Hebrews 6:13-20
13 When God made a promise to Abraham, because he had no one greater by whom to swear, he swore by himself, 14 saying, "I will surely bless you and multiply you." 15 And thus Abraham, having patiently endured, obtained the promise. 16 Human beings, of course, swear by someone greater than themselves, and an oath given as confirmation puts an end to all dispute. 17 In the same way, when God desired to show even more clearly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it by an oath, 18 so that through two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible that God would prove false, we who have taken refuge might be strongly encouraged to seize the hope set before us. 19 We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters the inner shrine behind the curtain, 20 where Jesus, a forerunner on our behalf, has entered, having become a high priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.
In the twelfth episode of season six of the NBC comedy “The Office,” fans of the show were introduced to a special group of kids referred to as “Scott’s Tots,” named for the leading character in the show, Dunder Mifflin Regional Manager, Michael Scott. Scott’s Tots were an entire class of students that Michael had spoken to some ten years prior and promised them all that if they graduated from high school he would pay for their college tuition. Well, as you can imagine, the day came when Scott’s Tots were ready to graduate, and Michael (still the regional manager of a small paper supply company) wasn’t even able to afford to send one of them to college. So, after an elaborate show of thanksgiving for what Michael’s promise had done for Scott’s Tots, he had to break the bad news to them, and offer them all a laptop…battery for their trouble.
Needless to say, all of the “Tots” were disappointed, and Michael was humiliated because he had made a promise he couldn’t keep. However, at the end of the show his secretary Erin tells us that because of Michael’s promise, Scott’s Tots had the highest graduating class in years, and many of them were the first in their families to graduate from high school and even dream of going to college. You could say their hope in Michael’s promise motivated them to be better.
In September of 2008, I had the privilege of listening to Dr. Tom Long, professor of preaching at Emory University’s Candler School of Theology, at a chapel service at Truett Seminary, and in his sermon titled “A Case of Misjudged Appearance,” he shared the story of a hospital chaplain in Louisville, Kentucky who had attended an Ash Wednesday service on his lunch break. When the chaplain began making his rounds after returning to the hospital, he came to the room of a woman that Dr. Long referred to as a “smiley-faced Christian” ( You know the type, always saying things like “Praise the Lord for dryer sheets!” or something like that). Anyhow, the chaplain entered this woman’s room on this particular Ash Wednesday with the ashen cross still imposed on his forehead. The woman, not knowing any better, reached over towards the chaplain with a tissue and said, “You’ve got some dirt on your forehead; let me just wipe that off for you.”
The chaplain said, “No ma’am. This isn’t dirt on my forehead; it’s a cross in ashes and oil.” “Well what is that for?” she asked. The chaplain thought for a moment and said, “This is a sign that when all the world goes to hell, God is still with me.” The woman reached up and touched the cross on the chaplain’s forehead and said, “I think I need some of that.”
It may be silly to think at first, but the fictional “Scott’s Tots” and Dr. Long’s story of a woman in a Louisville hospital are quite similar; both stories involve a promise and the hope that springs forth from such a promise. This morning, on this third Sunday of Lent, as we continue on our journey through this letter to the Hebrews, we have heard words that speak of a promise and the hope that comes forth from it, in the author’s brief exposition of God’s promise to Abraham.
In verses 13 and 14 the author of Hebrews writes, “When God made a promise to Abraham, because he had no one greater by whom to swear, he swore by himself, saying, ‘I will surely bless you and multiply you.’” Now, in the ancient world when one made a promise, it was not as simple as saying “I promise to (pay for your college tuition)” or signing a promissory note. When one made a promise, swore an oath, or made a covenant, one did so in the name of God, and therefore, it was understood that if one did not live up to the promise he or she had made, aside from breaking the third commandment, then God would follow through with whatever the agreed upon consequence was for failing to keep one’s promise. In other words, if you were going to make a promise in the ancient world it would go something like this: “I promise, in the name of God, that I will do such-and-such, and if I do not follow through, may he strike me dead.” Now people were so afraid of the severity of the consequences of breaking a promise, that they rarely uttered the consequences in an oath, in fact sometimes they would purposefully mutter the words; they were simply understood by all the parties involved.
So what our author is getting at here in verses 13 and 14 is that God is where the buck stops, so there is no one higher for him to swear by, no one higher than God to hold God accountable to the consequences of not following through. This, however, isn’t a reason not to trust God, for God swore by himself, the writer says, and if that wasn’t enough, in verse 17 he says, “In the same way, when God desired to show even more clearly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it by an oath.” A promise and an oath: God, without needing to, made a promise to Abraham to increase his descendants, and in a desire to show “the unchangeable character of his purpose” he made an oath too. Therefore (as the author says in verse 18), “through two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible that God would prove false, we who have taken refuge might be strongly encouraged to seize the hope set before us.”
“The hope set before us.” What hope is our author referring to here? Given the context, one might think that the promise referred to is that of Abraham for a multitude of descendants. However, the author is simply using Abraham’s situation as an illustration for the way in which God’s promise can be trusted. So to what hope is our author referring? Well, he says in verses 19 and 20, “We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters the inner shrine behind the curtain, where Jesus, a forerunner on our behalf, has entered, having become a high priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.” So the hope being referred to here, the hope we have in the unchanging promise of God, is “a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul” and something about a shrine and a curtain? Well…yes.
The author of this sermon to the Hebrews is referring to the curtain that separated the Holy Place of the Tabernacle (or the Temple) from the Most Holy Place. The Most Holy Place (or Holy of Holies) was only entered by the high priest and only on the Day of Atonement, so one day a year only one person was allowed to go into this one cubical room, so what? Well, the Most Holy Place is where the presence of God was said to reside; this is where God was, in a box in a tent or in a temple, and only one person once a year was allowed to be in the presence of God. Sounds a bit like a sham doesn’t it?
But that is the author’s point here. It’s not that way anymore. We can trust the promise of God because of what and how he promised Abraham: his descendants were numerous; God had followed through on his promise. And now we have this hope—this ever-present, real, living, and breathing hope—that Christ has gone before us into the presence of God, being God himself, that we may be in the presence of God. No longer is it just one, special person, one, special day a year; it’s everyone everyday! And you and I can hold on to this hope, because we know that God’s promise is true, that he will hold to his word, just as he did with Abraham. We have this hope because Christ has become the great high priest who intercedes on our behalf, the great high priest who has offered up the ultimate sacrifice in himself and made a way into the presence of God for you and me. That’s the hope we have; a hope that we can trust in Jesus, our great high priest, our lord, and our ultimate sacrifice. We can trust in the power of Christ to forgive our sins and bring us into the presence of almighty God and truly live. What a promise God has made to you today! Won’t you trust in that promise this moment and “seize the hope set before you”?
Let us pray…
Monday, March 28, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Free Indeed
(This sermon was preached on July 4, 2010)
John 8:31-38
31 Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, "If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; 32 and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." 33 They answered him, "We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, "You will be made free'?" 34 Jesus answered them, "Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. 35 The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. 36 So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. 37 I know that you are descendants of Abraham; yet you look for an opportunity to kill me, because there is no place in you for my word. 38 I declare what I have seen in the Father's presence; as for you, you should do what you have heard from the Father."
In 1992 more than 100 world leaders met in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil for an international conference concerning environmental issues. Everything from atmospheric change to zoological endangerment was discussed and debated among leaders from every nation, tribe, and tongue imaginable. What stands out most about this historical meeting to me, though, is what an article in the June 1992 edition of Time magazine reported. In the article “Summit to Save the Earth: Rich vs. Poor,” Philip Elmer-Dewitt reported that “U.S. delegates backed the status quo on one topic after another, insisting over and over that ‘the American life-style is not up for negotiation.’” That sentence (“The American life-style is not up for negotiation”) became a sort of slogan for many Americans (particularly conservative politicians) in the 1990s and is in fact still the disposition of many Americans today. They firmly believe they are entitled to the “American life-style.”
But who can blame them, right? I mean, after all, we are Americans! We’re the most prosperous people on the planet, and that isn’t by accident. Our land is plentiful, and we’ve taken advantage of our every resource. We’re blessed—some would even go so far as to say we are God’s chosen nation. We deserve to have our cake and eat it too! We are a nation (in the words of church leader Rob Bell) that started as “an idea, an experiment, an attempt at a new kind of nation,” and we “went from being a few small colonies to the superpower in a little over two hundred years.” That’s nothing short of incredible! We’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort, not to mention a certain level of freedom. As such, we are a people who take at least one day out of every year to observe our freedom on July 4th; with this holiday we set aside time to remind ourselves of just how good we have it and just how much we deserve to keep having it.
Unfortunately, there is a dark side to such feelings of privilege. There is danger in feeling as if you have a right to whatever you want simply because you were born in this great country. If you aren’t careful, those feelings of patriotic enthusiasm can quickly turn into arrogant attitudes of entitlement, attitudes that say to the rest of the world, “It doesn’t matter what you think I deserve; I’m taking what I want because I’m an American!” Furthermore, if such feelings get too out of control, you may find yourself in a situation where your sense of entitlement encroaches on your calling of faith.
We’ve witnessed just such an incident in our Scripture for this morning. In this passage, the Evangelist John relates to us an encounter that Jesus had with some “Jews who had believed in him (v.31);” it is an argument about what it means to be free. There are those “Jews” who, because of their birthright and nationality, claim that they are already privy to the truth, that they somehow are already privileged to the freedom and knowledge Jesus seems to be speaking about simply because they are born of a certain nation, the nation of Israel. That is why they take such offense when Jesus says in verses 31 and 32, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”
Notice their reaction in verse 33: “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free'?” Now right away anyone with even an informal relationship with the history of Scripture and God’s people knows that this statement is unequivocally false—just watch the movie The Ten Commandments! The people of Israel had not only been slaves at some point in their history, but they had been slaves of (or at the very least, under the authority of) foreign nations for most of their history as a people, beginning with Egypt, on through Syria, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and now (in the time of the text) Rome. It seems that they, the descendants of Abraham, had in fact been slaves to someone. But if this statement is so plainly false why use it as a defense at all? Why conjure up some fanciful notion of a nation that had never been enslaved in the hopes that it will somehow change Jesus’ mind, or at the very least, get him to alter his statement and modify his vocabulary?
Maybe it had something to do with what they could have heard in the streets and synagogues from the religious leaders of their day. The ancient rabbis used to boast, “All Israelites are sons of kings,” referring to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and it was understood that the merits of Abraham covered the demerits of all of the people of Israel. In fact, according to one scholar, “Freedom was considered the birthright of every Jew. The law laid down that no Jew, however poor, should descend to the level of slave.” Perhaps it was with that heavily engrained sense of entitlement, with that reality-altering perspective of history, that these new believers took offense at Jesus’ words.
It doesn’t really come as a surprise to me that Jesus’ words shocked and even offended a group of people whose national identity outweighed their religious commitment. But what does surprise me is the nature of their defense, that these were not just any patriotic converts, these were (as John never fails to remind us) “Jews”—God’s chosen people from God’s chosen nation. They were a people defined by a divine calling to “bless the nations,” not any sort of geopolitical domination or economic excellence, but blessing. Yet it isn’t in that sense of their national pride that they react to Jesus: rather, they react out of some sense of security and entitlement. It is as if they said, “We are a part of God’s nation already; don’t waste your breath telling us about freedom. We like what we’ve heard you say so far, Jesus, but don’t go treading on our concept of freedom and liberty.”
I’m worried that we Americans have taken on a similar attitude. We hear words that tell us of the freedom that can only come through faith in Jesus Christ, yet we look all around us at the supposed freedom and comfort we have now, only to shrug our shoulders and assume that those words must be for those who weren’t as fortunate as us to be born in such a wonderful place as this. In fact, it seems some of us celebrate Independence Day with more pomp, circumstance, and religious regularity than we celebrate our true day of independence when the Son of God died for our sins! Perhaps there are some of you who find the claims of these “Jews” to be justifiable. After all, you live in a free country; you have opportunities galore, comfort in ways unimaginable to most in this world, so why do you need Jesus, why do you need the sort of freedom he promises? Why even bother with religion if you live in a country that gives you the freedom to practice it or not?
That seems reasonable, doesn’t it? It seems reasonable to simply brush aside the words of Jesus that make you uncomfortable and only accept the ones you like and already (by coincidence) believe. But then again, what if your understanding is wrong? What if you’re missing the point? What if Jesus’ words speak to a deeper sense of freedom, one not measured by what you can or cannot do but by what he can and has already done?
Sure you’re free: free to be whatever you want to be, free to speak your mind, free to worship or not worship whatever you want in whatever way you want, free to own property, to carry guns, to critiques our leaders, free to live and free to die. But are you truly free? Are you “free indeed”? Not according to what Jesus has to say to us this morning. In verse 34, rather than simply continuing on his way with the passing remarks he has made, Jesus answers the reaction of these “Jews” when he tells them “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin.” What?! What does he mean “everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin”? I thought the Bible says “all have sinned (Romans 3:23);” so surely Jesus’ words aren’t meant to be taken so seriously, right? After all, that would suggest that I am, you are, we all are SLAVES, and that has to be impossible because we are so obviously free, right? Well let’s not try to sell the Savior so short just yet.
In a sort of “mini parable,” Jesus clarifies his statement from verse 34. In verse 35 he says, “The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever.” These Jewish believers wanted to use their familial lineage to prove their claims to truth; they wanted to use their nationality to prove their claims to freedom. In this short parable, however, Jesus puts up his own lineage, and shows them that since they are slaves to sin they have no real security in their truth, no steadfast promise in their freedom. He, on the other hand, as the one and only Son “has a place there forever.” They may have been under the impression that their heritage would somehow deliver them, set them free, even save them, but Jesus shows them that it is only the Son who is able to secure such freedom in verse 36: “So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”
These first century Jews thought they were free simply because they could claim a national heritage tied to God, and in their claims of entitlement, wished not only to quiet Jesus, but to kill him (according to verse 37). Jesus calls them out in their hypocrisy, claiming to be the descendants of Abraham, while seeking to kill God’s Messiah. Their feelings of heritage had clouded their vision of God, even when He stood before their very eyes! But we must not be too quick to judge. After all, some of you in this place have perhaps claimed your security, not in your faith in Christ, but in your nationality. Perhaps for you being an American is more important than being a Christian. If that is the case, then you cannot judge those ancient Jews so harshly. However, there is a word that calls to us all, every nation, every tribe, every tongue, a word that calls us to true freedom, that word is the divine Word, Jesus Christ, Son of God.
Today, July 4th, we as Americans celebrate our independence as a nation; we celebrate our liberation from oppressive rule and a monarchial hierarchy. Today, Sunday, we as Christians gather together to celebrate our independence as a people of faith; we celebrate our liberation from the oppression of sin and the end of death; we celebrate more than simple terrestrial freedom—we celebrate eternal freedom. But perhaps you are here in this place on this Independence Day without knowing the true freedom that only Christ Jesus can bring; perhaps you came into this place today hoping to sing some patriotic songs, hear some words about living in a “Christian nation,” and then gather with family and friends to celebrate around a table with food and laughter. But I have a better word for you today: yes you and I are blessed to live in such a wonderfully free nation as this, but there is a greater freedom. There is a greater freedom that comes when you live under the Lordship of Jesus Christ and let the freedom that only he can give change you. Will you simply celebrate this day as the day of America’s Independence, or will you begin to celebrate this day as the day you became free, free indeed in the name of Jesus Christ?
Let us pray…
John 8:31-38
31 Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, "If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; 32 and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." 33 They answered him, "We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, "You will be made free'?" 34 Jesus answered them, "Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. 35 The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. 36 So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. 37 I know that you are descendants of Abraham; yet you look for an opportunity to kill me, because there is no place in you for my word. 38 I declare what I have seen in the Father's presence; as for you, you should do what you have heard from the Father."
In 1992 more than 100 world leaders met in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil for an international conference concerning environmental issues. Everything from atmospheric change to zoological endangerment was discussed and debated among leaders from every nation, tribe, and tongue imaginable. What stands out most about this historical meeting to me, though, is what an article in the June 1992 edition of Time magazine reported. In the article “Summit to Save the Earth: Rich vs. Poor,” Philip Elmer-Dewitt reported that “U.S. delegates backed the status quo on one topic after another, insisting over and over that ‘the American life-style is not up for negotiation.’” That sentence (“The American life-style is not up for negotiation”) became a sort of slogan for many Americans (particularly conservative politicians) in the 1990s and is in fact still the disposition of many Americans today. They firmly believe they are entitled to the “American life-style.”
But who can blame them, right? I mean, after all, we are Americans! We’re the most prosperous people on the planet, and that isn’t by accident. Our land is plentiful, and we’ve taken advantage of our every resource. We’re blessed—some would even go so far as to say we are God’s chosen nation. We deserve to have our cake and eat it too! We are a nation (in the words of church leader Rob Bell) that started as “an idea, an experiment, an attempt at a new kind of nation,” and we “went from being a few small colonies to the superpower in a little over two hundred years.” That’s nothing short of incredible! We’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort, not to mention a certain level of freedom. As such, we are a people who take at least one day out of every year to observe our freedom on July 4th; with this holiday we set aside time to remind ourselves of just how good we have it and just how much we deserve to keep having it.
Unfortunately, there is a dark side to such feelings of privilege. There is danger in feeling as if you have a right to whatever you want simply because you were born in this great country. If you aren’t careful, those feelings of patriotic enthusiasm can quickly turn into arrogant attitudes of entitlement, attitudes that say to the rest of the world, “It doesn’t matter what you think I deserve; I’m taking what I want because I’m an American!” Furthermore, if such feelings get too out of control, you may find yourself in a situation where your sense of entitlement encroaches on your calling of faith.
We’ve witnessed just such an incident in our Scripture for this morning. In this passage, the Evangelist John relates to us an encounter that Jesus had with some “Jews who had believed in him (v.31);” it is an argument about what it means to be free. There are those “Jews” who, because of their birthright and nationality, claim that they are already privy to the truth, that they somehow are already privileged to the freedom and knowledge Jesus seems to be speaking about simply because they are born of a certain nation, the nation of Israel. That is why they take such offense when Jesus says in verses 31 and 32, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”
Notice their reaction in verse 33: “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free'?” Now right away anyone with even an informal relationship with the history of Scripture and God’s people knows that this statement is unequivocally false—just watch the movie The Ten Commandments! The people of Israel had not only been slaves at some point in their history, but they had been slaves of (or at the very least, under the authority of) foreign nations for most of their history as a people, beginning with Egypt, on through Syria, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and now (in the time of the text) Rome. It seems that they, the descendants of Abraham, had in fact been slaves to someone. But if this statement is so plainly false why use it as a defense at all? Why conjure up some fanciful notion of a nation that had never been enslaved in the hopes that it will somehow change Jesus’ mind, or at the very least, get him to alter his statement and modify his vocabulary?
Maybe it had something to do with what they could have heard in the streets and synagogues from the religious leaders of their day. The ancient rabbis used to boast, “All Israelites are sons of kings,” referring to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and it was understood that the merits of Abraham covered the demerits of all of the people of Israel. In fact, according to one scholar, “Freedom was considered the birthright of every Jew. The law laid down that no Jew, however poor, should descend to the level of slave.” Perhaps it was with that heavily engrained sense of entitlement, with that reality-altering perspective of history, that these new believers took offense at Jesus’ words.
It doesn’t really come as a surprise to me that Jesus’ words shocked and even offended a group of people whose national identity outweighed their religious commitment. But what does surprise me is the nature of their defense, that these were not just any patriotic converts, these were (as John never fails to remind us) “Jews”—God’s chosen people from God’s chosen nation. They were a people defined by a divine calling to “bless the nations,” not any sort of geopolitical domination or economic excellence, but blessing. Yet it isn’t in that sense of their national pride that they react to Jesus: rather, they react out of some sense of security and entitlement. It is as if they said, “We are a part of God’s nation already; don’t waste your breath telling us about freedom. We like what we’ve heard you say so far, Jesus, but don’t go treading on our concept of freedom and liberty.”
I’m worried that we Americans have taken on a similar attitude. We hear words that tell us of the freedom that can only come through faith in Jesus Christ, yet we look all around us at the supposed freedom and comfort we have now, only to shrug our shoulders and assume that those words must be for those who weren’t as fortunate as us to be born in such a wonderful place as this. In fact, it seems some of us celebrate Independence Day with more pomp, circumstance, and religious regularity than we celebrate our true day of independence when the Son of God died for our sins! Perhaps there are some of you who find the claims of these “Jews” to be justifiable. After all, you live in a free country; you have opportunities galore, comfort in ways unimaginable to most in this world, so why do you need Jesus, why do you need the sort of freedom he promises? Why even bother with religion if you live in a country that gives you the freedom to practice it or not?
That seems reasonable, doesn’t it? It seems reasonable to simply brush aside the words of Jesus that make you uncomfortable and only accept the ones you like and already (by coincidence) believe. But then again, what if your understanding is wrong? What if you’re missing the point? What if Jesus’ words speak to a deeper sense of freedom, one not measured by what you can or cannot do but by what he can and has already done?
Sure you’re free: free to be whatever you want to be, free to speak your mind, free to worship or not worship whatever you want in whatever way you want, free to own property, to carry guns, to critiques our leaders, free to live and free to die. But are you truly free? Are you “free indeed”? Not according to what Jesus has to say to us this morning. In verse 34, rather than simply continuing on his way with the passing remarks he has made, Jesus answers the reaction of these “Jews” when he tells them “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin.” What?! What does he mean “everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin”? I thought the Bible says “all have sinned (Romans 3:23);” so surely Jesus’ words aren’t meant to be taken so seriously, right? After all, that would suggest that I am, you are, we all are SLAVES, and that has to be impossible because we are so obviously free, right? Well let’s not try to sell the Savior so short just yet.
In a sort of “mini parable,” Jesus clarifies his statement from verse 34. In verse 35 he says, “The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever.” These Jewish believers wanted to use their familial lineage to prove their claims to truth; they wanted to use their nationality to prove their claims to freedom. In this short parable, however, Jesus puts up his own lineage, and shows them that since they are slaves to sin they have no real security in their truth, no steadfast promise in their freedom. He, on the other hand, as the one and only Son “has a place there forever.” They may have been under the impression that their heritage would somehow deliver them, set them free, even save them, but Jesus shows them that it is only the Son who is able to secure such freedom in verse 36: “So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”
These first century Jews thought they were free simply because they could claim a national heritage tied to God, and in their claims of entitlement, wished not only to quiet Jesus, but to kill him (according to verse 37). Jesus calls them out in their hypocrisy, claiming to be the descendants of Abraham, while seeking to kill God’s Messiah. Their feelings of heritage had clouded their vision of God, even when He stood before their very eyes! But we must not be too quick to judge. After all, some of you in this place have perhaps claimed your security, not in your faith in Christ, but in your nationality. Perhaps for you being an American is more important than being a Christian. If that is the case, then you cannot judge those ancient Jews so harshly. However, there is a word that calls to us all, every nation, every tribe, every tongue, a word that calls us to true freedom, that word is the divine Word, Jesus Christ, Son of God.
Today, July 4th, we as Americans celebrate our independence as a nation; we celebrate our liberation from oppressive rule and a monarchial hierarchy. Today, Sunday, we as Christians gather together to celebrate our independence as a people of faith; we celebrate our liberation from the oppression of sin and the end of death; we celebrate more than simple terrestrial freedom—we celebrate eternal freedom. But perhaps you are here in this place on this Independence Day without knowing the true freedom that only Christ Jesus can bring; perhaps you came into this place today hoping to sing some patriotic songs, hear some words about living in a “Christian nation,” and then gather with family and friends to celebrate around a table with food and laughter. But I have a better word for you today: yes you and I are blessed to live in such a wonderfully free nation as this, but there is a greater freedom. There is a greater freedom that comes when you live under the Lordship of Jesus Christ and let the freedom that only he can give change you. Will you simply celebrate this day as the day of America’s Independence, or will you begin to celebrate this day as the day you became free, free indeed in the name of Jesus Christ?
Let us pray…
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
The Voice
Hebrews 1:1-4
1 Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, 2 but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. 3 He is the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, 4 having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.
Voices: every day, you and I are bombarded with voices. You hear the voices that sing to you from your car radio, soothing your soul, reminding you of those wild days of your youth, or tearing up your eyes to the sad sounds of a favorite love song. You hear the voices from the talking heads on television telling you what you should believe about this particular political position or that particular political position; you even hear the voices of specific politicians trying eagerly to persuade you to take their sides on those particular issues. You hear the voices of friends and family members as they share their joys and pains with you over the telephone line or a cup of coffee. Yes, we hear all kinds of voices all around us each and every day.
Then there are those voices that speak to us that we don’t necessarily recognize right away. There are those voices of heritage, playing like the soundtrack of your life, voices that have shaped who you are and how you behave; the voice of a mother or grandmother silently singing a lullaby in the depths of your memory or the voice of a father or grandfather pontificating on the problems of the world. There are those voices of context that limit or encourage your participation in the broader conversation of society. There are those voices of culture that seek to shape your tastes and consumer instincts around the newest product or a particular label or brand.
Of course, there are also those voices that speak to us from places of trust and security. Voices from the pressed, paper pages, bound between bonded leather; voices that proclaim from behind great gilded pulpits in grand cathedrals or simple wooden lecterns in small sanctuaries; voices that speak to us from places of denominational prominence or soap boxes on street corners. There are those voices that seek to prick our hearts and change our minds, turning the needle of our spiritual compass in perpetual circles, and not all of those voices have our best, eternal interests in mind. Yes, there are all sorts of voices that call out to us, that whisper, shout, and sing to us, but in the end there is one voice that speaks above them all, one voice to which all others are mere facsimiles, one voice to which we tune our ears and our hearts during this season of Lent.
It is that one voice that the author of the letter to the Hebrews describes when he says in verse one of our text this morning: “Long ago God spoke…” Those are words that ought to comfort us; God is not some mute deity floating among the stars in space, nor is he a silent judge waiting to punish us for our ignorance. God spoke! He actually made contact with us! What an amazing thing in and of itself—the God who sent Earth into orbit and lit the fire of the sun, spoke! God, however, didn’t just speak once, or in some stagnant, formulaic way: no, the writer goes on to say that “God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets.” God did indeed speak, yet his voice came in all kinds of places an in all kinds of ways: it came in the cool of the day, walking in Eden; it came with the pillar of smoke in the day and the fire in the night; it came with peels of lightening and great claps of thunder; the voice of God was heard on the lips of the strangers who met with Abram, and in the sheer silence of a still small voice to Elijah. The voice of God came in the words of those prophets announcing the coming judgment and destruction, and it came in the words of those prophets who announced God’s presence and deliverance from exile and oppression. God did indeed speak “in many and various ways.”
While those words should comfort us in the knowledge that God does in fact speak, we should approach such truth with caution. After all, how much evil has been performed in this world with the foot-noted excuse of hearing the voice of God? In 1993, David Koresh convinced 54 adults and their 21 children that he had heard the voice of God before they were all killed in that infamous fire at the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas. Children have died, families broken, and wars fought all because someone claimed to hear the voice of God speaking to them “in many and various ways.”
So how, you might ask, do we tell the liars from the prophets? Many would say that the only place to truly start is with Scripture, and I have to say that isn’t a bad place to start. The words of Scripture are often referred to as the words of God; that is why our brothers and sisters in other congregations and traditions will often recite the words “This is the word of the Lord; Thanks be to God,” after reading passages of Scripture in the worship service. Scripture is the place where we as Baptist, as Protestants go for instruction and encouragement, where we go to begin our search for truth. The author of Hebrews himself references such a high view of Scripture in chapter four, verse 12: “Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow.”
Well that should be the end of it, right? Test all those who claim to hear the voice of God with the words of Scripture. Well…what about when those who come claiming to hear the voice of God, come complete with their own passages of Scripture and their own references in the Bible? Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church (who have been in the news lately) proudly protest at the funerals of soldiers, churches, and public meetings, all the while holding signs with phrases like “God hates America,” “Thank God for dead soldiers,” and others that aren’t fit to be repeated here or anywhere. Of course, they do all this under the guise of hearing the voice of God and following Scripture, and the sad truth is there are many who would hold to their interpretations despite their presentations. So what do we do when we are confronted with those who come claiming to hear the voice of God and quoting Scripture? Do we fall in line with them simply because they have some self-proclaimed authority? Do we jump up to follow them because they can quote Scripture and seem to have some knowledge of the Bible? Well, what does our text say this morning?
While the author of this letter (or more likely, sermon) describes God speaking “Long ago” in verse one, in verse two there is a deeper word: “but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds.” When the writer says “in these last days” it is not with the intention of focusing on some unforeseen time in the future; no, we are living in these last days, the Messianic Age of the ancient Jewish and early Christian thought. It is in these days that God speaks to us through his (capital “W”) Word, the logos of the prologue of John’s gospel, the Son of God, Jesus the Christ. God speaks to us through his Son and the testimony of his life, death, and resurrection.
In verses 3 and 4 the author of Hebrews describes Christ in some of the most beautifully deep words in the New Testament: “He is the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.” In other words, this Son, the Christ, is the exact character—the very same being as God. God has spoken to us in this era of history not through the muddled words of mere mortals, but through his only Son. That is the answer; that is the key when others come to us claiming to hear the voice of God. We hold them up to the model of Christ and his character. It is Christ that we worship, Christ we uphold, and Christ who speaks the words of God to us. That is why when we refer to Christ as the Word of God, rather than Scripture, we use the capital “W.” It is this truth that we have begun to slowly wander from in our lives of faith (especially as Baptists).
In 2000, at the height of what has been referred to as the “Fundamentalist Takeover” or “Conservative Resurgence” of the Southern Baptist Convention, Paige Patterson (now President of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Ft. Worth) along with an appointed committee revised what was once a descriptive document known as the Baptist Faith and Message (no doubt several of you have heard of this document). While most of the changes from the previous 1963 edition of the BF&M dealt with issues like prohibiting women from holding the office as pastor and defining roles in the family, the most egregious change dealt with the article concerning Scripture. The previous 1963 edition read (after several sentences): “The criterion by which the Bible is to be interpreted is Jesus Christ.” Christ is placed at the center of our understanding of Scripture. However, the 2000 edition simply reads: “Therefore, all Scripture is totally true and trustworthy… All Scripture is a testimony to Christ, who is Himself the focus of divine revelation.” With such a subtle change, the emphasis was placed on the words of the Bible (regardless of context), NOT Christ.
If you are to truly hear the voice of God and actually explore the depths of his words in Scripture, you must tune your heart and your mind to Christ, the Son of God. When you place Christ at the center of your life, as the Word to which all else in your life must answer, then God’s voice rings clear and true. As we journey together towards Jerusalem, the cross, and the empty tomb in this season of Lent, may our hearts and minds be focused on Christ, listening for the voice of God as he speaks to us through his Son. And perhaps you’ve come into this place on this day hoping to hear the voice of God speak in your life; if so, I offer to you that he is indeed speaking to you this very moment. He is speaking to you through the testimony of his Son Jesus and the life-giving sacrifice he has made on all our behalf. He is speaking to you this morning through the blood of Calvary’s cross and the glory of Easter’s empty tomb. Won’t you listen to him calling you today? Won’t you hear him call you as he speaks to you through the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus the Christ?
Let us pray…
1 Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, 2 but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. 3 He is the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, 4 having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.
Voices: every day, you and I are bombarded with voices. You hear the voices that sing to you from your car radio, soothing your soul, reminding you of those wild days of your youth, or tearing up your eyes to the sad sounds of a favorite love song. You hear the voices from the talking heads on television telling you what you should believe about this particular political position or that particular political position; you even hear the voices of specific politicians trying eagerly to persuade you to take their sides on those particular issues. You hear the voices of friends and family members as they share their joys and pains with you over the telephone line or a cup of coffee. Yes, we hear all kinds of voices all around us each and every day.
Then there are those voices that speak to us that we don’t necessarily recognize right away. There are those voices of heritage, playing like the soundtrack of your life, voices that have shaped who you are and how you behave; the voice of a mother or grandmother silently singing a lullaby in the depths of your memory or the voice of a father or grandfather pontificating on the problems of the world. There are those voices of context that limit or encourage your participation in the broader conversation of society. There are those voices of culture that seek to shape your tastes and consumer instincts around the newest product or a particular label or brand.
Of course, there are also those voices that speak to us from places of trust and security. Voices from the pressed, paper pages, bound between bonded leather; voices that proclaim from behind great gilded pulpits in grand cathedrals or simple wooden lecterns in small sanctuaries; voices that speak to us from places of denominational prominence or soap boxes on street corners. There are those voices that seek to prick our hearts and change our minds, turning the needle of our spiritual compass in perpetual circles, and not all of those voices have our best, eternal interests in mind. Yes, there are all sorts of voices that call out to us, that whisper, shout, and sing to us, but in the end there is one voice that speaks above them all, one voice to which all others are mere facsimiles, one voice to which we tune our ears and our hearts during this season of Lent.
It is that one voice that the author of the letter to the Hebrews describes when he says in verse one of our text this morning: “Long ago God spoke…” Those are words that ought to comfort us; God is not some mute deity floating among the stars in space, nor is he a silent judge waiting to punish us for our ignorance. God spoke! He actually made contact with us! What an amazing thing in and of itself—the God who sent Earth into orbit and lit the fire of the sun, spoke! God, however, didn’t just speak once, or in some stagnant, formulaic way: no, the writer goes on to say that “God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets.” God did indeed speak, yet his voice came in all kinds of places an in all kinds of ways: it came in the cool of the day, walking in Eden; it came with the pillar of smoke in the day and the fire in the night; it came with peels of lightening and great claps of thunder; the voice of God was heard on the lips of the strangers who met with Abram, and in the sheer silence of a still small voice to Elijah. The voice of God came in the words of those prophets announcing the coming judgment and destruction, and it came in the words of those prophets who announced God’s presence and deliverance from exile and oppression. God did indeed speak “in many and various ways.”
While those words should comfort us in the knowledge that God does in fact speak, we should approach such truth with caution. After all, how much evil has been performed in this world with the foot-noted excuse of hearing the voice of God? In 1993, David Koresh convinced 54 adults and their 21 children that he had heard the voice of God before they were all killed in that infamous fire at the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas. Children have died, families broken, and wars fought all because someone claimed to hear the voice of God speaking to them “in many and various ways.”
So how, you might ask, do we tell the liars from the prophets? Many would say that the only place to truly start is with Scripture, and I have to say that isn’t a bad place to start. The words of Scripture are often referred to as the words of God; that is why our brothers and sisters in other congregations and traditions will often recite the words “This is the word of the Lord; Thanks be to God,” after reading passages of Scripture in the worship service. Scripture is the place where we as Baptist, as Protestants go for instruction and encouragement, where we go to begin our search for truth. The author of Hebrews himself references such a high view of Scripture in chapter four, verse 12: “Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow.”
Well that should be the end of it, right? Test all those who claim to hear the voice of God with the words of Scripture. Well…what about when those who come claiming to hear the voice of God, come complete with their own passages of Scripture and their own references in the Bible? Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church (who have been in the news lately) proudly protest at the funerals of soldiers, churches, and public meetings, all the while holding signs with phrases like “God hates America,” “Thank God for dead soldiers,” and others that aren’t fit to be repeated here or anywhere. Of course, they do all this under the guise of hearing the voice of God and following Scripture, and the sad truth is there are many who would hold to their interpretations despite their presentations. So what do we do when we are confronted with those who come claiming to hear the voice of God and quoting Scripture? Do we fall in line with them simply because they have some self-proclaimed authority? Do we jump up to follow them because they can quote Scripture and seem to have some knowledge of the Bible? Well, what does our text say this morning?
While the author of this letter (or more likely, sermon) describes God speaking “Long ago” in verse one, in verse two there is a deeper word: “but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds.” When the writer says “in these last days” it is not with the intention of focusing on some unforeseen time in the future; no, we are living in these last days, the Messianic Age of the ancient Jewish and early Christian thought. It is in these days that God speaks to us through his (capital “W”) Word, the logos of the prologue of John’s gospel, the Son of God, Jesus the Christ. God speaks to us through his Son and the testimony of his life, death, and resurrection.
In verses 3 and 4 the author of Hebrews describes Christ in some of the most beautifully deep words in the New Testament: “He is the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.” In other words, this Son, the Christ, is the exact character—the very same being as God. God has spoken to us in this era of history not through the muddled words of mere mortals, but through his only Son. That is the answer; that is the key when others come to us claiming to hear the voice of God. We hold them up to the model of Christ and his character. It is Christ that we worship, Christ we uphold, and Christ who speaks the words of God to us. That is why when we refer to Christ as the Word of God, rather than Scripture, we use the capital “W.” It is this truth that we have begun to slowly wander from in our lives of faith (especially as Baptists).
In 2000, at the height of what has been referred to as the “Fundamentalist Takeover” or “Conservative Resurgence” of the Southern Baptist Convention, Paige Patterson (now President of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Ft. Worth) along with an appointed committee revised what was once a descriptive document known as the Baptist Faith and Message (no doubt several of you have heard of this document). While most of the changes from the previous 1963 edition of the BF&M dealt with issues like prohibiting women from holding the office as pastor and defining roles in the family, the most egregious change dealt with the article concerning Scripture. The previous 1963 edition read (after several sentences): “The criterion by which the Bible is to be interpreted is Jesus Christ.” Christ is placed at the center of our understanding of Scripture. However, the 2000 edition simply reads: “Therefore, all Scripture is totally true and trustworthy… All Scripture is a testimony to Christ, who is Himself the focus of divine revelation.” With such a subtle change, the emphasis was placed on the words of the Bible (regardless of context), NOT Christ.
If you are to truly hear the voice of God and actually explore the depths of his words in Scripture, you must tune your heart and your mind to Christ, the Son of God. When you place Christ at the center of your life, as the Word to which all else in your life must answer, then God’s voice rings clear and true. As we journey together towards Jerusalem, the cross, and the empty tomb in this season of Lent, may our hearts and minds be focused on Christ, listening for the voice of God as he speaks to us through his Son. And perhaps you’ve come into this place on this day hoping to hear the voice of God speak in your life; if so, I offer to you that he is indeed speaking to you this very moment. He is speaking to you through the testimony of his Son Jesus and the life-giving sacrifice he has made on all our behalf. He is speaking to you this morning through the blood of Calvary’s cross and the glory of Easter’s empty tomb. Won’t you listen to him calling you today? Won’t you hear him call you as he speaks to you through the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus the Christ?
Let us pray…
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Trust
Isaiah 49:13-18
13 Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones. 14 But Zion said, "The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me." 15 Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. 16 See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me. 17 Your builders outdo your destroyers, and those who laid you waste go away from you. 18 Lift up your eyes all around and see; they all gather, they come to you. As I live, says the Lord, you shall put all of them on like an ornament, and like a bride you shall bind them on.
Just behind his house, in an old, three-stall barn, John keeps an ancient mail delivery jeep he bought for his son as a project (which only cost him about a hundred dollars and the tank of gas it took to cross the Florida line to pick it up). He had envisioned that perhaps his son and one or two of his friends would take the old jeep, get it running, and maybe use it to tend horses or use it out in the woods during hunting season. Now as you can imagine, John’s son was pretty excited about that old jeep, and as soon as it slid off the trailer and was pushed on its four flat tires onto the concrete floor of that barn he already had rapturous visions for that rusty rattletrap. He saw himself behind the wheel, splashing through the mud on the way out to a good camping spot, or cruising over the grassy terraces of the fields where he kept his horses.
For the first month or so John’s son spent nearly every night in that barn trying to get the engine of the jeep to roar to life, and then keep it running without having a friend ride on the fender, pouring gas one drop at a time out of an old Coke bottle into the carburetor. When that endeavor failed, it was on to attempting to free the clutch from years of stagnant, outdoor rusting; that too seemed to be a dead end. Before long, John’s son had lost all interest in the project; he had grown frustrated with what seemed to be inanimate attempts at rebellion as time after time his efforts to revive the jalopy failed. And so, there, just behind his house, in an old, three-stall barn, John keeps an ancient mail delivery jeep he bought for his son as a project several years ago.
You know, when you hear stories like that, it’s quite fascinating to think about how quickly we grow tired, bored, or frustrated with something when it doesn’t go the way we want it. We’ll throw our hands up in the air and simply walk away, hoping that someone else will have better luck than us or that the whole thing will just go away. I mean, can you imagine anyone foolish enough to keep working at something for years, investing his or her life into something that doesn’t seem as if it’s ever going to get any better? Can you imagine the enormous ignorance it must take for an individual to continually attempt to fix something that just seems to want to remain broken? That’s what the physicist Albert Einstein called insanity: “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
It really is quite fascinating how quickly we give up on things, and not just those things we try to fix, but also those things in which we put our trust. You take a new job, hoping that the terrible experiences you had the first week were just a result of your adjusting to the new place, but when things don’t seem to change you’re ready to walk out the first chance you get. A farmer sows his fields with a new kind of seed, has a bad year, so he plows it under and vows never to take the risk again. A church calls a new pastor; attendance dwindles and giving declines; so, despite the spiritual development of the congregation and the improvement of the community, a committee is formed to ask the pastor to leave (it’s awful that this ever happens, but it does). Even when it comes to those things in which we invest our trust, we are quick to give up on them at the slightest hint of failure.
So it was with the people of Judah and their relationship with God. One would think it’d be difficult to forget the way in which God had brought an entire nation out of bondage and into a land “flowing with milk and honey,” yet Judah seemed to have a chronic case of amnesia. Despite God’s providence for the people of Judah, at the slightest hint of difficulty the people would turn their backs to God and seek help from the collection of various idols and religions that littered the ground of the Ancient Near East. They would sacrifice to the Baals, worship at the high places of Asherah, and bow down before the images of the Canaanite, Phoenician, and Babylonian gods. Why, you might ask, especially after such a history with a God of deliverance? Well, I suppose the answer to that question may be simpler than you think; after all, it is terribly fascinating how quickly people give up on the things they trust at the slightest hint of failure.
You see, Judah wasn’t too different from us in that when hardship loomed on the horizon, trust in God became too easily forgotten. However, God is not one to be played the fool, so in due time God had had enough of Judah’s rebellion and took action against such a rebellious people. Now, right there, if I was in charge, I’d wipe them all out, give them away, or just leave them like a forgotten hobby to rot or collect dust in the desert, but thankfully God doesn’t think like I do. In the early part of the sixth century B.C., prophets like the first Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Micah, sprang up, telling the people to repent for God was sending the Babylonians to conquer them on account of their wickedness. And around the year 587-586 B.C., the Babylonians not only carried away the best of Judah’s people, they looted the Temple and left it to burn and rot. Judah was in exile.
It was while Judah was in exile in Babylon, that prophets like the one we refer to as “Second Isaiah” and Ezekiel sprang up, prophesying to the people that God had indeed not forgotten them, but was making a way for them to return to Judah, to Zion, and once again live as a free people. God was planning to pull off another exodus (though without all the bells and whistles of the first one). It’s in that atmosphere that we hear the first words of our text this morning: “Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones.”
Doesn’t it sound like God is trying to fix something that just wants to stay broken? The prophet tells the very heavens and earth to rejoice at what God is about to do—he’s comforting his people, taking compassion on them, but listen to the response from the people in verse 14: “The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me." They think God has abandoned them. It’s not as if they’ve been ignorant of their situation; they are in a foreign land; all of what used to be Judah is no more. Surely God has forgotten them! It only makes sense after all: God tried to be the God of Judah, but the people kept rejecting him, so he was through with them; he had them conquered and carted off, forever to be forgotten. But that isn’t how it is with God.
Listen to the tender way God speaks to the people in verses 15 and 16: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me.” God has not forgotten his people, despite their rebellion and their subsequent exile in Babylon. How can he forget them?! God tells the doubting people, those who so easily gave up on him, that a mother is more likely to forget her new born child! God’s people are engraved into his hands like a tattooed scar; God has not, nor will he ever forget his people. Einstein would have labeled the God of Judah as insane!
Despite their rebellion, despite their unfaithfulness, despite their idolatry, despite everything that Judah has done to reject God, he still remembers them. He has not forgotten his love for his people, and in his love for them, he is bringing them back home, back to Judah, where (verse 17-18) “Your builders outdo your destroyers, and those who laid you waste go away from you. Lift up your eyes all around and see; they all gather, they come to you. As I live, says the Lord, you shall put all of them on like an ornament, and like a bride you shall bind them on.” We know from the books of Ezra and Nehemiah that Persia would overtake Babylon and the newly named “Jews” would return to Jerusalem in order to rebuild what they once had. God hadn’t given up on them. You could say he has a divine sense of trust in his people despite their lack of trust in him.
History, however, shows us how God’s people, despite his love and seemingly limitless “second chances,” still refuse to be fixed. They would return to Zion, but they would still turn away from God. God even went so far as to dwell among them, yet even then, all of his people (both Jew and Gentile) turned their backs on him to the point of his execution on a cross. They would reject him despite the sacrifice and the resurrection, despite the testimony of his followers and the miracles of their faith. Yes, despite all of God’s trust in us, his people, we still turn our backs to him when we feel as if he’s let us down, as if he’s failed us. We find it hard to trust a God we can’t see, a God who allows AIDS and cancer to exist, a God who lets his followers suffer and die on account of his word, a God who asks us to have faith even when the sky is dark and the horizon is indistinguishable. We find it hard to trust in a God who asks us to give him everything, when we think he hasn’t given us anything.
Of course, that’s where we’re wrong; that’s where Judah was wrong. God had brought them out of Egypt, provided for them in the desert for forty years, gave them the land promised to their ancestors, and the protection and prosperity to live in the land so long as they lived by his law. God has brought us out of bondage, provided for us despite our arrogance to think we can provide for ourselves, given us the promise of eternity in his presence, and the hope that no matter how dark the days may seem he has been there and will be there with us. All he asks is to trust in him, to trust in the saving grace that comes through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. We may quickly lose interest in the things in our lives that frustrate us, that seem impossible to correct, but thanks be to God that he hasn’t lost interest in you. God never forgets you, though you may cast him aside, claim you never want anything to do with him; he’s always there to call you back, to call you back to trust. Won’t you trust him today? Won’t you put your trust in the God who loves you so much that he never forgets you, who loves you so much that he gave his very life that you may live forever in eternity with him? Won’t you trust him today?
Let us pray…
13 Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones. 14 But Zion said, "The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me." 15 Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. 16 See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me. 17 Your builders outdo your destroyers, and those who laid you waste go away from you. 18 Lift up your eyes all around and see; they all gather, they come to you. As I live, says the Lord, you shall put all of them on like an ornament, and like a bride you shall bind them on.
Just behind his house, in an old, three-stall barn, John keeps an ancient mail delivery jeep he bought for his son as a project (which only cost him about a hundred dollars and the tank of gas it took to cross the Florida line to pick it up). He had envisioned that perhaps his son and one or two of his friends would take the old jeep, get it running, and maybe use it to tend horses or use it out in the woods during hunting season. Now as you can imagine, John’s son was pretty excited about that old jeep, and as soon as it slid off the trailer and was pushed on its four flat tires onto the concrete floor of that barn he already had rapturous visions for that rusty rattletrap. He saw himself behind the wheel, splashing through the mud on the way out to a good camping spot, or cruising over the grassy terraces of the fields where he kept his horses.
For the first month or so John’s son spent nearly every night in that barn trying to get the engine of the jeep to roar to life, and then keep it running without having a friend ride on the fender, pouring gas one drop at a time out of an old Coke bottle into the carburetor. When that endeavor failed, it was on to attempting to free the clutch from years of stagnant, outdoor rusting; that too seemed to be a dead end. Before long, John’s son had lost all interest in the project; he had grown frustrated with what seemed to be inanimate attempts at rebellion as time after time his efforts to revive the jalopy failed. And so, there, just behind his house, in an old, three-stall barn, John keeps an ancient mail delivery jeep he bought for his son as a project several years ago.
You know, when you hear stories like that, it’s quite fascinating to think about how quickly we grow tired, bored, or frustrated with something when it doesn’t go the way we want it. We’ll throw our hands up in the air and simply walk away, hoping that someone else will have better luck than us or that the whole thing will just go away. I mean, can you imagine anyone foolish enough to keep working at something for years, investing his or her life into something that doesn’t seem as if it’s ever going to get any better? Can you imagine the enormous ignorance it must take for an individual to continually attempt to fix something that just seems to want to remain broken? That’s what the physicist Albert Einstein called insanity: “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
It really is quite fascinating how quickly we give up on things, and not just those things we try to fix, but also those things in which we put our trust. You take a new job, hoping that the terrible experiences you had the first week were just a result of your adjusting to the new place, but when things don’t seem to change you’re ready to walk out the first chance you get. A farmer sows his fields with a new kind of seed, has a bad year, so he plows it under and vows never to take the risk again. A church calls a new pastor; attendance dwindles and giving declines; so, despite the spiritual development of the congregation and the improvement of the community, a committee is formed to ask the pastor to leave (it’s awful that this ever happens, but it does). Even when it comes to those things in which we invest our trust, we are quick to give up on them at the slightest hint of failure.
So it was with the people of Judah and their relationship with God. One would think it’d be difficult to forget the way in which God had brought an entire nation out of bondage and into a land “flowing with milk and honey,” yet Judah seemed to have a chronic case of amnesia. Despite God’s providence for the people of Judah, at the slightest hint of difficulty the people would turn their backs to God and seek help from the collection of various idols and religions that littered the ground of the Ancient Near East. They would sacrifice to the Baals, worship at the high places of Asherah, and bow down before the images of the Canaanite, Phoenician, and Babylonian gods. Why, you might ask, especially after such a history with a God of deliverance? Well, I suppose the answer to that question may be simpler than you think; after all, it is terribly fascinating how quickly people give up on the things they trust at the slightest hint of failure.
You see, Judah wasn’t too different from us in that when hardship loomed on the horizon, trust in God became too easily forgotten. However, God is not one to be played the fool, so in due time God had had enough of Judah’s rebellion and took action against such a rebellious people. Now, right there, if I was in charge, I’d wipe them all out, give them away, or just leave them like a forgotten hobby to rot or collect dust in the desert, but thankfully God doesn’t think like I do. In the early part of the sixth century B.C., prophets like the first Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Micah, sprang up, telling the people to repent for God was sending the Babylonians to conquer them on account of their wickedness. And around the year 587-586 B.C., the Babylonians not only carried away the best of Judah’s people, they looted the Temple and left it to burn and rot. Judah was in exile.
It was while Judah was in exile in Babylon, that prophets like the one we refer to as “Second Isaiah” and Ezekiel sprang up, prophesying to the people that God had indeed not forgotten them, but was making a way for them to return to Judah, to Zion, and once again live as a free people. God was planning to pull off another exodus (though without all the bells and whistles of the first one). It’s in that atmosphere that we hear the first words of our text this morning: “Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones.”
Doesn’t it sound like God is trying to fix something that just wants to stay broken? The prophet tells the very heavens and earth to rejoice at what God is about to do—he’s comforting his people, taking compassion on them, but listen to the response from the people in verse 14: “The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me." They think God has abandoned them. It’s not as if they’ve been ignorant of their situation; they are in a foreign land; all of what used to be Judah is no more. Surely God has forgotten them! It only makes sense after all: God tried to be the God of Judah, but the people kept rejecting him, so he was through with them; he had them conquered and carted off, forever to be forgotten. But that isn’t how it is with God.
Listen to the tender way God speaks to the people in verses 15 and 16: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me.” God has not forgotten his people, despite their rebellion and their subsequent exile in Babylon. How can he forget them?! God tells the doubting people, those who so easily gave up on him, that a mother is more likely to forget her new born child! God’s people are engraved into his hands like a tattooed scar; God has not, nor will he ever forget his people. Einstein would have labeled the God of Judah as insane!
Despite their rebellion, despite their unfaithfulness, despite their idolatry, despite everything that Judah has done to reject God, he still remembers them. He has not forgotten his love for his people, and in his love for them, he is bringing them back home, back to Judah, where (verse 17-18) “Your builders outdo your destroyers, and those who laid you waste go away from you. Lift up your eyes all around and see; they all gather, they come to you. As I live, says the Lord, you shall put all of them on like an ornament, and like a bride you shall bind them on.” We know from the books of Ezra and Nehemiah that Persia would overtake Babylon and the newly named “Jews” would return to Jerusalem in order to rebuild what they once had. God hadn’t given up on them. You could say he has a divine sense of trust in his people despite their lack of trust in him.
History, however, shows us how God’s people, despite his love and seemingly limitless “second chances,” still refuse to be fixed. They would return to Zion, but they would still turn away from God. God even went so far as to dwell among them, yet even then, all of his people (both Jew and Gentile) turned their backs on him to the point of his execution on a cross. They would reject him despite the sacrifice and the resurrection, despite the testimony of his followers and the miracles of their faith. Yes, despite all of God’s trust in us, his people, we still turn our backs to him when we feel as if he’s let us down, as if he’s failed us. We find it hard to trust a God we can’t see, a God who allows AIDS and cancer to exist, a God who lets his followers suffer and die on account of his word, a God who asks us to have faith even when the sky is dark and the horizon is indistinguishable. We find it hard to trust in a God who asks us to give him everything, when we think he hasn’t given us anything.
Of course, that’s where we’re wrong; that’s where Judah was wrong. God had brought them out of Egypt, provided for them in the desert for forty years, gave them the land promised to their ancestors, and the protection and prosperity to live in the land so long as they lived by his law. God has brought us out of bondage, provided for us despite our arrogance to think we can provide for ourselves, given us the promise of eternity in his presence, and the hope that no matter how dark the days may seem he has been there and will be there with us. All he asks is to trust in him, to trust in the saving grace that comes through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. We may quickly lose interest in the things in our lives that frustrate us, that seem impossible to correct, but thanks be to God that he hasn’t lost interest in you. God never forgets you, though you may cast him aside, claim you never want anything to do with him; he’s always there to call you back, to call you back to trust. Won’t you trust him today? Won’t you put your trust in the God who loves you so much that he never forgets you, who loves you so much that he gave his very life that you may live forever in eternity with him? Won’t you trust him today?
Let us pray…
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Alone
Acts 2:1-13
1 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. 5 Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God's deeds of power." 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" 13 But others sneered and said, "They are filled with new wine."
In his short story A Rose for Emily, William Faulkner tells the tale of a peculiar woman in the small, southern town of Jefferson, Mississippi in the early 1900s. Emily’s life is relayed to the reader through the eyes of an anonymous citizen, and the life which that citizen shares exemplifies loneliness. Emily lived with her father in a fashionable house in the middle of town all her life. She loved her father, but anytime a suitor would call on young Emily, her father would refuse him. She grew to be a woman, a woman without any real prospects for a husband—that is until her father eventually surrendered to one young man the narrator simply refers to as Emily’s “sweetheart.” But then darkness, as it tends to do in all our lives at some point, casts its shadow on the small sliver of joy in Emily’s life—her father dies. She is so grieved that for three days after his death, she refuses to let anyone in her home to take his body away. Shortly thereafter, her sweetheart disappears, never to be seen or heard from again.
Emily withdraws from the world. She’s rarely seen outside of her house, and no one goes in except an old family servant and a tax collecting committee. Progress overtakes the town of Jefferson as gas stations and cotton gins pop up, and Emily’s once beautiful home become little more than a drab and dusty mess. Then the day finally comes—Emily dies. When some people from town come into her home they are shocked, perplexed, and perhaps disgusted to discover that the body of her onetime sweetheart had been lying in her bed all these years, a grotesque attempt to deal with the dark pains of loneliness left by a lifetime of heartache and irrelevance caused by the hardened heart of a callous father and the cruel expectations of the South during Reconstruction. Loneliness had overtaken Emily, loneliness caused by her uncaring father, a community that couldn’t seem to decide whether to loathe her or pity her, and the all too overwhelming feeling that she was in this world alone.
Even though hers is a story of fiction written by one of the great authors of the twentieth century, Emily’s story could easily be found in this morning’s newspaper. We live in the deep irony of an ever-shrinking world, where we have access to people and cultures at the push of a button or the click of a mouse. With the internet, we can connect with people across the ocean, old high school friends we would have otherwise long forgotten, find family members we didn’t even know we had, and even talk face-to-face with loved ones fighting in wars overseas. In such a world, however, suicide and depression statistics seem to always be creeping higher. People become more reclusive as they claim to be more connected. So many people live their lives day-to-day with the feeling that they are in this thing called life all by themselves.
That’s Emily’s story, but this morning we have heard a different story, a story not about loneliness or death, but one about communion and the birth of Christ’s Church. It’s a story that doesn’t take place in a quiet little country town in Mississippi, but in the swelling crowds of pilgrims in the first century city of Jerusalem. It happens during the festival of Pentecost (the Greek word for fifty), and some 120 Galilean followers of Jesus are gathered together just days after his ascension. Pentecost was one of the three pilgrimage festivals that took place in Jerusalem, and it was by far the best attended: Jerusalem would swell from a city with some 100,000 citizens to a city of over a million pilgrims during the festival. And people from all over the known world made up that crowd of pilgrims, these followers of Christ were among them.
One can imagine the emotional rollercoaster they must have endured. For years they walked, talked, ate, laughed, cried, and worked with Jesus, only to see him lynched on a cross. Then, with an unexpected joy, Jesus conquers sin and the grave and is with them again, only to tell them (as we heard in John’s gospel this morning) that he would leave them again, this time for a little longer it seemed than three days. But he didn’t leave without promising them an Advocate, a Helper, the Holy Spirit. And it is here, during the gathering at Pentecost, that the Holy Spirit explodes upon Jesus’ first disciples, and the Church is born.
It’s an amazing story, with such theologically significant detail that scholars are still debating the nature of what took place. Whatever it may have been (whether speaking in foreign languages, incoherent divine dialogue, or just new interpretations of old customs ) one thing is certain, this was the beginning of Christ’s Church; this was the beginning of a world-wide communion; this was the beginning of a faith that says to its followers that no matter how difficult things in this life may get, you are never in it alone, because now Christ has given us the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Spirit empowers our brothers and sister to be the Church.
(I almost hesitate to say it, but) I feel as if we in the Evangelical tradition have done ourselves a great disservice over the last few generations. When I was first introduced to what it means to be a Christian, one phrase I heard often was “a personal relationship with Jesus.” Now, I don’t deny the validity of such a statement; after all, if you don’t know Jesus personally there is no real way to recognize him in the life of others or in the collected Church. But what does bother me is the extent to which we emphasize a sort of individuality when it comes to faith in Christ. Somehow it seems as if we place the individual above the entire body (or below it depending on your point of view). We preach the gospel as if its only power lies in the salvation of an individual soul and not the transformation of the entire world and human history through the Holy Spirit’s power in the Church. It is as if we are saying to those who hear us preach that the Church is little more than a building, a social club, or some sort of market where salvation is sold at an unbelievable price! When we present the gospel in such a way we are telling the dying, depressed, and lonely in this world that faith and salvation are little more than a transaction, an investment that will pay dividends when we die, but you’re still going to have to tough this world out, loneliness and all.
But that isn’t the message of Pentecost. That isn’t the message that comes with the Holy Spirit and Christ’s Church. Because here we see for the first time the ingathering of all kinds of people from all walks of life, and the Holy Spirit descends on them all. Those pilgrims who came to Jerusalem for the festival heard the Good News of Jesus Christ for the first time—in their own language—and they took it away from there with them. They started churches in Rome, Egypt, and Asia Minor; the apostle Paul would encounter some of the churches those early converts helped to start. They heard the message of a savior who would never leave them nor forsake them, and they witnessed the outpouring of the Holy Spirit that would unite them with their brothers and sisters, and they couldn’t keep it to themselves. Pentecost is not only beginning of the Church, but the beginning of the Church’s proclamation of the gospel to a lonely, dying world.
Perhaps you are a sort of pilgrim in this place on this Pentecost Sunday. Perhaps you are here this morning hoping to just escape the loneliness of everyday life for an hour or two. Maybe you’re here hoping to discover that you’re not in this thing called life by yourself, that your salvation is more than just waiting on heavenly dividends. Maybe you’re here today, as you’ve been here so many Sundays before, wearing a mask to hide the pain of feeling alone, hoping that someone, anyone, would just take the time to listen. Let me tell you that you aren’t in this by yourself; you don’t have to hide the pain any longer. You don’t have to feel alone anymore. The Holy Spirit is here, calling you to a life lived in the fullness of God in Christ Jesus. The Holy Spirit is here, not in the confines of this building, but in the hearts of those sitting around you whom the Holy Spirit has already transformed. If you are here this morning, hoping to escape this life’s loneliness, this time is for you. This time of invitation is for you and anyone who wants to call on the name of Christ, for anyone who longs to know the fullness of the family of God. So if you are here this morning, longing for that relationship with Christ and his Church, won’t you come? Let today be the last day you ever had to feel like you are in this world alone, and come to Christ. Let this be the last day you feel alone and the first day you call yourself a part of the family of God.
Let us pray…
1 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. 5 Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God's deeds of power." 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" 13 But others sneered and said, "They are filled with new wine."
In his short story A Rose for Emily, William Faulkner tells the tale of a peculiar woman in the small, southern town of Jefferson, Mississippi in the early 1900s. Emily’s life is relayed to the reader through the eyes of an anonymous citizen, and the life which that citizen shares exemplifies loneliness. Emily lived with her father in a fashionable house in the middle of town all her life. She loved her father, but anytime a suitor would call on young Emily, her father would refuse him. She grew to be a woman, a woman without any real prospects for a husband—that is until her father eventually surrendered to one young man the narrator simply refers to as Emily’s “sweetheart.” But then darkness, as it tends to do in all our lives at some point, casts its shadow on the small sliver of joy in Emily’s life—her father dies. She is so grieved that for three days after his death, she refuses to let anyone in her home to take his body away. Shortly thereafter, her sweetheart disappears, never to be seen or heard from again.
Emily withdraws from the world. She’s rarely seen outside of her house, and no one goes in except an old family servant and a tax collecting committee. Progress overtakes the town of Jefferson as gas stations and cotton gins pop up, and Emily’s once beautiful home become little more than a drab and dusty mess. Then the day finally comes—Emily dies. When some people from town come into her home they are shocked, perplexed, and perhaps disgusted to discover that the body of her onetime sweetheart had been lying in her bed all these years, a grotesque attempt to deal with the dark pains of loneliness left by a lifetime of heartache and irrelevance caused by the hardened heart of a callous father and the cruel expectations of the South during Reconstruction. Loneliness had overtaken Emily, loneliness caused by her uncaring father, a community that couldn’t seem to decide whether to loathe her or pity her, and the all too overwhelming feeling that she was in this world alone.
Even though hers is a story of fiction written by one of the great authors of the twentieth century, Emily’s story could easily be found in this morning’s newspaper. We live in the deep irony of an ever-shrinking world, where we have access to people and cultures at the push of a button or the click of a mouse. With the internet, we can connect with people across the ocean, old high school friends we would have otherwise long forgotten, find family members we didn’t even know we had, and even talk face-to-face with loved ones fighting in wars overseas. In such a world, however, suicide and depression statistics seem to always be creeping higher. People become more reclusive as they claim to be more connected. So many people live their lives day-to-day with the feeling that they are in this thing called life all by themselves.
That’s Emily’s story, but this morning we have heard a different story, a story not about loneliness or death, but one about communion and the birth of Christ’s Church. It’s a story that doesn’t take place in a quiet little country town in Mississippi, but in the swelling crowds of pilgrims in the first century city of Jerusalem. It happens during the festival of Pentecost (the Greek word for fifty), and some 120 Galilean followers of Jesus are gathered together just days after his ascension. Pentecost was one of the three pilgrimage festivals that took place in Jerusalem, and it was by far the best attended: Jerusalem would swell from a city with some 100,000 citizens to a city of over a million pilgrims during the festival. And people from all over the known world made up that crowd of pilgrims, these followers of Christ were among them.
One can imagine the emotional rollercoaster they must have endured. For years they walked, talked, ate, laughed, cried, and worked with Jesus, only to see him lynched on a cross. Then, with an unexpected joy, Jesus conquers sin and the grave and is with them again, only to tell them (as we heard in John’s gospel this morning) that he would leave them again, this time for a little longer it seemed than three days. But he didn’t leave without promising them an Advocate, a Helper, the Holy Spirit. And it is here, during the gathering at Pentecost, that the Holy Spirit explodes upon Jesus’ first disciples, and the Church is born.
It’s an amazing story, with such theologically significant detail that scholars are still debating the nature of what took place. Whatever it may have been (whether speaking in foreign languages, incoherent divine dialogue, or just new interpretations of old customs ) one thing is certain, this was the beginning of Christ’s Church; this was the beginning of a world-wide communion; this was the beginning of a faith that says to its followers that no matter how difficult things in this life may get, you are never in it alone, because now Christ has given us the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Spirit empowers our brothers and sister to be the Church.
(I almost hesitate to say it, but) I feel as if we in the Evangelical tradition have done ourselves a great disservice over the last few generations. When I was first introduced to what it means to be a Christian, one phrase I heard often was “a personal relationship with Jesus.” Now, I don’t deny the validity of such a statement; after all, if you don’t know Jesus personally there is no real way to recognize him in the life of others or in the collected Church. But what does bother me is the extent to which we emphasize a sort of individuality when it comes to faith in Christ. Somehow it seems as if we place the individual above the entire body (or below it depending on your point of view). We preach the gospel as if its only power lies in the salvation of an individual soul and not the transformation of the entire world and human history through the Holy Spirit’s power in the Church. It is as if we are saying to those who hear us preach that the Church is little more than a building, a social club, or some sort of market where salvation is sold at an unbelievable price! When we present the gospel in such a way we are telling the dying, depressed, and lonely in this world that faith and salvation are little more than a transaction, an investment that will pay dividends when we die, but you’re still going to have to tough this world out, loneliness and all.
But that isn’t the message of Pentecost. That isn’t the message that comes with the Holy Spirit and Christ’s Church. Because here we see for the first time the ingathering of all kinds of people from all walks of life, and the Holy Spirit descends on them all. Those pilgrims who came to Jerusalem for the festival heard the Good News of Jesus Christ for the first time—in their own language—and they took it away from there with them. They started churches in Rome, Egypt, and Asia Minor; the apostle Paul would encounter some of the churches those early converts helped to start. They heard the message of a savior who would never leave them nor forsake them, and they witnessed the outpouring of the Holy Spirit that would unite them with their brothers and sisters, and they couldn’t keep it to themselves. Pentecost is not only beginning of the Church, but the beginning of the Church’s proclamation of the gospel to a lonely, dying world.
Perhaps you are a sort of pilgrim in this place on this Pentecost Sunday. Perhaps you are here this morning hoping to just escape the loneliness of everyday life for an hour or two. Maybe you’re here hoping to discover that you’re not in this thing called life by yourself, that your salvation is more than just waiting on heavenly dividends. Maybe you’re here today, as you’ve been here so many Sundays before, wearing a mask to hide the pain of feeling alone, hoping that someone, anyone, would just take the time to listen. Let me tell you that you aren’t in this by yourself; you don’t have to hide the pain any longer. You don’t have to feel alone anymore. The Holy Spirit is here, calling you to a life lived in the fullness of God in Christ Jesus. The Holy Spirit is here, not in the confines of this building, but in the hearts of those sitting around you whom the Holy Spirit has already transformed. If you are here this morning, hoping to escape this life’s loneliness, this time is for you. This time of invitation is for you and anyone who wants to call on the name of Christ, for anyone who longs to know the fullness of the family of God. So if you are here this morning, longing for that relationship with Christ and his Church, won’t you come? Let today be the last day you ever had to feel like you are in this world alone, and come to Christ. Let this be the last day you feel alone and the first day you call yourself a part of the family of God.
Let us pray…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)