Sermon: 4 Lent 2011 -- Signs and Miracles

Sermon: 4 Lent 2011

(John 6:1-14)

Signs and Miracles: Abundance and Incarnation

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

We now have come to the middle of our Lenten journey, a journey of prayer and fasting and almsgiving. Lent provides time and space for us to reflect on Jesus and on ourselves, on who we are and who, by God’s grace, we have yet to become. The Lenten pilgrimage is also a season of confession and repentance. And so, I will begin today with a confession of my own. I confess before God and you, my brothers and sisters, that I do not believe in miracles any longer. I once did, but I have repented of it. I mean, of course, that I do not believe in miracles as they are typically understood. In our prevailing Western culture, a miracle is a disruption of nature. A miracle is God stepping into the physical world from which he is normally absent and rarely welcome to violate the laws of nature that govern that physical world. Miracles are the creation of a people who have forgotten that God is everywhere present, filling all things. Miracles are the creation of a people who have forgotten that it is in God that we live and move and have our being. Miracles are the creation of a people who have forgotten that the sun rose this morning not because of Kepler or Newton or even because of natural law built into a clockwork universe, but because our God in his providential care spoke into the darkness once again and said, “Let there be light.” Miracles are not Christian; they are the stuff of mythology or paganism or deism, but not of Christianity. For in Christianity God is Emmanuel – God With Us – feeding the sparrows, clothing the flowers, making his sun rise on the evil and the good, and sending rain on the righteous and the unrighteous – intimately involved with every aspect of his creation. God is not absent from us. He does not need to step into the world, for his is already and always here. Christ is in our midst: he is and ever shall be.

Our faith really owns only one miracle, for truly only one miracle has occurred from the foundations of the world: the incarnation of the Word.

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. 4 In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5 And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it. 14 And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth (John 1:1-5, 14, NKJV).

The incarnation – the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us – is the only true miracle, for in the incarnation God did step into his creation from outside it. God the creator became part of his creation in a way that he was not before, and that disrupted the laws of fallen nature: the incarnate God was born of a virgin; the incarnate God was tempted in all things as we are yet without sin; the incarnate God was crucified, died, and was buried; the incarnate God rose triumphant on the third day trampling down death by death and on those in the tombs bestowing life. The incarnation is the one and only, truly Christian miracle, and everything flows from it as surely as the blood flowed from the pierced hands and feet of our God-become-flesh, as surely as the river of the water of life flows from the throne of God and of the Lamb (cf Rev 22:1).

St. John the Evangelist did not believe in miracles either, even though he saw wonder upon wonder in company with Jesus. He never uses the word “miracle” in his gospel, though some English translations impose it on him. Instead, John writes of the “signs” (semeion) that accompany Jesus’ presence. Following the changing of the water into wine at the wedding at Cana, John writes:

Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him (John 2:11, NRSV).

Signs are not disruptions of nature, but are revelations of God’s presence in his creation, revelations of the glory of God in the face of Christ, given that we might believe. Signs are the inevitable result of the miracle of the incarnation, sparks scattered glowing and sizzling from the burning bush of God’s presence. If Christ is in our midst – if God is indeed among us in human form – then signs of his presence must follow.

Once John the Baptist sent two of his disciples to Jesus.

20 When the men had come to Him, they said, “John the Baptist has sent us to You, saying, ‘Are You the Coming One, or do we look for another?’” 21 And that very hour He cured many of infirmities, afflictions, and evil spirits; and to many blind He gave sight. 22 Jesus answered and said to them, “Go and tell John the things you have seen and heard: that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the gospel preached to them (Lk 7:20-23, NKJV).

Well, of course: these are the signs that simply must follow the miracle of incarnation. When God is with us, creation is restored and men are saved and such signs point to Jesus. The signs that follow Jesus are not self-referential. They don’t point to themselves, but to something else; that is precisely what makes them signs. Signs point the way. Signs attract attention only to direct that attention to something else or to Someone else. The purpose of each healing was not merely to restore health, but to direct attention to the Healer. The purpose of each act of cleansing was not merely to restore ritual purity, but to direct attention to the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. The purpose of each sign was to direct attention to the miracle of the incarnation, to the miracle of God-With-Us, and to our incarnate God’s redemptive purpose among us.

One of the clearest signs of God-With-Us is abundance. When Israel left Egypt at the first Passover, they left as newly freed slaves with a slave mentality still firmly intact, a mentality of lack: lack of power, lack of freedom, lack of security, lack of rest. The grumbling into which they often lapsed during this period is a reflection of the lack they had known and of their uncertainty about Moses’ and his God’s ability to provide.

When the forces of pharaoh pursued Israel to the Red Sea, Israel cried out to Moses:

“Because there were no graves in Egypt, have you taken us away to die in the wilderness? Why have you so dealt with us, to bring us up out of Egypt? 12 Is this not the word that we told you in Egypt, saying, ‘Let us alone that we may serve the Egyptians’? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than that we should die in the wilderness” (Ex 14:12b-14, NKJV).

We lack power. We lack security. But Moses replied, “The LORD will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace” (Ex 14:14, NKJV). The LORD is God-With-Us, and the sign of his presence is abundance of power and security.

On the fifteenth day of the second month of their freedom, Israel complained again against Moses and Aaron in the Wilderness of Sin:

“Oh, that we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the pots of meat and when we ate bread to the full! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger” (Ex 16:3b, NKJV).

We lack food – meat and bread. And the LORD rained bread from heaven – manna – and meat from the sky – quail – and everyone had enough. The LORD is God-With-Us, and the sign of his presence is abundance of food.

Finally, after forty years of unlearning the slave mentality of lack, Israel came to the land of promise, a land flowing with milk and honey, a land rich in grapes and olives and figs, a land of pasture for sheep. The LORD is God-With-Us, and the sign of his presence is abundance. When the LORD is God-With-Us, no one goes hungry; there is enough and to spare.

In this day’s Gospel another Passover is near and Israel gathers on a mountainside around the prophet – not Moses this time, but Jesus of Nazareth. They are hungry; they lack meat and bread. When Jesus proposes that his disciples feed them, Philip reminds him that they also lack money. Andrew snags a little boy’s lunch – five barley loaves and two fish – but what is that among so many? We lack food, Jesus – meat and bread – and we lack money with which to buy.

And so the stage is set for the great proclamation: God is with us, and the sign of his presence is abundance. When God is with us, no one goes hungry; there is enough and to spare.

“Make the people sit down,” is all Jesus says. Then he takes the loaves, gives thanks, and distributes them to the people, and then likewise with the fish: Jesus conducting a Eucharist of bread and meat.

John, who chronicles this event, wants us all to understand: this sign of abundance, like every other sign he documents, points to the one and only great miracle, the miracle of the incarnation – God is with us, in flesh and blood, in the person of this Galilean carpenter turned rabbi. One stands among us on this near Passover who is greater than Moses on that great, first Passover, for the one who stands among us is I Am. The one who stands among us giving us bread and fish is the same God who provided manna and quail to Israel. The one who stands among us brings such abundance that 12 basketsful of bread and fish remain – one for each tribe of Israel, one for each disciple of new Israel. Our God – this sign proclaims – is Emmanuel, the God of abundance, the God of leftovers.

Still, John presses the point; he will not let us miss the incarnation to which this sign of abundant bread points. He records a conversation between Jesus and the Jews just days later at the synagogue of Capernaum. Jesus says:

48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and are dead. 50 This is the bread which comes down from heaven, that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread which came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever; and the bread that I shall give is My flesh, which I shall give for the life of the world.” 52 The Jews therefore quarreled among themselves, saying, “How can this Man give us His flesh to eat?” 53 Then Jesus said to them, “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. 54 Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. 55 For My flesh is food indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. 56 He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him. 57 As the living Father sent Me, and I live because of the Father, so he who feeds on Me will live because of Me. 58 This is the bread which came down from heaven—not as your fathers ate the manna, and are dead. He who eats this bread will live forever” (John 6:48-58, NKJV).

Manna and quail, bread and fish: these fill the belly and sustain physical life for a time. But, the bread which comes down from heaven – the body and blood of God incarnate – that fills the soul and sustains eternal life, abundant life through the incarnation. The manna and the barley loaves were signs of the miracle of the incarnation – God-With-Us. The Eucharist with its bread and wine is the sacramental sign of the miracle of the incarnation, a sign which proclaims that God is still with us. In the Eucharist Christ becomes incarnate in bread and wine and in those who eat and drink, and abundant life follows.

If Christ is in our midst – if God is indeed with us and among us – then signs of his presence will and must follow. If Christ is indeed incarnate – not just as a rabbi teaching on the hills of Galilee, but in the bread and wine on which we feast and in the lives of those who eat and drink – then abundance must be manifest. If Christ is with even two or three who gather in his name – if Christ is with the Church – then the Church must exhibit such signs of abundance that the world can no longer ignore the miracle of the incarnation and the redemptive work of Christ in restoring the cosmos. And what are these signs of abundance?

Worship – an abundance of worship – is a sign the world cannot easily ignore: “Come, let us sing to the Lord. Let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation” (Ps 95:1, BCP). Not just any worship will do, of course: certainly not worship from the lips when the heart is far from God, and certainly not worship as ritual or entertainment. No. True worship – worship in Spirit and truth, worship that gives right glory to our God and Father through Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit – is worship that is unshaken by earthquake, worship that is not drowned by tsunami, worship that is unbowed before tyrants, worship that gives voice to all creation in praise that rises from the heart and pours from the lips in the first and natural language of mankind, the language heard in Eden before the fall: “Glory be to Thee, our God. Glory be to Thee.” This kind of worship is a sign to the world that indeed God is with us.

Love – an abundance of love – is a sign the world cannot easily ignore: “By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another,” Jesus said and says still (John 13:35, NKJV). Not just any love will do, of course, and certainly not the romance or lust or even the casual friendship that often pass for love. No. Love as a sign of the incarnation is love that feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, binds up the broken, welcomes the stranger, forgives the enemy, prays for the persecutor, and lays down its life – all at once or day by day – for the sake of those who hate. This kind of love is a sign to the world that indeed God is with us.

Grace – an abundance of grace – is a sign the world cannot easily ignore. Not just any grace will do, of course, and certainly not grace as mere gentility or courtesy. No. Grace as a sign of the incarnation is nothing less than the presence and activity of God. An experience of true grace wakens the world from its sleep and makes it cry out like Jacob at Bethel, “The Lord is in this place, and I did not know it” (Gen 28:16b, LXX, The Orthodox Study Bible). Grace enters the pain of the world and stretches out its arms on the hard wood of the cross to share in, and as much as possible, to bear the pain of the world, bringing God’s presence into its darkest places. This kind of grace is a sign to the world that indeed God is with us.

Hope – an abundance of hope – is a sign the world cannot easily ignore. Not just any hope will do, of course, and certainly not hope that is barely disguised naïveté or rosy optimism. No. Hope as a sign of the incarnation is nothing less than stubborn and rock-solid eschatology – living in this present age with the certainty that Christ has already conquered every enemy and is even now putting the world to rights, living in this present age with the certainty that the last days have already dawned and the glorious consummation of all things is guaranteed, living in this present age with the proclamation always in our hearts and often on our lips:

Jesus Christ is Lord, and

Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.

This kind of hope is a sign to the world that indeed God is with us.

None of these are miracles; I do not believe in miracles. They are signs, and I do believe in signs of the one and only great miracle, the incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ through which he conquered sin and death and reconciled man to God. And I do believe that, with Christ in our midst, signs of abundance will and must accompany the church – abundance of worship, abundance of love, abundance of hope, abundance of grace. These signs in the lives of broken but redeemed men and women and children will awaken the world to the glory, wonder, and power of the incarnation. Five barley loaves and two fish fed a hungry crowd. A little bread and wine can feed the world and restore the cosmos. It does not take miracles – just signs. Amen.

Sermon, 2 Lent 2011: This Vexing Little "Dud" of a Story

2 Lent 2011
(Matthew 15:21-28)
This Vexing Little “Dud” of a Story

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

Most preachers, I suspect, hope for a text that allows for a certain rhetorical eloquence or else deep, theological reflection, or – well, anything other than what is on offer in this vexing little “dud” of story given us in the lectionary this morning, a story in which the very sympathetic character of a mother humiliates herself before Jesus and a crowd of onlookers for the sake of her sick child, only to be ignored and then rebuffed by the Master himself. Now, you tell me: what am I supposed to do with that?

Part of the problem is that the lectionary today, as it so often does, sets us down right in the middle of an ongoing drama and expects us to understand – without context – what is happening. I can, I think, at least remedy that part of the problem.

Jesus and his disciples are home, north in Galilee, by the sea. He has lately received news that his kinsman and forerunner, John, has been executed – albeit reluctantly – by the decree of Herod. Jesus wants to be alone for awhile: to pray, to reflect. But the crowds follow him, sick and hungry, a vast multitude of need. So, moved to compassion, Jesus heals them and feeds them, over five thousand men, with five loaves and two fish – a miracle Matthew describes with intentional Eucharist imagery.

Jesus then sends his disciples on ahead of him by boat to Gennesaret, while he dismisses the crowd and prays through the night. During the fourth watch – sometime between 3 and 6 a.m. – Jesus finally rejoins the disciples, walking on the water and calming the storm in which these experienced fishermen find themselves helpless. As so, this small boatload of weary men comes to Gennesaret. And a crowd gathers and once again Jesus heals them.

Then they arrive, the scribes and Pharisees; they arrive from Jerusalem with a burning question of crucial importance: “Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands before they eat” (Mt 15:2, NRSV). Really, guys? Herod has just executed your countryman, a man considered a prophet of God by the masses, and you walk 75 miles from Jerusalem just to question my personal hygiene? Really, guys? I’ve just fed five thousand men with a sack lunch and healed countless more by letting them touch the hem of my garment, and you want to talk about dirty hands? Really guys? I’ve just walked on water and calmed a storm – all with unwashed hands, I might add – and it’s the unwashed hands that interest you?

It really does sound ludicrous, doesn’t it – trivia in the face of monumental truth? But is wasn’t trivial at all to the Pharisees; it was a matter of national and religious survival and yes, they had walked 75 miles to challenge Jesus on this and they would have walked 750 miles, if necessary. Theirs was a mission of homeland security as it had been for nearly two hundred fifty years. They had learned from their fathers and grandfathers and from generations before that the only way to maintain national identity in the face of occupation and persecution was through strict and absolute fidelity to the Law. Their name was their philosophy: Pharisee – the separate ones, the ones who separated themselves from the pagans and from their apostate countrymen through faithfulness to the letter of God’s law, through their purity. So, yes, under the present Roman occupation the washing of hands was important. So, yes, under the present Roman occupation Jesus was a threat: a renegade rabbi and worker of wonders who gathered sinners and tax collectors, the poor and disenfranchised, and God knows who else about himself and taught them – by example, if not by word – to ignore the Law. It was a matter of purity, and purity was a matter of survival.

“Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands before they eat.”

Jesus minces no words in his response; he, too, knows this is about purity, and he intends to properly redefine the whole notion.

7 Hypocrites! Well did Isaiah prophesy about you, saying: 8 ‘ These people draw near to Me with their mouth, And honor Me with their lips, But their heart is far from Me. 9 And in vain they worship Me, Teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’” 10 When He had called the multitude to Himself, He said to them, “Hear and understand: 11 Not what goes into the mouth defiles a man; but what comes out of the mouth, this defiles a man” (Mt 15:7-9, NKJV).

And there it is; for Jesus, purity is not a matter of the hands, but of the heart: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me” (Ps 51:10) just as David had prayed. What the Pharisees do not yet understand, but perhaps suspect and fear, is that Jesus is redefining national and religious identity, creating a new Israel with himself at the center, a new Israel whose badges of identity are not purity of hands and faithfulness to the Law, but purity of heart and faithfulness to Jesus, a new Israel not defined by ethnicity but by humility.

This is a lot to process and, as usual, the disciples are confused, before and probably even after Jesus explains his purity code in detail:

16 So Jesus said, “Are you also still without understanding? 17 Do you not yet understand that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and is eliminated? 18 But those things which proceed out of the mouth come from the heart, and they defile a man. 19 For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies. 20 These are the things which defile a man, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile a man” (Mt 15:16-20, NKJV).

And with this the group is off again, this time north to Tyre and Sidon, to a defiled gentile region where the purity-conscious Pharisees are unlikely to follow, and where the disciples can see true purity and faithfulness, where they can glimpse new Israel, incarnate in the person of a Canaanite woman.

And so, perhaps we come now to our vexing little “dud” of a story with clearer eyes and deeper understanding. We find that this encounter is nothing less than an in-breaking of the kingdom of God – in Tyre and Sidon, of all places – an eschatological moment in which the last days intersect this day and all is renewed and a Canaanite woman is redeemed by the God of Israel.

The story does not start that way, however.

21 Then Jesus went out from there and departed to the region of Tyre and Sidon. 22 And behold, a woman of Canaan came from that region and cried out to Him, saying, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David! My daughter is severely demon-possessed.” 23 But He answered her not a word. And His disciples came and urged Him, saying, “Send her away, for she cries out after us” (Mt 15:21-23, NKJV).

The irony here isn’t subtle at all, is it? The Pharisees, whom Jesus thought to leave behind in Gennesaret, have followed him to Phoenicia – in the persons of his own disciples. She is unclean, Lord, an impure gentile; send her away. And so, for a moment, Jesus plays the role they request and expect – plays a role in order ultimately to vindicate this Canaanite woman, to open the eyes of his disciples, to purify their hearts and minds, and to give us all a glimpse of the new Israel – the kingdom of God.

24 But He answered and said, “I was not sent except to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

And this, of course, is true. Jesus is the fulfillment of the covenant given to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Jesus is the completion of the law and the hope of the prophets. Jesus’ mission is to the Jew first, but then also to the Greek. For in first becoming Israel’s messiah, Jesus also becomes the savior of the world, the redeemer of all men, the restorer of the cosmos. In coming first to the lost sheep of the house of Israel, Jesus comes to gather all lost sheep – from flocks we never dreamed of – into one fold, true Israel, with one shepherd, the Lord Jesus Christ.

25 Then she came and worshiped Him, saying, “Lord, help me!” 26 But He answered and said, “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the little dogs.” 27 And she said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the little dogs eat the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”

What a climax for the story. Jesus affords this “impure” Canaanite woman the opportunity to vindicate herself in the eyes of his disciples who have yet to grasp the true nature of purity, gives her the opportunity to show that amidst all this abstract, theological talk of purity she is the one pure soul there – a soul made pure and shown to be pure by humility and faith: “Yes, Lord, yet even the little dogs eat the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”

The next words were spoken by Jesus, and though he spoke to the Canaanite woman, I can well imagine that he looked straight at his disciples, straight into their pharisaical hearts and spoke to them, as well: See, it isn’t about washed hands or even about ethnic identity. It’s about this, about this woman, about this woman’s faith.

28 Then Jesus answered and said to her, “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be to you as you desire.” And her daughter was healed from that very hour.

And, as Anglicans are wont to say, Here endeth the lesson. But, the question hangs in the air, asked of the disciples and of us: What will you do with this vexing little “dud” of a story?

The answer comes, in part, through a hymn of the Eastern church – a hymn that lies very near the heart of Orthodox piety:

A most compunctionate hymn do I, the unworthy one, offer Thee, and like the Canaanitish woman, I cry to Thee: O Jesus, have mercy on me! For not a daughter, but a flesh have I which is violently possessed by the passions and troubled with anger. Grant Thou healing to me, who cry aloud to Thee: Alleluia ( from The Akathist Hymn To Jesus Christ, A Prayer Book for Orthodox Christians).

This hymn calls us to acknowledge that we are – each of us – the daughter of the Canaanite woman, a daughter grappling with forces too powerful for us, with “no power of ourselves to help ourselves” (The Collect, The Second Sunday of Lent, BCP 1928). It calls us to acknowledge that St. Paul’s words describe us better than we know or wish:

For I delight in the law of God according to the inward man. But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death (Rom 8:22-24, NKJV)?

So we cry: O Jesus, have mercy on us. Grant thou healing to those who cry aloud to Thee: Alleluia. And in response, dare we hear Jesus’ words to the woman as his words to us? “Great is your faith. Let it be to you as you desire.” Dare we hope that, just as he healed that faithful woman’s daughter from that very hour, he will so heal us? Yes: thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ (1 Cor 15:57, NKJV).

This vexing little “dud” of story is, in reality, a blessed great gem of a story, a kingdom story that proclaims freedom from bondage and abundant life for all who come in faith crying out: O Jesus, have mercy on us.

Still, the question hangs in the air, asked of the disciples and of us: What will you do with this vexing little “dud” of a story?

The answer comes, in part, through a prayer – a Eucharistic prayer – that lies very near the heart of Anglican piety:

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

Each time we offer this prayer of humble access, we acknowledge that we are – each of us – the Canaanite woman, coming to Jesus with no righteousness of our own, coming to Jesus with no right to do so, coming to Jesus hoping against hope just to gather up crumbs under his table. And, expecting nothing, deserving nothing, through his astounding grace we are given everything: not our righteousness, but his perfect righteousness; not crumbs but a feast – the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation. No longer are we impure: our sinful bodies are made clean by his body, and our souls are washed by his most precious blood. Like the Canaanite woman, we find ourselves vindicated in the sight of heaven and earth through humility, faith, and grace. Dare we hear Jesus’ words to the woman as his words to us? “Great is your faith. Let it be to you as you desire.” Yes, for in this feast, our Father – and what a privilege to say those words – our Father,

dost assure us thereby of thy favour and goodness towards us; and that we are very members incorporate in the mystical body of thy Son, which is the blessed company of all faithful people; and are also heirs through hope of thy everlasting kingdom, by the merits of his most precious death and passion.

This vexing little “dud” of story is, in reality, a blessed great gem of a story, a kingdom story that breaks down all barriers of purity and ethnicity and creates a new people of God:

For you are all sons of God through faith in Christ. For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise (Gal 3:26-29, NKJV).

The Church Fathers – Origen, Chrysostom, and others – saw the Canaanite woman as the archetype of the gentile church, the fulfillment of what was spoken by the prophet Joel:

17 ‘ And it shall come to pass in the last days, says God, That I will pour out of My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, Your young men shall see visions, Your old men shall dream dreams. 18 And on My menservants and on My maidservants I will pour out My Spirit in those days; And they shall prophesy. 19 I will show wonders in heaven above And signs in the earth beneath: Blood and fire and vapor of smoke. 20 The sun shall be turned into darkness, And the moon into blood, Before the coming of the great and awesome day of the LORD. 21 And it shall come to pass That whoever calls on the name of the LORD Shall be saved’ (Acts 2:17-21, NKJV).

Dare we find ourselves in this prophecy – sons and daughters, vessels of the Holy Spirit, those who, through the name of LORD, know the salvation of the LORD? Yes, for we know this vexing little “dud” of a story to be a blessed great gem of a story, a gospel story of great good news: forgiveness, healing, adoption, salvation.

Church tradition provides names for many of the “unnamed” characters in the Gospel narratives: Photini is the woman at the well in Sychar; Ignatius is the child Jesus called to his side as an example of humility. This Canaanite woman, though, is not given a name by tradition. Perhaps she remains unnamed because she is much more than a single individual, much greater than one person’s name. She is everyone who comes to Christ pleading for undeserved mercy, everyone who comes to Christ hoping for unmerited grace; everyone who comes to Christ to gather crumbs under his table only to be invited to the wedding banquet of the Lamb. She is you and she is me and she is all of us together. And this vexing little “dud” of story is in truth a blessed great gem of a story – the gospel in the life and person of this one Canaanite woman. Amen.

Self-Destructive Behavior and the Way of Life

Two tabloid regulars made the news again this week: Charlie Sheen for addictive behavior and unmitigated arrogance and Lindsay Lohan for theft and probation violations. The actor Martin Sheen, Charlie’s father and a Catholic Christian, has requested the public to pray for his son; it is, of course, the appropriate response of a father and the appropriate response of the Christian public: Lord, have mercy on Charlie, Lindsay, and on me, a sinner.

Sheen and Lohan point to a great Christian truth, ignored at our peril: Humans do not engage sufficiently in self-destructive behavior. Please read the last sentence again carefully; it is no mistake. The mistake lies in describing Sheen’s and Lohan’s behavior as self-destructive. It is not; it is self-indulgent, and the difference between self-indulgent behavior and self-destructive behavior is salvation itself.

“When Jesus calls a man, he bids him come and die,” Dietrich Bonhoeffer writes in The Cost of Discipleship. In this he echoes Jesus’ won self-destructive invitation:

If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it (Mt 16:24-25, NKJV).

Self-destruction is the cost of discipleship.

The sacrament of baptism – the initiatory rite of Christian discipleship[1] – should alert us to the self-destructive nature and demands of the faith. Baptism is preceded by renunciation: of Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God, of the evil powers of the world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God, of all sinful desires that draw [us] from the love of God. If we do not understand these renunciations as acts of self-destruction, we have been inadequately instructed. Then, the thanksgiving over the water reminds us that the baptismal font holds death – life too, but not before self-destruction: “We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death.” Finally, the baptism itself, if administered by immersion, vividly portrays death and burial. We enter life only through self-destruction. St. Paul writes:

1 What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? 2 Certainly not! How shall we who died to sin live any longer in it? 3 Or do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? 4 Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.5 For if we have been united together in the likeness of His death, certainly we also shall be in the likeness of His resurrection, 6 knowing this, that our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves of sin (Rom 6:1-6, NKJV).

Even after baptism – especially after baptism – we must continue and escalate our self-destructive behavior. Though the power of sin has been broken, its effects remain; these are rooted out bit by bit, throughout a lifetime, by diligent and continual metanoia (repentance), a synonym for self-destruction.

1 If then you were raised with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ is, sitting at the right hand of God. 2 Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. 3 For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. 4 When Christ who is our life appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory.5 Therefore put to death your members which are on the earth: fornication, uncleanness, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. 6 Because of these things the wrath of God is coming upon the sons of disobedience, 7 in which you yourselves once walked when you lived in them. 8 But now you yourselves are to put off all these: anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy language out of your mouth. 9 Do not lie to one another, since you have put off the old man with his deeds, 10 and have put on the new man who is renewed in knowledge according to the image of Him who created him (Col 3:1-10, NKJV).

And, if this putting off is self-destructive, so, too, is the putting on that discipleship requires.

12 Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; 13 bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. 14 But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection (Col 3:12-14, NKJV).

These words do not describe the self-indulgent public persona of Sheen and Lohan; too little do they describe my private persona. And so, I thank God that the season of Lent is rapidly approaching. In it the church invites us to embrace self-destructive behavior: to renounce all that separates us from God, to live the death of our baptism, to put off self and put on Christ – to die again and again, bit by bit, in the sure hope of Pascha and resurrection. For the way of self-destruction – the way of the cross – is ultimately the way, and the only way, to life.

Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but
first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he
was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way
of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and
peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord. Amen.[2]

[1] As found in the service of Holy Baptism, BCP 1979, pp. 298-314.
[2] A Collect for Fridays, BCP 1979, p. 27.

Sermon: 2 Lent (28 February 2010)

The following sermon is a reprint from 2007 -- not previously published to this site -- based on the same texts as 2 Lent 2010.

Sermon: Lent 2
(Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18/Psalm 27/Philippians 3:17-4:1/Luke 13:31-35)
Life In The Colony

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

The year is 42 B.C. and there is civil war in Rome. Two years earlier Brutus and Cassius and several co-conspirators assassinated Julius Caesar in an attempt to preserve the republic and to prevent Julius from attaining imperial power. Now, driven perhaps by personal ambition and perhaps by desire to avenge Julius, Antony and Octavian draw up for battle against Brutus and Cassius. The battlefield is the Greek city of Philippi in Macedonia. There are two battles fought there. Casualties are high. At the end Brutus and Cassius both lie dead, both from suicide, knowing that their cause is lost. Antony and Octavian are victorious and Rome is transformed from republic to empire. Soon, this Octavian will take the name Augustus Caesar and seize control of the empire. Nearly forty years in the future he will issue a decree that all the world should be registered. In response Joseph, a craftsman from Nazareth in Galilee, will journey to Bethlehem, the City of David, with Mary, his expectant wife.

But, at the moment, following his victory in Philippi, Octavian has other, more pressing concerns. His troops are too numerous to return to a Rome in turmoil; the fragile economy won’t support them. So, Octavian decides to retire many of his soldiers from service and to give them land in Philippi. He turns this formerly Greek city into a Roman colony. It’s the task of these soldiers and the families they will father to transform Philippi into an outpost of Rome, complete with Rome’s language, culture, and values. By the time Paul arrives here, some hundred years later, the transformation is well under way: the city is a mix of Greek and Roman cultures. Many of the benefits of Rome are present and the colonists – the descendants of Octavian’s soldiers – are proud of their Roman heritage, citizenship, and accomplishments in Philippi. And certainly there are still native Greeks residents in the city, many of whom likely resent this Roman intrusion. A certain clash of cultures is inevitable during any occupation – as our recent experience shows.

What were the major functions of a Roman colony such as Philippi? To represent Rome in the midst of other cultures, to bear Rome’s image. But not to represent Rome only: to bring Rome’s presence into the midst of these other cultures with the intent of transforming them, of claiming them for Rome, of claiming them for Lord Caesar – with the intent of having Philippi’s residents claim Caesar as Lord. For that’s what Rome was now requiring in the time of Paul: worship of the emperor as Lord and God. The colonists in Philippi were citizens of Rome, yes, but they had no particular intent of returning there. No, they planned to bring Rome to Philippi. They planned to bring the good news – the gospel – of the saving power and grace of Rome and its emperor to the colony. That’s what colonists do.

Sometime around 51 A.D., in the midst of his second missionary journey, Paul first comes to Philippi (see Acts 16). His start there is inauspicious. He doesn’t go to the synagogue as is his custom; the Jewish population in Philippi may be so small that there isn’t a synagogue. Instead, he goes to the river; he’s heard there’s a place of prayer there, and he does find a few women gathered for Sabbath worship. One of them, a business woman named Lydia, is moved by what Paul says – well, she is moved by the Holy Spirit working through Paul’s words – and she embraces the gospel of Jesus Christ. Paul makes her home his headquarters in Philippi and the gathering place for a fledgling church.

Before too long Paul runs afoul of the law. A slave girl is possessed by a spirit – a demon – of divination; she makes money for her owners by telling fortunes. When Paul exorcises the demon, setting this poor girl free from her spiritual enslavement, she loses her skills and the owners have Paul arrested. The local magistrates have Paul and his companion Silas severely beaten and thrown into jail. Here, with the help of an earthquake sent by God, Paul wins yet another convert in Philippi, the very jailer assigned to guard him. That night Paul baptizes not only the jailer, but his entire household. The next morning, after a coerced apology from the magistrates for their unlawful treatment of a Roman citizen – to see how serious this is, remember that Philippi is a Roman colony under Roman law, answerable to Roman justice – well, after their apology, Paul bids farewell to Lydia and the church in her house and the mission in Philippi comes to an end. In Philippi, this colony of Rome where Caesar is hailed as Lord, Paul has established the church, a colony of heaven, where Jesus is hailed as Lord. And what are these colonists to do? They are to bring Christ’s presence into the midst of this Roman colony, with the intent of transforming it, of claiming it for heaven, of claiming it for the Lord Jesus Christ, until all its citizens claim Jesus Christ – and not Caesar – as Lord and God. These few, these sisters and brothers in the church, were citizens of heaven, yes, but their immediate intent was not to go there; no, they intended to bring the kingdom of heaven to Philippi. That’s what colonists do.

Now, roughly ten years have gone by. Paul is in prison, perhaps in Caesarea, perhaps in Rome. The little colony of heaven in Philippi has not forgotten him, though. They send him a gift – something to meet his needs in prison – carried by one of their own, Epaphroditis. And Paul sends them a gift in return – a precious gift that has transcended time and come to us: a letter.

Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus,
To all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi,
with the bishops and deacons:
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ (Phil 1:1-2, NRSV).

So much joy in this letter, so much thanksgiving, so much encouragement: despite his present circumstances, despite some discord and even division in the church in Philippi, Paul knows the colony of heaven he established survives. Jesus is still acclaimed as Lord in that stronghold of Caesar. The colony of heaven within the colony of Rome is on the move, bringing Christ’s presence to the city, transforming it, claiming it for heaven, claiming it for the Lord Jesus Christ.

And so, Paul writes about life in the colony – about two ways of life, really: the life the colonists are called to, and the life they have been saved from.

Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.
Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved (Phil 3:17-4:1, NRSV).

Have you ever watched a great musician play? It all seems so effortless. Unexpected chords come from nowhere but fit perfectly. Themes intertwine, separate, and blend again in perfect harmony. The musician seems to create music spontaneously – on the fly. But that’s not how it all started. What you don’t see is the countless hours spent practicing scales and chords and melody and rhythm – the countless hours of imitating the masters gone before, of following their examples. Before creativity comes imitation. That’s what Paul is telling the colonists. Their task is not to create a new way of life in the Lord, but to follow the examples set for them by Paul and by those who themselves imitate him. What Paul has in mind for the colonists is not so hard to understand – hard to do, yes – but not so hard to understand. Whatever their old sources of identity, whatever their old badges of pride, whatever their former hopes and dreams and glories – lay all these aside, count them as garbage, and cling solely to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus as Lord. That’s what Paul did and what he calls them to imitate.

If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.
Yet, whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him (Phil 3:4b-9a, NRSV).

Once Paul took pride in the outward signs of the covenant, depended upon them for his right standing before God. But no more. He has emptied himself of all these things to be filled with Christ Jesus – to know him as Lord. Imitate me in this self-emptying, he tells the colonists. For in doing so, you will be imitating Christ Jesus himself,

who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death –
even death on a cross (Phil 2:6-8, NRSV).

Imitate the life of the cross, Paul tells them. Lay aside all things to gain Christ. Let nothing have hold of you except Jesus and claim no Lord but him. Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us.

In Baghdad there is a heavily fortified compound called the Green Zone where coalition authorities live and work. It may well be the only relatively safe place in the city. In a way it is a colony of hope, the center of the international vision for what just might be possible in Iraq.

The Green Zone -- also called "The Bubble" - is the hub of the vision for the New Iraq. It is almost self-sufficient, and staff working there can be treated in the compound's hospital or run safely in its grounds. When they leave, it is by armored car with an armed military escort (http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/iraq/baghdad-green-zone.htm).

Life inside the Green Zone and life outside are very different. There are real enemies outside – people with different and hostile agendas, with the goal of crushing the vision and presence of the international community in The Bubble. Who will win is still very much up in the air.

It was much the same in Philippi: inside the colony was hope; inside the colony was vision for what was possible in Philippi and in the world. But outside,

many live as enemies of the cross of Christ…Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things (Phil 3:18-19, NRSV).

Yes, there are real enemies outside – people with different and hostile agendas, with the goal of crushing the vision and presence of the colony and of its Lord. Sometimes it must have seemed to the colonists that their position was precarious, that they might be overwhelmed and destroyed, that they might just be too weak to transform the hostile culture. And so Paul reminds them,

But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself (Phil 3:20-21, NRSV).

Yes, their citizenship is in heaven. But Paul is not saying, Hold on, you’ll be out of here soon and escape to heaven. Not at all. Paul is reminding the colonists that, because they are citizens of heaven, they have all the resources of heaven at their disposal to fulfill their mission to claim Philippi for their Lord Jesus Christ. And one day Jesus Christ himself will come from heaven to Philippi to vindicate his colonists, to crush the opposition, and to reign supreme in their midst. He has the power to subject all things to himself and to glorify and transform the colonists into his likeness.

In this knowledge and assurance, the colonists – the joy and crown of the apostle – are to stand firm in the Lord.

Well, you see where all this is going, don’t you? All we have to do – and in fact we need to do it – is to change the salutation of Paul’s letter a bit.

Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus,
To all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Knoxville,
with the bishops and deacons:
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Knoxville is a domain of the powers and principalities of the present evil age where money, sex, and power are hailed as lords. But, in this city, God has established the church, a colony of heaven, where Jesus is hailed as Lord. And what are we colonists to do? We are to bring Christ’s presence into the midst of this dark realm. We are to transform it. We are to claim it for heaven, claim it for the Lord Jesus Christ, until all its citizens claim Jesus Christ – and not any modern Caesar – as Lord and God. We few, we sisters and brothers in the church, are citizens of heaven, yes, and we pray and work not that we might escape this world and go to heaven, but that heaven might come here among us. As our Savior Christ has taught us 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.

In this little outpost of heaven on earth, we are not called to innovate, but to imitate the cross-shaped life of our Lord. We are called to empty ourselves of self for the glory of being filled with Christ. We are called to leave the “Green Zone” of the sanctuary and enter the hostile environment where the enemies of the cross need desperately to hear the good news of the cross – where they need to see it lived out by the church. We are called to proclaim in every way possible that Jesus is Lord. And we are called to live in expectation of the arrival of our Lord, the Lord of heaven and earth. Of course, we have to work all of this out, to see what it means for us in this place in this time. This place isn’t Philippi. This time isn’t 50 A.D. But not so much has changed, really. And so Paul’s closing words to Philippi might just as well be to us – they are to us.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Phil 4:4-7, NRSV).

Amen.

Sermon: 1 Lent (21 Feb 2010)

Following is a reprint -- not previously posted to this site -- of the sermon for 1 Lent 2007, based upon the same texts as 1 Lent 2010.

Lent 1: 25 February 2007
(Deuteronomy 26:1-11/Psalm 91/Romans 10:8b-13/Luke 4:1-13)
But By Every Word

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

On this first Sunday in Lent, the gospel lesson provides us with a host of obvious Lenten themes from which to choose. There is the forty-day temptation of Jesus, which provides the basis for our forty-day observance of Lent. We could talk about the significance of that number forty: Moses spending forty-days before Yahweh on Sinai receiving the first set of stone tablets and another forty days when receiving the second set, or the twelve spies scouting out the promised land forty days, or Israel wandering in the wilderness forty years. Then there is the issue of the wilderness itself. We could talk about the wilderness experiences of God’s people – not just the forty years following the failure to trust God, but the captivity and deportation to Assyria and Babylonia and the continued wilderness experience of pagan domination under Syria and Greece and Rome. There is also the theme of fasting and its companion, prayer. We could investigate the significance of fasting under both covenants and consider both Jewish and early Christian practices. There is the temptation itself. We could think about Lent as the time for struggling against those temptations that plague and often defeat us, as the time for strengthening ourselves with spiritual disciplines to overcome those temptations, and as the time for self-examination and sincere repentance over the times we have failed. Time, wilderness, fasting and prayer, self-examination, spiritual disciplines, repentance: all these Lenten themes are suggested by the gospel lesson.

But this event in Jesus’s life – the temptation experience – occurred long before Lent was an observance of the church. The writing of the Gospels occurred long before. So, while we may now look on this passage as a Lenten text, it certainly wasn’t that when it happened or when it was recorded. No, there’s something much deeper, much more significant in this event – and still something that captures important Lenten themes.

Imagine having tickets to a new Broadway play – a mystery in three acts. On the way to the theater your taxi gets caught in a hopelessly snarled traffic jam. You’re now late – very late. In fact you arrive just as the second act begins. You take your seat, and, while you might enjoy the wonderful acting and staging and just the excitement of the theater itself, you are lost in the story line, confused about the significance of certain events. You don’t have the background of the first act to make sense of the play. The temptation is just this – the second act of a three-act play. Unless we understand the first act we’ll be lost during the second, and the third act won’t have its intended impact on us either. So, we must put the temptation of Jesus in its proper context. How does it fit in the play?

The title of the play is Identity and the three acts are Baptism, Temptation, and Mission. I’ll give a synopsis of the play here and then we’ll flesh it out in more detail as we go.

Act I: Baptism
In Act I the identity of the protagonist – Jesus – is established.

Act II: Temptation
In Act II the identity of the protagonist is questioned and confirmed.

Act III: Mission
In Act III the identity of the protagonist is proclaimed and lived out in mission.

Now, in more detail.

Act I: Baptism
It is the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius. Pontius Pilate is governor of Judea, Herod the ruler of Galilee, and Annas and Caiaphas the Jewish high priests. The word of the Lord comes to John, son of Zechariah:

Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Fill every valley and level every mountain.
Straighten the crooked way and make the rough way smooth.
Point all flesh to the salvation of God.

In response, John emerges from the wilderness and comes to the Jordan preaching repentance and baptizing in acknowledgement of it. His cousin comes to him – Jesus from the town of Nazareth – comes to be baptized. By the power of the Holy Spirit John recognizes that there is more to Jesus than it seems – that he is the Holy One of Israel, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Reluctantly, John baptizes Jesus. And then it happens. The heavens are opened, the Holy Spirit descends in bodily form like a dove on this Jesus, and the voice of God from heaven shatters the noise of the crowds to proclaim, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” In Act I the identity of the protagonist is established – not created, just revealed to us and to the world. From before time, Jesus is the Son, the Beloved, and beyond time will remain the Son. But now we know it! And now Jesus has heard God verify and honor his identity before the watching world. God has spoken the word of identity over him. God has spoken and has established his identity.

Act II: Temptation
A moment passes, or a day – the time is unclear. But soon enough the Holy Spirit leads – throws – Jesus into the wilderness. There he dedicates himself to God and to his will with prayer and fasting as many have done before. Forty days he remains. Then comes the tempter: If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread. Surely, the Son of God does not go hungry. Surely, the Son of God has power to provide for his basic needs. Surely, it is a small thing for the Son of God to change a stone to bread. Do it. Change this stone to bread. Prove that you are the Son of God, the Beloved. In Act II the identity of the protagonist is questioned. And it is confirmed. Jesus answers the tempter: ‘It is written, “One does not live by bread alone”’ (Luke 4:4, NRSV). This is the Son’s response according to Luke; but, Matthew, in a more complete telling adds, “but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Mt 4:4b, NRSV).

“One does not live by bread alone,
but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Mt 4:4, NRSV).

And what is the most recent word that has come from the mouth of God, the word that sustains Jesus in the wilderness, the word by which he vanquishes the tempter? Both Luke and Matthew tell us: “You are my Son, the Beloved. With you I am well pleased.” It is that word of God spoken by God over Jesus at his baptism, that word which established Jesus’s identity. If you are the Son of God, the tempter hisses in the wilderness. You are my Son, the Beloved, God thunders from heaven. One does not live by bread alone, but by every word – by this word of identity – that comes from the mouth of God. In Act II the identity of the protagonist is questioned. And it is confirmed by the very word of God.

Act III: Mission
Then Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit returns to Galilee and begins to teach in their synagogues. Soon he comes to Nazareth, his hometown, where he is invited to speak on the Sabbath day. Standing before his family and friends, he takes the scroll – the scroll of the prophet Isaiah – finds the passage he wants, and reads.

‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour’ (Luke 4:18-19, NRSV).

He rolls up the scroll, hands it to the attendant, and sits down to teach: “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” Who could dare say this, who could dare claim the filling of the Spirit, who could dare pronounce himself the anointed, other than the one over whom God has spoken the word of identity? You are my Son, the Beloved. With you I am well pleased. In Act III the identity of the protagonist is proclaimed and lived out. The mission begins – and all on the basis of the word spoken over him, the word validated by him, the word of identity. All in all, a very good play.

But there’s a twist to the play analogy: we are not in the audience, we are on the stage – as many of us as have been baptized into Christ are actors. We are in our own three-act play, the same three acts: Baptism, Temptation, Mission. In Lent we may focus on Act II, Temptation, and, in our case, repentance. But this act only makes sense in context of Act I, Baptism, and it must lead to Act III, Mission.

Act I: Baptism
You come to the water, perhaps as an adult, perhaps carried as an infant. Little matter – what happens next is all gift, all grace anyway and eight days or eighty years you must receive it as gift and grace. You are immersed or sprinkled or in some other way washed in this water of regeneration and a word is spoken over you by the church: Servant of God – and here your name is called – you are baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. But the church is not the only one who speaks a word over you. God himself breaks the silence to proclaim: You are my child, my beloved. In you I am well pleased. And as difficult as that may be to understand, to embrace in heart and mind, it is nevertheless true, attested time and again in Scripture.

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).

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ (Rom 8:14-17a, NRSV).

To all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God (John 1:12-13, NRSV).

In Act I God speaks and establishes your identity; by his very word – a word that has power to create what it speaks – you are created anew as his beloved child in whom he is well pleased. No matter who or what you were before, you are that no longer.

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. 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 6:9-11, NRSV).

You were washed, your were sanctified, you were justified as God spoke over you the word: You are my child, my beloved. In you I am well pleased. This is who you are. In baptism, through the washing and the word, God established your identity as his child – established it by the word that proceeds from his mouth.

But, there is an Act II: Temptation. In Act II your new identity is questioned, challenged by the tempter. If you are God’s child…these words are the leitmotif – the repeated refrain – of Act II. The tempter’s goal is clear: to get you to doubt your identity as a child of God. The next step is to doubt God himself.

If you are God’s child, the tempter hisses, why do you feel so ordinary?
If you are God’s child, why does God seem so distant?
If you are God’s child, why do you struggle so with sin and why does it so easily defeat you?
If you are God’s child why is your heart so downcast within you?
If you are God’s child why is your marriage not more blissful?
If you are God’s child why are your children so hard to manage?
If you are God’s child…
If you are God’s child…

It is an easy step – so hopes the tempter – from If you are God’s child, to You can’t be God’s child.

You can’t be God’s child when you’re so ordinary.
You can’t be God’s child when you struggle so with sin and when it so easily defeats you.
You can’t be God’s child when your marriage is troubled and your children are rebellious.
You can’t be God’s child…
You can’t be God’s child…

And so on, the voice whispers. It is then more than ever that we must remember the word spoken over us by God in our baptism. You are my child, my beloved. With you I am well pleased. We do not – we dare not – live by bread alone, by our feelings, our understanding, our circumstances, our failures alone. No. We live by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God – the very word of truth, the very word with power to create what it speaks. We are the children of God because God has spoken his word over us. We are the children of God because God in his grace chose us and made us his own. We are the children of God because God has the power to make it so. Yes, our identity will be questioned in Act II. But it can also be confirmed by remembering the word spoken, by listening in the Spirit for the word continually spoken: You are my child, my beloved. With you I am well pleased. The Lenten experience is one of listening for this word in the midst of temptation.

In Act II the tempter challenges Jesus’s identity and offers him an agenda by which to prove it. If you are the Son of God change this stone to bread, jump from this pinnacle, bow down and worship me. It is no different with us. The tempter would like nothing better than to set the agenda for the church – for God’s children. Even better than destroying the church is making it inconsequential, making it simply one social club or civic group among many. Let it do its good deeds. Let it play at worship. Just never let it seize upon its true agenda, its true mission. That’s why there must be an Act III: Mission. It is not the tempter, it is not the world, it is not even the children of God who defines our mission. No. Our mission is spoken over us by God in our baptism, in our temptation: You are my child, my beloved. With you I am well pleased.

My Spirit is upon you.
I have anointed you to bring good news –Gospel! – to the poor.
I have sent you to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

We are the image bearers of Christ. We are the heralds of the kingdom. We are the firstfruits of his victory and we are his continuing presence in this world. Our mission is nothing more or less than to live into the reality of our identity as the children of God and to proclaim the glory of our Father, to whom be praise now and for ever. Amen.

So, rather than just the Lenten themes of prayer and fasting, almsgiving, scriptural reflection – as fitting and important as they are -- let’s seek even more fundamental themes: our identity as the beloved children of God through the power of God’s word spoken over us in our baptism; the power of that word to confirm our identity even in the midst of temptation; and the kingdom agenda that flows from our identity.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. But remember also that you are God’s child, his beloved, with whom God is well pleased.

Amen.