Changing God's Mind (Proper 19)

Exodus 32:7-14

7 The Lord said to Moses, "Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely; 8 they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them; they have cast for themselves an image of a calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!' " 9 The Lord said to Moses, "I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. 10 Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them; and of you I will make a great nation." 11 But Moses implored the Lord his God, and said, "O Lord, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? 12 Why should the Egyptians say, "It was with evil intent that he brought them out to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth'? Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. 13 Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, "I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.' " 14 And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.

            I know some might think it’s silly, but often when I read a book, watch a movie or television show, or hear a story, I ask myself, “what if…?” My mind begins to unwind all the possible paths a story’s protagonist might have taken if she or he had made one or two critical decisions differently in the narrative. What if…Dorothy had struck a bargain with the Wicked Witch of the West and simply handed over the ruby slippers in exchange for a safe ride back to Kansas? What would have become of the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodsman, and the Lion? What if…the Joad’s had just left Jim Casy back in Oklahoma instead of bringing him along for the ride to California? Would Tom Joad have ever been involved in any controversy that would lead to his fleeing from the law, abandoning his family? What if…Voldemort had actually succeeded in destroying Harry Potter? Would someone else rise up to defeat him, or was Harry the only one ever capable of standing up to him? What if…?

            Some might think it a wee bit sacrilegious, but I also find myself asking “What if…?” when it comes to the stories we find in the pages of the Bible. What if…Adam and Eve had just obeyed that one, small rule in Eden? Would they have lived out the rest of their days in paradise, or would something else tempt them in the years to come? Would one of their children have been the first to fall? What if…Noah had taken a pass on the whole “go build an ark” thing? What if Noah had just said, “Nah, I think I’ll wait it out with my neighbors and see what happens”? Would God have miraculously buoyed the bodies of Noah and his family to the surface of the flood waters, or would God have moved on down the list of righteous persons until God found the person willing to build a boat big enough for creation? What if…Abram had said “no thanks” to the call to father one nation and bless all nations? What if…David hadn’t killed Goliath or took advantage of Bathsheba? What if…Jonah never went to Nineveh? What if…John the Baptist never made it to the Jordan? What if…all those people following Jesus had actually gotten the message—actually understood the whole “Kingdom of God” thing—and what if the Romans caught on too? What if…Saul of Tarsus had chalked up his Damascus road experience to a bad burrito from dinner the night before? What if…?

            It’s the kind of question that can cause our minds to chase ideas down endless trails with innumerable forks, and it is precisely because such a question opens our minds and expands our questions and even our doubts that I think it’s a healthy question to ask. So, it’s the very question I bring to the text before us this morning.

            To just sort of sum it all up, the Israelites—descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Israel)—were bond in slavery in the Egyptian empire for four hundred thirty years. Then, Moses comes along (after an intriguing backstory that involves the slaughter of babies, an Egyptian princess, murder, and a burning bush) and God uses Moses (along with his brother Aaron) to liberate the Israelite slaves through a series of pleas and plagues. Once these newly liberated Israelites are free from Pharaoh, they immediately begin complaining: they complain about not having any bread; then, when God gives them bread from the sky, they complain about not having meat; they get meat, and I’m sure some folks complained that it wasn’t steak! They complain about the journey; they complain about their leader; they complain about having to walk across the desert when Egypt looked so nice in hindsight. Eventually (despite all the complaining), they all make it to the mountain to which God told Moses to bring them, Mt. Sinai/Horeb. Once they get there, God calls Moses up the mountain for a little one-on-one time.

            Now, here is where the story gets interesting. In fact, you can just read along with me the six verses that precede out text this morning (Exodus 32:1-6): When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered around Aaron, and said to him, "Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him." Aaron said to them, "Take off the gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me." So all the people took off the gold rings from their ears, and brought them to Aaron. He took the gold from them, formed it in a mold, and cast an image of a calf; and they said, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!" When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation and said, "Tomorrow shall be a festival to the Lord." They rose early the next day, and offered burnt offerings and brought sacrifices of well-being; and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to revel.

            Now, something that is lost in translation in this passage is the notion that the Israelites aren’t necessarily asking Aaron to build them an idol to a new, or different god—at least Aaron seems to be under the impression that this golden calf is YHWH, or at least an object upon which YHWH will be seated. In short, these complaining, impatient people have grown tired of waiting for Moses to show back up with some word from God, so they attempt to invoke God’s presence by putting God in a golden, calf-shaped box.

As we know from the verses that follow in our text for this morning, the whole “let’s build a golden calf and call it YHWH” thing doesn’t exactly thrill the Almighty. God becomes furious. At first, God tells Moses in verses 7 and 8:"Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely;  they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them; they have cast for themselves an image of a calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!' "

Did you happen to notice what God did there? He tells Moses, “YOUR people, whom YOU brought up out of the land of Egypt…”  God seems to be playing that game parents play when their child misbehaves: “Your son hit another kid on the playground at school…your daughter called another kid names…” God is sort of throwing Moses under the bus! “YOUR people, whom YOU brought up out of the land of Egypt…”  Moses is silent: maybe because he’s stunned by what the people are doing or maybe because God has just dumped them into his lap. Either way, before Moses can muster a response, God says in verses 9 and 10: "I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them; and of you I will make a great nation." In other words, “I’m through with these hard-headed, complaining people. They’ve angered me to the point where I can’t see straight, so I’m going to kill them all—get rid of them—and guess what, Moses; I’m starting all over with you.”

You can imagine the mix of feelings rushing through Moses’ mind: confusion, disappointment, fear, excitement, maybe even a little bit of pride (after all, God wanted to start over with him). This time, however, Moses musters the ability to respond to God’s proposition in verses 11 through 13: “But Moses implored the Lord his God, and said, ‘O Lord, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? Why should the Egyptians say, ‘It was with evil intent that he brought them out to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth'? Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, ‘I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.' "

You noticed what Moses did, right? He flipped the script on God, pulling that same pronoun punch: “O Lord, why does YOUR wrath burn hot against YOUR people, whom YOU brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand?” Moses reminds God that Israel is God’s people, and Moses reminds God of the whole reason they’re all there in the first place: because God showed up the gods of Egypt (including Pharaoh). If God destroyed them all now, the Egyptians wouldn’t see God as that much of a threat; in fact, they may have simple seen God as an inconvenient deity who consumes its own followers. Moses even reminds God of the covenant God made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, perhaps in an attempt to remind God that God shouldn’t promise Moses something God isn’t willing to follow through on with those first patriarchs.

Then, it seems as if Moses does the impossible—Moses changes God’s mind! It’s not heresy; it’s not speculation. It’s right there in the text, in verse 14: “And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.” Moses was able to change God’s mind, to turn God’s mind away from destruction and annihilation, towards forgiveness and mercy. It’s here, though, that my mind wants to ask, “What if…?”

Now, don’t jump to any conclusions. Sure, there’s the question, “What if God hadn’t changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring to his people?” But that isn’t where I’d ask the question, “What if…?” No. You see, I tend to identify a bit more with Moses in this story, but not necessarily with his actions.

Put yourself in Moses’ place in this story for just a minute. Remember, you’ve led these hundreds of thousands of complaining, irritating, helpless people out of bondage. You’ve been the one who’s had to hear every complaint about how great Egypt was, how much better it was in their old place, how much they hated the sudden change of having to relocate. You’ve been the one they’ve come to whenever they had stupid arguments about insignificant issues in the desert. You were the one that was called away from a comfortable life of tending your father-in-law’s sheep on other side of the wilderness, just to stand against the most powerful man in the world, with the very real threat of death in your face. You were the one who’s had to hear God say that God wanted to wipe them all out and start over with you…

What if Moses had said, “OK”? Maybe God was testing Moses. Maybe God was trying to see where his true concerns were. But what if Moses had said, “OK”? Would God have wiped them all out and started a new nation with Moses? Would the nation of Israel have been called “Moses” instead? I don’t know, but when I ask myself that question about this story, the other question I ask is, “Why did Moses reject God’s offer and try to change God’s mind?” I believe it’s for the very same reason Christ said from the cross in Luke 23:34: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing."

Moses knew those people at the base of the mountain, those people reveling and dancing around that golden calf. Moses knew those people were irritating; he knew they were complainers; he knew they were idolatrous; he knew they were stiff-necked and hard-headed; he knew they were capable of wicked crimes and sinful actions. Moses knew all those things about those people he helped to bring up out of Egypt, and he knew he wasn’t any better. He was just as guilty as they were, and he knew he had no right to the title of “father of a nation.” Moses could have stepped back and watched as the wrath of an angry God consumed those sinners at the base of Sinai…but he didn’t.

I think we could learn a thing or two from this scene in Moses’ story. Too often it seems like we would rather stand aside and allow (or even pray for) the wrath of an angry God to consume all those people we’ve deemed “sinners.” Too often it feels as if we would rather cast judgment on our brothers and sisters and wait for the lightning bolt to strike them or the finger of God to flick them from existence. Too often we take the offer God put before Moses, and we wish God would just start over with us, the “real Christians,” while God’s wrath burns hot against those who aren’t in our camp, those who aren’t like us. I’m afraid we Christians have gotten way too comfortable with pointing fingers and not nearly comfortable enough at putting ourselves in the place of love and forgiveness, of compassion and mercy—the place between God and our brothers and sisters.

May we learn this lesson from Moses. May we strive to be people of compassion, people who do not seek to condemn others to the wrath of God, but people who seek to live in and share the forgiveness of God through Christ Jesus our Lord.

Let us pray…

Decisions, Decisions...(Proper 18, 2013)

Deuteronomy 30:15-20

15 See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. 16 If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess. 17 But if your heart turns away and you do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, 18 I declare to you today that you shall perish; you shall not live long in the land that you are crossing the Jordan to enter and possess. 19 I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, 20 loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.

            I remember an interesting conversation I had with a friend a few years ago. We were talking about the usual things friends talk about when time and distance have kept them apart: family, memories of old times, etc. After we had exhausted such pleasantries, my friend looked at me with all the seriousness one can muster when revealing a precious secret, and he said, “Chris, I’ve got this amazing idea that I think will make me real rich, real quick.” I took his bait and replied, “OK. Well, what is it? I promise I won’t steal your idea; you’ve just struck my curiosity.”

“I’m going to open a restaurant,” he said with a straight face.

“A restaurant? That’s your ‘get-rich-quick’ idea? You know restaurants are one of the most difficult businesses to start, right? They fail all the time. Exactly what kind of restaurant are you thinking about starting anyhow?”

“It doesn’t really matter,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s American, Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Italian, or Mediterranean. It doesn’t matter if it’s fast food with a drive-thru, a sit-down diner with laminated menus, or a fancy place with real cotton tablecloths and napkins. It doesn’t really matter that much where it’ll be located, just as long as the road is paved to get there and people can see it from the road.”

At this point, I was pretty sure he hadn’t thought this “brilliant” idea through, but I had to know what it was that made him so sure this was a singularly wonderful idea. “Well,” I said, “I suppose if none of that matters it doesn’t matter what you call the place either does it?” That was when his face lit up with the fire of his self-assured genius.

“That’s the part that’ll make me a ton of money, Chris. You see, while it doesn’t matter the kind of food, the style of restaurant, or even its location, the name—the name—is the crucial, money-making part of the equation.”

I couldn’t take the suspense anymore, so I asked the question you’re all asking right about now: “Well, what are you going to call it?” He looked me square in the face and said (as sure as I’m standing here), “I don’t care.”

“But I thought you said that was the important, money-making part of this idea, so why don’t you care what you call it?”

“No,” he said,” you misunderstand. ‘I Don’t Care’ will be the name of the restaurant. Think of how many times friends, couples, families have had the same conversation on Friday or Saturday night: ‘Where do you want to eat tonight?’ ‘Oh, I don’t care.’ They’ll think they mean my restaurant; people will come out of sheer confusion and miscommunication! I’ll make money hand-over-fist and have enough to get out of the business before people ever catch on!” As silly as his idea was, it was rooted in a very present reality; people do often have a hard time deciding where they’ll eat if they eat out.

Choosing a restaurant is just one of the choices we make on an ever-growing list of life’s decisions. We wake up each morning faced with the new decisions that come with a new day: what clothes to wear, what words to say, what actions to take at work. And we wake up each morning faced with the same decisions we’ve faced for so many days that they hardly feel like decisions at all: which road to take to work, how we’ll take our coffee, when we’ll head home for the day. Then there are those exceptional times in our lives when we are faced with decisions that could very well alter that course of the rest of our lives: to risk the surgery, to quit the job, to go back to school, to adopt a child. The truth is, there are many times in my life when I wish the path was clearly laid before me, when I wish the hours and years were programmed and I could just go along for the ride, trusting the program. I’m afraid, however, life isn’t programmed for us, and the way of God is often shrouded by the dark fog of our own sin.

If anyone has ever known about the shrouded way of God, it was that group of Israelites that followed Moses through the winding wilderness towards the Promised Land’s milk and honey. They also knew a thing or two about decisions: in fact, their whole story up to this point in our text today has read like a “choose your own adventure” novel. When the Torah (the books of the Law, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament) begins in Genesis (appropriately enough) with the words “In the beginning…” it isn’t too much longer before we hear about a decision being made about whether or not to eat from a certain tree in a certain part of a certain garden.  Then we hear about decisions being made about which gods to worship, about whether or not to sell birthrights and brothers, about whether or not to let a few hundred thousand slaves walk freely out of the most powerful empire on Earth…you get the idea. As much as the Torah is about laws, it is about decisions, so it is only appropriate that, as the Promised Land looms over the horizon, Moses gives a grand exhortation to the Israelites to reinforce the necessity of one very important decision.

            The wandering Israelites have found their way to Moab, where they have renewed their covenant with YHWH after witnessing all the wonders in the land of Egypt and the miraculous ways in which God had provided for them in their wilderness wandering. It’s there in Moab that Moses addresses the people with words about the importance of continuing in the covenant, of following God’s ways and obeying God’s commands. In the verses preceding our text today, Moses even goes so far as to tell them that the covenant they have made with God is not some lofty, unreachable ideal. Rather, he says in verse 14, “No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe.”

            They knew the way; it resided within them. Even so, Moses knows that a cognitive recognition of God’s way is not enough to abide in it—knowing God’s commands and obeying them are two very different things. That is why Moses says to the people then (and to us now) in verses 15 through 18: “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess. But if your heart turns away and you do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, I declare to you today that you shall perish…” Moses knew it was one thing to hear the well-put words of a divine covenant and click the box that says one agrees to the “terms and conditions,” and that it was a completely different thing to hear those words and follow through with them in one’s life.

            How often do we make decisions based solely on the terms set before us? How often do we allow ourselves to enter into actions simply because we believe we have all the facts straight and can follow through simply because “the math works out”? How many times have we told ourselves that something is going to be easy, simple, only to find ourselves in waist-deep, with seemingly no end in sight, wondering how we ever allowed ourselves to get in such a mess in the first place? Judging from the recent economic crisis, the rate of high school and college dropouts, and the percentages of marriages that end in divorce, I’d say we’ve made these sorts of decisions more times than we’re willing to admit.

            The Israelites were no different. They happily left Egypt, following Moses into the wilderness, only to spend the next decades in a cycle of complaining. Some wanted to go back to Egypt where they had food and shelter, while others were ready to simply give up and be consumed by the wilderness. I believe Moses knew how those people thought—how we still think—so, in verses 19 and 20, Moses calls witnesses to verify the people’s decision to follow God’s way and obey God’s commands. He says, “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.”

            It was common in those days for the gods of those parties entering into a contract to be invoked by the mediator of the contract. For the Israelites, however, the name of God was not to be used in such a way (this is what is meant by the fourth commandment in Exodus 20:7, “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name”), so Moses symbolically calls heaven and earth as witnesses.[1] He has set before the people a decision—one which is not to be entered into lightly—and to show just how serious the decision is, he literally puts the weight of creation on the table.

            Moses knew the people had jumped at the chance to leave Egypt so they could save their own skin. He knew they had made rash decisions about the shape and manner of God in the wilderness in order to boost their own levels of comfort. And just as those people were quick to make decisions in order to feel better about themselves, we too are quick to make decisions that boost our ego and give us some piece of mind about our spiritual wellbeing. Whether it’s making the decision to buy groceries for the family behind us in the checkout line, whether it’s making the choice to buy organic/fair-trade coffee, whether it’s the decision to put an extra five in the offering plate, or whether it’s choosing to join a church, if we make such a decision to help ourselves feel better about the kind of person we are, we miss the point. If we make such decisions because we feel as if the choice itself is enough to classify us as a so-called “good Christian,” we miss the point.

            You see, the Promised Land was just around the corner for the Israelites: the sweet scent of milk and honey may have even been wafting in the breeze. They may have thought the end was in sight, the consequences of their decisions not too far off. But Moses knew better. He knew it wasn’t as simple as agreeing to be God’s people and simply possessing the land. There were going to battles, struggles, droughts, famines, and enemies, just as there had been in Egypt. Their decision to follow the way of God and obey God’s commandments would not be an easy decision to follow through. That is why Moses emphasized the people’s decision, and that is why he called heaven and earth as witnesses, because this decision to follow God’s way was not going to be an easy one.

            And now you and I sit on the other side of Moab, on the other side of the Promised Land of Canaan. We sit in this room knowing the rest of the Israelites’ story, of how they fought terrible wars with the peoples waiting in Canaan, how they turned aside to worship other gods, how they longed to be like other nations, how they were conquered and carted off by different empires. We sit on the other side of history with their decision; we sit with the same perspective as those who once gathered around Jesus, knowing what happened when the Israelites reached the Promised Land. Those people were faced with a similar decision from Jesus. In Luke 14:27, Jesus turns to a crowd that had been following him and says, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”  

We are faced with the same decision. We are faced with the same decision Moses put before the Israelites, the same decision Jesus put before the crowds that followed him: it is not a decision to be made, hoping that it will simply change our eternal destination; it is not a decision to be made in order to feel better about ourselves. The call to choose life…to carry the cross and follow Jesus is a decision one does not make lightly. There will be dark times, there will be difficulties, and there will be pain. In the end, however, we will find that God’s way—the way of the Cross—is and has always been the only way. May you choose today between life and death. May you choose today to take up your cross and follow Christ—and may you never take such a decision lightly.  Let us pray…

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[1] J.A. Thompson, Deuteronomy: Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries. Inter-Varsity Press: London (1974) p.287.

The Best Seat in the House (Proper 17, 2013)

Luke 14:7-14

7 When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. 8 "When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; 9 and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, "Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. 10 But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, "Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. 11 For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted." 12 He said also to the one who had invited him, "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. 13 But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. 14 And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

            The fifty-yard line, field level; half-court, right behind the bench; row A, right behind home plate; first row, first class, window; front row, right smack-dab in the middle; the back row of just about any church or college lecture hall. What do all of these places have in common? Well, they are considered by most to be the “best seats in the house.” They’re the seats people mark, the seats people save, the seats for which people pay a higher price. They’re the seats everyone seems to want, but only a fortunate few can get. If we all had our way, every time we went to the ballpark we’d sit directly behind home plate, close enough to hear the mumbled exchange between the catcher and the batter. If we all had our way, every football game we’d be sitting on the front row of the fifty yard line. At every concert we’d be front and center, on every flight we’d be in first class in the seat with the most legroom. And if most of us had our way, there would be enough room on the back pew for everyone and floors and doors that didn’t give us away as we tried to quietly excuse ourselves early during the benediction. The “best seats in the house” are the best seats because they’re the seats that put us in the place we most want to be, the place we can take in the most action, the place where we believe we’d be most comfortable.

            When I was growing up, however, I had a different idea of what was “the best seat in the house.” In fact, there were two such seats I recall from my childhood. One of them stood in the corner of the living room at my dad’s house. It was a brown, worn-out, grease-stained, La-Z-Boy. Everyone knew that was “Dad’s chair.” It was off-limits—even if dad wasn’t in the house. As kids, we’d dare each other to sit in that chair while Dad was outside and we’d see who had the guts to stay in it the longest.

            At my maternal grandparents’ house there was also a “best seat.” Most of our family gatherings at Ma and Pa’s house took place in the dining room (which was open to the kitchen). The small dining room was filled with a huge, oblong dinner table that took up so much room one couldn’t get from the back door to the kitchen if someone was sitting at the table. Around that table were the same, vinyl-padded, wooden chairs, but at the head of the table—on the kitchen end—was a slightly different chair. That was Pa’s chair; it was built just like the other chairs except it had arms! No one but Pa sat in that chair, even for a while after he passed away.

            I remember the few times I sat in Dad’s recliner or Pa’s chair as a kid. I remember feeling special, like I had instantly grown up just because my posterior occupied the same cushioned areas as my dad’s and pa’s. I had the best seat in the house, the most comfortable seat, the most important seat, the seat everyone (including myself) knew was reserved for only the most important person of the house.

            You know, in Jesus’ day there was this concept of having “the best seat in the house,” especially when it came to big dinners and grand banquets. Like dinners at my grandparents’ house, there was a seat reserved at the head of the table for the host, and to either side of the host were the seats for the honored guests (who often arrived late). In fact, all the seating at a banquet was sort of ranked, with those guests of higher honor seated nearer to the host and those of lesser honor seated farther from the host.[1]

            In chapter fourteen of Luke’s gospel, Jesus finds himself at the table in the house of a leader of the Pharisees (v.1), and he has no doubt witnessed this sort of seat ranking taking place. Actually, Luke tells us that he has in verse 7: “When [Jesus] noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable.” Jesus was reclining at dinner table on the Sabbath and noticed how the guests were coming in and claiming seats based on what they thought of themselves, how important they believed they were. Now, it’s important to keep in mind, their actions aren’t necessarily malicious or driven by swollen egos. No, these first century Jews are not archaic examples of mean-spirited teenagers prowling the school cafeteria for their reserved lunch table. They are simply following the custom of the day, a custom handed to them by a culture that valued honor, legacy, and societal connections. But just because someone or some group follows a custom—even a well-meaning religious or societal custom—doesn’t mean that such a practice or attitude is just. Jesus noticed how these guests were choosing the best seats in the house, so he (in classical Jesus fashion in Luke’s gospel) responded to the situation with the telling of a parable.

            Now, I have to say, this parable we’ve read isn’t exactly Jesus’ most creative work, but it effectively gets the point across. At first reading/hearing, Jesus’ words read like a practical commentary on Proverbs 25:6-7, which says, “Do not put yourself forward in the king's presence or stand in the place of the great; for it is better to be told, ‘Come up here,’ than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.” The words of Proverbs are practical; they are words that teach one how to avoid an embarrassingly awkward situation in front of a very important person.[2] Jesus’ words in verses 8-10 of our text sound very similar to those words from Proverbs: "When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.”

            These words make practical sense: sit in a lower seat so as to avoid embarrassment when you go to a fancy wedding. But, is that all these words from Jesus have to say? Is this really only a parable of protocol practicality? Well…no. You see, with Jesus’ subtle words (and Luke’s naming them a parable) he is peeling back the layers of engrained, cultural sin. You see, this whole “best seat” thing had its roots in good, old-fashioned pride. Ranking the guests at a banquet reeks of self-aggrandizement. Think about it: if you wanted to get the rundown of who the fat-cats were in the community, just show up to a wedding banquet. You could simply start with the host of the banquet and look down the line, the power and influence decreasing as your gaze drifts from the host. It was a cultural practice that literally ranked human beings, placing one over another, and it was a cultural practice that called on an individual to rank him or herself above or below someone else.

            Whenever we judge another human being to be better than another—or worse yet, whenever we judge ourselves to be better than someone else—we commit an egregious sin! So, while it may seem like Jesus is offering some practical, social advice to those listening to his little parable, in reality Jesus is calling out the sin that takes place when people rank themselves, regardless of whatever criteria that may use.

The gravity of Jesus’ words is most clearly heard through the prophetic, eschatological tone of verse 11: “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted." The passive way in which Jesus says the exalter will be humbled and the humble will be exalted, implies that God is the one who will bring the self-exalters low and raise the humble up.[3] What seems like a practical parable dealing with proper seating arrangements at a banquet turns into a grave warning against arrogance. With this parable and the words of verse 11, Jesus speaks against the sin of judging oneself to be of greater importance than another; his words speak against the sin of judging oneself to be great in any sense. After all, we are not the ones who can judge others or ourselves, such judgment belongs to God. In effect, what Jesus is saying in this little parable is that humility is always the best route to take when dealing with others (and with God). Let others recognize your influence and point it out; let God be the judge of your and everyone else’s importance, for it is nothing short of sinful to think too highly of yourself.

However, I’m afraid that those who need to hear such a word are often struck with temporary bouts of deafness, while those who have already found their seat at the end of the table feel as if they are not worthy to occupy the chair. Truth is, I think Jesus had a similar concern too, for he doesn’t just leave this short little parable in verses 8-11 to hang in the air alone. Just in case there were any gathered there around him in the home of the Pharisee, or just in case there are any gathered in this room this morning, Jesus says in verses 12 and 13: “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.”  

Perhaps Jesus, as he noticed the guests haggling over the best seats in the house, took note of the absence of diversity. Perhaps Jesus looked around the table and noticed every single person looked similar to the person seated next to them. Maybe Jesus, on his way to the Pharisee’s house that Sabbath, passed by the beggars lining the dirt streets, the men and women who hobbled on crudely cut crutches, and those who had to be led by the hand because they could not see where they were going. It’s possible Jesus looked around that table and noticed the lack of those who were deemed by the law and culture to be unclean, unfit, dirty, sinful, disgraceful, or just plain wrong, and in seeing such an absence, issues those words in verses 12 and 13.

The poor couldn’t afford to be there in the first place; the crippled were considered cursed; the lame were looked at as less than worthy; the blind were seen as victims of their own sinfulness. None of these—the poor, crippled, lame, or blind—were invited to such banquets because it was common sense that they would never be able to return the favor to the hosts. That’s why Jesus says in verse 14: “you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous." Jesus says in effect, “invite those who can’t repay you, those you previously deemed unworthy, and you’ll be repaid in the end.” And here’s is where I think we need to lean in a little bit more to really hear what Jesus is saying.

You see, it can be pretty easy to take Jesus’ words from this passage we’ve heard today as instructions about how to get ahead, how to play the system in order to be recognized and invited up the ladder or success. It can be easy to hear these words of Jesus with the ears of the prosperity gospel and play nice with the poor, crippled, lame, and blind in order to get something divinely “anointed” in return. But understand this: Jesus’ words are NOT words about how to play the system in societal recognition, and his words are NOT words instructing us on ways to earn holy riches or material blessings. Jesus’ words are about changing the very way we think about ourselves and others. Jesus’ words are about putting ourselves last—not so we may be recognized as “the most humble,” but—so that we may lift others up. Jesus’ words are about making room at the table for all of God’s people—and that means ALL OF GOD’S PEOPLE! For when Jesus says to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind, he is saying to invite those you would never invite on your own, and for us—for you—that may mean you invite old, young, black, white, Hispanic, poor, rich, gay, straight, ugly, pretty, stinking, Republican, Democrat, Jew, Muslim, atheist…it means that at the table of Christ’s kingdom we take the lower seat to make room for everyone else. Because, in the end, while we may not get the “best seat in the house,” the truth is, it is only by the grace of God in Christ that we have a seat at the table at all.

Let us pray…

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[1] Darrel L. Bock, Luke: Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament. Baker Academic: Grand Rapids, MI (1996) pp. 1262-3.

[2] Rodney S. Sadler, Jr. “Proper 17: Luke 14:1, 7-14,” Feasting on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisvile, KY (2010) p.23.

[3] Bock, p.1265.

A sermon that shall echo throughout history

The God of Personal Space (Proper 15, 2013)

Jeremiah 23:23-29

23 Am I a God near by, says the Lord, and not a God far off? 24 Who can hide in secret places so that I cannot see them? says the Lord. Do I not fill heaven and earth? says the Lord. 25 I have heard what the prophets have said who prophesy lies in my name, saying, "I have dreamed, I have dreamed!" 26 How long? Will the hearts of the prophets ever turn back—those who prophesy lies, and who prophesy the deceit of their own heart? 27 They plan to make my people forget my name by their dreams that they tell one another, just as their ancestors forgot my name for Baal. 28 Let the prophet who has a dream tell the dream, but let the one who has my word speak my word faithfully. What has straw in common with wheat? says the Lord. 29 Is not my word like fire, says the Lord, and like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces?

            If you’ve owned a working television in the past twenty-five years and have never seen an episode of the show Seinfeld, I’m afraid you’ve been using your television incorrectly.  Seinfeld began airing on the National Broadcast Company in July of 1989 and ran for nine seasons, with its season finale airing on May 14, 1998[1]. It came to be known as “the show about nothing,” yet Seinfeld was truly a show about everything—everything from uncomfortable family situations, awkward incidents at work, and unusual relationship problems. It was the kind of show that addressed topics and personalities in such a way that every person watching at home could say, “Yes! I know someone just like that!”

            There’s one episode of Seinfeld that comes to my mind this morning. It’s the first part of a two-part episode titled “Raincoats” (episode 18, season 5). In this episode we’re introduced to Elaine’s new boyfriend, Aaron. Aaron is an extremely nice, generous, and all around friendly guy—there’s just one thing about Aaron though that makes him…shall we say a bit odd. Jerry refers to Aaron as a “close talker.” Aaron has a habit of invading one’s personal space—even strangers—when he has a conversation with them. In fact, any time Aaron speaks to someone, their bodies begin to twist and contort as if they’re taking part in an invisible game of limbo. Aaron’s habit of “close talking” invades the personal space of whomever he chooses to speak with, and personal space is not something we so casually surrender.

            Personal space is something very important to us, especially in our culture. It’s that invisible bubble that surrounds us whenever we are in situations involving other people. We begin defining our personal space at an early age, about three or four, and by the time we reach adolescence, the bubble of personal comfort that surrounds us becomes permanent. Our concept of personal space is generated by the part of our brains that controls fear[2], and is likely an evolutionary result of having to protect ourselves and our food from the predatory tactics of others.[3] Whether we acknowledge it or not, we all have that radius around us of personal space, and we’re all made just a bit uncomfortable when someone invades it.

            I have this theory that in some ways we treasure our personal space because it is so easy to control, and we live in a world where so many things are beyond our control. We can control the two to four foot radius of personal space that surrounds us simply by moving, by walking away from someone if they invade our space. Things that fall within our atmosphere of personal space are usually things that belong to us anyhow, things we possess and control anyway. So you see, I think we like our personal space not only because of some defense mechanism left by evolution, but because we like control. And what’s easier to control than our personal space?

But what do you do when something invades your personal space? What can you do when something or someone is so invasive that you cannot run from them, and your personal space all but evaporates? You give in. You change.

            In the text we’ve read this morning from the prophet Jeremiah, our personal space is invaded immediately with three questions in verses 23 and 24: “Am I a God near by, says the Lord, and not a God far off? Who can hide in secret places so that I cannot see them? says the Lord. Do I not fill heaven and earth? says the Lord.” Now, the first two questions are phrased in such a way that they require a negative answer[4]: “Am I a God near by, and not a God far off?” “No, you are not a God far off.” “Who can hide in secret places from me?” “No one can hide from you.” The third question is worded so as to require a positive answer: “Do I not fill heaven and earth?” “Yes, you do fill heaven and earth, O Lord.”[5]

            These words come through the prophet Jeremiah as he speaks out against the false prophets of Judah. These prophets were proclaiming that peace and prosperity would remain with the people of Judah, despite the ever-growing threat of Babylon just beyond the border. They were claiming their dreams had some sort of supernatural authority, and they used the claims that they had dreamed of safety and comfort as a sign of hope for the people of Judah. But Jeremiah had the unenviable task of speaking God’s truth to God’s people: things were not as good as these other prophets would have them to believe, and the threat of Babylon was real and closer than they could imagine.[6] But the people of God (as they so often do even today) chose the safer, softer words of the false prophets—the more familiar words, and continued to live with the false hope of a future of safety and comfort, a future in which their personal space would remain intact and their lives unchanged.

            It is into this rose-colored world of hope that God speaks through Jeremiah, and it is into such a world that these first three questions invade. You see, for many people of the Ancient Near East, the gods were physical, geographical deities; the gods were confined to the laws of time and space. Gods were primarily connected with things like altars, idols, and temples. The god’s were understood as beings who inhabited their own personal space, and the humans who worshipped them could seldom breech that space, and the gods would rarely (if ever) actually inhabit the space occupied by humans. The gods, as they were understood, could manipulate the elements of the world, but they didn’t necessarily inhabit every nook and cranny of creation.

            The people of Judah had a similar understanding at times when it came to YHWH. God’s place was in the temple in Jerusalem, more specifically, God’s place was in the Most Holy Place at the center of the temple. From there, God would hear the prayers of the people and accept their offerings as they were brought to the temple. God had God’s personal space, and the people had their personal space, both collectively and individually.

            Now, you may be thinking to yourself right now, “How ludicrous! God is not confined to a building, to a room in a temple! God is not confined to any one place at all.” But I think if we’re truly honest with ourselves, we may find that our understanding of God is not too different from that of those ancient, Semitic people. I know that to be true because I’ve seen too many pictures of God, and there aren’t many of those pictures depicting the Almighty in the ordinary places of creation—in the personal spaces of humanity.

            If you walk through the dark-stained, hardwood doors at the front of Hodges Chapel at Beeson Divinity School on the campus of Samford University, your eyes will gradually be drawn upward, towards the grand fresco on the domed ceiling. It is an ethereal scene, replete with bleached-white clouds and golden rods of sunlight. Saints from the history of God’s people encircle the dome on some sort of heavenly porch, but your eyes are quickly drawn to the central figure in the dome. With his porcelain white skin, straight red hair (with maybe a hint of blonde highlights?) and light-colored eyes, Jesus (or as I call him, Jesus O’Christ) gazes down from heaven as a line of angels swirl their way up to higher places in glory.

            That’s where most of us like to put God—up there, beyond the clouds, with all those who have died before us. We like to put God up there, with his skin the same hue as ours, his language and dialect the same as ours. We like to put God up there, out of our personal space, where God can hear our prayers, bless our food, our troops, and our country, where he can watch over us as we travel and look down on us when times are hard. We may not lock God away in the back room of a gilded temple, but we have certainly developed a habit of pushing God into a tiny box and keeping it on the highest shelf in heaven—a place up there, beyond the sky, a place inaccessible to us in this life, a place that doesn’t invade our personal space.

            So you see, just as these words from Jeremiah spoke to a people who felt like they had God figured out, people who felt like they could keep God under lock and key at a safe distance from their personal space, these words speak to us. They speak to us when we think we’ve got God figured out, when we fool ourselves into believing that God is up there and not right here. They speak to us when we fool ourselves into believing that God isn’t near, so God won’t know our actions, our thoughts, our true motivations for the way we behave in this world. They are words that speak to us of a God of personal space—a God who invades our personal space. And when God invades our personal space, we can’t outrun the discomfort because God is a God who “fills heaven and earth,” a God who inhabits every nook and cranny of creation.

            These prophet’s words echo the words of another prophet, Isaiah, as they are recorded in the gospel of Matthew, “they shall name him Emmanuel, which means, ‘God is with us.’” These words were used to describe the birth of Christ, a birth that proved the invasion of God into our personal spaces. Christ proved to the world that God is a God near by and not a God far off. Christ proved to the world that there is no one who can hide in secret places so God cannot see them. Christ proves to us that God is with us, right here in our personal space, and that is a truth of both comfort and fear.

            If you have spent your days trying to hide from God, perhaps even trying to hide form God as you’ve sat year after year on a pew in this room, know now that you cannot hide from God. There is nowhere you can go and nothing you can do that can remove God from your presence. God’s invasion of your personal space can be a frightening thought when you don’t want to let go of control, when your life is too much your own, and when your life is overcome with selfishness.

            But oh what joy comes when one thinks that God is here—right here—with us, in our personal space! When we are afraid, God is with us in our personal space. When we are lonely, God is with us in our personal space. When our hearts are breaking, God is with us in our personal space. When life seems too much, the way too dark, and there isn’t anyone there for us, God is with us in our personal space.

            May you recognize God in your personal space this morning. May you let go of the sinful desire to control and turn your life over to the God who not only resides in heaven, but in every corner of creation. May you be comforted by the God who is with us. May you give in, let go, and allow God the rightful place in your personal space.

Let us pray…

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seinfeld

[2] http://www.livescience.com/20801-personal-space.html

[3] http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1919910,00.html

[4] Green, James Leo. The Broadman Bible Commentary. Edited by Clifton J. Allen. Vols. 6: Jeremiah-Daniel. Nashville: Broadman Press, 1971, pg.125.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Bright, John. Anchor Bible Commentary. Edited by William Foxwell Albright and David Noel Freedman. Vol. 21: Jeremiah. Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1965, pg. 153.

Three Strangers (Proper 11, 2013)

(It's been a while sine I've posted a manuscript, but you can usually find video of Sunday sermons on the YouTube channel of FBC Williams here.)

Genesis 18:1-10a

1 The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. 2 He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. 3 He said, "My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. 4 Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. 5 Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant." So they said, "Do as you have said." 6 And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, "Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes." 7 Abraham ran to the herd, and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it. 8 Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree while they ate. 9 They said to him, "Where is your wife Sarah?" And he said, "There, in the tent." 10 Then one said, "I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son."

            She walked into Pop Burger (a hip, trendy burger joint in New York City), strolled up to the counter, and placed her order. As usual, the young man working behind the counter asked for her name so she would know when her order was ready.  She was stunned. She looked at the young man, and with a clear sense of astonishment and irritation said, “Are you serious? You don’t recognize me? I’m Miley Cyrus!”[1] Now, for those of you over the age of 30 with children or grandchildren who have sensible tastes in music and entertainment, Miley Cyrus is a wildly popular product of the Disney Channel and Billy Ray Cyrus (a relic of pop-country music from the early 1990s, who told us all about his “Achy-Breaky Heart”). She has made millions (if not billions) of dollars through T.V. shows, music, movies, concerts, and all kinds of product tie-ins (i.e. toys). I can imagine it must be difficult for her to travel in public without being swarmed by fans, photographers, and the general mass of people who tend to flock to celebrity, but on this occasion this one individual seemingly had no idea he was exchanging words with the world-famous Miley Cyrus. He was in the presence of an enormously wealthy and popular celebrity, yet he didn’t seem to have a clue. I can imagine after such a meeting, he has never forgotten who Miley Cyrus is (or what she looks like)!

            I suppose we can chalk up that young man’s experience to innocent ignorance, a well-meaning employee just trying to do his job, when into his world walked one of the most recognizable names on the planet. I, however, can’t help but wonder how often scenes like this unfold all around us, even in our very own lives. I wonder how often our own worlds are infiltrated by the presence of Another, one who is so easily recognizable to countless others, yet to us…simply a stranger.

            There were three strangers who broke into Abraham’s life one day by the oaks of Mamre. He was sitting by the tent flap, presumably trying to cool himself during the hottest part of the day, when Scripture tells us in verse two of our text this morning that “[h]e looked up and saw three men standing near him.” Now, bear in mind, Abraham lived in a nomadic culture, where families and tribes moved from one place to another, following the seasons and the herds. They were a protective people, wary of unfamiliar faces. Abraham, however, bucks caution and, we are told in the second half of verse two: “When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground.”

            Abraham recognized these three men as strangers, yet he did not go inside and bolt the locks on his tent flap. On the contrary, Abraham went out to meet them. Did he casually stroll out to them, offering them an obligatory “hello” and a forced conversation about the weather? No! He ran out to meet them and bowed down to the ground. Abraham recognized these men as strangers, yet he also recognized something more about them—something in them worthy of respect, worthy of reverence, and worthy of hospitality. Abraham recognized in these three strangers what we as readers of the text already know about them—they are the Lord; God is in the midst of these three strangers.

            Now, before we jump to any Trinitarian conclusions about these strangers (however valid they may be), let us focus more on what is taking place here in this story. Abraham recognized something sacred in these three strangers, so he shows hospitality to them in verses three through five: “He said, ‘My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.’” Abraham offered these three strangers a drink of cool water for their thirst, clean water for their feet, and a bit of bread for their hunger as they have come upon his tent. At first glance, these may seem like relatively small things—a drink of water, a piece of bread—but keep in mind, Abraham cannot just run into the kitchen and turn a knob on the faucet or punch a button on the refrigerator door, nor can he open the bread box, undo the twist-tie and pull out a couple of slices of Wonder bread for his guests. No, water had to be drawn, bread baked. To invite a stranger (three no less!) to a bit of bread and a drink of water was to invite them to stay a short spell while things were being prepared. It was a relatively involved process of hospitality, yet Abraham invited these three strangers to kick off their sandals and stay a while (this is obviously before the days of our children being taught about “stranger danger” at school!).

            With that being said, Abraham went above and beyond—still recognizing the Lord in the presence of the three strangers.  We get the laundry list of Abraham’s efforts to show hospitality to these three strangers in verses six through eight: “And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, ‘Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes.’ Abraham ran to the herd, and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it.  Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree while they ate.” Abraham made sure to prepare more than just a bite of bread and a drink of water for his guests—he provided an entire meal for them! And while it may not seem like a Thanksgiving spread to you or me, the portions Abraham served his guests would rival a super-sized Big-Mac meal from McDonalds! Abraham went all out for these three strangers, who became guests in his presence, and in return, they left Abraham with a promise.

            In verses 9 and 10 the three strangers (either in unison or through a sort of spokesperson for the trio) spoke to Abraham: “They said to him, ‘Where is your wife Sarah?’" This may seem like an odd question, prying and surprising given the fact that we are never told that Abraham has mentioned his wife to the three strangers.  Nevertheless, Abraham tells them, "There, in the tent." Then one said, "I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son." Here, I imagine Abraham’s jaw dropped wide open and perhaps he even began to stammer a bit. How did they know about God’s promise to Abraham and Sarah about a child? Even if they did not, how could they possibly be so bold as to tell a man so advanced in years that his wife would bear a son in a year’s time? How could they be so bold as to make such a promise? Because there was something more to these strangers, something that Abraham (and Sarah) could only experience after Abraham recognized the presence of God in these strangers.

            You see, Abraham could have done what so many others would have done in his day—what would have been the culturally appropriate thing to do. He could have seen the three strangers by the oaks of Mamre and chose to ignore them. He could have gone inside his tent and waited for them to simply go away. He could have sounded some sort of alarm, warning of the presence of strangers, outsiders, in the area. He could have done any number of things and been justified in his self-protecting behavior, yet Abraham recognized God in the presence of those strangers and welcomed them with great hospitality.

            Now I cannot help but wonder how many times we have missed the presence of God in the stranger, the outsider, because we have acted to protect our own interests. How often have we failed to see God in those people and situations we deem strange, unusual, or uncomfortable? You see, I believe God calls us to recognize the sacred in one another, to see the image of God that we all carry with us, but I know that is not an easy thing to do.

            We live in a time and place where strangers and outsiders are immediately labeled as “dangerous.” We live in a culture that continues to tell us that those who are different from us are less than us, all the while arguing that we are better because we are somehow chosen by God to be special. Despite being nearly four millennia removed from the time of Abraham, twenty-one centuries from the time of Christ, two hundred and twenty-seven years from the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and almost fifty years from the signing of the Civil Rights Act, we still live in a country where those who are different, those who are strangers, are seen with immediate suspicion and often treated as hostile, dangerous, or threatening. When we allow ourselves to give in to those cultural pressures, when we allow ourselves to look upon those we do not know and immediately judge them as inferior, menacing, or hazardous we have failed to learn the lesson from this story of Father Abraham.

            Abraham recognized God in the three strangers. He saw the Lord where others may have only seen danger and inconvenience. Abraham recognized God and went out of his way to serve these three strangers and show them great hospitality. Again, I can’t help but wonder how often scenes like this unfold all around us. I wonder how often our own worlds are infiltrated by the presence of Another, one who is so easily recognizable to countless others, yet to us…simply a stranger. I wonder how we, those of us who call ourselves followers of Christ and children of God, will go forth this day looking for God in the presence of other, recognizing the Lord’s presence even in the midst of strangers. I wonder how we will respond to God’s presence when we find it. Will we extend love and hospitality, or will we allow our own prejudices, our own preconceived notions of who we are, to stand in the way of experiencing God’s presence and the blessings that come with it?

            May we learn the lesson taught to us by Abraham through Holy Scripture. May we strive to see the presence of God, even among strangers. May we seek to be individuals, a church, and a community of believers who are known for hospitality to strangers, known for showing the love of God even to those who others might mark as dangerous. May we welcome the presence of God in our lives however it may manifest itself, through strangers, through friends, through family, through worship, through Holy Scripture, through the preached word, and may we recognize the presence of God in this place here and now and respond however the Holy Spirit is calling us to respond.

Let us pray…

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[1] http://www.thefrisky.com/photos/dont-you-know-who-i-am-10-celebs-go-unrecognized/miley-cyrus-112409-jpg/

Showdown at High Noon (Proper 4, 2013)

1 Kings 18:20-39

20 So Ahab sent to all the Israelites, and assembled the prophets at Mount Carmel. 21 Elijah then came near to all the people, and said, "How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him." The people did not answer him a word. 22 Then Elijah said to the people, "I, even I only, am left a prophet of the Lord; but Baal's prophets number four hundred fifty. 23 Let two bulls be given to us; let them choose one bull for themselves, cut it in pieces, and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it; I will prepare the other bull and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it. 24 Then you call on the name of your god and I will call on the name of the Lord; the god who answers by fire is indeed God." All the people answered, "Well spoken!" 25 Then Elijah said to the prophets of Baal, "Choose for yourselves one bull and prepare it first, for you are many; then call on the name of your god, but put no fire to it." 26 So they took the bull that was given them, prepared it, and called on the name of Baal from morning until noon, crying, "O Baal, answer us!" But there was no voice, and no answer. They limped about the altar that they had made. 27 At noon Elijah mocked them, saying, "Cry aloud! Surely he is a god; either he is meditating, or he has wandered away, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened." 28 Then they cried aloud and, as was their custom, they cut themselves with swords and lances until the blood gushed out over them. 29 As midday passed, they raved on until the time of the offering of the oblation, but there was no voice, no answer, and no response. 30 Then Elijah said to all the people, "Come closer to me"; and all the people came closer to him. First he repaired the altar of the Lord that had been thrown down; 31 Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Jacob, to whom the word of the Lord came, saying, "Israel shall be your name"; 32 with the stones he built an altar in the name of the Lord. Then he made a trench around the altar, large enough to contain two measures of seed. 33 Next he put the wood in order, cut the bull in pieces, and laid it on the wood. He said, "Fill four jars with water and pour it on the burnt offering and on the wood." 34 Then he said, "Do it a second time"; and they did it a second time. Again he said, "Do it a third time"; and they did it a third time, 35 so that the water ran all around the altar, and filled the trench also with water. 36 At the time of the offering of the oblation, the prophet Elijah came near and said, "O Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your bidding. 37 Answer me, O Lord, answer me, so that this people may know that you, O Lord, are God, and that you have turned their hearts back." 38 Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench. 39 When all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and said, "The Lord indeed is God; the Lord indeed is God."

            I suppose when most folks think of an old, Western showdown they imagine about the same scene. The sun has reached its peak in the blue firmament. Two men square off, facing each other at somewhere around a hundred paces, on some old main street flanked by brothels and saloons, with tumbleweeds bouncing in between them, in some dirty town with a name like Laredo or El Dorado. At the end of that street littered with horse manure and tobacco spit, there’s probably a courthouse with a clock in the top—way up high and big enough for everyone to see when both hands strike twelve and hear when the bells peal out that it’s noon (high noon!). But before the clock has a chance to tell the time, shots ring out…and there, still on his feet with his six-shooter smoking in his hand, is the victor of the showdown. He was quickest on the draw (and usually the good guy in the white hat). That’s likely the sort of scene that your mind creates when you hear about a showdown, but for me, there’s a slightly different scene that comes to mind.

            Whether you’ve read it in the pages of Charles Portis’ 1968 novel, watched the classic film from 1969 starring John Wayne, or the most recent screen adaptation from the Coen brothers starring Jeff Bridges, the showdown scene from True Grit may be one of my favorite from any Western. The half-drunk, full-of-grit U.S. marshal Rooster Cogburn sits atop his horse at one end of a meadow overlooked by a bluff. On the other end of that meadow, the outlaw Ned Pepper and three other men ride up on their horses. Pepper shouts across the field at Rooster, “What's your intention? Do you think one on four is a dogfall?” To which Rooster Cogburn replies, “I mean to kill you in one minute, Ned. Or see you hanged in Fort Smith at Judge Parker's convenience. Which'll it be?” Pepper hollers back at Rooster (who has only one eye and is wearing an eye patch, reminiscent of a pirate): “I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man.” Rooster, filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and stubbornness, shouts back at Pepper, “Fill your hands you…” and then makes what I assume is an unfair judgment about the outlaw’s mother as he calls him a name unfit to repeat in this room (if you’ve seen either movie or read the book, you know what I mean). With those last words, Rooster puts his reins in his teeth, draws his pistol with his left hand, while holding his rifle in the other, and charges full-speed across the ground, shooting and cussing at Ned Pepper and the three outlaws who are also charging and shooting back at him.

It’s a spectacular scene to imagine: one man drawing his guns and bearing down on four other men. He’s outnumbered four-to-one, yet he still charges on. It would take enough courage to stand in front of one other person with the expectation that one of you is going to die, but to charge straight on at four men…? I imagine that takes courage, faith, and a little hint of crazy. But what would it take to be outnumbered by, say, a hundred, or better yet, 450? What kind of courage does a person have to have to stand against 450 adversaries…on a mountain…in front of all the people, who don’t exactly like them…with the law against them…in the middle of a severe drought they helped cause? What kind of faith does one have to have to stand in the midst of such circumstances and risk everything in a showdown of divinity, all the while taunting and accusing the people who have gathered to witness the spectacle? It takes the courage and faith of a prophet…a prophet like Elijah.

Elijah had to have courage. He had spoken out against the king, Ahab, when he took Jezebel for a wife and began promoting the worship of idols in the land of Israel. The other prophets of God that were in the land had been executed or driven out by Jezebel, and the prophets of the idol Baal (the storm god, “rider on the clouds”) grew in number and influence. Elijah had to have courage because he was all that was left of the prophetic caste that spoke on behalf of Israel’s God. His voice alone spoke the words of YHWH in Israel. His voice alone proclaimed the judgment of God on the idolatrous people. His singular voice, amidst the cacophony of the prophets of Baal, was the thorn in the side of the king and the people as it proclaimed a great drought and the famine that followed. And now, it is Elijah’s single voice that conjures up the courage to call out the prophets of Baal in front of all the people to prove once and for all who is God and who is not. It is Elijah’s courageous voice, provoked by his faith, which calls out the false god Baal and dares him to prove his existence.  

It’s really quite a scene that develops in these verses we’ve read today. In verse 20, we read that “… Ahab sent to all the Israelites, and assembled the prophets at Mount Carmel.” In the preceding verse we get a fuller picture of just who shows up on Mount Carmel in Elijah’s command to Ahab: “Now therefore have all Israel assemble for me at Mount Carmel, with the four hundred fifty prophets of Baal and the four hundred prophets of Asherah, who eat at Jezebel's table.” So it’s a few more than just 450 who show up for the showdown with Elijah: there are at least 400 other prophets of Asherah (the goddess of fertility) and “all Israel” (at least a good number of those within walking distance).

Needless to say, there was a crowd, and Elijah doesn’t exactly try to “kill them with kindness” in verse 21: "How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him." He’s given the people and ultimatum reminiscent of Joshua’s last words to the people of Israel in Joshua 24:15: “…choose this day whom you will serve…as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord." Under Ahab and Jezebel the people of Israel had developed a sort of pluralistic form of worship. They would worship and sacrifice to YHWH (God), but they would also make sacrifices and worship idols like Baal and Asherah. They wanted to “have their cake and eat it to.” After all, what could it hurt to worship a number of gods? What if you picked a false god to worship? Wouldn’t you want a real god to fall back on, you know, just in case? Elijah, however, has had enough, and lays out a plan that will put an end to the entire scheme in verses 23 and 24: “Let two bulls be given to us; let them choose one bull for themselves, cut it in pieces, and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it; I will prepare the other bull and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it. Then you call on the name of your god and I will call on the name of the Lord; the god who answers by fire is indeed God."

Elijah has given the people an opportunity to test God. The two competing deities, represented by their prophets, will have the opportunity to show up and prove themselves to the people whose worship is up for grabs. The prophets of Baal took their bull and prepared their altar and called on Baal to show up all morning long. They cried aloud, the limped or danced around the altar, but there was no reply. Eventually, “they cut themselves with swords and lances until the blood gushed out over them” all in order to prove the existence of Baal, “but there was no voice, no answer, and no response.”

Then Elijah stepped up. It was his turn to prove his God, YHWH, was in fact the one true God. In verses 30-35 we get a rather detailed account of what Elijah did: “First he repaired the altar of the Lord that had been thrown down; [then he] took twelve stones…[and] built an altar in the name of the Lord. Then he made a trench around the altar, large enough to contain two measures of seed. Next he put the wood in order, cut the bull in pieces, and laid it on the wood. He said, ‘Fill four jars with water and pour it on the burnt offering and on the wood.’ Then he said, ‘Do it a second time’; and they did it a second time. Again he said, ‘Do it a third time’; and they did it a third time, so that the water ran all around the altar, and filled the trench also with water.” Elijah goes to great lengths to make sure everything is prepared correctly, with meaning, and he even goes so far as to saturate the altar with water (in the third year of a drought mind you) to prove there are no hidden pyrotechnics.

Then, once the altar has been prepared, Elijah calls on the name of the Lord in verses 36 and 37: “O Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your bidding. Answer me, O Lord, answer me, so that this people may know that you, O Lord, are God, and that you have turned their hearts back." Elijah makes his appeal to God; he asks God to make Himself known in order to prove Elijah’s words and God’s existence to these stubborn people. What happens next was surely frightening to those who were gathered there. In verse 38 it says, “Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench.” The fire didn’t just catch the wood of the altar on fire; it consumed it—even licking up the trench of water that had formed around the altar. A simple bolt of lightning would have sufficed, maybe even a spark and a wisp of smoke from the center of the altar, but God responds with fire that consumes everything—even stones, dust and water—leaving no doubt that YHWH is real, alive, and moving among the people. Elijah called on the name of the Lord, and the Lord showed up in a big way.

But what about those times when we call on the name of the Lord and there’s no fire, not even a little heat? What if Elijah had called on the name of the Lord and received the same response the prophets of Baal received, the dame response so many of us receive when we call on the name of the Lord—silence? That is when our faith is tested. That is when our courage is tried. That is when God truly becomes real to us.

You see, it isn’t the victory that gives the gunslinger true grit. It isn’t the scorched earth where an altar once stood that made Elijah a great prophet. It isn’t a grand scene of lightning, fire, and smoke that makes God real to us. It is faith. Faith that says even if God doesn’t show up on my time, I’ll still trust him. Faith that says even if God doesn’t do things the way I think they ought to be done, I’ll still follow. Faith that says even after shouting at the heavens, longing for a sign, tangible proof of his existence, and getting nothing but silence in return, I’ll still hold on to hope.

It isn’t an easy faith. This showdown at Mount Carmel seems more the exception than the rule. But then again, God does make himself known to us in real, tangible ways—just with less drama and theatrics. God makes himself known to us in the lives of those in whom the Holy Spirit dwells. God makes himself known to us through the words we speak and the deeds we do for one another out of love. We may not be able to call fire down from heaven. We may never even witness such a thing as that. But we have the power to show love to one another, to our neighbors, to those who are different from in every way. We will witness God’s presence as we see lives changed by the gospel. We have witnessed the very presence of God in this room as we have gathered for worship.

Perhaps you are in this room today, hoping for some dramatic sign from God, hoping to see fire fall from heaven. You might, though I can’t promise you that you will. What I can promise you, however, is that you will witness the presence of God in this place—not in the bricks, wood, grass and asphalt that make up this building we call a church, but in the flesh and blood of Christ’s church gathered in this place. And I hope that as you have witnessed God’s presence today that the Holy Spirit has moved in your heart, calling you into a life of faith, or a deeper walk of discipleship. I hope that as you have experienced the presence of the Lord in this place today that you will respond to his presence, and make whatever decision you feel led to make this day.

Let us pray…