It’s Not A Birth Until There’s Breath (05/11/08)

THE DAY OF PENTECOST:

It’s Not A Birth Until There’s Breath

(Acts 2:1-21; I Corinthians 12:3-13; John 20:19-23)

To the Moms in attendance here this morning: Happy Mother’s Day!  Of course I’m not a mother.  But do you remember those commercials on television a few years back?  The actor/spokesman would begin by saying, “I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV.”  Well, as I said, I’m not a mother, but I was there when my wife Jeanette became one….  Now before you go thinking the wrong thing, I’m just talking about being in the delivery room here!

It was June of 1987.  Jeanette and I had been married for nearly seven years at that point and our parents (especially mine) were anxiously looking for grandchildren from us.  Especially what would be, in my parent’s case, their first grandchild.  But we had decided to wait until I had finished seminary, and more importantly had received a call.  In other words, making some money!

So there we were living in rural Kentucky when Jeanette got pregnant.  I still remember those days, just like they were yesterday.  I remember the bouts of morning sickness which afflicted Jeanette at any and all hours of the day and night.  I remember how, when it got really bad, the only thing she could keep down in her stomach was McDonald’s hamburgers and french fries…  Of course, being the ever dutiful husband, I would volunteer to make a Mickey D’s run whenever she needed one.  And I also remember that, the next time we went to her doctor for a check-up, Jeanette had gained 10 pounds, but I had gained 20!

I also remember the day that Jeanette informed me that her feet had disappeared, and I got all concerned until I realized that what she meant was that she couldn’t see them anymore.  And I remember the fashion-challenged maternity clothes, the back aches and swollen legs, her being constantly tired – as if some kind of parasite was growing inside of her and sucking every ounce of energy and nourishment out of her, which, in a manner of speaking, was what was actually happening, I guess.

I remember the mood swings, and the lack of patience, and, as her due date neared, the desire for it all to just be finally over with!  And, most of all, I remember thinking that I was glad it wasn’t me!  As my mother-in-law likes to say, and I wholeheartedly agree, “If men had to have the babies, there wouldn’t be any more children in this world.”  So my hat’s off to you, Moms, you deserve it!

Well, getting back to our own first experience with motherhood, I was serving two small congregations at that time, one in town and the other out in the country.  The town church had the early service on Sunday mornings so that the country church could then have the late service, which would allow the dairy farmers in the congregation (of which there were several) to get their milking done before going to church.

On this particular morning there had been a baptism at the late service (the little boy’s name was Adam Weiss), and afterwards his grandmother had invited us, along with the family, over to her house for dinner.  We then had an enjoyable time visiting with the Weiss clan, and when Jeanette I returned home later that afternoon we both laid down for naps, Jeanette upstairs in our bedroom, and me downstairs on the couch.

I remember that I was pretty tired and quickly fell into a rather deep sleep.  But then, suddenly, at one point I was awakened by a “thud” from upstairs, which my mind quickly concluded (even in its groggy state) was the sound of feet hitting the floor.  The thud was then quickly followed by frantic footsteps running across the second story of the parsonage in the direction of the bathroom.  Obviously it was Jeanette.  And I remember thinking to myself, “Boy she hasn’t moved that fast in, oh… about nine months now.”

Then it suddenly hit me.  Nine months?  Holy cow, this is it!  The baby is here!  And I ran up the stairs, taking three at a time, and found Jeanette in the bathroom.  “I think my water broke,” she said.  In retrospect, what other explanation could there have been.  But being first-timers at this, we still called the hospital anyway, and after listening to Jeanette’s description of what had just taken place, they told us to come on in.

Now we had taken the “healthy pregnancy” course over at the hospital, and we had our checklist ready and our bags packed, so to speak.  But I was running around mindlessly in a hundred different directions until Jeanette finally grabbed me by the arm, squeezed it, and said, “The contractions are coming closer now – GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL!”

So I did.  And just about an hour later, on June 28, 1987, a little after eight o’clock in the evening, Kristyn Marie Kropa was born.  For a small, rural, community hospital they were actually pretty advanced and sophisticated.  Labor and delivery both took place in what they called a “birthing room” which was decorated to look like your own bedroom at home, complete with tables and dressers and lamps and even a rocking chair.

And there were plenty of nurses available, as well.  One of them actually took our camera and snapped picture while I got to cut the umbilical cord and then gently place Kristyn in a warm LeBoyer bath.

But the moment I will always remember the most, the moment I will always cherish, the moment when it all suddenly became a reality for me, was when Kristyn took her first breaths… and then started to cry, that telltale bleat or whimper of a newborn.

Up until that very moment, you see, there were nine months of development and preparation and anticipation and excitement, but until she took those first breaths it was all just “potential” – that is to say, everything necessary for life was in place and had taken place – but only then was all that potential turned into reality. Only when our daughter took her first few breaths outside the womb was there a birth… of course, to be technical, a live birth.

You see, already at that point, early in my ministry, I had sat and listened as a parishioner painfully described for me (many years after it had taken place) how, during her first pregnancy, she had carried the baby to full term.  But then just a few days before she was due, she noticed that the baby had stopped moving and kicking inside of her.  And when she finally went into labor, sadly, her baby was stillborn.  In other words, there was no breath; no cries or whimpers; no life.  And the pain and the anguish she had felt at that moment had not dissipated very much in the three plus decades since.

That, of course, is both the mystery and the miracle of birth.  It’s not a birth, a live birth, until there’s breath.

I remember when Jeanette and I went through that healthy pregnancy course over at the hospital, the nurse who was leading it walked all of us expecting couples through the science of conception, and pregnancy, and birth, and so forth.  But a number of times during her presentations over those weeks she would say, in effect, “We know what happens here, at this stage in the baby’s development, but we don’t know exactly how it happens.”

And I remember thinking to myself, at the time, that with all of our sophisticated techniques, diagnostic equipment, and medical know-how, we still don’t fully understand, nor can we adequately explain, the miracle of birth and life.  Wonderfully (in my mind at least), there is still a degree of mystery.  To date, God has not fully divulged all the secrets of life to us, and, personally, I kind of like that…

But also, in over twenty years as a parish pastor, I have been there at the end of life as well; when the pulse and heart rate slow, and the breathing becomes weak and shallow, and then finally ceases.  One moment there is life… and breath, and in the very next moment, in a split second, that precious gift of life has suddenly slipped away.  And the only thing really missing was breath… the gentle rising and falling of the chest, the inhaling and exhaling of the lungs.  So if, in a real sense, life truly begins with that first breath, then it is also true that life ends with that final breath.  And then all those breaths in between, all the mysteries and miracles of what we call life, are a gift from God.

Well, believe it or not, it’s exactly the same in the church.  In today’s gospel, we heard that on Easter evening Jesus came and stood among his disciples.  At this point they were but a small and fearful group, huddled together behind locked doors.  But Jesus greeted them with the words, “Peace be with you.”  After he said this, he showed them the wounds in his hands and side so they would know that it was truly him.  Again, he said, “Peace be with you,” this time adding, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

It was the first hint of that important mission he was about to give them, and to all who would follow after them.

And then he did something interesting.  He breathed on them, says today’s Gospel, and as he did so he said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

Now what’s so interesting here, fascinating really, is that in the biblical languages – both Hebrew and Greek – the words for “breath” and “spirit” are actually one in the same, and are often even used interchangeably.  So, biblically speaking at least, it only stands to reason that they would receive the Holy Spirit in this manner; by actually receiving “breath” itself from the mouth of God’s Son.

In fact, the same words can also be translated as “wind” or breeze” as well. For instance, in the very first verses of the Bible, in the book of Genesis, where it says, “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep,” the next phrase, depending on the version you’re looking at, of course, is translated differently.  Most versions of the Bible say, “and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters.”  But the NRSV, the New Revised Standard Version (which is the one we primarily use in the Lutheran church) says, “while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.”  Again, “Spirit” and “wind” and “breath” are all variations of the same root word and mean essentially the very same thing…

However, the disciples, as we know, weren’t necessarily the most clever or observant fellows on the block.  So, maybe, that’s why there had to be another, more dramatic, reception of the Holy Spirit; one that was sure to “get their attention.”

Therefore, in a different version of the story, the one recorded in the book of Acts, Jesus, just before his ascension, ordered the disciples to stay and wait in Jerusalem until “the promise of the Father” was fulfilled.  And then Jesus explained this by saying to them, “…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”  Which, then, sets the stage for our first reading this morning…

It’s ten days after Jesus promised them the gift and the power of the Holy Spirit.  The disciples are once again together, this time in the same house getting ready to observe the day of Pentecost, which occurred seven weeks after the Passover and in Jewish tradition celebrated the giving of the Law.

Suddenly, however, there came a sound like the rush of a mighty, or violent, wind and it filled the entire house, we are told.  And in that very same moment the disciples were also filled with the Holy Spirit.  That is, the Holy Wind blew into their midst and gave them life.

Because immediately the disciples went out and were able to witness to the good news of Jesus Christ and to God’s deeds of power in a way that they never had before – especially by having the ability to speak that day to everyone in the crowd in each person’s native tongue.  It was in that very same moment that the disciples began to fulfill the vision and the mission Jesus had given to them; to be his witnesses… and to go out into the world making disciples of all nations.

In fact, it was in that very same moment that, we look back now and say, the Christian Church was actually born. It was in that moment when those first followers received the Holy Spirit, as that violent wind blew through their house, that they, too, received the breath of life.

In other words, just as it is at the arrival of a newborn baby, it’s not a birth until there’s breath…

The Rev. Robert Two Bulls, is an Episcopal priest and also a Lakota Indian, who lives and works in Los Angeles, California.

At one point, he was given a 1901 edition of the New Testament in the Dakota language; translated from the original Greek.

He writes about spending many hours pouring over the text, taking key words and translating then into English as well as comparing them to the original Greek.  “When the title, ‘The Holy Spirit,’” he notes, “was translated into the Lakota language, the translator, with the help of knowledgeable elders, came up with the words Woniya Wakan. The English translation for Woniya is ‘breath.’  When broken down further, niya means ‘to breathe,’ and wo, a prefix, signifies that the action is accomplished by blowing.  Woniya, then, is life, or that first breath we take when we come out of our mother’s womb.  Wakan means sacred, holy, or something incomprehensible having or giving, which means having an endowed spiritual power.  My mind can get around and understand the meaning of the Holy Spirit,” he writes, “perhaps just like my ancestors, who converted to Christianity, did.  The Word was spoken and the sacred breath of God came upon them and they had new life.”

That’s what took place on the Day of Pentecost.  The Holy Spirit, the breath of life, literally blew into the lives of a ragtag group of frightened disciples like a mighty wind, and gave them the power and the boldness to become witnesses of Jesus Christ to the ends of the earth.  With the gift of the Holy Spirit, they were indeed “born again,” born a second time – this time outside their mother’s womb.  With the gift of the Holy Spirit they had new life, and they now lived and breathed on their own.

Their time with Jesus was sort of like being in the womb, you might say.  They were attached to him as closely as a human fetus is attached to its mother by the umbilical cord.  In other words, up until this point they couldn’t really live or do anything by themselves, or on their own.  And the Gospels are certainly full of examples proving that this was the case.

But then Jesus left them, their resurrected Lord had rejoined the Father, and that cord had been cut.  However, he had not abandoned them for now, on Pentecost, they had received the Holy Spirit, they had received the breath of life, and, what’s more… they could actually begin to breathe on their own. And, as we heard, with the very first breaths out of their mouths they began to testify to God’s deeds of power, especially those in and through Jesus Christ.

Before this, before the Holy Spirit, they could only remain huddled together in an upstairs room (which interestingly enough rhymes with womb, for that is exactly, again, what it was for them).  They had neither the power, nor the boldness, nor the inclination to go out into the world to do anything, let alone proclaim the gospel as Jesus had assured them they would.  At this point, just like a baby still in the womb, they were all about “potential,” but not yet a “reality.”  Again… it’s not a birth until there’s breath.

But then, on Pentecost of course, that potential turned into reality. Everything necessary for their life as the church was in place, and had taken place.  For two whole years, remember, they had walked with Jesus and had absorbed his teachings; learning at the feet of the master, as they say.  It was the “gestational” period, if you will, for the church.  But only when the Holy Spirit, the Holy Wind, the Holy Breath had come upon them was there a birth; the birth of the church.

And the church, even today, cannot exist apart from the Holy Spirit, the breath of life.  For when the church loses the Holy Spirit, when the church – any church – ignores, or turns away from  the power of the Spirit working in their midst, calling them to be witnesses of the Lord Jesus Christ, and sending them out into the world to make disciples, then that church ceases to be the church.  It is, in fact, spiritually dead.  There is no more life, no more breath.

In spite of all of our sophisticated theologies and practical know-how, the fact remains that the life of the church is also a mystery and a miracle.  And apart from God, apart from the Holy Spirit, there can be no church.

Now some would say that many of the churches in our day are already spiritually dead.  Or at least close to it.  The mainline denominations, including the Lutheran Church, are certainly declining in numbers, and apparently in passion and energy as well.  Their pulse and heart rate are dangerously low.  Their breathing seem shallow and labored.

So some of these same people would also say that what we need today is a “Second Reformation” to recover our past and our purpose in order to turn things around.  But after studying today’s lessons, however, I’m not so sure.  I’m not so sure that a Second Reformation is enough.  What we really need, perhaps, is a second Pentecost. Because without the Holy Spirit, the breath of life, there is no church.  Nor can there ever be one …

Amen

 

Beware of “Eyes in the Skies” (05/04/08)

Beware of “Eyes in the Skies”

(Acts 1:6-14; 1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11; John 17:1-11)

At the beginning of this current academic year, a woman by the name of Wendy Gonaver was offered a job teaching American studies out at Cal State Fullerton. And she was even more excited about having the opportunity to talk about one of her favorite themes: (that being) protecting constitutional freedoms.

But the day before the class was scheduled to begin, her appointment as a university lecturer ended rather abruptly, and ironically over the very kind of issue she undoubtedly would have discussed in her course. You see, she lost her job, reported the

Los Angeles Times just the other day, because she declined to sign a “loyalty oath” swearing to “defend” the U.S. and California constitutions “against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” The oath in question dates back to 1952 and the height of the Cold War, and was added to the California state constitution to root out “communists in public office.”

Now, at first glance, the taking of such an oath certainly seems rather harmless – especially for a patriotic citizen. But here’s the problem. Wendy Gonaver is a Quaker and a lifelong pacifist. That means her religious faith and beliefs prohibit her from taking up arms for any cause or reason.

Consequently, she offered to sign the pledge if she could simply attach a brief statement expressing her personal views, including her commitment to non-violence; a practice apparently allowed by other state institutions, by the way. But Cal State Fullerton, which has a stricter interpretation of the law, rejected her offer, and insisted that she would have to sign the oath if she wanted the job. Needless to say, Wendy Gonaver did not teach at Cal State Fullerton this year, although she is still hopeful that California’s loyalty oath will either be eliminated or at least modified.

How do you feel about “loyalty oaths”? If you’re like me, you’ve probably never even thought much about them.

Furthermore, are you even aware that this past Thursday was actually a legal holiday here in the United States? Not many people are – I certainly wasn’t. And almost nobody observes it.

But May 1 is actually “Loyalty Day” in this country; a day set aside by an act of Congress on July 18, 1958 for the reaffirmation of loyalty to the United States and for the recognition of the heritage of American freedom. Much like California’s oath, Loyalty Day here in the U.S. dates back to that era of the Cold War with the Soviet Union.

However, the obvious question to be posed, and the question I want to explore with you a little bit this morning, is simply this: What is the relationship between our loyalty to country (any country), and our loyalty to God; in other words, between faith and patriotism?

Interestingly enough May 1, this year, was also another holiday: “Yom HaShoah,” or as it’s more commonly known “Holocaust Remembrance Day.” It is observed as a day of commemoration for the approximately six million Jews who perished during the Holocaust during World War II; a program of intentional genocide, also known as the “final solution,” that was perpetrated by the Nazi government of Adolf Hitler.

Now, again at first glance, you might not think that there is any connection between these two holidays. After all, what possible connection might there be between a nation’s “Loyalty Day” and the Holocaust?

But what we have to remember here is that Adolf Hitler and his Nazi party rose to power in Germany; a Christian nation, and as we also sadly know, largely a Lutheran nation as well. That is to say, during the 1930’s in that country, largely inhabited as it was by Lutheran Christians, a demonic leader and government came to power; a government which tried to exterminate the Jewish people and which ultimately thrust the entire world into a global war.

And tragically they were able to do such horrific things, in large part, because Christians in Germany, including Lutheran Christians, valued their patriotism over their faith. In other words, they allowed their loyalty to country to take precedence over their loyalty to God. In fact, on April 20, 1938 the official Reich Church government actually decreed that, as a birthday gift for Hitler after the invasion of Austria, all pastors should take a personal oath of allegiance (in other words a loyalty oath) to Adolf Hitler.

Already by this time there was the so-called Confessing Church made up of those who were attempting to the resist the process of (quote unquote) “nazification,” and initially these pastors refused. But then, during the course of that following summer, almost all of these pastors took this oath on the grounds that such an oath was not forbidden if the State (i.e. the government) required it.

In other words, their loyalty to the State was ultimately deemed more important, and thus more binding, than even their ordination vows. And, as such, their behavior offers a “cautionary tale” to all others, including us, who may be tempted at times to put their own sense of patriotism above their faith…

How, you might well ask, did the Christians living in Germany at that time, including those who were Lutheran, and also including some of the greatest theological minds of that period, ever make such a tragic mistake, and have such a glaring lapse in judgment? Clearly, there isn’t enough time this morning for me to give you a detailed answer to that question, but it’s fair to say that, in the aftermath of Germany’s defeat in World War I, the heavy war reparations they were then required to pay by the Allies, the resulting economic depression and political upheaval throughout their society, and the perceived weakness and ineffectiveness of their government, many people in Germany – including Christians and intellectuals – longed for a strong leader who would restore law and order, and more importantly would restore German pride.

There existed, you see, a very powerful sense of the German volk, or “people”, although the word “people” doesn’t really do justice to what they meant by that term. It meant much more than the people, themselves. Instead, it included their sense of national pride and tradition, as well as their sense of national destiny. And it was these very feelings that Hitler was able to tap into, and manipulate, and then use to facilitate his rise to power.

Now, certainly, there were those in the church who understood immediately what Hitler was up to and recognized the evil that was at work in their midst. Theological giants such as Karl Barth, Paul Tillich, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer were among the first who publicly opposed the new Nazi regime. But Barth and Tillich were both forced to leave Germany because of their views, and Bonhoeffer, who stayed, was eventually arrested, tried, and executed for taking his opposition to the next level, having become involved in a failed plot to assassinate Hitler.

But these men – and this is critical – were the exception, not the rule. Instead, there were actually learned and cultured men and women, including gifted and renowned scholars, who actively supported Hitler and the Nazis, sometimes even becoming willing party members themselves. However, their stories are far less well known – and for obvious reasons!

Two weeks ago, long before I ever sat down and started to think about this morning’s sermon, I visited the Cokesbury Christian bookstore with a 25% gift certificate in one hand and gift money from my recent birthday in the other. And among the stacks, I noticed a book I’ve been interested in reading for years now. Written by Robert P. Ericksen, currently the Kurtis R. Mayer Professor of Holocaust Studies at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, Washington, the book is entitled Theologians Under Hitler. In it, Professor Ericksen tells the story of three well-respected scholars who incredibly saw no problem, whatsoever, in being faithful Christians and active supporters of the Nazi regime at the very same time.

Gerhard Kittel, one of the three, was the editor of the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, or TDNT for short, which even today is still the standard reference work in its field. In fact, he continues to be so linked to this work that often it’s simply referred to as “Kittel.”

The son of a Hebrew-scholar, whose own early career was spent befriending the Jews, he later changed his mind stating that his love was actually for biblical Judaism, not the contemporary Jewish community. Kittel eventually came to believe that the Jews were a problem in Germany and the source of many of his country’s woes. In a lecture entitled “The Jewish Problem,” he advocated the removal of Jews from their employment, especially in the universities, the government, and the press, and also their complete separation from the rest of society. It’s no wonder, then, that he made many friends among the Nazis, or that, because of his reputation as a scholar, his writings gave legitimacy to the Nazi agenda. Kittel once wrote, unapologetically:

We must not allow ourselves to be crippled because the whole

world screams at us of barbarism… How the German volk

regulates its own cultural affairs does not concern anyone

else in the world.

A second of these theologians, Paul Althaus, was a renowned Luther scholar. One of his books The Theology of Martin Luther was required reading during my seminary days and still sits on a bookshelf in my office. But, unbelievably, Althaus, someone so familiar with Luther’s Christ-centered theology, greeted Hitler’s rise to power in 1933 by observing, “Our Protestant churches have greeted the turning point of 1933 as a gift and miracle of God.”

He also wrote, “So we take the turning point of this year as grace from God’s hand. He has saved us from the abyss and out of hopelessness. He has given us – or so we hope – a new day of life.”

The third of these theologians under Hitler was Emmanuel Hirsch. It has been noted that “Colleagues and students of Hirsch… spoke with wide-eyed amazement about his brilliance, his linguistic proficiency and his prodigious memory.”

At the very center of Hirsch’s theology was that concept of the German volk which was even more important to him than democracy. (Moreover) “There is absolutely no contradiction to make it difficult as a German to be a Christian or as a Christian to be a German,” he insisted. In fact, Hirsch, just like Althaus, greeted Hitler’s rise to power with great enthusiasm, referring to it as a “sunrise of divine goodness.”

How foolhardy and dead wrong these three world-renowned scholars turned out to be! How tragically flawed were the positions and conclusions drawn by these brilliant minds! How un-Christian did these well-respected Christian leaders turn out to be in the end! Again, how was such a thing even possible?

Well, besides being Loyalty Day here in the United States, and Holocaust Remembrance Day throughout the world, May 1 was also, as you may know, Ascension Day, the church holiday that celebrates Christ’s ascension to heaven; an event described for us in our first reading. But what I want to call your attention to this morning are verses ten and eleven.

As Jesus was being lifted up, says Acts, the disciples “were gazing up toward heaven.” But suddenly two men in white robes stood among them and said, “…why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”

Now, perhaps, these words can be taken in several different ways. But for our purposes here this morning, I would contend that what these angels were reminding the disciples is that they dare not keep their “eyes in the skies” while their feet are still planted firmly on the ground. In other words, their faith should not distract them from the realities and the concerns and the problems and the challenges of this world. Rather, it is precisely their faith in Christ, and soon the power of the Holy Spirit, which will actually guide and inspire them as they live out their daily lives.

One of the problems, perhaps, of the German Church during the 1930’s was that there was just such a “disconnect” between their faith and everyday lives. With their “eyes in the skies” they were able to ignore, or overlook, the evil that was taking place in their midst. With their “eyes in the skies” they didn’t realize that there could be a serious conflict between their commitment to their country and their commitment to their faith; between their loyalty to their government and their loyalty to God.

In today’s gospel, Jesus prays to his Father, “And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God….” That is to say, our future and our ultimate salvation are not to be found in a nation, or a leader, or even a form of government, but only in God, and in the Son whom he has sent. Moreover, at the conclusion of today’s gospel, Jesus further prays, “And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world… Holy Father, protect them in your name…”

Finally, our second reading this morning from 1 Peter warns all Christians, of every time and place, that: “Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour.” Blinded by their sense of patriotism and their commitment to their country, the German people – including German Christians, even Lutheran Christians – did not recognize the evil that was Adolf Hitler and the Nazi regime. And as a result, they were unable, as 1 Peter exhorts, to “Resist (the devil), steadfast in your faith…”

There was another German Lutheran pastor of note to come out of the Nazi era. His name was Martin Niemoller. Originally, Niemoller apparently shared the anti-Semitism of Kittel, Althaus, Hirsch, and many others in Germany at that time. In a sermon from 1935, Niemoller reportedly asked: “What is the reason for (their) obvious punishment which has lasted for thousands of years? Dear brethren, the reason is easily given: the Jews brought the Christ of God to the cross!”

However, unlike Kittel, Althaus, and Hirsch, Niemoller eventually reconsidered and then repented of this earlier position, and began to actively oppose the Nazis. He was arrested in 1937 and then imprisoned in concentration camps until the end of the Second World War in 1945. But Niemoller later realized that his opposition came too late. As he wrote in his famous poem:

First they came for the communists,

but I was not a communist, so I did not speak out.

Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists,

but I was neither, so I did not speak out.

Then they came for the Jews,

but I was not a Jew, so I did not speak out.

And when they came for me,

there was no one left to speak out…

But Pastor Ed, you may be thinking to yourselves at this point, what does all this possibly have to do with us; with Americans living in the year 2008 and so far removed from the Nazi era? In answer to that question I simply offer you a few lines from the final paragraph in Professor Ericksen’s book Theologians Under Hitler where he considers whether or not such a thing could ever happen again, such as in our own time.

The scenario to fear… (he writes), is one in which a combination of crises makes life difficult: a lost war, economic collapse, shortage of oil, shortage of food… Then we will hear calls for toughness, for law and order, for national unity. We will be tempted to sacrifice some democratic principles and civil rights for national wellbeing. In short, the crisis will begin to resemble that of (Germany in the 1920’s).

Ericksen wrote these words in 1985, long before 9/11 and the war on terrorism, and the protracted fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq. He wrote them long before gas prices began surging toward four dollars a gallon at the pumps, before growing concerns about illegal aliens crossing our borders, and before global food shortages. He wrote them before the “Patriot Act,” and concerns being raised over the interrogation methods being used on suspected terrorists, and the possible misuse of domestic spying by telecommunications companies working at the behest of our government…

Now I am not The Reverend Jeremiah Wright, Barack Obama’s former pastor. I love this country and I still believe that the United States is the greatest nation on the face of the earth. But I am not so blind or naïve as to think that we are infallible. I am not so blind or naïve as to think that what happened in Nazi Germany could never happen here. I am not so blind or naïve that I do not realize that there is a distinct difference between my loyalty to my country, that is my patriotism – and my loyalty to God, or my faith.

As some of our recent scriptures have reminded us, as Christians we live as “resident aliens” on this earth. Our true home is with God, and our citizenship is in heaven. And that is precisely where our ultimate faith and allegiance must also be found.

The problem may well have been that, in the 1930’s, people saw themselves primarily as “German Christians,” with the accent on being German. In contrast, I prefer to see myself as a Christian who just happens to also be an American. Because my ultimate allegiance must always be to God…

Edith Cavell was a British nurse during World War I. The daughter of a pastor, her strong religious beliefs compelled her to assist all those who needed help – whether a member of the Allied forces or the German forces. “I can’t stop while there are lives to be saved,” she said.

She was also responsible for helping hundreds of Allied soldiers escape from German-occupied Belgium, and for this she was executed after her capture by the Germans. On the night before her death, she was visited by an Anglican chaplain, Father Gahan, whose church she had regularly attended in Brussels. He had been allowed to come and bring her Holy Communion. And during his visit, she said to him, “…standing as I do in view of God and eternity. I realize that patriotism is not enough; I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone.” These words are now inscribed on her statue in Saint Martin’s Place, near Trafalgar Square in London.

Patriotism is never enough. As Christians we have received a higher calling, a holy calling. And when our Christian faith comes into conflict with our patriotism, we have no other choice but to choose our faith. As Peter and John said to the authorities who ordered them to stop speaking or teaching in the name of Jesus, “Whether it is right in God’s sight to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge; for we cannot keep from speaking about what we have seen and heard.” Amen

 

Always At Our Side (04/27/08)

Always At Our Side

(John 14:15-21)

I love words!  And I agree wholeheartedly with Eddie Cantor who once said, “Words fascinate me.  For me, browsing in a dictionary is like being turned loose in a bank.”

As a pastor, of course, words are the “tools” of my trade.  So much so that the late Joseph Sittler, perhaps the preeminent American Lutheran theologian of the 20^th century, once even claimed his purchase of a dictionary as a “business expense” on his income

tax return.  This apparently occurred many years ago, when such deductions were not as common.

He had purchased the Oxford English Dictionary which had every single word in the English language, and included illustrations from English literature starting in Chaucer’s time and continuing up to the present.  As Sittler noted, “It (was) a magnificent piece of work.”  And at the time (again many years ago), it cost $300 secondhand.

Well, the Internal Revenue Service took exception to Sittler’s deduction and eventually called him downtown (he taught for many years at the University of Chicago), where a young man seated behind a desk seemed to have, wrote Sittler, “a particularly fussy interpretation of that law.”  The IRS agent challenged him, saying, “What’s this?  You bought a bunch of books costing $300.  You can’t deduct books under the meaning of that law.”

So Sittler said, “Well, why not?  If I were a plumber, you would expect me to deduct the cost of wrenches and threaders and elbows.  I’m a teacher; words are my business.  They’re the only tools I have.  And if I’m going to do it right, I’ve got to have the best dictionary I can get.”

The young man from the IRS stared back at him in astonishment.

“You know,” he conceded, “you almost sold me.”  To which Sittler replied, “Well, I want to sell you completely.”

“He grew tired of my argument, I guess,” noted Sittler, “because he finally said, ‘Get out of here.  It’s OK.’”

As Joseph Sittler well knew, words are important.  In fact, the prominent 19^th century preacher, Henry Ward Beecher once said, “All words are pegs to hang ideas on.”  And Mark Twain added, “The difference between the almost-right word and the right word is really a large matter; it’s the difference between the lightening bug and the lightning.

Ernest Hemingway further observed, “All our words from loose using have lost their edge.”  Similarly, the reformer, John Calvin, is reported to have said, “I consider looseness with words no less of a defect than looseness of the bowels.”

Obviously, in order to be effective in communicating the ideas behind them, words have to be understood.  Sometimes, however, that’s difficult, even when we’re speaking the very same language.

For instance, I came across this piece on the Internet entitled, “Words Women Use and Their Meanings”:

FINE: this is the word women use to end an argument when they’re right and you need to shut up.

FIVE MINUTES: If she is getting dressed, this is half an hour.  Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given 5 more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

NOTHING: This is the calm before the storm.  This means something, and you should be on your toes.  Arguments that begin with “Nothing” usually end in “Fine.”

GO AHEAD: This is a dare, not permission.  Don’t do it!

LOUD SIGH: This is not actually a word, but it is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men.  A “Loud Sigh” means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you over “Nothing.”

THAT’S OKAY: This is one of the most dangerous statements that a woman can make to a man.  “That’s Okay” means that she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

THANKS: When a woman uses this word, she is actually thanking you.  Do not question it… or faint.  Just say, “You’re welcome.”

But the importance of words becomes even more critical when it comes to translating them from one language to another.  Hence, these examples:

In 1972, when Standard Oil of New Jersey, then known as Esso, was looking for a new name, among the finalists were Exxon and Enco.  Just before a final decision was made, however, researchers were horrified to discover that Enco was a Japanese term that could mean “stalled car.”  Enco, therefore, was quickly dropped and Exxon ultimately became the corporation’s new name.

In a similar situation, when General Motors introduced the Chevy Nova to South America, they found that they weren’t selling any cars.  Apparently they were unaware that, in Spanish, “no va” means “it won’t go.”

Or how about when the Kentucky Fried Chicken slogan “finger-lick’n good” was translated into Chinese?  It came out as “eat your fingers off.”  Or in Taiwan, when the Pepsi slogan “Come alive with the Pepsi Generation,” came out as “Pepsi will bring your ancestors back from the dead.”

Then there was the hotel elevator in Paris where the following reminder was posted in English: “Please leave your values at the front desk.”  Or, how about the one found in a laundry in Italy: “Ladies, leave your clothes here and spend the afternoon having a good time.”  And, for men, the sign in a Bangkok, Thailand dry-cleaners announced, “Drop your trousers here for best results.”

In a Copenhagen airline ticket office there was the following announcement: “We take you bags and send them in all directions.”  And on the door of a Moscow hotel room was the following, “If this is your first visit to the USSR… you are welcome to it.”

As a company called “Transperfect” notes on their website, “Good translators know that it’s not just about translating word for word…  Accurately conveying the meaning when translating from one language to another is absolutely critical.  Depending on the subject matter, sometimes this can mean sticking closely to the source text and other times it requires a looser translation in order to best deliver the central meaning.”

Well, all of this is also, and particularly, true when translating biblical texts from their original languages.  In English, for instance, we have a single word: “love.”  And, therefore, when we say we love something, we can mean everything from chocolate ice cream, to puppy dogs, to our country, to our spouse and children, even God.

But the Greeks had at least three words for love.  First, there was Philos (PHIL-aas).  This is the love we have for dear friends and family members.  And it’s the word that John 20:2 uses in describing the disciple (you may remember) who ran with Peter

to check out the empty tomb on Easter morning: that is, “the one whom Jesus loved.”  It’s also found in the name of the Pennsylvania city, Philadelphia, or the “city of brotherly love.”  “Adelphos” being the Greek word for “brother.”

Then, there was also Eros (ER-aas) which expressed passionate love and desire.  This, of course, is where the English word “erotic” comes from.

And finally, there was Agape (a-Ga-pay).  This is the special love that God has for us, the love of John 3:16, “For God so loved the world…”  It’s the kind of love that is willing to serve – to give all.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”  And, so, when Jesus told us to love God and love others, when he told us to love as we have been loved by God, the Bible uses this word agape…

On the other hand, in contrast to the situation just described where one English word can be used to translate three different Greek words, there are also times when one Greek word can only be properly and fully translated by using multiple English words.  And a case in point occurs in our Gospel reading this morning.

As we heard, Jesus once said, “And I will ask the Father and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever.”  The Greek word here is parakletos (par-ak’-lay-tos) or paraclete which means “the one called alongside of another,” or “someone called to one’s aid.”  And it has been translated, at various times and in various versions of the Bible, in at least four different ways.

But before I share these, and briefly comment on them, I think it’s important for us to keep in mind the context here.  These words in today’s gospel were spoken by Jesus during his so-called “farewell discourse” following the Last Supper and the foot-washing on Maundy Thursday.  They are part of a larger address in which Jesus shares, among other things, that he will be leaving them.  And this was understandably troubling for the disciples.

As one commentator has noted, “to their hearts, Jesus’ talk here about going away and leaving them sounded like bad news.

Even his promises to come back to fetch them one day couldn’t overcome the sorrowful fact that very soon, apparently, they

were going to lose their master and their friend.  (So) Jesus must reassure them.  He has to tell them that this is not abandonment.  He is not leaving them as orphans…  Another would be sent…  Another would come who would allow them to still ‘see’ Jesus, albeit in a different way…”  Or, as Father Andrew Greeley has put it, “He will send another to be their inspiration and guide.”

In our passage, Jesus adds, “This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

And this “Spirit of Truth,” of course, is none other than the Holy Spirit.  But to truly understand the role of the Holy Spirit in our faith and in our lives, we have to go back now and “unpack” that Greek term paraclete.

Remember, it literally refers to someone “called to one’s side,” or “called to one’s aid.”  Quite often, then, it’s translated with the English word “counselor.”  A counselor is, in fact, someone who comes to our aid and often stands by our side to support us in a time of need.  Today, of course, the term “counselor” typically refers to a professional; a psychologist or therapist who has specialized training and experience.

A woman was once suffering a long period of feeling “flat” and “low,” when her husband took her to see a counselor.  After talking to the couple for a while, the counselor finally said, “I think I see what’s the matter here.  The solution is really quite simple.”  And with that, he stood up, walked across the room, took the woman in his arms, looked adoringly into her eyes, said, “I think you are a beautiful woman,” and gently kissed her on the lips.  Well, the woman blushed bright red, but at the same time her face lit up and she beamed a happy, although embarrassed, smile.  The counselor then turned to the husband and said, “See, that’s all your wife really needs.”  To which the clueless husband replied, “Great, can I bring her in on Mondays and Thursdays?”

In this case, of course, the counselor’s point was completely missed, but the role of a counselor was nevertheless accurate;

that is, someone who assists us in times of need or perhaps in making important decisions, who may offer us advice, and who tries to understand and support us.  English word number one: counselor

Number two is the word “comforter.”  Sometimes paraclete is translated with this English word.  A “comforter” is someone who typically comes to our aid in those times of greatest need; who stands by us and with us when we are almost inconsolable.

Once, during the reign of Queen Victoria of England, she heard that the wife of a common laborer had lost her baby.  Having experienced such deep sorrow herself, she felt moved to express her sympathy.  So she called on the bereaved woman and spent some time with her.  After she had left, the neighbors asked the woman what the queen had said.  “Nothing,” was her reply.  “She simply sat down next to me, put her hands on mine, and we silently wept together.”

In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul once described the role of the Holy Spirit in this way, “the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.”  Paraclete: someone called to one’s side, someone called to one’s aid – a comforter.

Number three is the word “helper.”  Jackie Robinson, you may recall, was the very first African American to play major league baseball.  Breaking baseball’s color barrier, however, was a very difficult task.  Robinson faced jeering crowds in every stadium

he visited.  At times, the pressure was overwhelming.  However, the turning point, it is said, occurred one day at his home ballpark

in Brooklyn.  Jackie committed an error in the field.  The fans, predictably, began to ridicule him.  He stood there at second base, utterly humiliated.  Then shortstop Pee Wee Reese, a white ballplayer born and bred in the South, came over and stood next to him.  He put his arm around Jackie Robinson and faced the crowd.  The fans quickly grew silent.  And Robinson later said that this moment, and the offer of help and encouragement communicated by Reese’s arm around his shoulder, probably saved his career.

Paraclete: someone called to one’s side, someone called to one’s aid – a helper.

Then there is the fourth, and final, word; the word that, in fact, actually appears in our lesson this morning, the word advocate. Now an “advocate” is someone who pleads the case of another, one who defends or maintains a cause, one who supports or promotes the interests of another.  And, as such, it is often used in a legal sense to describe the role of a lawyer – which is the case in today’s gospel as well.

Needless to say, however, lawyers don’t always enjoy the best of reputations these days.  As someone once said, “The actions of 99% of lawyers ruin it for the rest of them!”

Apparently this assessment is not just a recent phenomenon either.  Lloyd Lewis, a biographer of General Ulysses S. Grant, tells the story of a chilly winter evening when the general came quietly into a tavern in Galena, Illinois.  A group of lawyers was sitting in a tight circle around the pot-bellied stove, discussing an important case.  One of them noticed Grant and commented, “Why here’s a stranger, gentlemen, and it looks as though he’s traveled through hell itself!”  Grant shivered and said, “I have indeed.”  The lawyer then chuckled and asked, “And how did you find things down there?”  To which Grant replied, “Much the same as here… all the lawyers were nearest to the fire.”

But Friday evening, on an episode of NBC’s Dateline, I saw the legal profession from a completely different point of view.  A woman by the name of Cynthia Sommer had been convicted of the murder of her husband Sgt. Todd Sommer, a Marine, who died mysteriously back in 2002.  Initially ruled a heart attack, subsequent tests of his liver reportedly showed extremely high levels of arsenic.  This, coupled with the widow’s unusual behavior immediately following her husband’s death, led directly to her conviction even though she always maintained her innocence.

Recently, a new lawyer took the case on her behalf.  First, he won her a new trial by arguing that she had inadequate legal counsel at the first one.  And, then, he had her husband’s tissues re-examined and, this time, experts could find absolutely no trace of the arsenic which had played such a critical role in her original trial and conviction.  In fact, with the revelation of this new evidence, the San Diego district attorney had no other choice but to drop all charges against Cynthia Sommer and order her immediate release.

And there on television Friday night, showing some of the recent court proceedings, was her lawyer – her advocate – standing right there alongside her, pleading her case before the judge.  In this instance, then, this lawyer truly was her paraclete; her counselor, her comforter, her helper, and her advocate.

Laurel Dykstra of Sojourner’s Magazine reminds us that the whole of John’s Gospel can actually be read as a lawsuit – a courtroom drama, if you will.  So it’s not surprising that, at their last meal together, Jesus promises his disciples an advocate.  She adds, “Activist, Bible teacher, and former lawyer Wes Howard-Brook says the Greek word paraclete is a secular court term that indicates both an attorney for the defense and a comforter in suffering.  So Jesus is sending not just a lawyer, but a good lawyer, one who cares and whose caseload is not so overwhelming that there is time to make that caring real.”

So when, as Christians, we need understanding and inspiration, direction and guidance; when we need someone to stand beside us in the difficult and challenging and sad times; when we need assistance and support; and when we need someone to plead our case and intercede for us – that’s where we’ll find the Holy Spirit.

Knowing full well the death that awaited him, and just as he was about to leave them, Jesus promised his disciples that another advocate would come to take his place.  Up until then, Jesus had been their advocate; their counselor, comforter, and helper.  But now another will take his place.  As Jesus says a little later, in John 15:26, “When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf.”  Therefore, as John Donohue writes, “The Advocate… is, then, the enduring presence in the church of the departed Jesus…”

“I will not leave you orphaned,” said Jesus.  Indeed, through the Holy Spirit: our counselor, comforter, helper, and advocate, he will always be with us.  Amen

 

Homeward Bound (04/20/08)

(John 14:1-14)

(The sermon begins with the playing of

“Homeward Bound” by Simon & Garfunkel)

I’m sitting in the railway station.
Got a ticket to my destination.
On a tour of one-night stands my suitcase and guitar in hand.
And ev’ry stop is neatly planned for a poet and a one-man band.
Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.

Ev’ry day’s an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines.
And each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories
And ev’ry stranger’s face I see reminds me that I long to be,
Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.

Tonight I’ll sing my songs again,
I’ll play the game and pretend.
But all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity
Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me.
Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
Silently for me.

Thirty-three years ago next month I was finishing up my first year of college, as well as my first extended period of time away from home in my entire life. Born and raised in New Jersey, I had chosen a Lutheran college out in Columbus, Ohio, over five hundred miles away. And in those days, long before cell phones and e-mails, and instant messaging on the computer, my only contact with home was a once-a-week call from my parents which I had to take on the pay phone way down at the end of the hall in my dorm; the only phone, in fact, on the entire floor.

So, needless to say, back in 1975 when May finally rolled around

I was beyond ready to go home! As were all the other students, especially those, like me, from out-of-state. And I can still recall, quite vividly, those last few days of finals as the clock on that school year slowly wound down. One by one, we finished off our courses and took our exams and began to pack. And then we just waited… until it was time to leave.

One of my friends, Duke Spiker, from Youngstown, Ohio, had a stereo. And setting the speakers in his open dorm-room window he kept playing Simon & Garfunkels’s “Homeward Bound” over and over and over and over… again. I don’t know it for a fact, but I believe that he literally wore out that poor record, and maybe his stereo as well. Because, for two and a half days, before he finally left to return to Youngstown for the summer, he just sat by himself in his room playing that song! And every time it finished, he would merely reach over, lift up the needle, return it to the beginning, and then play it all over again.

Now, you would have thought that it would have at least bothered or annoyed someone. But, to my knowledge, he never even got a single complaint. And I can only imagine that it was because everyone else on campus was feeling exactly the same way that he was… Homeward bound, I wish I was, homeward bound…

Our daughter Kristyn flew back to the United States yesterday after her semester studying abroad in London. And in recent days we could tell from our conversations with her, and from her e-mails, that she was ready to come home; excited and anxious to finally be… homeward bound. In fact, it’s said that Paul Simon actually wrote the song “Homeward Bound” while waiting in a railway station over in England, and longing to return to his home back in the States.

For over a month now, Jeanette and I could both tell that Kristyn was homesick; that yearning, restless, desire for familiar places, faces, and voices…

Many years ago, once again in England, a circus elephant named Bozo was very popular with the public. Children, in particular, especially loved to crowd around his cage and throw him peanuts.

Then, one day, there was a sudden change in Bozo’s personality. Several times he tried to attack his keeper, and now whenever the children came near his cage, he would charge in their direction, as if trying to bust loose and trample them.

Because of his erratic and dangerous behavior, it was decided that the elephant had to be destroyed. The circus owner, a greedy and crude man, decided to make the execution public, and to even sell tickets to it, as a way of recouping some of the cost of losing such a valuable animal.

Well, the day for the execution finally came, and the huge

circus tent was packed. Bozo was in his cage in the center ring. Marksmen, with high-powered rifles, stood ready nearby. And the owner, standing in front of the cage was about to give the order to shoot, when out of the crowd came a short, inconspicuous man wearing a brown derby hat.

“There’s no need for this,” said the man. But the circus owner brushed him aside, saying, “This elephant has gone bad. He has

to be destroyed before he hurts or kills someone.”

“But you’re wrong,” insisted the man. “Give me two minutes alone in the cage with him and I’ll prove it to you.” The owner shook his head “no.” “You’ll be killed,” he said. “I don’t think so,” replied the man. “Do I have your permission?”

Well the owner was not the kind of man to pass up the opportunity for such a dramatic spectacle. Even if the man were killed, he figured, the publicity alone would be worth millions. “All right,” he finally said, “But first you have to sign a release absolving the circus of all responsibility.” And the man quickly agreed to do so.

As the man removed his coat and hat, preparing to enter the cage, the circus owner announced to the people what was about to happen, and a hush fell over the crowd. The door to the cage was unlocked and opened, and the man stepped quickly inside.

At the sight of this stranger, the elephant threw back his trunk, let out a might roar, and then bent his head as if preparing to charge. The man, however, stood perfectly still, a faint smile on his face as he began to talk to the animal. The audience was so quiet that those nearest the cage could hear the man speaking, but couldn’t make out the words; although it sounded like a foreign language.

Slowly, as the man continued to talk, the elephant raised his head and then uttered a pitiful cry. Still talking soothingly to the animal, the man approached confidently and began to gently stroke the elephant’s trunk. Every bit of aggression, that had been building up for weeks, suddenly seemed to have been completely drained from the elephant. Docile as a puppy dog now, he wound his trunk around the man’s waist as the two of them walked slowly around the ring. The astounded audience could no longer bear the silence, and immediately broke out in a barrage of cheers and clapping. After a lap around the center ring, the man bade farewell to the elephant and left the cage.

Walking up to the owner, the man said, “He’ll be all right now. You see, he’s an Indian elephant and none of you, apparently, spoke his language, Hindustani. I would advise, therefore, that you immediately hire someone who speaks Hindustani. The only the wrong with your elephant is that he was homesick.

And with that, the little man gathered up his hat and coat, and left.

Dumbfounded, the circus owner then looked down at the slip of paper he held in his hand, the one which the man had signed, agreeing not to hold the circus responsible if anything bad were to take place when he went into the elephant’s cage. The name the man had signed was… Rudyard Kipling, who, if you have children or grandchildren, you may recall is the English author and poet who wrote “The Jungle Book,” which Disney eventually turned into one of their classic movie-length cartoons.

The point is… even animals can get homesick. (Come to think of it, you should have seen our two dogs when we picked them up at the kennel last Sunday, after being away for spring break, and our cat, as well, who we had left alone by herself in the house!)

But if homesickness is, indeed, a universal experience, for animals as well as humans, the next question is this: Where is home? Is it

simply where we live, like a house or an apartment? Or is it a physical place in terms of a city, or a region, or even a country?

The other song from my youth that I kept hearing in my head this past week was “Papa Was A Rolling Stone” by The Temptations, especially that first line of the refrain, “Papa was a rolling stone, wherever he laid his hat… was his home.”

And just recently I was counting up all the different places where

I have lived up to this point in my life (today being my 52^nd birthday, by the way) and I was amazed when I realized that I have actually lived in 15 different communities (for those of you who heard me, I was wrong this past Wednesday night when I said it was only 13), and 15 different houses and apartments and dorm rooms, that have been spread across 7 different states. So which one of them is my home?

Or is, in fact, our home something, or somewhere else? Something other than merely our residence, or a place where we may have lived for a time in the past, or where we may yet live in the future?

Another way of thinking about “home” was suggested by Robert Frost who once wrote that, “Home is the place where – when you have to go there – they have to take you in.” Similarly, Bill Cosby once noted, “Human beings are the only creatures that allow their children to come back home.” And someone named Vernon Baker once observed, “Home is where the heart can laugh without shyness. Home is where the heart’s tears can dry at their own pace.”

As Joseph Pagano, an Episcopal priest, recently pointed out, a home doesn’t have to be a physical place at all. Rather, it can simply be wherever people build and share a life together. A place where husbands and wives and families share the hopes and hurts, and the joys and sorrows of life; a place of solace and comfort; a place where you feel safe and whole.

And Father Pagano also reminds us that, however we understand it, “home” has a special place in the human heart. “It seems,” he writes, “as though we are all longing for a place to call home… Whenever we feel lonely or abandoned, we want to go home. Whenever we are filled with doubt or despair, we want to go home. Whenever we feel cut loose, or lost, we want to go home.”

Indeed, there is a restlessness in all of our hearts; a yearning and a longing for home….

But even if we primarily think of “home” as family, or the people we love, instead of merely a physical place, what happens when they die? If we think of home in terms of people, what happens to our sense of home when they are no longer with us?

Maybe, then, our true home is still something else yet… Many centuries ago, the early church father, Augustine, responded to the yearning and restlessness and longing of the human heart for home in this way, “O God, you have made us for yourself,” wrote St. Augustine, “and our hearts are restless until they rest in thee.”

Perhaps home is not a place, or even the people we love. Perhaps a true sense of home goes even deeper…

An elderly missionary couple, after many years of faithful service overseas in Africa, were returning home to retire. On the very same ship was then-President Teddy Roosevelt, who was returning from a hunting trip in Africa. As the passengers disembarked, there was a crowd of admirers waiting to greet the President. A band was playing, and the cheers of the crowd were deafening.

But when it came time for the missionaries to step ashore, there was not a single soul to meet them. (It turns out that a small reception committee from their church had actually been confused about the exact day of their return and thus missed them.) Nevertheless, thoroughly discouraged, the husband buried his head in his hands and moaned, “God, I didn’t expect a band or a parade, but you could have seen to it that someone was here to welcome us home.” To which, upon overhearing this, his wife gently reminded him, “But dear, we’re not home yet!”

Indeed, this is the very point Jesus was making in today’s gospel. We’re not home… yet. However we may define home in this world, and in this life, or wherever or whatever we may choose to designate as our home – the simple truth is that we are still not really home.

However, says Jesus, I go to prepare a place for you. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.

Now, at first glance, Jesus still seems to be talking about “home” here in terms of a physical place; a house or (in earlier translations) a “mansion.” Moreover, he talks about dwelling places, or “rooms,” within the Father’s house.

But the interesting thing about the Greek in which the gospels, including this one, were originally written, is that the word translated here as “house” can also mean the “family” or “household” who lives there. Just as “dwelling place” can also imply a relationship; that is, not simply a physical place but also one’s inclusion within the family or household.

In other words, then, Jesus isn’t necessarily talking about a physical place here at all, heaven or otherwise. Rather, what he seems to be talking about is our relationship with God, and our inclusion and participation within the community and the family of God.

Raymond Brown, the noted New Testament scholar, once wrote, “This special house or household where the son has a permanent dwelling place suggests a union with the Father reserved for Jesus the Son and for all those who are begotten as God’s children by the Spirit that Jesus gives. Thus, there would be some precedent for reinterpreting “many dwelling places in my Father’s house” parabolically as possibilities for permanent union with the Father in and through Jesus.”

Or to put it yet another way… When I was going through confirmation, I’ll never forget, my pastor defined heaven in this way: “It’s simply being in God’s presence for all eternity.” Now we may use all sorts of descriptions and analogies, as clearly Jesus himself does here, of houses, and mansions, and rooms, or, as in the book of Revelation, even the New Jerusalem coming down out of heaven. But all of them are merely trying to convey the simple truth that, in the end, what we’re really talking about here is reunion with God. Or, again, as Augustine expressed it, “Our hearts are restless, O Lord, until they rest in thee.”

We may not know where that home will be, or what it will look like. But this much we do know – wherever it is, it will be with God.

Now, of course, the novelist Thomas Wolfe once wrote a book entitled “You Can’t Go Home Again.” And if we’re talking about home here in terms of places or people, then he’s absolutely correct. We can’t return to these homes again because places and people change – nothing ever stays the same – and it’s pointless to even try.

If, however, on the other hand, we think of home exclusively in terms of God and God’s presence, then that statement is false. Because the very essence of today’s gospel, and the very hope and promise of our Christian faith is, in fact, all about going home again – going back home to God.

John Todd was a young boy when both of his parents suddenly died. He had several siblings, and, as was the custom in those days, the children were farmed out to relatives, including John. One of his aunts offered to take little John and she sent a servant, by the name of Caesar, to go fetch him.

Upon arriving, Caesar hoisted the boy up onto the horse with him, told John to wrap his arms around his waist to hold on, and off they went. And as they set out for the aunt’s house, young John was full of questions; questions that revealed his deepest fears and anxieties.

“Will she be there?” he asked Caesar. “Oh, yes,” the servant assured him. “She’ll even be waiting up for you.”

“Will I like living with her?” the boy asked next. “My son,” said Caesar, “you fall into good hands.”

“Will she love me?” And the servant was patient and soft in his reply, “Ah, she has a big heart.”

“Do you think she’ll go to bed before we get there?” John wanted to know again. “Oh, no” said Caesar, “Like I told you, she’ll be up waiting for you. You’ll even see when we get out of these woods. You’ll see her candle in the window.”

And sure enough, when they emerged from the woods and neared the house, John saw a candle in the window and his aunt standing in the doorway. As he slid off the horse and shyly approached the

porch, she reached down and kissed him and said, “Welcome home!”

Young John Todd grew up in his aunt’s care. And she loved him as if he were her own son.

Years later, when the time came for him to select a profession, John Todd followed a calling into the ministry. And some years after that, the roles were reversed between him and his beloved aunt. You see, one day she sent word of her failing health and impending death. She was frightened by what she knew she would have to face.

Here is what John wrote in reply:

My Dear Aunt,

Years ago, I left a house of death, not knowing where I was to go, whether anyone cared, whether it was the end of me. The ride was long, but the servant encouraged me. Finally, I arrived to your embrace and a new home. I was expected; I felt safe. You did it all for me.

Now it is your turn to go. I’m writing to let you know, someone is waiting up for you, your room is all ready, the light is on, the door is open… and you’re expected!

(This version of John Todd’s story can be found in Max Lucado’s book, “John 3:16”, starting on page 111.)

…There is a longing and a yearning for home in every heart.

There is a restlessness of the human spirit that can only be quenched by our return to God. And the good news of Jesus Christ is that we can go home again. In fact, he promises it! For, in Jesus, we are all homeward bound.

Amen

 

Strangers and Aliens (04/06/08)

Strangers and Aliens

(1 Peter 1:17-23)

Well, it’s good to be back! As most of you know, I just returned from my trip to visit our daughter Kristyn in London. I actually returned on Friday – not Thursday as originally planned (more about that in a moment)!

And it was a great trip; my very first overseas. In a previous sermon, when I discussed the possibility of going, I referred (you may recall) to the fact that I had taken a lot of English history courses as an undergrad. So I had a lot of fun seeing in person many of the places I had read and studied about back in college.

Of course, Kristyn took me to see a number of the famous landmarks in London including Buckingham Palace and also 221B Baker Street, which, of course was the residence of that famous fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes. Today it’s actually the location of the Sherlock Holmes museum, and although we didn’t pay to go inside (Kristyn had heard it was not really worth it), we did, however, get our picture taken outside with me wearing a replica of Sherlock Holmes’ hat and holding a pipe, and Kristyn wearing the type of derby worn by his ever-faithful companion and collaborator, Dr. Watson.

I also got to see Picadilly Circus (which is comparable to “Times Square” in New York City), the Tower Bridge, Big Ben and Parliament, and Trafalgar Square. In addition, we took guided tours of the infamous Tower of London, as well as Westminster Abbey (which were fascinating); and a boat trip down the River Thames; and then a train trip up to Warwick to tour Warwick Castle, which, although somewhat commercialized, nevertheless gives you a pretty good idea of what life was really like back in the medieval period. (While there, we even saw a demonstration of a full-sized “trebuchet,” which was a medieval siege machine similar to a catapult, but more like a huge “sling shot.”

And just a block or so down from our hotel was the British Museum that we briefly visited so I could see the famed “Rosetta Stone”; from which they were able to learn how to translate the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

But I also had a lot of fun just listening to people talk, as well as reading the posted signs over there, and then realizing how many differences there are in everyday words and phrases between the U.S. and Great Britain. In fact, I even carried around a pen and small notebook with me in order to record many of them.

For one thing, the sentence construction over there is, at times, somewhat unusual – at least it was for me. For another, the British are just so darn polite. As an example, after our flight landed in London and we prepared to go through Customs there was a sign posted above where the line began which read: “We extremely, seriously discourage the intimidation of our staff by aggressive behavior or the threat of physical violence”

Now here in the States, of course, we often use multiple adjectives, as in “long, hot summer.” But I had never before seen the use

of multiple adverbs. Apparently, not only do they seriously discourage inappropriate behavior on the part of those going through Customs, but they “extremely seriously” discourage it!

Of course, here that same sign would probably just read: “Inappropriate behavior will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” Short and sweet and to the point.

I saw another example going into the men’s room at a restaurant. The inner door was obviously broken. Here in the U.S. (if there was even a sign at all), it would probably just say “Careful, broken door.” But, again, the English are so polite – almost apologetic even. So the sign I saw read: “Please be aware of the door. Action is being taken.” Thus, not only did they want to be sure that a person knew there was a problem (which was pretty hard to miss as the door was barely hanging on its hinges), but at the same time they further felt compelled to inform us that it was also being taken care of in a timely manner!

And, then, just outside of where the House of Parliament meets, there was this sign posted: “This is a protected site under Section 128 of the Serious Organized Crime and Police Act of 2005.” In the U.S. it would have simply read: “Government Property. Keep Out!”

While getting around London, and then taking that train trip up to Warwick and a second one up to Leeds to visit my aunt and cousin, I encountered a few more examples. For instance, they use the phrase “This train is for…” instead of simply saying “Destination.” And “Calling at…” refers to the train stops along the way. When you’re getting off the train or subway, it’s “Mind your step” instead of “Watch your step.” If the bathroom onboard is being used, you are informed that it is “engaged”, instead of “occupied.” And to tell you the final destination of a particular train, they say “This train terminates at” such and such a place. At first it sounded to me like the train was suddenly going to explode upon arrival! And finally Jeanette’s favorite. At the stations, instead of seeing signs that say “Exit,” they say “Way Out.”

Then, there are also the individual words that are different or carry a different meaning. For instance:

a “cashpoint” is an “ATM”,

a “push chair” is a “wheel chair”,

restaurants offer “take away” food, instead of “take out”,

a “washeteria” is a “Laundromat”,

a “toilet” is the entire “bathroom,” not just a bathroom fixture,

and they don’t go to the “bathroom”, they go to the “loo”,

a “lift” is an “elevator”,

a “flat” is an “apartment”,

a “que” is a “line”, as in “there’s a long que waiting for the bus”,

(I saw this one on television): “nappy rash” is “baby rash”,

the “tube” is a “subway”

and a “subway” is the tunnel leading to the “tube”,

a “rasher” of bacon is a “strip” of bacon,

and for breakfast, we were also offered a choice of “white” or

“brown” bread (not “wheat”)

a “match” is a “game”, as in the headline I saw in one of the

newspapers: “President Bush throws out the first pitch of the

baseball match”,

“chips” are “French fries”,

a “jacket” potato is a “baked” potato,

and, finally, a “mobile” phone is a “cell” phone.

But then there was a word I heard which perfectly summarized

my entire experience over there in London, especially my return trip. Because I had flown over on a “buddy pass” from John Calhoun who works for Delta (which made it very economical, of course), I also flew “standby” which meant that I had no assigned seat, and only got on a flight if and when there was room for me. And also if there were no other standbys with a higher priority.

(By the way, at London-Gatwick Airport they take the word “standby” literally. While those with assigned seats are immediately checked-in to a waiting area with comfortable chairs, those flying standby are kept outside of that area in the hallway where there is no seating at all. That is to say, you either have to sit on the floor, or again literally “stand-by”)

Now my flight over went smoothly. I got on the earlier flight leaving that evening – the one I had hoped to get on (there are only two going over each day, and two coming back). And I was even upgraded to first class!

But it was when I was preparing to return this past Thursday that I ran into a problem. Unbeknownst to me back when I was scheduling my trip (not that it would have mattered because this was really the only time I could get away), the week of my return just happened to coincide with “spring break” for schools all across England. Which meant that seemingly (at least judging by the mob scene I witnessed at check-in) every single family in Great Britain had plans to go to Disneyworld this week. Which further meant that if they were flying Delta, they were also flying first – you guessed it – to Atlanta!

So that morning, when I arrived 2 ½ hours early to check-in, the place was already packed. And when I finally got to a ticket agent to check my bag, and he saw my ticket (and the fact that I was flying standby on a buddy pass), he just shook his head slowly, then sighed, and said simply, “Good Luck!” He then proceeded to inform me that the flight that was severely overbooked, and further implied that my chances of getting on it (or even the second flight later that morning), were about as good as a “snowballs chances in you know where!”

As predicted, even though I patiently “stood by” at the check-in gate for the first flight to Atlanta that morning, there were absolutely no seats to be had for those flying standby. A total of five of us didn’t get on. And it was at this point that I heard the word which so perfectly described my, and their, situation. I overheard the senior ticket agent at the gate, upon recognizing the fact that there were a total of five of us hoping to fly standby to Atlanta that day, reporting to his supervisor, “I’ve got five nomads here this morning.”

Nomad… Webster defines a “nomad” as someone who has no fixed residence, but who moves from place to place; that is, an individual who roams about. Now I don’t know whether this was an English expression, or an industry designation, or just simply a Delta slang term. But whatever the case – it perfectly fit us, and our situation, that morning. We were, in fact… nomads.

This word “nomad,” of course also has biblical connotations as well. The Israelites, you may remember, actually started out as nomads – a pastoral people who did not live permanently in any one location, but rather who moved their herds of sheep and goats from place to place. In fact, it was this nomadic existence, moving to wherever the land could support them and their flocks, that eventually led them to live in Egypt. And we see this reflected in Deuteronomy 26, verse 5, which reads, “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous.”

It’s also in Deuteronomy where we hear that the Israelites should care for the aliens and the sojourners (another commonly used word in the Bible) who live in their midst. “Love the sojourner…,” says Deuteronomy 10:19, “for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt.”

Later, in the New Testament, various writers, including Paul, took this history of the Israelites, and the concept of a wandering people, and applied it in various ways to the church and the followers of Jesus Christ – both before they became his followers, and also afterwards.

In Ephesians 2, for instance, Paul writes to these Gentile Christians about their earlier situation by saying, “…remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenant of promise… But now in Christ Jesus you who were once far of have been brought near by the blood of Christ.”

Later in that very same chapter, he adds, “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.”

And then Peter (if, in fact, he was the author of the New Testament letters which bear his name), also gets into the act, so to speak. However, in Peter’s case, the terms “stranger” and “sojourner” and “alien” and even “exile” do not refer to a Christian’s status before coming to believe, but after. And here they refer to a Christian’s relationship to the world and to society.

In 1 Peter 2, he writes, “Beloved, I urge you as aliens and exiles to abstain from the desires of the flesh that wage war against the soul.” In other words, Christians should live as aliens and exiles in opposition to the temptations and the sinfulness of the world around them and, similarly, in the first verse of our second reading this morning, Peter writes, “If you invoke as Father the one who judges all people impartially according to their deeds, live in reverent fear during the time of your exile.” Or, as the New International Version translates it, “live your lives as strangers…”

Again, the point being made here is that Christianity is counter-cultural. We are not to be conformed to the world around us, as Paul once said, but rather transformed by the renewing of our minds which helps us then to discern the will of God, and to do what is good and acceptable and perfect. Or as Jesus once reminded, as Christians we are to be in but not of the world.

Which is simply to say that, while we live on this earth, we are always to live as if we were nothing more than aliens and exiles. We were meant to be strangers and sojourners here on earth – not permanent residents. For as Paul once wrote, “…our citizenship is in heaven.”

Back on Thursday, as I waited at the airport in London for a flight back to Atlanta, I was a so-called “nomad.” I was a stranger and sojourner in a foreign land; an alien and an exile. London and Great Britain were not my true home. They were only the place that I had come to visit, and where I was temporarily residing until it was time to return to my true home…

After that first Atlanta flight had been completely filled, the ticket agent warned us that it only looked worse for the second of the two daily flights, later that morning. And so he offered, instead, to get us on the very next Delta flight back to the U.S. which was headed for JFK in New York, where we could always get a connecting flight to Atlanta, he said. Of the five of us who missed that 9:00 a.m. flight to Atlanta, three got on the one to JFK.

Another ticket agent then recommended to me, and to the other gentlemen with me, that now our best bet was to try and get on the flight to Cincinnati. So we tried. The other man got on… but I didn’t.

Finally, they tried to get me on the fourth, and final, flight that day back to the States – once again flying to Atlanta. But the earlier predictions were absolutely correct. And once again, I failed to get a seat.

So now I was escorted back through British Customs, and taken to where I could pick up my baggage, and I was told that I could try again the next day. It was only about 11:30 in the morning at this point. And there I was stranded at the London-Gatwick Airport with nowhere else to go, and no real prospects for at least another 20 hours or so.

Oh, and when I went to have my ticket reissued for the following day? The ticket agent said that both flights to Atlanta on Friday were, once again, overbooked.

Talk about being a nomad! For awhile I just wandered around Gatwick Airport, lugging my suitcase and two carry-on bags full of stuff I was bringing home for Kristyn. I was even beginning to feel a little like that Tom Hanks character in the movie The Terminal. Was I ever going to get home?

And when I discovered that a single night at the Hilton there at Gatwick ran about 233 pounds (or more than 500 dollars!), I ended up renting an 8 foot by 9 foot cubicle equipped with a bunk bed (with a plasma TV mounted at my feet), a pull-out table that was fastened to the back wall, a folding chair attached to the door, and, finally, behind a sliding glass partition, a toilet, sink, and shower combination unit.

It was pretty cool, actually. As I e-mailed Jeanette later that evening, I could just about shave, shower, and go to the bathroom simultaneously!

Anyway, it was clean and comfortable, and for the next 19 hours it was to be my temporary home. I just couldn’t tell if it felt more like the living quarters aboard a submarine… or a prison cell!

Well, after a short nap that afternoon, I then left my luggage and even my coat behind in my so-called “home away from home,” and went back to the terminal to eat and do a little exploring. Now I really felt like Tom Hanks while I was wandering around! Still, it was quite an adventure, though.

And instead of getting angry or upset about the situation, I just tried to make the best of it. I treated myself to a nice dinner (including a couple of glasses of authentic British beer), did some window-shopping, spent some time in an Internet café, and finally bought some snacks before the stores closed to take back with me when I returned to my cubicle to watch TV…

I guess I remained calm for two reasons. Number one: I still had my passport which identified me as a citizen of the United States. I may have been temporarily stuck in a foreign country, but it was not my permanent home.

And number two: I also still had my “buddy pass” standby ticket. While it couldn’t guarantee which flight I could get on to take me back home, it did guarantee, however, that eventually there would be a flight. (As it turned out, I didn’t make the Atlanta flight on Friday either, but flew first to JFK and then caught a connecting flight from there, finally arriving back at our house at around 10:00 p.m. Atlanta time, or approximately 44 hours after I first embarked on this odyssey. But without my luggage which didn’t arrive until yesterday, and, as of last evening, still hadn’t been processed. So guess where I’m headed after church today?)

When you think about it, though, is it any different for us as Christians? For now our home is here on earth. And rather than complain about it, or get all worked up, we should try and enjoy ourselves, as best we can, while we’re here.

Of course, there will always be challenges and disappointments and frustrations – just as there were for me the other day. (For instance, when I finally got to JFK and tried to get a boarding pass for a connecting flight on to Atlanta, the ticket agent there discovered that when they reissued my ticket in London, they mistakenly set it up so that I could only go as far as JFK and no further. He asked me where I wanted to go, and I said Atlanta. And I was just waiting for him to ask how long I’d been traveling, because I had my response ready. I couldn’t wait to say, “Let me put it this way, when I started out I was clean shaven! (I recently grew a mustache and goatee.)

At first, it looked like I was going to be stranded there at JFK. But after sweating it out for several minutes, an emergency call by the ticket agent got someone higher up on the food chain to re-open and unfreeze my account in the computer so they could then issue the requisite boarding pass.

But as my paternal grandmother used to like to say, none of this is permanent – especially the difficult times. Instead, life here on earth is more like a vacation – and someday we’ll be going back home.

In the big picture, then, and in the grand scheme of things, we’re just “strangers” and “aliens” here on earth. It’s not our true home.

Rather we’re more like “nomads” and “sojourners” – just passing through.

And, once again, we can think in these terms for two important reasons. Number one: our true citizenship is in heaven, just as Paul said, not here on earth. And our baptism into Christ is our passport. That is, as we say in the baptismal service, we’ve been “marked” (or stamped) with the cross of Christ forever.

And number two: we all have our own “buddy pass”: a friend who helps us to make the journey; in fact, who makes the journey even possible! As our second reading this morning reminds us, the ticket back to our true home with God, was already bought and paid for with “the precious blood” of Jesus Christ, the best friend, or “buddy,” one could ever have…

Now we may not exactly know when we’ll get to make that final journey back home to God, but this much we do know: in Jesus Christ, the return trip is guaranteed! Amen

 

Easter Egg Hunt

Pastor Ed and the Resurrection Eggs

HAPPY EASTER!!! He is Risen! He is RISEN Indeed!

 

Some hopes fail to deliver… but not this one! (03/23/08)

Some hopes fail to deliver… but not this one!

(Matthew 28:1-10)

In one of his recent books, Christian author Max Lucado tells the story of being contacted by a friend from his hometown in West Texas with some big news.  “My father saw your mother’s name in an unclaimed property column of the local newspaper,” said his boyhood friend.

Lucado’s first reaction was that he couldn’t imagine what this property might be.  You see, his father had died years ago, and his mother now lived near his sister in Arkansas.  The family home had already been sold and, as far as he knew, they didn’t own anything else in the city.  “Unclaimed property?” he wondered out loud.

“Sure,” said the friend, “City Hall is obliged to list the names of the folks who own this stuff.  And lots of times it’s just money.”

Lucado was intrigued, “You don’t say.”  So his friend added,  “I’ll send you the contact information.”

Well, that’s was on a Sunday, writes Lucado.  But his friend’s e-mail with the contact information didn’t arrive until Tuesday. 

So that left him with two entire days to wonder and speculate about what his parents, unbeknownst to their kids apparently, had somehow managed to squirrel away. 

Initially, he was stumped, though.  His parents had spent their formative years growing up in the Great Depression, and they emerged from that experience, notes Lucado, as penny pinchers.  “They did to dollars,” he writes, “what boa constrictors do to rats – (they) s-q-u-e-e-z-e-d the life out of them.”

But then he recalled that his father had once worked in the Texas oil fields as a mechanic, and therefore had undoubtedly crossed paths out there with wildcatters.  “Did one convince him to quietly invest in a long-shot oil well?  Did he keep it from Mom lest she erupt?  And now, could it be that the well has oil?”

That might mean millions, no, zillions of barrels of “black gold” he suddenly realized.  And if Jack Lucado had perhaps been one of those original investors, maybe now they’ve come looking for his heirs! 

At this, his mind really started racing.  This could be huge! 

And soon his imagination even began to run away from him.  Already by Sunday evening, he had funded his yet-to-be-born grandchildren’s college education.  On Monday he had figured how to end world hunger.  And on Tuesday (the day he received the friend’s e-mail), he was already well on his way to solving the AIDS crisis…

As soon as the e-mail arrived, he immediately dialed the number of the courthouse back in his hometown, and was promptly put through to a clerk who just happened to remember his mother.  “I’ve been hoping you’d call,” she said enthusiastically.  Lucado then heard some papers shuffling in the background, and the clerk mumbling to herself, “Now where did I put that check?”

Check!?  His ears perked up with that word, and, in anticipation, he quickly pulled a calculator out of his desk and limbered up his fingers.

“Here it is!” she exclaimed, speaking back into the phone now. 

“It looks like we owe your mom some money.  Whoa… this has been here quite awhile,” she added.

Impatiently, Lucado drummed his fingers on the desk…

“Let’s see, Mr. Lucado.  Where should we send this check?”

He gave her the address and then waited…

She continued, “Looks like we owe your mom three fifty.”

Did she say th-th-three hundred and fifty million?  As he fought to collect himself, he realized that maybe she just meant “thousand” – three hundred and fifty thousand.  Still, that in itself was pretty good.  “Whichever… way to go Dad!”

“Yes, sir,” said the clerk, “Your mother overpaid her final water bill by three dollars and fifty cents.  Shall I send it out to you today?”

…A suddenly deflated Lucado answered, “Sure… thanks.  Just put it in the mail.”  As he then sadly observed, “Some hopes… fail to deliver.”

And whether we’ve had an experience exactly like Lucado’s – or not – most of us would have to admit that the sentiment is true.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve probably all had to deal with unfulfilled hopes and unrealized dreams.  At one time or another, just about everyone has felt deflated because something they anxiously wanted and waited to happen… just didn’t pan out.

I imagine that it must have been like that for Jesus’ disciples and closest followers as well.  Especially on that Friday as they watched them take his lifeless body down from the cross and then waited for Pilate, the Roman governor, to release it for burial. 

And it must have felt like that for Joseph of Arimathea, as well, the one who actually made this request of Pilate, and who then wrapped the body with a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb (which had been hewn in the rock), before sealing the doorway of the tomb with a great stone.  

Some hopes fail to deliver…

For three years, Jesus had captivated the crowds with his teaching, and preaching, and healing.  For three years, people had been wondering… and then actually daring to believe… that he was indeed the promised Messiah.  For three years he had raised their hopes and fueled their dreams and ignited their passions.  Perhaps Jesus was finally the one, they speculated, who could free us from Roman oppression, and establish a godly kingdom here on earth.

Of course, those hopes and dreams had reached a fevered pitch only the previous Sunday as Jesus had entered triumphantly into Jerusalem.  The crowds of pilgrims, streaming into the city to celebrate the Passover, had laid palm branches, and even their own garments, in his pathway as if he was a conquering king or something.  And many, if not most, truly hoped and believed he was. 

But, then, in five… short… days everything had been turned completely upside down.  All their hopes and dreams had been dashed…

It happened so suddenly… so covertly.  Jesus literally disappeared into the darkness of the night, swallowed up by the evil of those who had decided that it was only expedient for one man to die for the people, rather than to have the whole nation perish instead.  Ironically… they had no idea how true those words really were. 

In a so-called trial, that was nothing more than a travesty of justice, Jesus was quickly condemned on trumped-up charges.  Even Pilate, the Roman governor, smelled something “fishy” about what had taken place, when they announced their findings to him the following morning.  Nor could he find any guilt in Jesus.  But the Romans were nothing if they weren’t big on “law and order.”  So, with Pilate’s blessing, Jesus was swiftly executed before those who cared probably had any idea what just happened.

Their rabbi… their friend… their Lord… was dead.  And utterly resigned to that sad and painful fact, they scattered to observe the Sabbath in seclusion.  Some hopes fail to deliver…

 Finally, on the morning of the third day, some of the women went to see the tomb where he had been placed.  The Sabbath had technically ended at sundown, the previous evening.  But it wasn’t until dawn, in the light of a new day, that anyone had ventured out.

Was it mere curiosity that compelled them?  Or was it the desire, as some of the gospel accounts suggest, to properly prepare a body for burial that had been placed in the tomb in haste?  Maybe it was a little of both.

The gospels also differ as to who were the ones who went to the tomb.  However, they all agree that they were women, and that Mary Magdalene was among them.  Apparently, the eleven remaining disciples, the men that is, were not the slightest bit interested. 

Nor were the disciples seemingly concerned about observing the proper burial customs, even though this had been their beloved master and friend.  Were they still in shock?  Or now, with all their hopes and dreams shattered before them, were they simply ready to move on with their lives?

That’s where things stood on Sunday morning, the first day of the week.  Jesus was, as far as anyone knew, dead and buried in that tomb.  The disciples had scattered, presumably in hiding.  No one was expecting anything.  Whatever hope they may have had was long gone.  Like so many hopes, it too had failed to deliver.

And even though Jesus had repeatedly talked about his passion and death, as well as the expectation of rising again on the third day… no one among his closest followers seems to have remembered, let alone understood, or believed in, what he had said.

In yet another supreme irony, only the chief priests and Pharisees recalled Jesus having said, “After three days I will rise again.”  So, according to the Gospel of Matthew, at least, they went to Pilate and asked that he secure the tomb, lest Jesus’ disciples come and steal the body, and then tell the people that he’d been raised from the dead.  In response, Pilate gave them a guard of soldiers and told them, “Go, make it as secure as you can.”  So they went with the soldiers and made the tomb doubly secure by “sealing” the stone which covered the entrance.

Now there have been those, in the intervening years – nearly two thousand years at this point – who dispute what the gospels report next.  Stanley Hauerwas describes it this way: “(They) think the disciples had an experience.  (The disciples) said, ‘Wasn’t it great being with Jesus before they killed him?  You remember those great stories he told?  The lectures, er, sermons?  Just thinking about it makes him seem almost still here.  Yep, by God, he is still here.  Let’s all close our eyes and believe real hard that he’s still here.  Okay?’”       

There’s just one small problem with this, however.  According to the gospels – mind you, they differ on lots of stuff, but here they’re in total agreement – according to the gospels, the disciples aren’t thinking about much of anything, let alone “imagining” that Jesus was somehow still with them; like “in spirit,” or something.

Just look at the evidence…  As already pointed out, it’s the women who came poking around the tomb – not the disciples.  Peter, James, and John, and the rest, don’t seem to have a clue.  And then, when they are finally confronted with the empty tomb, they still don’t get it!

Remember John’s gospel?  After Mary Magdalene sounds the alarm about the empty tomb, Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved (presumably John himself), went running to check it out.  There they found the linen wrappings, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head rolled up in a place by itself – but no body.  So what do they do?  After standing there dumbstruck for a moment or two, they simply go back home.

And in Luke, it’s the same thing.  The news, we are told, seemed like an “idle tale” to the disciples and initially they didn’t believe it.  Here, too, Peter did, however, get up and run over to check things out.  And finding the empty tomb and the linen cloths by themselves, he was amazed, but, again, just turned around and went straight back home.

Also in Luke, we have those two other disciples, one of them named Cleopas we’re told, who are on the road to Emmaus.  They had heard from the women that Jesus was alive.  Nevertheless, they are still headed out of town!  Huh?  It’s like maybe they had dinner reservations over there in Emmaus and didn’t want to change them!  As William Willimon has written, “A man has been raised from the dead and you can’t cancel lunch?  How dumb are these disciples?”

 Pretty dumb, apparently.  Maybe we should even rename the Easter story: “Dumb and Dumber.”  Because that’s certainly how it depicts the disciples and followers of Jesus… 

But is that necessarily a bad thing?  I mean, look at it this way – if the disciples are having such a hard time believing… then it isn’t very likely that they were making this stuff up?  Is it? 

Mark’s gospel, by the way – the original ending at least – doesn’t even describe the reaction of the disciples.  Instead, it ends rather abruptly with the women being seized with such terror and amazement that they simply flee from the empty tomb in fear without even stopping to say anything to anybody!  Now does that sound like the behavior of people planning to fabricate a lie?  Or does it sound like people who were taken completely off-guard by what had just happened?

And isn’t their fear and confusion, and lack of faith and understanding actually compelling evidence for the veracity of the Easter story?  That is, it’s truthfulness and accuracy?  As Dan Clendenin has written, “It’s in the disbelief of the first believers that I base my own belief.”

Which brings us back to this morning’s gospel from Matthew.

Of all the accounts, Matthew seems to understand the dynamics of the situation best of all.  Those first disciples and followers weren’t going to catch on to what had just happened unless something big and dramatic somehow caught their attention.  “I think that’s why Matthew says that when there was Easter,” writes William Willimon, “the whole earth shook…  Easter is an earthquake with doors shaken off tombs and dead people walking the streets, the stone rolled away by the ruckus and an imprudent angel sitting on it.”

I have a daughter at home who’s taking physics this year.  She doesn’t much like it, apparently, because we’re not allowed to use that word, or even utter the name of her teacher, around the house.  But she’s obviously more advanced than I ever was, since I lasted exactly one day in physics, back when I was in high school.  I showed up for that first class, saw what it was all about, and, as soon as the class was over, I marched straight down to the guidance office to drop the course!

Now I offer this disclaimer simply as a way of saying that I have a very limited understanding of the laws of physics.  Which is to say, I basically understand that if you drop an apple from a tree, it’s going to fall to the ground, and that’s about it.

 However, I’m told that another one of Newton’s laws is the simple observation that an object at rest tends to stay at rest unless some outside force acts on it to get it moving.  It’s called inertia.  (I guess I understand this one, too.  Because if I’m taking a nap on the couch on a Saturday afternoon, when there are chores to be done, it does take an “outside force” – namely, my wife, Jeanette – to get me up and moving!)

Anyway, the point is simply this: on that first Easter those women knew that the big stone covering the entrance to the tomb wasn’t going anywhere unless an outside force acted on it.  And Matthew alone, among the gospels, tells us what that outside force was – a dazzling angel whose appearance was like lightning and whose clothing was white as snow.  There’s the big earthquake we’ve been talking about, and when the women look up, he’s sitting right there on top of that stone, like it was a park bench or something.  And Pilate’ guards are shaking in their boots.

But here’s the thing!  Listen to what the angel says to them…  “Do not be afraid; I know you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.  Come, see the place where he lay.”

Think about that for a second….  Did the stone have to be moved in order for the risen Jesus to exit?  No…  “He is not here,” said the angel.  It was just moments after the earthquake had rolled the stone away.  That is, Jesus was already long gone!  Or as Max Lucado has written, “The stone was moved – not for Jesus – but for the women; not so Jesus could come out, but so the women could see in!”

And so can we!  Of all the gospels, Matthew, alone, seems to understand that it’s going to take something big and dramatic to get our attention, as well – otherwise we might just miss it!  In other words, we’re no different than those first disciples.  Or as my old friend Edwin Weiss, back in Kentucky, used to say, “we’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer.”

“People like us,” writes William Willimon, “are the sort who like to believe that you can have resurrection and still have the world as it was yesterday.  We want to have Easter and still have our world unrocked  by resurrection.”

Well, Matthew is here to tell us this morning that by raising Jesus on Easter, God rocked our world… and nothing, absolutely nothing, will ever be the same again.  It takes an outside force to get an object at rest moving, said Sir Isaac Newton.  Well, that’s exactly what happened on Easter morning.  And I’m not just talking about the stone here.  I’m talking about us!

Again, I have to quote William Willimon one last time, because I don’t think you can say it any better.  “On the cross,” he writes, “the world did all it could to Jesus…  At Easter, God did all God could do… to the world.  And the earth shook…”

The cross signaled death, and with it all the hopes that were placed in Jesus seemingly died with him.  But, as we heard, on the third day there was an empty tomb.  Jesus was no longer there; he had risen.  And with this victory over the grave, all those hopes – and more – were once again restored.

Now some hopes fail to deliver, it’s true…  But not this one…  Oh no, not this one!

Amen.

 

MAUNDY THURSDAY (03/20/08)

The Shadow of Servant Leadership

(John 13:1-15)

I first met Norman Menter, just about thirty years ago, in the spring of 1978. At the time, I was in my senior year of college and all but convinced that I wanted to attend seminary in the fall. However, I decided to go out to Ohio for a visit to the campus, just to be sure.

It wasn’t my first trip to Columbus, though. You see, fours years earlier, as a freshman in college, I had attended Capital University, a Lutheran school located just across the street from the seminary. So I was well acquainted with the area, and to some extent with the seminary itself as well, and this was actually one of the reasons why I was considering returning to Columbus in the first place.

In making arrangements for my visit, the admissions office informed me that they would have someone waiting for me at the airport, and that I didn’t have to worry about accommodations, either, because they would simply put me up in one of the seminary’s guest rooms and I could take my meals over at Capital’s student center, which is where all the seminary students who lived on campus ate.

Finally, I was told that someone named Norman Menter would be the driver waiting for me at the airport. When I asked how I would know him, the person I was talking to said “not to worry,” the airport wasn’t all that big and he would find me.

And sure enough, once I arrived and went to pick up my suitcase, there was an elderly man standing by the luggage carousel holding a sign with a single word – “Seminary” – scribbled on it. He was short (he stood maybe up to my shoulders) and slight of build, wore glasses, and what little hair was left on his head was thinning and snow white in collar. He was also wearing what I eventually discovered was his normal attire: a short-sleeved white dress shirt, a thin blue tie and matching blue dress pants with black shoes. His clothing was neat and well-kept, but certainly not expensive. In fact, the items looked like they had all been purchased off the rack at Sears or J.C. Penney’s. (I know that because that’s where my own clothes usually came from!)

The only time he wore something different, I learned later, was in winter when, as a concession to the cold weather, he added the blue suit coat that went with the pants. And only when it rained, or the temperature hit single digits, would he ever don a rain slicker or overcoat. Otherwise, it was always the same – as near as I could tell – short-sleeved white shirt, thin blue tie, blue dress pants and black shoes.

We kind of spotted each other immediately; for me, his sign of course was a dead giveaway; while, for him, I think I must have had “prospective seminary student” written all over me. He quickly showed me to his car, insisting that he put my over-sized suitcase into the trunk himself, and we then enjoyed some small-talk during the pleasant 15 minute drive back to the seminary.

I don’t remember much about that first conversation. But I do remember him bemoaning all the road repairs that were going on around town after a particularly harsh winter, and then advising me on the best way to remove any fresh asphalt from your car that had been kicked up while driving on a freshly-paved road.

Once we arrived at the seminary, he briefly stopped by a utility closet in one of the main hallways to pick up a stack of clean towels and sheets, and then took me across the courtyard to one of the dorms, and showed me my quest room up on the third floor. Once he had me situated, he then took me back into the main building for my appointment with the academic dean, Dr. Ted Liefeld. And thus ended my first encounter with Norman Menter. (As it turned out, he was running some sort of errand when I needed a ride back to the airport for my return flight, so a student took me over instead.)

Right from the beginning, though, I kind of got the impression that Norman Menter was sort of a “go-fer” around the seminary, probably a retired gentleman from the community, I figured, who just wanted to stay active. You know, one of those faithful individuals that every church organization seems to attract; just a “regular guy” who wanted to simply find a way to help out and serve in his later years.

Several months later, when I returned to the seminary as an incoming student, I encountered Norman Menter again. At the end of a long registration table where we discovered our room assignments and also registered for our classes, he sat alone with a map of the parking lots on campus in front of him, ready to assign us to our parking spaces and issue the decals for our vehicles. He was still the soft-spoken, unassuming man I remembered, and it was kind of reassuring to see that he was still finding a way to stay active in his retirement and also serve the seminary community.

I remember asking someone at the time, purely out of curiosity, about Norman Menter, and all I got back was that he was the “unofficial assistant” to Dr. Fred Meuser, the seminary president, which is what I had already pretty-much surmised on my own. But if this was the case, he certainly had a far-ranging job description. Because his duties, in addition to taxiing people back and forth from the airport, assigning visitors to their guest rooms on campus (including making up the beds before they arrived and stripping them down after they left), and being in charge of the vehicle assignments for the seminary parking lots, also seemed to include just about every other odd job you could possibly imagine.

In fact, as the weeks went by, I observed that he actually did a little bit of everything, including troubleshooting maintenance problems when they arose, even though the seminary had a facility manager and several others on staff as well to handle these kinds of issues.

So the thought even occurred to me that, perhaps, Norman Menter was a retired electrician or plumber and that’s why he was always so willing to “chip-in.” On the other hand, maybe he was a retired school teacher, I thought. Because there was something about his appearance and bearing that also made me think of that possibility as well.

Coincidentally, I ended up rooming that first year on the third floor of the same dorm, and directly across the hall from the same guest room, that I had stayed in the previous spring during my visit. And since it was still being used as a guest room, I would occasionally see Norman Menter in the hallway, whenever a prospective student or visiting dignitary was in town. On those occasions when the guest happened to be female, he would always seek out my roommate or me, just to be sure that we knew this since the bathroom on our floor didn’t have a lock on the door.

On one such occasion, while we were both in class when Norman came by, we found a note, instead, slipped under our door. It read, “Gentlemen, we have a young lady staying across the hall this evening. Beware of ‘double exposures.’” In fact, I still have that note somewhere in my papers…

But, then, several months into that first year, I was sitting in the chapel one Wednesday morning with the rest of the student body after worship, and Dr. Meuser, our president, stood up to say that he was pleased to announce that the seminary’s board of directors had approved a campaign to raise money to endow a new faculty position. (For those of you who may not know what this means, as I didn’t at first, it refers to providing the kind of financial resources that will support the salary and research needs of a member of a university or graduate school faculty. In this case, the new position at the seminary was going to be called the “Norman A. Menter Chair of Pastoral Theology.”

And with that, everyone in the chapel applauded and turned around to look at the rear of the room where a short, slight, white-haired old gentleman stood quietly against the back wall. Apparently this Norman Menter, and the Norman Menter I knew were one-and-the-same!

At first I was stunned, and my mind immediately started racing.

Why, on earth, would you endow a faculty chair in honor of a retired electrician or plumber; or perhaps even a school teacher? It just didn’t make any sense to me at the time.

So now I renewed, in earnest, my investigation into the true identity of this mild-mannered, rather ordinary-looking old gentleman that the seminary wanted to name a faculty position in pastoral theology after. And this time it didn’t take very long for me to get the “scoop” on Norman Menter since the entire seminary community was now buzzing with the exciting news of this honor that was about to be bestowed on him.

It turns out, as you might have guessed, that Norman Menter was not a retied electrician, or plumber, or school teacher, or anything else I might have imagined. Oh, he was retired all right. (That’s about the only thing I had gotten correct!)

It seems that he was a retired pastor, which, of course, makes perfect sense. But not just any retired pastor. Rather he was Dr. Norman Menter, the former senior pastor of one of the largest congregations in the state, also the former and longtime president (now we call them ”bishops”) of the Michigan District of the American Lutheran Church (one of the predecessor church bodies that merged to create our present-day ELCA), and even a former Vice President of the entire ALC. In other words, this was no ordinary pastor, or individual. This was a well known and well respected leader in the Lutheran Church; not only in that part of the country, but nationally, even internationally as well! Respected enough, that his admirers chose to honor his faithful years of service in ministry by endowing a faculty position at the seminary in his name.

To be perfectly honest, this discovery was truly mind-boggling for me. Because there was absolutely nothing about this man’s appearance, or demeanor, or the way in which he spoke or interacted with you that would ever give you even the slightest hint or clue that he was such an accomplished person. He was so ordinary and average, and obviously quite modest as well.

In other words, I simply couldn’t reconcile in my mind the image of the little, old man who was always running around the seminary campus, with his arms full of sheets and towels, and pitching in wherever needed… with someone so famous and respected. It just didn’t add up. Every important, or semi-important person, I had ever met – including most of the professors on our faculty, I might add – let you know in no uncertain terms that they were important! And that certain things, like shoveling snow or running errands, were clearly beneath them.

Nor I couldn’t even begin to imagine a former bishop making up guest beds like an ordinary maid, or ferrying prospective students back and forth from the airport like a typical taxi driver. It just didn’t make sense…

Until I began to learn about the concept of “servant leadership,” that is. Early in my seminary studies, you see, we were taught that the call to pastoral ministry, indeed the call of all the baptized, was a call to servanthood. The kind of servanthood epitomized by our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

In our gospel this evening, we have John’s account of the Last Supper that Jesus ate with his disciples on the night before his crucifixion. We might have thought, especially given what was about to happen, that Jesus would have chosen to be served by his closest followers that evening; that he would have appreciated it if they would have taken care of his every need – knowing full well the suffering and degradation he was going to experience in just a few short hours.

Instead, however, our gospel says that, “Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself.” And then, as we heard, Jesus poured water into a basin and got down on his knees to wash and wipe the disciple’s feet. Normally, the job of a lowly servant or slave.

They, of course, objected to Jesus “lowering” himself in this way. But Jesus insisted. “You do not know now what I am doing,” he said, “but later you will understand.” And after he was finished, had put his robe back on, and had rejoined them at the table, he added, “Do you know what I have done to you? …if I, your Lord and Teacher have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.” That is, the call of every Christian, especially the leaders among us, is a call to servanthood. To lower ourselves and to serve others in any way we can.

The Apostle Paul, perhaps, put it best when he wrote in this past Sunday’s reading from Philippians, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of God, did not count 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.

Now, I was soon to learn at seminary, that everyone on the faculty and in the seminary administration certainly believed in and talked about servanthood. And I am sure that they also did their best to follow our Lord’s example as well. But only one person truly lived it out (in my estimation, at least), and that was Norman Menter; the towel-carrying “go-fer” and taxi driver, who just happened to also be a former bishop. No one else even came close.

Now there were perhaps those who could describe and articulate the concept of servant leadership far better than he ever could, I suppose. But Dr. Menter let his life and his actions speak for themselves, and they spoke vividly. Indeed, they spoke volumes…

While I have, admittedly, told his story many times before, as much for my own benefit as that of my congregations, I had never done what I just did the other day. I actually “Googled” the name Norman A. Menter, and the variation, Dr. Norman Menter, and, between the two, I got five “hits.”

Of course, at Trinity Lutheran Seminary’s web site you can find mention of the “Norman A. Menter Chair in Pastoral Theology” as well as the former and current faculty members who occupy it. And Capital University’s makes mention of the “Dr. and Mrs. Norman Menter scholarship” which was established by Norman and Phoebe Menter “to reflect their deep and abiding belief in the work of Capital University.”

And two of them were links to congregational web sites that described, in their histories, the role played by Dr. Menter while he served as president, or bishop, of the old Michigan District of the ALC.

Faith Lutheran Church in Saginaw, Michigan, for instance, recalls how, on October 1, 1950, Dr, Menter had dedicated the former garage which had been converted into their very first meeting space. And Trinity Lutheran Church, in Delta, Ohio, notes that, 15 years later in 1965 (obviously Dr. Menter was still serving as district president!), when they decided to leave the Missouri Synod and join the ALC, Dr. Menter was the one they contacted, and who subsequently helped them make this transition.

The final link was interesting, however. It took me to a “free” entry at “Ancestry.com” and a listing of the name “Norman A. Menter” from the 1930 U.S. Census. Since this Norman Menter’s wife’s name was also Phoebe, and in 1930 they were residing in Wayne, Michigan (a suburb of Detroit), I was pretty confident that it was the same one. But the interesting thing for me was the date of birth that was listed… 1898. Which means, of course, that when I first met Dr. Menter, 30 years ago, he was already 80 years old (!), but still working fulltime as the “unofficial” assistant to the seminary’s president and “official” go-fer for the seminary community. At an age when most people, including most pastors, are living in places like Florida or Arizona, and playing golf and otherwise taking it easy, Norman Menter was showing up for work at the seminary, Monday through Friday, good weather and bad, and on weekends as needed, ready and willing to do anything and everything they had for him to do. Talk about servanthood!

After I graduated from seminary and moved away, I didn’t hear anything more about Dr. Menter for a few years, until one day I read his obituary in an issue of The Lutheran. It seems that his wife, Phoebe, preceded him in death, and that Dr. Menter, himself, eventually ended up living in a Lutheran nursing home in Columbus, not all that far from the seminary actually.

And not content to just sit around even in that environment, he apparently continued to serve at the nursing home as a chaplain’s assistant, helping out wherever he could, especially taking communion to the other residents, until he was well into his 90’s!

In the verses immediately following our gospel this evening, Jesus said to his disciples, regarding servanthood, “If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.”

Obviously Norman Menter knew what Jesus was talking about, and took our Lord’s example to heart. He truly was a servant leader. And for that, this otherwise short and slight man, who looked so ordinary, nevertheless stands as a giant for all those who aspire to be disciples of Jesus Christ in their own lives.

Amen

 

Sunday of the Passion: Discerning the Will of God (03/16/08)

Discerning The Will of God

(Matthew 26:14-25, 36-50, 57; 27:1-8)

During the Second World War, Leslie D. Weatherhead, an English pastor serving in London, gave a series of talks (or sermons) on the “will of God” to his congregation. The church he served, the City Temple, had been gutted by incendiary bombs early in the war and the congregation was forced to meet, thereafter, at the nearby St. Sepulchre. And it wasn’t until the 1950’s that they would return to their rebuilt church. Therefore, these people knew firsthand about the ravages of war, and, like many who suffer, they also struggled with the concept of God’s Will amidst so much evil and destruction.

Fortunately, for all who have come after – especially those who have suffered and struggled to understand God’s will in their own lives – Weatherhead’s sermons were preserved and later published in a slim volume entitled “The Will of God” which has now become something of a Christian classic. And in the very first paragraph of that book, he explains his reason for pursuing this theme:

The phrase ‘the will of God’ is used so loosely (he writes), and the consequences of that looseness to our peace of mind is so serious, that I want to spend some time in thinking through with you the whole subject. There is nothing about which we ought to think more clearly; and yet, I sometimes think, there is nothing about which men and women are more confused.

For the past several weeks, and now culminating this morning

on the Sunday of the Passion, I have led you through my own discussion of “the will of God” using Weatherhead’s book as a jumping-off point. We learned, for instance, that Weatherhead believed it was easier and better to understand God’s will by dividing it up into three parts. First, was what he called the “intentional will of God.” For Weatherhead, this represented God’s ideal plan for human beings. In terms of Christ, God’s intentional will, or ideal plan, was clearly for us to follow Jesus.

Second, however, was what Weatherhead called the “circumstantial will of God.” This represents God’s plan within, or in response to, certain circumstances resulting from humanity’s exercise of its free will – most notably those circumstances brought on by our sinfulness. Christ’s death on the cross was not part of God’s original plan, Weatherhead believed. Rather, it was God’s positive and creative response to the tragic sinfulness and evil which had led to the crucifixion.

Finally, there was for Weatherhead the “ultimate will of God,” or the final realization of God’s gracious and loving purposes; purposes which not even human sinfulness or evil could possibly defeat. Thus, the final realization of God’s purposes was, as Weatherhead wrote, “the redemption of man, winning man back to God, not in spite of the Cross, but using the Cross, born of man’s sin, as an instrument to reach the goal of God’s ultimate will.”

Perhaps another way of trying to understand this is to consider the game of chess. As Scott Higgins writes, “One of the more difficult concepts for us to grasp is how God can be said to be in control of his world.” Now is he the author of a play, writing the script for our lives? Or is he, instead, simply a member of the audience, watching us write our own script? The first possibility, as Higgins notes, appears to rob us of our freedom. The second one, however, completely eliminates the possibility of God’s involvement.

“Perhaps a better image,” Higgins writes, “is of a game of chess between a chess master and a novice. The novice moves his pieces around the board. He follows some basic strategies he has read about in a book. Some of his moves are foolish.

“The master” (on the other hand) “responds with great expertise and wisdom. His moves are not pre-programmed, but (rather) a response to the moves of the opposing player. Without even knowing it, the Master weaves the novice’s moves into his game plan. And, of course, the outcome of the game is never in doubt.

Higgins concludes, “Perhaps God is the Master and we are the novices. We make our choices freely, sometimes very foolish and harmful choices, but the Master responds with wisdom, reacting in such a way to ensure that our moves are coordinated into his overall strategy. And, of course, the outcome – a new world – is never in doubt.”

Weatherhead believed that it was only such an understanding of God’s will that could ever bring any peace to us in this life, filled as it is with so much pain and sorrow. While there is not enough time for us this morning to describe this peace in any detail, it is important to note that, for Weatherhead, there were three reasons for this sense of peace.

1. We lose the fear of getting lost. (In other words, understanding the will of God leads us back home to him.)
2. The fear and dread of carrying the full responsibility of what happens in our lives, and in the world, is removed. (We may make mistakes, even tragic mistakes, in our lives, but we are nevertheless assured that, in the end, absolutely nothing can finally thwart God’s gracious and loving purposes for us.)
3. Our conflicts are resolved. (Or as Weatherhead wrote, “The guiding principle ‘I will do God’s will as far as I can see it’ is one that answers a great many of our conflicts and therefore brings us peace and strength.”)

Of course, doing God’s will implies that we somehow know and understand God’s will. Which leads us, then, to this morning’s final theme: “Discerning The Will of God.”

Now discerning God’s will is often difficult. Sometimes it is pronounced with such great confidence only to be replaced by acute embarrassment. Over a century ago, for instance, an esteemed bishop of the church, a Bishop Wright, pronounced from the pulpit and in the periodical he edited that “heavier-than-air-flight” was both impossible and also contrary to the will of God. The great irony was that this Bishop Wright had two sons… Orville and Wilbur!

Since God’s will is not always completely self-evident, Weatherhead observed that there are any number of sign-posts to give us some direction:

1. Our own conscience; that is, the inner voice which tells us that something is either right or wrong, and that which is right is invariably God’s will.
2. Simple common sense, which is in itself , also a gift from God.
3. The advice of friends; another way in which God can work. Talking over one’s difficulties with a wise friend, because he or she can see the matter from a different angle, can view the pros and cons dispassionately and is outside the emotional setting of the problem, can often give us, observes Weatherhead, some of the most helpful advice.
4. The minds and wisdom of others, especially as they are found in scripture. The Bible, notes Weatherhead, was written from a unique point of view – namely, that of the will and purposes of God. Clearly, the very best guidance we can possibly have, then, is the guidance that God gives his children in his holy word.
5. The voice of the church. Often God can use the church itself to help in the discernment process. Something which is built-in to our Lutheran understanding of a “call to ministry,” for example, is the belief that God’s call is not simply a personal matter or experience. Instead, in our church, the personal sense of call must also be confirmed by others, by the church, who alone have the authority then to ordain. In other words, the are no “self-ordained” ministers in the Lutheran church.
6. Finally, notes Weatherhead, there is what our Quaker friends call the “Inner Light,” or the belief that God can also speak directly to the human soul, and show his will to those who seek him.

The story is told of a farmer who was lying on his back out in a field one spring day, lazily looking at the clouds overhead in the sky instead of working. He quickly sat up, however, when he noticed that the clouds had suddenly formed themselves into two recognizable letters: a “P” and a “C.” Immediately, the farmer discerned for himself that it was God calling him to the ministry; the “PC” standing, undoubtedly, for “Preach Christ.” So he went and sold his farm and all of his equipment in order to become a preacher… The only problem was that he was terrible.

So finally, he went before a pastoral review board who asked the man, “Tell us how you were called into the ministry?” And the man responded with his story about lying out in his fields one spring and seeing the letters “PC” in the clouds overhead, and discerning that this must be a message straight from God himself. So he got up and sold his farm and became a preacher.

After a few moments of silence, a grizzled old pastor cleared his throat and said, “Young man, I believe you when you say that you saw the letters “PC” in the clouds, and that you believed them to be a message directly from God… However, did it ever occur to you that what he was trying to say to you that fine spring day while you were lying on your back out in your field instead of working was, “PLANT CORN!”?

Bob Mumford offers some thoughts, similar to those of Weatherhead, to further help us in discerning God’s will for our lives. In his book “Take Another Look at Guidance,” Mumford compares discovering God’s will with a sea captain’s docking procedures. A certain harbor in Italy, apparently, can only be reached by sailing up a narrow channel between dangerous rocks and shoals. Over the years, many ships have been wrecked, and navigation is hazardous. To guide the ships safely into port, three lights have been mounted on three huge poles out in the harbor. When the three lights are perfectly lined up and seen as one, the ship can then safely proceed up the narrow channel. If the pilot sees two or three lights, however, he knows that he’s off-course and in danger.

God has also provided three “beacons” to guide us, argues Mumford. The same rules of navigation apply, he says – these three lights must also be lined up before it is safe for us to proceed:

1. The Word of God. (Again, the role of scripture in the discernment process.)
2. The Holy Spirit. (Here I would include what Weatherhead called the advice of others, the voice of the church, and what the Quakers refer to as the “Inner Light.”
3. Life’s circumstances. (To me, this involves the role of the individual conscience and plain-old common sense.

Again, if these three beacons: God’s Word, the guidance of

the Holy Spirit, and our personal conclusions regarding the circumstances facing us, are perfectly lined up, then perhaps we can have some confidence that we are discerning the will of God for our lives properly.

But Weatherhead acknowledged that one of the challenging questions we face in the discernment process is simply this, “Do I really want to discern God’s will, or do I (simply) want to get his (approval) for my own? He then goes on to tell a story that I had heard before, but never knew where it originated. Now I know that Weatherhead, himself, was the source.

It seems that a pastor once received a call to a new church at a salary which was four times what he was currently earning. Being a very devout man, however, he of course spent many hours in prayer, seeking to discern the will of God for his life, and for his family.

The next day, one of the neighborhood boys encountered the pastor’s young son playing outside in the street. Since word of this new call was one of the poorest-kept secrets in town, he asked him, “Well, what’s your father going to do?”

“I don’t know,” said the little boy honestly. “Father’s upstairs praying… but mother’s downstairs packing.”

The father, offers Weatherhead, was saying to God, “What will you have me do?” While the mother, no less good-intentioned, was saying to God, “This is what I am going to do. I hope you’ll approve.”

But for Weatherhead, discerning the will of God truly means “putting ourselves out of the picture,” at least as much as humanly possible. However, it does not mean, he notes, choosing the most unpleasant way – simply because we assume this to be the most “self-less” choice, and, therefore, the most godly. Nor does it mean that we should go to the other extreme and say, “This is what I am going to do. Please approve, because I want so badly to do it.” Perhaps, as in most things, even the will of God is likely to often be found somewhere between the polar opposites of absolute selfishness, on the one hand, and absolute selflessness, on the other.

Well, now, let’s see if we can bring a close to our discussion this morning, and tie-up any loose ends, by briefly applying Weatherhead’s understanding of the will of God to our gospel readings this morning…

In our processional gospel, the account of Jesus’ exciting and acclaimed entrance into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, we observed the “intentional will of God”; namely God’s intention that the people would gladly welcome and then follow his Son. But as the week wore on, of course, other forces and agendas came to bear. Those who opposed Jesus, who ignored and defied the intentional will of God, and who let their own desires and prejudices cloud their judgment, began to conspire against Jesus. And in Judas Iscariot, they found a willing accomplice.

But there is a belief on the part of some scholars, one that I personally find quite plausible, that Judas betrayed Jesus not because he wanted to hurt him, but because he was frustrated by Jesus’ behavior, and simply wanted to try and force Jesus’ hand and make him lead a revolution against the Romans, which is what many, including Judas, wanted. Perhaps that’s why Judas even chose to betray Jesus in the manner he did, with a kiss, not because the religious leaders couldn’t identify Jesus on their own. After all, by his own admission, he had been teaching in the temple day after day. No, Judas, instead, wanted to be there to see the “fireworks;” to see Jesus rise up and defend himself and defeat the Romans. If this was true, then tragically Judas mistook his own will for God’s.

The circumstances, created by the tragically sinful actions of Judas and the religious authorities, led directly, then, to the “circumstantial will of God” in which Jesus did not run from the danger, but instead faced it head on. And it was in the Garden, as we heard, where Jesus wrestled with this surprising turn of events (for us, at least) and prayed for discernment, revealing the answer he was looking for with the words, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it… your will be done..” And in so doing, God took that evil which was plotted and planned against Jesus, and turned it into something good. Like a master chess player, God took the foolish and harmful moves of misguided novices, and wove them into his own gracious game plan. And so God then took the cross, a symbol of torture, hatred, and death, and turned it into a symbol of redemption, hope, and new life…

Now the assumption has always been, even seemingly in today’s gospel, that all of this – including Judas’ betrayal – was all part of God’s original plan and purpose. But let’s stop and think about that logically for just a minute. Can we somehow reconcile our understanding of God, gleaned from thousands of pages of scripture, and two thousand of years of church history, that consistently proclaim over and over again that our God is a God

of love and mercy and forgiveness – can we ever reconcile this picture of God with a God who supposedly, from the very beginning of time, purposely chose and destined for Judas to be Jesus’ betrayer and, therefore, to be damned for all eternity? If God could be so unpredictable, and so cavalier about the eternal soul of just one person, is there any possible assurance then that he might not do the very same to the rest of us as well? And if that’s so, it’s a terrifying thought!

Or… does it make much more sense, especially given what we do know about God from scripture and from the history of the church, that Judas made this stupid, and tragic, and sinful choice of his own free will and volition? In other words, that no one was to blame, except Judas himself. As Weatherhead writes, “…though God may use an instrument for the achievement of divine purpose, if that instrument is human, he has to pay for his sins. God used the Cross, we said, as the instrument of a divine purpose, but that did not stop our Lord from saying of Judas,” (and as we heard this morning) “It would have been better for that one not to have been born.”

Notice, Jesus never says that God planned from the beginning of time for Judas to be his betrayer. Instead, that choice – again tragically – belonged to Judas alone. In trying to discern God’s will, Judas made a horrible and regrettable mistake. Which is why Jesus could say, with more than a twinge of sadness, “It would have been better for him not to have been born.”

But, believe it or not, that’s not even the worst of it! Could Judas have been forgiven? A Lutheran pastor, Brian Stoffregen, points out that in Matthew 19:28, shortly after the second prediction of his passion (in other words, the cross, again, may not have been the intentional will of God, but like a master chess player who can literally visualize all the succeeding moves on a chessboard, Jesus undoubtedly had foreknowledge of what was to come), in this verse Jesus indicates that when the Son of Man is seated on the throne of glory, those who followed him will also sit on twelve thrones to judge the twelve tribes of Israel. Jesus says twelve here, not eleven. And Judas, of course, was one of the twelve. Which leads to the question: Could Judas have been forgiven and restored, if only he had repented – in much the same way as Peter was rehabilitated after denying Jesus three times?

Sadly, we’ll never know. Because our gospel tells us this morning that when Judas finally realized what he had done, that Jesus was now condemned to die (and did not rise up to defend himself), Judas repented. “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood,” he said. But as Stoffregen notes, Judas went to the wrong people

for forgiveness. Instead of going to the other disciples, to the Christian commuity, he went back instead to the religious leaders. In other words, to those who did not have the power to forgive in the name of Jesus Christ! And when there was no absolution forthcoming from these religious leaders, Judas, again tragically, went out and hanged himself.

The only unforgivable sin, Jesus once said, is to reject the Holy Spirit. In other words, to reject the gifts of faith and forgiveness that we receive through the power of the Holy Spirit working in our lives. In his despair, Judas turned away from the only one who could have helped him. And without any hope or possibility of that forgiveness, he took his own life and thus sealed his eternal fate…

And it’s on that painfully sad note that our gospel ends this morning. But it’s not the end of the story. For that, however, we must wait another week. But we do so secure in the knowledge that God has the final word, and that the ultimate and gracious will of God can never be defeated.

Amen

 

God’s Ultimate Will (03/09/08)

LENT 5A: God’s Ultimate Will

(Job 42:1-3; Romans 8:28-30; John 2:13-22)

The following story is told about Earl Weaver, former manager of major league baseball’s Baltimore Orioles. It seems that Weaver had a longstanding team rule that no one could steal a base unless he (that is, Weaver) had given the steal sign.

This upset Reggie Jackson, one of his star players, however. You see, Jackson, a veteran player (who had a bit of an ego, as well), felt that he knew the pitchers and catchers in the league well enough to judge who he could, and could not, steal off of. So, one game, he decided to test his manager’s rule and steal without Weaver’s sign.

He got a good jump off the pitcher and easily beat the throw to second base. As he shook the dirt off his uniform, Jackson smiled with delight, feeling that he had justified himself and proven to his manager that he knew what he was doing. But, unfortunately, the following batters in the order were not able to advance him beyond second base. And so Jackson ended up being stranded there and the Orioles did not score any runs that inning.

When Jackson returned to the dugout, Weaver pulled him aside and explained why he hadn’t given him the steal sign. The first reason was that the very next batter was Lee May, the team’s best power hitter and RBI man, other then Jackson. When Jackson stole second, first base was now left open, so the other team simply walked May intentionally, effectively taking the bat out of his hands.

The second reason was that the player following Lee May in the batting order had, throughout his career, not had much success against this particular pitcher. Now Weaver was famous for keeping track of “who had done what” against particular opponents in the past. And because of this batter’s previous lack of success against this pitcher, Weaver then felt compelled to send up a pinch hitter, instead, in order to try and drive home Jackson and May. When the pinch hitter failed to do so, not only had the Orioles failed to score, but Weaver was also left without valuable bench strength for later in the game, since now both the player he had replaced in the order and the pinch hitter could not return to action.

The problem here, of course, was that Jackson saw only his relationship to the pitcher and the catcher. He was focused solely on his own situation. His manager, Earl Weaver, on the other hand, was watching the whole game; the bigger picture. And he had made, or not made, certain decisions based on that bigger picture.

Well, the same is also true, I believe, when we think about God and God’s will for our lives. There is a bigger picture that only God can see. And it is also true that, sometimes, we do things that force God to respond to a new set of circumstances that we, ourselves, have created by the exercise of our own free will.

In our story, for instance, Reggie Jackson thought he knew better than his manager when it was appropriate to steal a base and when it wasn’t. What he didn’t realize, however, was that there were at least two reasons why Earl Weaver didn’t want him to steal in that situation. In ignorance, then, Jackson broke a team rule and disobeyed his manager, and the net result was that the Orioles missed out on a golden opportunity to score some runs that inning.

His manager’s original intentions, reflected in a batting order that had the power-hitting Lee May coming up right after Reggie Jackson had been interfered with. By Jackson stealing second, and the resulting intentional walk to May, Weaver now had an entirely different set of circumstances to work with than he had originally intended and planned for…

And that’s precisely the point that Leslie D. Weatherhead tried to make in his classic book The Will of God. To summarize, once again, Weatherhead believed that we should break down the phrase: “the will of God” into three parts:

1. The intentional will of God, or God’s “ideal plan” for human beings.
2. The circumstantial will of God, or God’s plan within (or in response to) certain circumstances. (The way, for instance, that Oriole manager, Earl Weaver, had to respond to Jackson’s unexpected steal of second base.)
3. The ultimate will of God. The ultimate will of God is God’s “final realization” of his gracious purposes.

In the case of Earl Weaver, even though he was a Hall of Fame manager, he did not have final control over who won or lost a particular game, including the one in our story. In fact, I don’t even know who won that game. It is entirely possible that Weaver made all the right managerial moves from that point on to pull out a victory. But it’s also entirely possible that, despite all of Weaver’s subsequent decisions, the team still lost.

For God, however, the final outcome is never in doubt. In our first reading this morning, Job says to God, “I know that you can do all things and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.” And it’s precisely this verse that Weatherhead quotes to begin his discussion of God’s ultimate will. From the very outset, then, Weatherhead wants to be perfectly clear that, while God may indeed have to respond at times to various circumstances brought about by free will and human sinfulness, nevertheless absolutely nothing can interfere with the full and final realization of God’s purposes.

Once again, Weatherhead turns to the cross as the supreme example of what he’s talking about here. According to Weatherhead, the intentional will of God was not that Jesus should be crucified, but that he should be followed. The circumstantial will of God, God’s will in the circumstances which human evil provided, was that Jesus responded by accepting death – not in weak resignation, but in a positive and creative way. Which, of course, then resulted in God’s ultimate will, namely the redemption of humankind, winning human beings back to God, not in spite of the cross, but using the cross, born of human sinfulness, “as an instrument to reach the goal of God’s ultimate will.”

He writes, “Christ did not just submit to this dread event of the Crucifixion with… resignation. He took hold of the situation. Given those circumstances which evil had produced, it was also God’s will that Jesus should not just die like a trapped animal, but that he should so react to evil, positively and creatively, as to wrest good out of evil circumstances; and that is why the Cross is not just a symbol of capital punishment similar to the hangman’s rope, but is a symbol of the triumphant use of evil in the cause of the holy purposes of God. In other words, by doing the circumstantial will of God we open the way to God’s ultimate triumph…”

Or as we heard Joseph say to his brothers in last week’s lesson, “You plotted evil against me, but God turned it into good, in order to preserve the lives of many people who are alive today because of what happened.”

Certainly evil was plotted and then perpetrated against Jesus.

And if Weatherhead is correct, this was obviously not God’s will. However, scripture also tells us that God nevertheless used those circumstances, and was able to turn that evil into good. God turned the cross, from a symbol of death, into a symbol of life. And through the evil that was the cross, God was once again able “to preserve the lives of many people who are alive today because of what happened.”

“The picture in my mind,” writes Weatherhead, “is that of children playing beside a tiny stream that runs down a mountainside to join a river in the valley below. Very little children can divert the stream and get great fun out of damming it up with stones and earth. But not one of them ever succeeds in preventing the water from reaching the river at last…”

“In regard to God, we are (like those) little children,” he writes. “Though we may divert and hinder his purposes, I don’t believe we ever finally defeat them… When we say, then, that God is omnipotent, we do not mean that nothing can happen unless it is God’s will (or intention)… We mean that nothing can happen which can finally defeat him.”

In today’s gospel, for instance, we heard Jesus’ verbal sparring with those who took offense at the way in which he had cleared the moneychangers from the temple. “What sign can you show us for doing this,” they demanded.

Jesus, who generally refused to give in to such demands for signs, nevertheless responded, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”

Their immediate reaction was one of disbelief. “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and you will raise it up in three days?”

“But he was speaking,” says the gospel, “of the temple of his body.”

Once again, it is clear that God, and God alone, is in control. Those who decided to oppose Jesus – instead of following him – were obviously able to further exercise their free will by seeing to it that he was put to death on a cross. But, like children trying to divert a stream, they were totally unable to divert or hinder God’s ultimate purposes; even though they had seemingly accomplished this with the crucifixion of God’s Son.

That’s because, on the third day, the tomb where Jesus’ lifeless body had been placed was now empty. They had killed Jesus, but death could not hold him. Neither they, nor death itself, could resist God’s ultimate will for the world.

And the disciples, of course, took note of this. “After he was raised from the dead,” says today’s gospel, “his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scriptures and the word that Jesus had spoken.”

Paul put it this way in our second reading this morning, “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” In other words, no matter what happens, in the end God’s ultimate will cannot be thwarted or resisted.

But then Paul goes on to seemingly talk about predestination and such, which would appear to contradict everything we’ve been talking about up until now. “For those whom he foreknew,” writes Paul, “he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family. And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.”

So which is it, then, free will, or predestination? Is God simply “in control” or “controlling”?

The story is told of a group of theologians who were once discussing the tension between predestination and free will. Things became so heated, in fact, that the group broke up into two opposing factions.

But one man, not knowing which side to join, stood for a moment trying to decide. At last he joined the predestination group. “Who sent you here?” they asked. “No one sent me,” he replied, “I came of my own free will.”

“Free will!” they exclaimed. “You can’t join us! You belong to the other group!”

So he followed their orders and went to the other side of the room. And there someone asked him, “When did you decide to join us?” The man replied, ”Well, I didn’t really decide – I was sent here.”

“Sent here!” they shouted. “You can’t join us unless you have decided by your own free will!”

The problem, of course, is that these two groups believed that it had to be either one way or the other; either everything is under God’s control or it isn’t.

But Paul is not saying here that God is a micro-manager, and that we’re simply his puppets acting out a prearranged script. Nor is he saying that our free will can circumvent God’s ultimate purposes, either. Rather, the point that Paul is trying to make here is that the only thing we can depend on in this life is God’s initiative and grace – not our own efforts or response. To say that God foreknew, predestined, called, justified, and glorified is simply to say that it all depends on God – not us! And that, again, nothing can ultimately resist or thwart God’s gracious will for our lives.

Weatherhead closes his chapter on God’s ultimate will with the poignant example of a young woman, widowed in an accident.

Her husband has been killed and she is now left alone to raise her two young children by herself. “How can God ever bring about his ultimate will?”, she wonders. God’s intentional will was clearly that she have a husband and a happy home and family. But now all that has seemingly been lost and destroyed.

There is no easy or simple answer to such a circumstance, concedes Weatherhead. But what he offers in response is this:

“On Good Friday night eleven men, in the deepest gloom, felt like you. They said in their hearts: ‘We trusted him, we followed him. It was his will to establish his kingdom. He told us so. And evil has been allowed to take him away from us. It’s the end of everything.’

“But they were wrong,” writes Weatherhead, “weren’t they? It was only the end of their mistake and the beginning of the most wonderful use of evil which God has ever effected. And if you give way to despair, you are wrong too! …Are you certain, standing where you stand, with your limited human vision, that God cannot fulfill (his will for your life) by any other route?

“Big words these,” Weatherhead continues, “but underneath them is the conviction of all the saints and the supreme evidence of the Crucified, that God is a Father, that the ultimate meaning of the whole universe is Love, and that God will never fail with one of his family unless that one opposes him forever…

“Trust God,” he concludes. “Rest in the nature of God. He who began this strange adventure we call human life will also control the end. ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.’

We cannot see or understand, from today’s vantage point, how God’s gracious and ultimate purposes will eventually be worked out. But this much is certain: “The last word is with God…” Amen.