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Here's a word cloud I created for my upcoming sermon series for Lent 2012.
"The Great I Am: Discovering the God who Is"
Friday, February 17, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Service (Part 2 of a Stewardship Series)
Matthew
20:20-28
20 Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee came to him with her sons,
and kneeling before him, she asked a favor of him. 21 And he said to her,
"What do you want?" She said to him, "Declare that these two
sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your
kingdom." 22 But Jesus answered, "You do not know what you are
asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?" They said
to him, "We are able." 23 He said to them, "You will indeed
drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to
grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father." 24
When the ten heard it, they were angry with the two brothers. 25 But Jesus
called them to him and said, "You know that the rulers of the Gentiles
lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. 26 It will not
be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant,
27 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; 28 just as the
Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom
for many."
What makes a person great? Is it his physical stature,
towering over all others with an impressive display of bodily power? Is it her mental
prowess, able to cunningly unravel the most difficult situations and place
herself in a position of power? Is greatness found in material wealth, the
means to buy and possess a great deal of property? Is it found in the power of
a family name and the reputation that precedes it? Or does greatness lie in the
degrees, titles, and awards one may accumulate in a lifetime?
Perhaps it was with one of these definitions of greatness
in her head that the mother of the sons of thunder comes to Jesus. Perhaps she knelt
before the Savior with a swelling sense of maternal pride as she boldly came to
ask him a favor. It’s possible she found her two boys to be the most
exceptional of all of Jesus’ disciples (after all, she was their mother). Maybe
she saw in them the physical ability to bear the trials that were ahead for a
warring messiah; maybe she saw in them a reflection of the man to whom she was
married and a desire to see them in a place of prominence. Then again, she
could have simply been trying to fulfill her duties as a mother, trying to look
out for her two sons and secure them a place of power and greatness in the
coming kingdom of God’s Messiah. Whatever the case may be Matthew tells us that
Mrs. Zebedee knelt before Jesus and asked a favor of him concerning her two
sons.
Now, I have to tell you, the way Jesus responds in verse 21 catches me by surprise. I
mean, this woman comes to Jesus, kneeling, asking a favor of him, and Jesus
seems to say coldly, "What do you want?" He
doesn’t sound kind, caring, or even polite; just a straight-to-the-point
question. I would expect Jesus to at least say something like, “What troubles you my child?” or “Ask and it will be given to you.” Jesus,
however, doesn’t say anything of the sort, just "What do you want?"
Maybe he knew what was coming. Maybe he had overheard her discussing her plans
while they had been walking along, and he was just waiting for her to spring
this loaded request. Either way, the mother of James and John doesn’t miss a
beat. She sees her opportunity and she boldly instructs Jesus to "Declare
that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your
left, in your kingdom."
What a bold thing to do! Not only does she forget to say
“pretty please,” she just comes right out and asks this favor for both of her sons—she’s not a mother to
play favorites! I suppose she thought Jesus would grant her request, or perhaps
she’s one of those people who live by the philosophy “You’ll never know until
you ask; after all, what’s the worst that could happen?” I’m not sure of her
motivations for making such a request, but I imagine she didn’t expect Jesus’
response in verse 22: “You do not know what you are asking.”
It is as if Jesus says to her, “I don’t think you get how big a deal this thing
you want for your sons is.” Jesus, however, doesn’t give her a lot of time to
process his response before he turns to the two sons themselves: “Are
you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?"
Now, perhaps these two brothers put their mother up to
this whole thing, and maybe Jesus saw right through it all and that’s why he
turns his attention towards them. Or maybe Jesus turns and asks them this
question as a way to test them before fully responding to their mother’s request.
Either way, Jesus’ question isn’t some awkward inquiry about using the same
drinking vessel. No, when Jesus speaks about drinking the cup, there would have
been no doubt in the minds of the two brothers, and everyone else listening,
that Jesus was talking about a cup of suffering. “Are you able to drink the cup
that I am about to drink?" means “Are you able and willing to go through the ordeal of suffering that I
am about to go through?”
It’s a loaded question, a heavy response to a weighty
request, yet these two brothers answer in unison "We are able." "We
are able:" they answer quickly, confidently, without any need for
reflection or consideration. And Jesus seems to acknowledge their response as
genuine, not a veiled attempt at appeasing him, when he responses in verse 23: "You will indeed drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at
my left, this is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been
prepared by my Father." I’m sure that wasn’t exactly the response
Mrs. Zebedee (along with her sons) was hoping to hear. Jesus affirms that they
will indeed suffer (and we know of James’ martyrdom), but in the end the
decision as to who gets the places of power and judgment at his right and left
hands…well that isn’t up to him. Whatever hopes of future greatness James,
John, and their mother had likely came to a grinding halt with Jesus’ ambiguous
affirmation of their suffering. Perhaps greatness has less to do with ambition
and positions of power than any of them realized.
Now, right off camera, there stood the other ten
disciples, each perhaps just as ambitious as the Zebedee family, and I can only
imagine what words were being exchanged among them as they witnessed this scene
of fraternal favoritism play out in front of them. Matthew tells us in verse 24, “When the ten heard it, they were angry with the two brothers.”
Can you blame them? I can’t help but wonder what Peter and Andrew (brothers
from the same area as James and John) must have thought. I can just see them
now, calling James and John “Mama’s boys,” saying to themselves how they had
left their own mother back in Galilee to follow Jesus; they didn’t need her to
go asking favors of the Messiah. The others are just as angry, of course, and I
think I know why. It’d be easy to say they were angry because the whole fiasco
had interrupted the flow of their journey and caused a commotion among Jesus’
followers. It’d be very righteous of them if they were angry because of the
selfishness veiled in such a request made by the mother of James and John. I
believe, however, that they were angry for none of those reasons. No, I believe
they were angry because they didn’t ask Jesus first! They weren’t the first
ones to ask Jesus about getting the best seats during the judgment, and now,
thanks to the meddling of a mother and her two sons, it sounded like none of
them were going to get those prized seats.
Can we blame them for being angry though? I mean, think
about it: how many times have you waited patiently for something to come your
way only to see someone else swoop in with the right words, the perfectly timed
actions, or an insurmountable pile of luck to yank the proverbial rug right out
from under your feet? How many times have you been a part of a group and had to
carry the majority of the work load, only to see the prize go to someone else
who worked the least? Of course we’d be angry right along with the rest of
those disciples, because we’d feel like we had been robbed of an opportunity
that was every bit as much ours as it was theirs. But why? In the end, why do
we get angry at all about someone taking an opportunity from us? Why are we so
easily embittered towards someone else who has done the very same thing we had
intensions of doing? Why? Because we are easily motivated by ambition and a
drive to be better—better than now, better than what we are, and most of all,
better than everyone else.
I think that was at the heart of the disciple’s
anger—they each wanted to be better than the other. Surely there had to be a
second-in-command, a ranking disciple. Surely among the twelve there had to be
one or two who stood out, one or two who would get to be Jesus’
“right-hand-man” when he came to power in his kingdom. They were all secretly
jockeying for position in the group, hoping that Jesus would draft one of them
to stand as the leader, the head disciple. They wanted recognition, a title,
significance, rank…yet when Jesus gets wind of what’s going on in the group in verses 25 and following he says,
"You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their
great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever
wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be
first among you must be your slave.”
Can’t you just
hear the wind leaving the sails? Can’t you just see that group of disciples
(right along with Mother Zebedee) hanging their heads as the breath leaves
their lungs in a collective sigh of recognition? As they were all but falling
over each other in an attempt to achieve greatness, to outdo one another, Jesus
tells them, “If you really want to be
great, you’re going to have to be slaves to one another, because that is what I
have come to be.” They’re out of cards to play. No one can claim any special
qualifications over another. If they are going to be great, they’ll have to be
servants, slaves. If they want to be first, they’ll have to settle for being
last.
And no one likes to be last. No one likes to be called a
slave. Yet that is the calling Christ places on his disciples—all of his
disciples. The call to serve isn’t a call that comes from a God who desires to
watch his people dance like puppets as he pulls the strings. The command to be
last, to be a slave to one another, doesn’t come from a God who makes sport of
servitude. The kingdom call to service comes from a God who “came
not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many."
The Lord Jesus Christ calls us to put aside our selfish ambitions and our
personal pursuits of what this world deems as greatness so that we may serve
one another in the love of God. Christ has laid down his life to free us from
the bonds of sin and evil, and in doing so has become our ultimate example for
living a life of service.
Christ has given his life for you and for me. How are you
being a good steward of such an eternal gift? Are you striving to lord your
power over others? Are you seeking more titles, more positions only so you can flex
your influence in the world around you? Are you planning to simply sit on the
sidelines, hoping that everyone else will bear your load so you can enjoy the
ride? Just as Christ came not to serve but to serve, he calls each and every
one of us who are known by his name to serve one God, to serve one another, to
serve his Church, and to serve the world. Christ gave his life as a ransom for
you. How will you serve as a better steward of such grace from this day
forward?
Let us pray…
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Simplicity (Part 1 of a Stewardship Series)
Luke
12:13-21
13 Someone in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, tell my brother to
divide the family inheritance with me." 14 But he said to him,
"Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?" 15 And he
said to them, "Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for
one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions." 16 Then he told
them a parable: "The land of a rich man produced abundantly. 17 And he
thought to himself, "What should I do, for I have no place to store my
crops?' 18 Then he said, "I will do this: I will pull down my barns and
build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. 19 And I
will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax,
eat, drink, be merry.' 20 But God said to him, "You fool! This very night
your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will
they be?' 21 So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are
not rich toward God."
As a pastor I have done my share of funerals, and if I
can tell you anything about a funeral it’s this: be prepared for family drama.
It doesn’t always happen, but when it does, a pastor needs to be ready for it.
You see, a funeral may be the only time some family members are ever in the
same room together, a time when those who share last names and DNA come
together in the same space to mourn the loss of a loved one. Generally
speaking, when there is family drama, it takes place after the service, usually
back at the church or the home where the food is designated to be delivered. It
nearly always starts the same way, with a seemingly innocent question: “Did Momma
leave behind a will?” “Did Granddaddy say who gets his boat after he died?” Before
long these not-so-subtle questions begin to elevate into accusations: “I knew
you only came so you could take Aunt Vida’s antique coffee table back home.” “I
should have known you were only coming to see if Daddy left you any money.” One doesn’t have to wait
too long in these situations before the lid is blown off, and brothers,
sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles are all at each others’ throats arguing
over every last trinket left behind by the recently departed. It’s a sad scene
to watch unfold, yet I’ve seen it many times as individuals allow their greed
and selfishness to overtake their grief and their love for their lost family
member. Thankfully (THANKFULLY!), no one has ever turned to me in the middle of
such heated family conflict to ask, “What do you think about it preacher?”
I’m afraid that’s just the sort of situation in which our
Lord finds himself in this passage before us this morning. I have to say, I’m
glad no one has ever come to me with such demanding words as this man does in verse 13. Luke tells us, “Someone
in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family
inheritance with me.’" Can’t you almost hear this man whining as
he comes to Jesus with this family dispute? This nameless individual comes to
Jesus, addresses him as a rabbi and demands that he tell his brother to give
him his fair share. Now, to be fair, that wasn’t all that uncommon in Jesus’
day; members of the community would often seek out a rabbi for his judgment in
these sorts of matter, especially if they could be solved by pointing to the
Law—to Scripture (I think of how often people come to me and ask me what the
Bible says about some issue or another). Jesus, however, as he often does,
shakes this man’s demands and shines a different light on the entire situation.
In verse 14 Jesus says to him, “Friend,
who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you? I have to imagine that
that man thought to himself: “Well God set you as a judge and arbitrator over
me! You’re a rabbi after all!” As it turns out, though, Jesus isn’t only
speaking to this man and his unique situation.
Jesus uses this
man and his common conundrum to speak to the crowd gathered around him. In verse 15, Jesus turns his attention to
the people in the crowd and says, “Take care! Be on your guard against all
kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of
possessions.” To further prove his point, Jesus tells a parable, a
parable about a man who has so much that he has to tear down his old barns just
to build bigger, better barns to hold all that he has. When he gets satisfied,
thinking he has gathered and stored enough, he decides to “retire,” but God
says to him in verse 20: “You fool! This very night your life is
being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”
The man’s life is being demanded of him; he is going to die. He’s going to die,
and he’ll have to leave everything he has gathered together behind. For that,
God calls the man a fool.
Of course, in
our culture this man in Jesus’ parable would be anything but a fool. We are
encouraged to store things up for ourselves, to open savings accounts, make
investments to see our money grow. If someone has made enough money so as to
build a bigger house, drive a nicer car, or buy more expensive things, we
applaud his or her hard work, or we become jealous of their possessions. The
man in this parable would be seen as a model American citizen, taking advantage
of his abundance and keeping it all for himself and perhaps as an inheritance
for his descendants. But that’s where Jesus’ telling of this parable flips the
man’s demand for his proper inheritance on its head. He asked about his
inheritance, and Jesus points out how trivial such an inheritance was in the life
of the one who had it before. In other words, why worry about an inheritance
that the one before you couldn’t (or didn’t) even use? To put a nice bow on the
whole story, Jesus gives a sort of summary statement in verse 21, a nugget of wisdom for all to take away from the parable:
“So
it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward
God." In other words, why store up for yourself that which you
cannot or will not use on this earth, especially for the glory of God?
This is where I think we need to listen for a word or two
about re-defining stewardship, especially as it has to do with living a life of
simplicity. You see, we live in a place and time where simple is considered
strange, backwards, and downright un-patriotic! After all, this is the land of
opportunity; we are an ambitious and innovative people. We live in the days of
the internet, the iPhone, fast food, Super Wal-Marts, walk-in closets, and
investment banks. We are encouraged to spend money we don’t have on things we
don’t, or (in the rare occasion we have it) save the money we don’t need, and
invest the rest only so we can make more. To live a simple life at or below our
means is sarcastically considered “sacrificial living” in the eyes of those who
have more than they will ever need or ever use. We are waist-deep in a culture
that encourages us to “store up treasures for ourselves,” and many of us gladly
go along with the status quo.
This month, however, we are reexamining that status quo.
We are attempting to re-define stewardship, turning to the teachings of
Scripture to see what it means to be good stewards of all that God has given
us, and I am convinced that being good stewards begins with a desire to live a
faithful life of simplicity—a life lived rich toward God, not a life lived in
overabundance. That seems to me to be the lesson Jesus is trying to teach this
man, the crowd, and us with this parable today. Why does this man come to Jesus
with this dispute about his family inheritance in the first place? Because he
is worried about getting what’s coming to him; it’s plain, old-fashioned greed.
And greed is the opposite of simplicity, the opposite of good stewardship.
Jesus’ words here in this parable remind me of another parable,
a story from the great Russian author of the last century, Leo Tolstoy. In his
story titled “How Much Land does a Man Need?” Tolstoy tells the tale of a
peasant by the name of Pahom. After overhearing a conversation between his wife
and her sister about the dignity and comfort of their respective ways of life,
Pahom vows to rise up from being a peasant. Through a series of events, he is
able to buy himself a little lot of land and grow his own crops. Before long,
however, he becomes dissatisfied with the little piece of land he has and the
ways in which the local peasants are abusing it, so he sells his land to move
to a commune where he rents more land and continues to grow his own crops. However,
he is still not satisfied, so he decides to buy his own land again; this time,
though, he would buy enough to keep the peasants away and grow enough crops to
make a comfortable living.
Through another series of events, Pahom hears about a
Turkic tribe called the Bashkirs who are selling land for an outrageously cheap
price. He decides to go and see about it, and when he meets with the tribe’s
Chief, he finds out that the land is indeed just as wonderful and cheap as he
had been told. It turns out the Bashkirs had a unique way of selling their
land: they sold it by the day. It was one thousand rubles per day. Now, what
that meant was the Bashkirs would sell Pahom all the land he could walk around
from sunrise to sunset, but he had to complete the circle in that time or he
would receive no land and the tribe got to keep his money.
So they day arrived, and Pahom was eager to walk around
as much land as he could. He figured he could walk some 35 miles on a good day,
so he set that as his goal. He couldn’t help but imagine how much land would be
inside the circumference of 35 miles. The Chief and members of the tribe met
Pahom at the place where it was designated he would begin. The chief placed his
fur cap on the ground and told Pahom if he made it back to the cap before
sunset all the land he encircled would be his. With the sunrise, Pahom was off
to try and walk around as much land as he could.
This is where Pahom’s story teaches us a lesson about
satisfaction, simplicity, and greed. You see, Pahom started out with a plan,
but soon convinced himself that he could get more land if he walked faster or
if he went a certain way with the terrain. Later in the day, however, he
realized he had made a terrible mistake—he wasn’t going to have enough time to
make it back if he kept going. Pahom turned back, knowing that if he didn’t
make it back to the Chief’s cap by sunset he’d lose everything. The sun seemed
to be moving faster towards the horizon, and before he knew it, Pahom was in
the pale darkness of twilight. He could see hill where the Chief and his own
servant were waiting for him—he was close. With one giant breath Pahom leaned
forward and ran as he had never ran before, up the hill and towards the Chief’s
cap. With a final effort he stretched out his hand and fell face down on the
ground. He made it.
The Chief was shaking with amusement and congratulated
Pahom on his take. His servant knelt down to help him up, and that’s when he
saw it—the blood coming from Pahom’s mouth. His pursuit of more land had killed
him. In the end, all the land he needed was six feet long, just enough to bury
his body.
The man in Jesus’ parable and Pahom share a similar
sickness, a sickness with symptoms we all show from time to time. In the weeks
ahead, however, I hope that we will allow the words of Scripture to heal those
symptoms. May we not give in to greed and selfishness. May we not allow
ourselves to be overcome by the pursuit to always want more. May we be
satisfied with what God has blessed us, and may we strive to be people who live
faithful lives of simplicity as good stewards of all that God has given us.
Let us pray…
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Flood (or The Memories of Noah)
Genesis 7:11-24
11 In the six hundredth year of
Noah's life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that
day all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the
heavens were opened. 12 The rain fell on the earth forty days and forty nights.
13 On the very same day Noah with his sons, Shem and Ham and Japheth, and
Noah's wife and the three wives of his sons entered the ark, 14 they and every
wild animal of every kind, and all domestic animals of every kind, and every
creeping thing that creeps on the earth, and every bird of every kind—every
bird, every winged creature. 15 They went into the ark with Noah, two and two
of all flesh in which there was the breath of life. 16 And those that entered,
male and female of all flesh, went in as God had commanded him; and the Lord
shut him in. 17 The flood continued forty days on the earth; and the waters
increased, and bore up the ark, and it rose high above the earth. 18 The waters
swelled and increased greatly on the earth; and the ark floated on the face of
the waters. 19 The waters swelled so mightily on the earth that all the high
mountains under the whole heaven were covered; 20 the waters swelled above the
mountains, covering them fifteen cubits deep. 21 And all flesh died that moved
on the earth, birds, domestic animals, wild animals, all swarming creatures
that swarm on the earth, and all human beings; 22 everything on dry land in
whose nostrils was the breath of life died. 23 He blotted out every living
thing that was on the face of the ground, human beings and animals and creeping
things and birds of the air; they were blotted out from the earth. Only Noah
was left, and those that were with him in the ark. 24 And the waters swelled on
the earth for one hundred fifty days.
You woke up this morning from an uneasy sleep only to find that you’re still here.
It’s been over a year now, and you’re beginning to forget what fresh air feels
like—what it tastes like. The sun has become little more than a haunting ghost
that glows behind the creaking, pitch-plastered walls. The sky that used to
stretch from horizon to horizon has had its borders reduced to little more than
a square patch of pale, grayish blue in the roof above. The stench is awful;
the noise is unbearable; there’s no room to even be alone with your thoughts;
with each new day comes the hope that it will be the last, that you’ll once
again be free to feel the earth beneath your feet and the warm breeze on your
face.
You can remember when it happened as if it were only yesterday—God telling
you to build an ark because He was going to blot out every living thing on the
earth. He called you to build it, and (as if that wasn’t a large enough task in
and of itself) to fill it with no fewer than two of every living creature.
That’s no easy job! But you are a man of faith, and you do as the Lord tells
you. So you built an ark, filled it with your family and all the animals you
could gather with their mates, and then…you waited.
I suppose it felt like an adventure at first for you. God, the creator of
the heavens and earth, gave you a mission. It must have seemed like such an
enormous and noble task, not to mention the great swelling of pride you must
have felt to know that God had chosen you over every other living soul in the
world. I can imagine how difficult it must have been to explain this to your
family, to ask them to join you in what surely must have seemed like a fool’s
errand. But they trusted you, and by your side they aided in the task. They
watched as the creatures of the earth filled the hold of the ark. Then, by your
side, they entered the ark, and they waited.
You can remember what that was like, can’t you? That moment when God
Himself, through some divine force or perhaps His very hand, closed the opening
to the ark—do you remember what was going through your mind? What emotions must
have been going on inside your heart—fear, anxiety, doubt, anticipation. You
were standing there, inside the ark, surrounded by the various delegates of
creation, and I can’t help but wonder what must have been on your mind…while
you were waiting.
I’m sure the hours seemed to just ooze by, and when they stretched into
days, I don’t doubt that you yourself may have begun to wonder if this was
really the right thing to do. But being the righteous man of faith you are, you
stuck it out. And then, after what must have seemed like the longest week of
your life, the rain came…the wait was over.
I’ve always enjoyed the sound of rain myself. There’s something soothing
about it, something that triggers within me a feeling of comfort and calm.
However, I imagine that day you heard those first drops on the roof of the ark
you were anything but calm. You knew this was coming, and now, with the sound
of the rain falling on the ark, the reality of God’s words began to sink in.
For just outside the sealed walls your ark, your neighbors felt the rain. You
don’t like to think about it; it’s too raw, too painful. Yes, God had spared
you and your family, and He made it clear that he found you—you alone—to be
righteous and blameless in your generation, but these were your neighbors. You
knew their names, didn’t you? You knew their children and their animals. You
knew their faults and their strengths. You knew their voices…
I wonder if you can still recall their faces, still hear their voices in
your dreams. I know the words of Scripture are silent here, but I can’t help
but wonder what it must have been like when the reality of the devastation set
in and their voices began to pierce the walls of the ark. Did you weep for
them? Did you shout back to them over the sound of the rising waters and the
wild calls of the animals as they cried to their own kin? I know that must be a
horrific memory; it’s no wonder Scripture doesn’t tell us more about it.
After the rain—some forty days and forty nights—you were left alone in
the overwhelming closeness of the ark, with the depressing silence just
outside. It took some time for the waters to begin reseeding, but once they
did, you grew anxious. “What does the world look like now?” you thought to
yourself. You began to wonder where you were, had you floated very far or only
a few miles. For over a year now, you’ve been stuck in this ark, with all these
animals and their lovely smells, with your family and all their own complaints.
You’ve been stuck inside this oversized casket for over a year with the screams
of your neighbors still ringing in your ears…and you’ve grown tired of waiting.
The day has arrived. This time the bird didn’t come back, and it seems
like the earth is dry and ready once again to be inhabited. The ark is opened,
and creation gets a “do-over.” The first thing you do, whether out of
thanksgiving or fear, is offer a sacrifice to the God who spared you and your
family. I, however, can’t help but wonder why you haven’t asked Him about your
neighbors, or why he decided to choose you, and only you and your family, to
spare. It makes one wonder why God does what He does. At any rate, God has
promised he’ll never do this again. Maybe he regrets having done it the first
time: I’d like to believe that the God I worship felt remorse for having
destroyed so many lives. Perhaps He recognized the futility in trying to
perfect humankind: maybe a creation with free will is destined to fall and
stray away from righteousness. Whatever reason He has, God promised He wouldn’t
do it again—not this way, and he put down his bow, making it a symbol to remind
Himself (and us) of such a promise.
You were spared—you, Noah, and your family with you. Yes, it’s a terrible
thought to think that God blotted out every living thing from the earth. Yes,
it shakes me to my very core to think that I would have been one in the
drowning masses. But that fact that you were spared, Noah, gives me hope. It
gives me hope that God is truly a God of grace, that He is a God who saves His
people by His power—not our own. The fact that God saved you, Noah, says to me
that God has the power to save me, to rescue me from a world filled with sin
and the punishment that awaits it.
I know the rest of your story isn’t pretty. I know what happens with you
and your sons. Then again, I’ve read a lot of the stories of God’s people, and
honestly, none of them are all that clean-cut and righteous. There again,
though, I still find hope. I find hope in the God who rescued Noah from the
flood and from his own future wickedness. I find hope in the God who rescued
Moses and the children of Israel from the flooding waters of the Red Sea. I
find hope in the God who rescued His people Judah from the tyrants of Babylon.
I find hope in the God who rescued Peter from the stormy waters on the Sea of
Galilee. I find hope in the God who has rescued me from the deluge of sin and
wickedness in my own life through Calvary’s cross and the empty tomb! Today, I
find hope in the terrifying grace of God, grace that rescues me from the flood.
May you find hope in the grace of God this day. Let us pray…
Sunday, January 8, 2012
The Reason: A Christmas Sermon (2011)
Titus 2:11-14
11 For the grace of God has
appeared, bringing salvation to all, 12 training us to renounce impiety and
worldly passions, and in the present age to live lives that are
self-controlled, upright, and godly, 13 while we wait for the blessed hope and
the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ. 14 He
it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and
purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds.
It happens every year. Sometime
around Thanksgiving there is a quiet, unofficial declaration of war. It begins
rather innocently; a couple takes a picture to print on the front of a card
they will send to their family and friends, and on the front they include the
phrase “Happy Holidays.” No one notices; no one seems to care. But then the
fires of war begin to burn hotter and longer as the days get colder and
shorter. A department store in the mall has a sale on blenders, ties, and all
things soft and electronic, but this year decides to call it a “Winter Holiday
Sale,” complete with store decorations of red and green that say “Happy
Holidays.” Then comes the news coverage of the war. It gets gritty as
government buildings decorate “holiday tress” and manger scenes are replace
with wreaths and blinking lights on the lawn of city hall. Complaints are filed
when the elementary school’s Christmas pageant is replaced by a childish
rendition of The Nutcracker. Crusaders
from both fronts appear on the local and national news to plead their case to
the manic masses as to why we should or shouldn’t “Keep the ‘Christ’ in
Christmas.” At times it can be an ugly war, with no clear victor.
Of course, if we are truly seeking
to honor the birth of the Prince of Peace, shouldn’t we refrain from the
practice of war altogether (even if it is nothing more than ramped-up rhetoric
to use such a word)? I mean really, what does the birth of Christ have to do
with decorated evergreens in the first place? Do we honestly believe that the
One who had no place to lay his head desires for His followers to ensure that
his name be included in the retail sale of X-boxes and flat screen T.V.s? Is
Christ really concerned with what words we use to celebrate a holiday that has
become less about Him and more about us anyway?
It is inevitable, in the heat of this annual, fabricated battle, that
someone will lob this phrase at those seeking to quiet the Christian tones of
the holidays: “Remember the reason for the season.” Perhaps you’ve seen those
words in silver letters hanging over the silhouette of a cradle. “Remember the
reason for the season.” I can’t say I disagree with such a sentiment, yet there
seems to me to be a bit of something missing from it…as if it simultaneously
grants us some sense of seasonal righteousness while dismissing the rest of our
calendars to our own “reasons.”
Today, we celebrate the arrival of the Christ (“the reason for the
season”), and in these words from this small epistle to Titus we have the great
depth of the theology that surrounds this season captured perfectly in verse 11 and the words that follow: “For
the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all…” However,
these words do not appear at the beginning of a gospel. They are not surrounded
by shepherds, angels, or magi from the East. No, these words, these words that
capture so poignantly the appearing—the arrival, the Advent of Christ—come to
us in the middle of an epistle written to a church leader, to Titus. These
words come immediately after words of encouragement to teach sound doctrine and
words of instruction regarding the behavior of members of the church. This
seems hardly the place to find a passage of Scripture that rings so true on
this Christmas morning, yet there it is.
There is, however, something quite wonderful about where our passage of
Scripture comes from this morning. You see, the author of this letter (for the
sake of time, let’s assume it’s the apostle Paul) gives instructions about
teaching sound doctrine and living in a manner congruent with the faith in the
first ten verses of chapter two, and then verse
11 begins with the Greek words gar,
simply translated as “for.” The word gar
here is more than a simple conjunction, joining two ideas together and aiding
in the flow of thoughts. It is a word that signals to the reader/listener that
the words to follow give meaning to the previous words. Or perhaps a better way
to say it, they give the words meaning.
Here we have a list of rules for proper teaching and right living and the
words that follow (introduced with gar)
have such great depth and theological truth, that they seem almost out of
place. Yet they make perfect sense in this place. After such instructions we
read these words in verses 11-13: “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing
salvation to all, training us to renounce impiety and worldly passions, and in
the present age to live lives that are self-controlled, upright, and godly,
while we wait for the blessed hope and the manifestation of the glory of our
great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.” It is almost as Paul is answering
an unspoken question: Why should we do and teach all of these things in
previous verses? Because the grace of God has appeared, and Christ has given us
the power of salvation to live such lives while we wait for his return. It is
as if Paul is telling Titus, “Christ is the reason for all you do!”
Today marks the end of the Advent season and, in a way, the end of a
year, but it is also the tradition beginning of Christmas and Christmastide. In
seven short days we will ring in a new year, and about 11 months from now the
familiar sounds of war will begin as people continue to claim Christmas and the
holiday season as their own. May we be different this year. Rather than
claiming Christ as the “reason for the season,” may we see him as the reason
for our very being, the sole purpose of our life. These words we have read from
Scripture this morning call us to recognize the true nature of Christ, and it
is not a nature of selfish consumerism or petty, seasonal arguments.
As we gather with friends and family to celebrate today and in the days
ahead, may we remember the words we have hear here this morning, particularly
those words written in verse 14: “He it
is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify
for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds.” Christ
has come that we may be redeemed from our iniquity (our sins), that we may be
made pure, so that we may be zealous to live lives worthy of his name—not just
one season out of the year, but each and every day. May Christ be the reason,
not simply for this season, but for your life.
Let us pray…
Monday, December 19, 2011
Love: A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent
Matthew
5:43-48
43 "You have heard that it was said,
‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' 44 But I say to you, Love your
enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for
he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the
righteous and on the unrighteous. 46 For
if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax
collectors do the same? 47 And
if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are
you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your
heavenly Father is perfect.
I love peanut butter. Really, if peanut butter is listed
among the ingredients in a recipe there is an increased likelihood I will eat
it. I’ve always loved peanut butter. Maybe it’s a genetic thing, perhaps passed
down to me from my father’s side of the family. Maybe it’s a simple matter of
personal taste, or maybe it has something to do with the nature of my mother’s
diet while she carried me for nine months (at least that seems to be her
theory). Of course, there’s a very good chance it has to do with my upbringing
in South Alabama, a part of the world transformed by the creation of all things
peanut (including peanut butter).Whatever the case may be, I love peanut
butter.
But I also love baseball. My happiest memories from my
childhood involve the “ping” of metal bats on a chilly, mid-spring night, the
taste of lemon-lime Gatorade, and the smell of freshly mowed grass in the early
summer. I can remember, when I was in the third grade, my mom picking me up
from school, saying we had to go to the rec. center (which, at the time, I
thought had something to do with my step-dad being in a car accident). I heard
her telling a man my name, my birthday, and when I asked why she was telling
him those things, she told me I was going to get to play baseball—real,
league-organized, baseball—for the first time. Ever since, I have loved
baseball.
I have also, however, been heard saying I love: sweaters,
bacon, shrimp, once upon a time I was even heard saying I love NASCAR (thankfully,
the Lord has since forgiven such an iniquity). In fact, I bet over the course
of my life I have professed my love for all sorts of things from gummy worms to
golf on a sunny day. Of course, I bet if I asked each of you, and you were
honest with yourself and me, you’d likely have similar confessions. I can make
a pretty fair guess that many of you have professed your love for Alabama or
Auburn football, fishing, fried catfish, etc. The truth is, we’ve all said the
words, “I love (insert some object or activity that brings us happiness).” Of
course, the deeper truth is that we really don’t love the sorts of things we say we love, or if we do, we have a
tragically flawed understanding of what love
actually is.
This season of Advent (of Christmas) seems as good a time
as any to reorient ourselves with a biblical understanding of what love
actually is. We come close to getting it right I suppose, with the desire to
gather with family and friends to share one of the most important holidays of
the year. I suppose we may even come a little closer to that biblical
understanding of love when we place a couple of folded dollar bills through the
slot of a Salvation Army red kettle as we leave with our bags of gifts for
those more fortunate. We may even convince ourselves that we have love all
figured out as we sing Christmas carols and allow our hearts to be overwhelmed
with the warm feelings of childhood memories. But in the end, what shapes our
understanding of love? What in our lives defines love for us? What in our lives
gets to decide who is worthy of our love? Is it culture? Is it context? Is it
comfort?
That seems to be
what was happening in the early years of the first century. You can hear it in
Jesus’ words in verse 43: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall
love your neighbor and hate your enemy.'” Now, at first glance, there
doesn’t seem to be a whole lot wrong with Jesus’ claim here. The notion of
loving one’s neighbor runs throughout the entire canon of the Hebrew Bible, our
Old Testament. It can be found early on in the words of the Law; it’s in the
books chronicling the history of Israel and Judah; it’s a prominent theme
throughout the writings of the prophets. To love one’s neighbor was a given;
everyone who attended the local synagogue or brought sacrifices to the temple
would have heard such a commandment at some time or another. Furthermore, in
the minds of many it would only make sense that if God calls His people to love
their neighbor, surely he must call them to hate their enemies. After all, it
seems natural to arrive at such a conclusion when a Jew in the first century
looked around only to see the oppressive power of Rome’s empire on every
corner. “Love my neighbor,” one may have thought, “that’s easy. After all, they
are the same as me. But these heathen Romans…I hate them!”
Now, this is
where culture seems to be defining love more than the teachings of God in
Scripture. You see, while love of neighbor runs throughout the Hebrew
Scriptures, never is hatred of one’s enemies ever mentioned. You’d be
stretching to say that God’s hatred of idols or His commands to wipe out the
peoples in Canaan during Joshua’s time is an example of hating one’s enemies.
No, this idea of hating one’s enemies comes directly from the surrounding
culture; it comes directly from the minds and hearts of a people who look
around them and see threats to their very way of life. The sad thing is,
however, I don’t believe we are much different.
What tends to define love for us? Isn’t it the culture we
live in? Now, don’t be too quick to jump to some conclusion that I’m talking
about who can and who can’t get married. No, what I’m talking about is how we
allow our own sense of vulnerability to determine who is or isn’t worthy of our
love. We have a hard enough time dealing with loving our neighbors. In fact, we
live in a culture that seeks to create more and more space between us and our
neighbors. We build fences, plant bushes, buy bigger lots of land, and many of
us hardly know our neighbors’ names. We create communities with the purpose of
excluding those with whom we do not wish to associate. So the command to “love
our neighbors” is hard enough. If we were simply able to accomplish that,
wouldn’t that be a statement to those around us that we are different, that the
Spirit of Christ in us causes us to stand out from the culture in our love for
others? Well…maybe, but there is a lot more to love than that.
Jesus doesn’t give us a lot of time to process his words
in verse 43 before redefining love
in verse 44: “But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute
you.” This is where I imagine Jesus may have heard a gasp from the
crown gathered around the mount. “Ok, Jesus. We get the whole ‘love your
neighbor’ thing, but you’ve gone too far! ‘Love our enemies?!’ Don’t you know
who they are? They’re Romans, the ones who’ve been oppressing us with taxes,
bullying us around in our own homeland. They’re the ones who, even now, are
forcing the temple priests to make offering on behalf of the Caesar. How can
you tell us that we should love such an enemy when they threaten our very
lives?!” Of course, I don’t imagine Jesus scored any points with them by
telling them they should pray for their persecutors either!
Think about how crazy Jesus’ words must have sounded to
these people. They lived under the authority of the Roman Empire; Matthew’s
original audience would have heard this story with images of a smoldering,
sacked Jerusalem taken and burned the hands of the Roman army. The very notion
to love the enemy or to pray for the ones who persecuted them would have been
considered foolish, if not downright insane! Yet those were Jesus’ words to
them; those are Jesus’ words to us.
Think about it. Are we so different? We have enemies,
don’t we? Just this past week we saw the “official” end of the war in Iraq, and
how many of us viewed them as enemies? Did you ever stop to pray for them—those
who we were fighting? Did you ever stop to consider that Christ loves them and
calls us to love them? What about members of Al Quida, the Taliban, or the
other “radical Islamists” that the news channels keep warning us about? If we
count them as enemies, Christ calls us to love them and to pray for them. Then
there are those who we refer to as “illegal immigrants” or “undocumented
workers.” We are told they will take our jobs, they will threaten our way of
life because they are increasing our tax burden all while speaking less than a
word of English. There are many who would consider them enemies because they
threaten our culture and our way of life. But there again we hear Christ’s
words: “Love your enemies and pray for
those who persecute you.”
But why, Jesus?
Why do we have to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us? Why
should we care about those who seek to do us harm, those who threaten our very way
of life? Doesn’t he tell us in verses 45-48? “so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his
sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on
the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?
Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers
and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do
the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
Why should we love our enemies? Why should we pray for those who persecute us?
Because we are called to be children of God, and as children of God we are
called to be perfect, to be holy, just as He is perfect, just as He is holy.
After all,
didn’t God do the very thing He calls us to do with these words? Haven’t we
been enemies of God, striving to do our own thing, what we want to do? Haven’t
we, as a collective species of humankind, sought to eliminate God by force or
by reason? Throughout history, have we not persecuted those who have come with
a word from God (the prophets), have we not persecuted God as he sought to
correct us and call us back to Himself? Are we not the very reason Christ was
born on that first Christmas morning, to live a life of love and die a cruel
death on our behalf? Why should we love our enemies and pray for those who
persecute us? Because God has done the very thing Himself in loving us! So who
are we to say that our enemies do not deserve our love or our persecutors our
prayers?
In this season
of hope, peace, joy, and love, let us seek to fulfill our role as children of
God. Let us work to end hatred in our own circles of influence. Let us love one
another and those we claim to be our enemies so that the good news of Christ’s
birth may not be some hollow shell filled with selfish consumerism. Let us, as
children of God and followers of Jesus Christ, be indwelled by the Holy Spirit
so that we may be perfect, as our heavenly Father is perfect.
Let us pray…
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Peace while Waiting (Second Sunday of Advent 2011)
2 Peter 3:8-15a
8 But do not ignore this one
fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a
thousand years are like one day. 9 The Lord is not slow about his promise, as
some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but
all to come to repentance. 10 But the day of the Lord will come like a thief,
and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be
dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be
disclosed. 11 Since all these things are to be dissolved in this way, what sort
of persons ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness, 12
waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the
heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire?
13 But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new
earth, where righteousness is at home. 14 Therefore, beloved, while you are
waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or
blemish; 15 and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation.
Waiting. We live in a culture where
waiting is simply seen as unacceptable. Think about it. How many of you have
ever heard, or been a part of a conversation that went like this: “Well my
appointment was at 11:00, so I got there early, around 10:30. I filled out my
paper work and sat in the waiting room, and would you believe I didn’t get
called back until 11:45? As if that wasn’t enough, I didn’t see the doctor ‘til
some time after 12:00! I tell you what, I’m going to have to find another
doctor if I ever have to wait that long again.” Or how many times have you
heard someone say something like this: “You know I had to stop by Wal-Mart the
other day on the way home—I only had pick up two or three things. By the time I
was ready to check out, the line was twenty people long, and they only had two
registers open! You’d think they’d open a few of those other ones so people
wouldn’t have to stand in line waiting so long.” Waiting just isn’t something
we’re willing to do voluntarily. It’s an inconvenience to have to wait. We have
lives to live, schedules to keep, fun to have. Who has the time to wait? We
already spend an average of two weeks of our lifetime waiting at stop
lights—two whole weeks![1]
Just imagine how much time we might spend waiting in line at the bank, or at
the restaurant for our dinner to come! With that sort of knowledge hanging in
the air, no wonder we don’t have the patience to wait!
But what if we have something worth
waiting for? Ah, now that’s a different story. Don’t believe me? Ask any Texan
who’s ever slow-smoked a brisket over the smoldering embers of a mesquite limb.
They’ll wait for hours to be sure the smoke is just right and then wait even
longer for the meat to reach that perfect balance of flavor. Or ask the baker
who’s filling an order for sourdough bread as he waits for the ingredients to
be ready for mixing just to wait then for the dough to rise before baking. Or
even ask the expectant couple who wait for the birth of their child; there’s
nothing on earth that would keep them from waiting for the right time for their
child to be born.
It’s with that same disposition that
we come to this season of waiting, the season of Advent. It is a time when we
wait for something worth waiting for—the arrival of Christ. Yes, we wait for
that day when we shall celebrate his birth, but we also wait for that coming
day when Christ shall return to the earth again. But waiting can be hard,
especially if we fail to live as if what we are waiting for is worth our time,
even our very lives.
Peace. We live in a culture where
peace is all too often scarce, and when we have it, we live in the constant
fear that we just might lose it. How often have you turned on the television to
see images of soldiers half a world away with guns slung over their shoulders
as they walk beside tanks or humvees? How many times have you opened the paper in
the past year to stories of murder, domestic abuse, or gang violence? We all
live in a country that spends more on its military than the next fifteen
countries combined![2]
Not only is peace scarce, but in many cases (as we can surely attest to in our
own county) it’s bad for business. To some degree I think we all want peace,
but it’s the other costs of peace that we often can’t stomach.
As followers of the Lord Jesus
Christ, however, we are called to be people of peace, and that is why I find it
so fitting that we mark this Sunday in Advent as the Sunday of peace. In this
season of waiting, our hearts and minds are called to reflect on peace. If I’m
honest with you though, I sometimes have a hard time seeing the relationship
between peace and waiting. Perhaps that’s because, for me, waiting creates
anxiety and worry, not peace. If I have to wait too long for something I begin
to doubt it will ever come; I begin to worry about whether I’ve followed all
the right steps to bring it about; I grow anxious as the time crawls by without
any sign of change. I have to believe our early brothers and sisters had similar
feelings of anxiety during the early years of the Church. Time had gone by;
they had waited on the arrival of the Lord; yet nothing seemed to have changed.
I can imagine what they must have
been thinking in those early decades of the Church’s history. Jesus had
ascended to heaven, promising to return; the apostles preached about Christ’s
second coming and how he would bring the fullness of the kingdom of God to the
earth. But the longer they waited, the more it seemed he wasn’t coming. In
fact, the longer they waited the worse it seemed to get. There were false
teachers rising up in the church, those who were misleading believers in
regards to the nature of God in Christ. The whole of the Roman Empire seemed to
be turning on them as Christians became the new favorite scapegoat for Rome’s
troubles. Yes, it seemed as if in waiting for Christ’s return the early Church
experienced anything but peace. It was into this tense atmosphere of waiting
that the letter we call 2 Peter emerged.
For those early Christians dealing
with such difficulties in the midst of their waiting, the author of this
epistle alludes to a line from the ninetieth Psalm in verse 8 when he says, “But do not ignore this one fact, beloved,
that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are
like one day.” In the middle of their waiting perhaps they had grown to
believe that the Lord just wasn’t coming back, that he had somehow forgotten or
given up. So the author continues in verse
9: “The Lord is not slow about his
promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to
perish, but all to come to repentance.” While waiting for what seemed
like too long, those early believers were beginning to have their doubts about
the Lord’s return. What better way to help ease such doubts, then, than with
great apocalyptic images of what that day will be like? In verses ten the author continues, “But the day of the Lord will
come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and
the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is
done on it will be disclosed.”
By this time, I think that those
early believers would have heard all kinds of words like these, words
describing what that day would be like, words like those that fill the pages of
Jesus’ Revelation to John. As a matter of fact, haven’t we heard all kinds of
words like these, words about how the “end of days” is upon us? Haven’t we been
reminded time and time again that we are living in the terminal years of
history, and that all of the so-called “end time prophecies” point to our
nation, to this generation?
While I have my own doubts about
such interpretations of Scripture, I still can’t help but wonder that if all
these things are going to come to pass soon, then what should we be doing now?
If all these things are predetermined to happen in the near (or not so near)
future, what should we, as believers and followers of Jesus, be doing now? Well,
it seems to me that the author of 2 Peter was already prepared to answer such
questions, so in verses 11 through 13 he
writes, “Since all these things are to be dissolved in this way, what sort of
persons ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for
and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will
be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire? But, in
accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where
righteousness is at home.” In
other words, “Since everything here today might well be gone tomorrow, do you
see how essential it is to live a holy life? …. The galaxies will burn up and
the elements melt down that day - but we'll hardly notice. We'll be looking the
other way, ready for the promised new heavens and the promised new earth, all
landscaped with righteousness.”[3]
Ok…so…we wait. And while we’re
waiting we should live holy lives. Got it. But there again is the whole trouble
of waiting. If all these things are certainly going to happen, then why doesn’t
God just let them loose now? After all, why put off for tomorrow what you can
do today? Why allow the world to keep spinning and pain and devastation
continue on? Why allow another day to pass on a world stricken with AIDS, war,
hunger, and greed? Why not just cash it all in now and bring that “promised new
heavens and earth, all landscaped with righteousness” now?
Well there again, Scripture and the
author of our epistle has an answer—a worthy answer—for us in verse 14: “Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to
be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish.” Why does God put
off his return? Only He knows; it isn’t up to us to know or spend our time
trying to figure it out. It’s up to us to wait, and while we wait we ought to
seek to live each and every day striving to be found by him at peace,
without
spot or blemish. Think about it this way, we may not know when the
Master will return, but we do know He what he has called us to be about while
He is away. While the Lord tarries we are to be about the work of the kingdom,
and the work of the kingdom is the work of peace. As we are called to do the
will of God on this earth, we are called to be His ambassadors of peace. We are
called to make peace in the middle of a violent world, to calm anger, heal
wounds, and bring people from all walks of life together in the saving grace of
our Lord Jesus Christ. Why does God wait so long to bring about the kingdom? He
waits so that you and I, those of us called by his name, have the time and
opportunity to bring that peace, that salvation, to the ends of the earth, for
the final words of our passage today tell us, “regard the patience of our Lord as
salvation.”
In this season of waiting, our
memories are hearkened back to Bethlehem while our hearts are called forward to
that coming day when the Lord will return and bring new heavens and a new
earth, where righteousness is at home. Today we reflect on the peace
that came on that first Christmas Day, on the peace that is coming with the
fullness of the Kingdom, and on the peace that we are called to carry to the
ends of the earth…while we wait.
Let us pray…
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