a rescue, of God’s oppressed people. When God heard the cry of the Israelites in Egypt – a cry of oppression and bondage – God came in judgment. And that judgment meant liberation and deliverance. When God heard the cry of the exiles in Babylon – a cry of homesick longing – God came in judgment. And that judgment meant release and return.
126 In convertendo
1 When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, *
then were we like those who dream.
2 Then was our mouth filled with laughter, *
and our tongue with shouts of joy.
3 Then they said among the nations, *
“The Lord has done great things for them.”
4 The Lord has done great things for us, *
and we are glad indeed.
5 Restore our fortunes, O Lord, *
like the watercourses of the Negev.
6 Those who sowed with tears *
will reap with songs of joy.
7 Those who go out weeping, carrying the seed, *
will come again with joy, shouldering their sheaves.
This is the biblical picture of judgment – a dream come true, a bountiful harvest in a time of famine, our God doing great things for us. Judgment is justice. Judgment is rescue. Judgment is liberation. Judgment is deliverance. Judgment is vindication of the righteous – proof that they have been right all along, declaration that they have been the people of God all along. And judgment is a thing devoutly to be desired. Unless, of course, you are the oppressors of God’s people. Unless, of course, you have perverted justice. Unless, of course, you have rebelled against God and against his anointed. Then judgment is, indeed, a thing to be feared.
But would we really have it any other way? Do we really want a God who makes no distinction between good and evil, who looks humanity’s wickedness in the face – all the abuse, cruelty, war, genocide – and says, “That’s all right; let’s just pretend it never happened”? Do we really want a God who leaves the just grievances of the righteous unredressed for all time? Or do we really want the God we have – the God in whom mercy and justice have embraced; the God who is outraged that sin has despoiled his good creation; the God who has destroyed – in Christ – the power of sin and will one day eliminate its presence; the God who will ultimately exclude from the kingdom all that defiles it, all that harms it, all that opposes his perfect and sovereign will; the God who alone has the wisdom to judge rightly? The billboard says, “Don’t make me come down there.” We pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” As God’s holy people, we do not fear judgment; we long for it.
“Don’t make me come down there.” This message gets the end of the story exactly wrong. “Stay away, God,” it says. “Go do your own thing and leave us alone.” The legacy of the Enlightenment is the story that ends precisely with God going away and doing his own thing, leaving us entirely on our own. That’s the story Western culture has inherited and embraced. “Go away, God; let us worship the gods of progress and science.” And what do we do now that science and technology have outpaced our ability to manage them ethically? How do we answer questions of stem cell research and dwindling energy supplies and climate change? “Go away, God; let us worship the gods of silver and gold, the power of our wealth.” And what do we do now that our greed has outpaced our compassion? How do we answer questions of crippling third world debt; the growing disparity between rich and poor; the looming industrialization of India and China and Eastern Europe; the economic refugees on our borders? “Go away, God; let us worship the gods of power and war.” And what do we do now that war has failed to end war, now that a new type of war – terrorism – threatens us all and consumes our attention and resources and the lives of our young men and women, now that we are beginning to see that the gods of war require an unending stream of blood sacrifices from our young and old alike? “Stay away, God. Go do your own thing and leave us alone,” is the wrong end to the story.
These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.
In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and no herb of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; but a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground— then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
A river flows out of Eden to water the garden (Gen 2:4-10a, NRSV).
This is how the story begins: with God’s good creation, with a garden, with a river, with two trees, with God and man together. And though soon the story goes wrong, though soon we find ourselves – all of us – expelled from the garden and wandering the face of earth in exile, we know deep in our bones, deep in our God-given spirits, that the story cannot end until we find ourselves once again in the presence of God, with a river, with a tree.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,‘See, the home of God is among mortals.He will dwell with them;they will be his peoples,and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes.Death will be no more;mourning and crying and pain will be no more,for the first things have passed away.’
And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ Also he said, ‘Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.’ Then he said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life’ (Rev 21:1-6, NRSV).
Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign for ever and ever (Rev 22:1-5, NRSV).
That’s the end of the story. God comes down here. God lives with us. God puts to right all that is wrong with creation and with us. We wake from the dream of exile to find ourselves once again in the garden. And there is a river – the river of the water of life from which all may drink freely. And there is a tree – the tree of life bearing fruit which all may eat freely and leaves which heal the wounds of all the world: one tree and only one tree. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil – the tree that brought the curse – is nowhere to be found. We have known a little of good and more than enough of evil. We are no longer tempted to play at being God. We are finally content to embrace life as God has given it and to look to God and to the Lamb to be our light. This is the right end to the story.
And here are the final words in the story – the final message to replace the billboard, “Don’t make me come down there.”
The one who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming soon.’
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!
The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen.
1 comment:
What a preachey blog!!!!!
Peace
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