Prophetic Insults

Prophetic Insults

Amos 4:1-13

Amos is not a happy prophet.  Of course, few prophets are happy.  That’s not their job.  God didn’t call prophets to deliver messages of sweetness and light—although sometimes they do speak words of hope.  Isaiah is a good example.  Writing and preaching during the Babylonian exile he tells the people that God will redeem them—but not immediately.  God will bring them home—but not right away.  There is hope—but they will have to wait for its fulfillment.

Prophets are by nature angry, and that’s probably the way it should be.  God sends prophets to address problems.  God doesn’t send prophets when times are good, but only when things are going wrong. 

One of my seminary professors told us we didn’t want God speaking directly to us.  That had happened to her.  She said she was a very practical person, and not open to hearing God.  The only way God could get through to her was through a vision.  She said it wasn’t pleasant.

So it is with prophets.  They come when God can’t get through to us any other way:  Nathan to David; John the Baptist to the rulers of Judah in league with the Romans; Martin Luther to the Church that had wandered from its first love; Martin Luther King to a nation hopelessly mired in racism; and Amos to a people who had earned God’s displeasure.

How did Amos express his anger?  He indulged in a little name-calling.  His real target was the leaders of Israel, who were oppressing the poor, taking the little they had to enrich themselves.  Instead of calling them names, he attacked their wives.  “Cows of Bashan,” he called them, referring to a mountain in Samaria which was good pastureland.  Amos says these women demand of their husbands more food, more drink—more of everything.  Not satisfied with what they have, they urge their husbands toward even greater greed.

“You cows of Bashan,” he rails, “who oppress the poor, who crush the needy, who say to your husbands, ‘Bring, that we may drink!’”  He then lists all the things that God promises to do to them as retribution.

Now, seminary students and prospective preachers are not taught to openly insult any members of our congregations, male or female.  I’m sure those who fill the pews each Sunday would be upset to hear nasty names used to describe them, even though they might be accurate.  Surely we could find a kinder, gentler—but still effective—way to let our members know they were not meeting God’s expectations.

Perhaps one reason we speak with some decorum is financial.  These people, after all, are part of the group that pays our salaries.  Perhaps we are more sensitive to the needs of our congregations than Amos and the other prophets.  Perhaps.  Still, part of the role of preacher/pastor is to be prophetic.  Like the prophets in the Hebrew Scriptures we have a word from the Lord, and we have been commissioned to deliver it.  We don’t do our congregations any favors if we soft-peddle the truth.

How do we strike the right balance?  How do we get our message across without being so insulting that no one will listen—or perhaps entirely lose the opportunity to deliver that message?  For deliver it we must.  Like Paul in the New Testament, we have an obligation to let our people know when they are straying into dangerous waters.  Like Paul we have to deliver that message in ways that will get their attention.  Our first obligation is to do the work God calls us to, even if by doing so we displease those to whom we have been sent.

For a Bowl of Soup

For a Bowl of Soup

Genesis 25:29-34

            Primogeniture.  The right of the firstborn.  The oldest son inherits everything, the daughters are married off for political alliances, and any other sons are out of luck.  In times when written documents were scarce (for example, the Middle Ages), primogeniture made wills unnecessary.  The matter was settled by birth order with no recourse.

            In other periods of history, if there were two sons, the oldest would get two-thirds of his father’s estate while the younger would get one-third (think of Jesus’ story of the prodigal son).  If the family consisted of more than two sons, modifications to this arrangement were possible.  In all cases the oldest son had a distinct advantage.  He got the lion’s share while his brothers divided the scraps.  This was his “birthright.”

            If you remember the story of the birth of Jacob and Esau, Isaac and Rebecca’s twin sons, you know something unusual happened.  Esau was born first, and therefore had the advantage in the line of inheritance.  Jacob followed, but arrived holding tight to Esau’s heel—already, it would seem, trying to beat out his brother.  One Bible translation says that “Jacob” means “He takes by the heel,” or “He cheats,”—an apt name considering what happened between them as adults.  Other translations say that the name Jacob means “Supplanter”—also apt considering what happened later.

            Fast forward several years.  Esau has grown into a successful hunter and his father’s favorite.  We might call Jacob a “mama’s boy,” but that isn’t exactly the accurate term.  He is, however, his mother’s favorite.  He prefers life among his family’s tents to the outdoor activities favored by his brother.  Apparently he is an excellent cook, and this is what brings about the first recorded trouble between the two young men.  I say “first recorded trouble” because it’s pretty obvious this isn’t the first incident between them.  Two children, the same age but very different temperaments—bound to be trouble.

            Anyone who hunts knows it can be a chancy business.  Some days the game seems to walk right up, begging to be taken.  Other days the hunter would swear there was a silent drone overhead revealing his location to everything that moves.  Esau must have been having one of those days, since the writer of Genesis tells us he came in from the fields exhausted and apparently empty-handed.  Jacob was cooking what the Bible calls stew, but what was in all probability more like lentil soup.  Think Campbell’s extra-chunky, extra-hearty concoctions.

            Those of us who have missed a meal know what the situation must have been.  Here’s one brother who has been out running around all day, not only tired and hungry, but probably disappointed as well.  Here’s the other brother patiently, slowly stirring the pot, letting the aroma waft in his brother’s direction—perhaps even using his free hand to fan the breeze a bit.

            Now, we know Esau was very hungry, but he wasn’t, as he said, “about to die.”  Isaac was a man of wealth, and Esau would not have left that morning without breakfast, nor would he have gone off to hunt empty handed.  Still, like someone we read about in the New Testament (remember Peter?), Esau was impulsive and impatient enough to do the unthinkable.  He sold his birthright.  A little longer, a little more patience, and he could have had food of his own.  Instead, he gave away his standing as firstborn for a bowl of soup.  We still remember this incident today when we talk about someone selling out for “a mess of pottage” (the King James translation).

            The temptation to sell ourselves out is still there today.  Any time we sell our principles for something of lesser value we are like Esau.  Any time we tempt someone to do the same we are like Jacob.  Neither brother is worth emulating.  We need to find a better way to live.

What's Important?

What’s Important?

Matthew 13:44-46

            We’re all familiar with the story of Jack and the Beanstalk—not the jazzed up Hollywood version that’s now playing at your local theatres (or soon will be), but the original version.  It’s a simple, straightforward tale when all the special effects are removed. 

Jack and his mother are so poor that they have nothing left but an old cow.  Mother tells Jack to take it to town and sell it so they can have some money to exist a little longer.  On his way, he meets a man who persuades him to trade the cow for some magic beans.  When he gets home, his mother is so angry that she throws the beans out the window and sends Jack to bed without supper.  Overnight, the beans grow into a giant beanstalk, providing Jack with access to a giant’s castle and some very valuable resources.  The story ends happily with the giant dead and Jack and his mother set for life.  Jack sacrificed his family’s last possession for something he thought more valuable.  It looked as if he had done something foolish, but it turned out to be a wise decision. 

Financial advisors tell us it’s not a good idea to risk too much of our money on speculative investments.  We’re supposed to keep a balance between stocks and bonds, and only “play the market” with money we can afford to lose.  Jack would not do well working with one of these advisors, I’m afraid.  He was obviously a risk-taker.

Apparently, so were the people in the stories Jesus told his followers in today’s reading.  They were both willing to part with everything they had in order to acquire something they thought was more valuable.  Because we know how these stories turn out, we may fail to see the risk involved; but don’t you think people might have ridiculed these men when they made their financially risky moves?

In the first story, a man finds a treasure hidden in a field belonging to someone else.  We are not told why he’s on someone else’s property, but there he is.  He covers the treasure back up (another questionable action), sells everything he owns, and buys the field.  Jesus doesn’t tell us that the man is taking a risk, but he certainly is.  What if the owner of the field refuses to sell?  What if the treasure had been planted there by the owner for the purpose of making the field seem valuable, and removed once it had served its purpose?  But the story turns out well for the man who buys the field.  His investment pays off.

The man in the second story seems to be in a less risky position.  He sees the most beautiful, perfect pearl imaginable, and sells everything he has so the gem can be his.  But where will he get the money to live on?  We know he isn’t going to sell his treasure for any reason—not when he has invested so much in it.  Day-to-day expenses may be a problem.

Jesus tailored his parables to demonstrate the point he was trying to make.  The considerations I have just mentioned weren’t part of the stories because they were beside that point.  Jesus was trying to show that some things are so valuable that we must have them at any cost.  These men found what they wanted most, did what they had to do to acquire those objects, and were happy with the results.  For Jesus, the object of value was the kingdom of God, something worth having at any price.

Charles Du Bos (1882-1939), a French literary critic, understood the point Jesus was trying to make.  He said, “The important thing is this:  to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.”

            That’s real risk-taking—the kind of risk-taking Jesus demands from those who would follow him.  What are we willing to give up to follow Jesus?

No Free Lunch?

No Free Lunch?

Isaiah 55

            “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”  We’re all familiar with the saying.  You don’t get something for nothing.  There’s always a payment that comes due for everything we (seemingly) get for free.

            Many years ago taverns put out food at lunchtime to attract customers.  Patrons would come in, eat the food provided, and congratulate themselves on getting lunch free.  What they failed to realize was that the drinks they consumed cost them more than a meal at home or in a restaurant would have.  They paid for that lunch in the cost of their liquid refreshment.  Tavern owners knew that providing food items increased their profits.  Why else would they have done it?  They certainly weren’t being generous.  They were in business to make money, not to feed the neighborhood.

            Is this where the saying came from?  I don’t know; but it’s possible.  Someone, somewhere woke up to the “cost” of the meal, and came to the profound conclusion:  “We’re not getting our food for free!  We’re actually paying more for it than we should.  There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

            That’s what makes us suspicious when we read the opening verses of Isaiah 55.  We know there’s no free food, let alone free drink.  How can Isaiah’s words be true?  Can God really be providing a free lunch?  But listen to what Isaiah is saying:

            “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and the one who has no money, come buy and eat!  Come buy wine and milk without money and without price.”

            Can this be true?  Does God really mean it?  Can we really get a free lunch?

            We know the answer to these questions, of course.  It’s true!  God does indeed provide a free lunch.  God offers us food and drink—spiritual food and drink without money and without price.  It’s called grace, and we all have been recipients of this gift.

            We know there is nothing we have done or can do to make us worthy of God’s grace.  We know we don’t deserve any of the blessings God bestows on us.  But we also know that those blessings come pouring down from heaven in a never-ending stream.  Certainly we have had our share of wine, milk, and honey from God’s great storehouse—and it hasn’t cost us a thing.

            Someone much smarter than me came up with a good definition:  “Grace is what God gives us when we don’t deserve it, and mercy is when God doesn’t give us what we do deserve.” 

If we ever wanted an explanation of God’s relationship with humankind in one sentence, this is it.  We certainly don’t deserve mercy.  Not only—as Paul tells us in Romans—have we all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, we continue to sin, and continue to fall short of the mark God has set for us.  By any terms imaginable we don’t deserve either grace or mercy; yet there they are, waiting for us to claim them.

How can God forgive us so readily?  How can God continue to provide us with grace and mercy in spite of our continued shortcomings?  Listen again to God’s voice speaking through Isaiah’s pen.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

It may be the only free lunch we ever get, but it’s the only one that matters.

The Earth Is the Lord'sThe Earth Is the Lord’s Psalm 24 Psalm after psalm sends much the same message: the earth belongs to God. God created the earth and everything in it. This was established in Genesis 1, and nothing since—either in the Bible or outside it—has changed that. “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.” Christians may argue over exactly how God created the universe, and how long it took, but we agree that everything we see is God’s creation. Why, then, do we act otherwise? If the earth is the Lord’s, then other principles follow. First, how we treat the earth is vitally important. If the earth is the Lord’s, then it isn’t ours. Nothing we can do can change that. We are—at best—tenants, occupying God’s land until God comes to claim it (remember the story Jesus told about the vineyard?). That’s a concept the Israelites never quite got. When they entered the Promised Land they thought they heard God say, “Here it is! It’s yours. Do whatever you want with it.” But that’s not what God said at all. God makes it quite clear through the prophets that Israel had defiled the land—not kept it holy. On one level this had to do with turning to the worship of idols; but on another level it had to do with the way they treated the land itself. Every seven years the land was to lie fallow, to regenerate itself. As humankind was to rest every seventh day, so the land was to be allowed to rest every seven years. It never happened. There is a lesson to be learned here. We must treat the land with respect. If it means conserving resources, we must do it. If it means respecting the other creatures of God’s world, we must do that. If it means changing the way we live, we must do that too. Second, we must remember that, since we are all God’s children, we must strive to live at peace with each other. I am no more or less God’s creation than you. I deserve no more—or no less—of God’s love than you. I am no more or less honored by God than you. God doesn’t play favorites. The psalmist says, “…the world and those who dwell therein.” There is no distinction between us. Paul makes that perfectly clear in his letters. Peter makes it clear in Acts. It shouldn’t be too difficult for us to accept and live by that premise. Lastly, if the earth is the Lord’s, then it isn’t Satan’s. Many of us act as if the devil is in charge of the world, as if all the kingdoms of the earth are under his control. That’s exactly what he wants us to think. “This is my world,” he tells us. “Don’t you realize God has gone away and left it to me? If you’re going to live in my world, get used to doing things my way.” Remember the passage in Matthew (4:1-11) where Satan is tempting Jesus? The devil offers all the kingdoms of the world if Jesus will only—just for a minute—bow down and worship him. Jesus’ answer has to do with the fact that the Bible (remember the Ten Commandments?) says we are to worship only the Lord our God. Jesus could have given another answer that might also have stymied Satan. “How can you offer me that which is not yours to give? I was present at creation, and helped with it. My Father and I created each of those kingdoms. By right of that creation they belong to me. How can you suggest that somehow they have passed into your possession, that you could give me something which is already mine?” Think the earth is Satan’s and the fullness thereof? Think that the world and all who dwell therein belong to the devil? Think that, when all is said and done he’s going to be in charge? Not a chance!

The Earth Is the Lord’s

Psalm 24

            Psalm after psalm sends much the same message:  the earth belongs to God.  God created the earth and everything in it.  This was established in Genesis 1, and nothing since—either in the Bible or outside it—has changed that.  “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.”

            Christians may argue over exactly how God created the universe, and how long it took, but we agree that everything we see is God’s creation.  Why, then, do we act otherwise?  If the earth is the Lord’s, then other principles follow.

            First, how we treat the earth is vitally important.  If the earth is the Lord’s, then it isn’t ours.  Nothing we can do can change that.  We are—at best—tenants, occupying God’s land until God comes to claim it (remember the story Jesus told about the vineyard?).  That’s a concept the Israelites never quite got.  When they entered the Promised Land they thought they heard God say, “Here it is!  It’s yours.  Do whatever you want with it.” 

But that’s not what God said at all.  God makes it quite clear through the prophets that Israel had defiled the land—not kept it holy.  On one level this had to do with turning to the worship of idols; but on another level it had to do with the way they treated the land itself.  Every seven years the land was to lie fallow, to regenerate itself.  As humankind was to rest every seventh day, so the land was to be allowed to rest every seven years.  It never happened.

There is a lesson to be learned here.  We must treat the land with respect.  If it means conserving resources, we must do it.  If it means respecting the other creatures of God’s world, we must do that.  If it means changing the way we live, we must do that too. 

Second, we must remember that, since we are all God’s children, we must strive to live at peace with each other.  I am no more or less God’s creation than you.  I deserve no more—or no less—of God’s love than you.  I am no more or less honored by God than you.  God doesn’t play favorites.  The psalmist says, “…the world and those who dwell therein.”  There is no distinction between us.  Paul makes that perfectly clear in his letters.  Peter makes it clear in Acts.  It shouldn’t be too difficult for us to accept and live by that premise.

Lastly, if the earth is the Lord’s, then it isn’t Satan’s.  Many of us act as if the devil is in charge of the world, as if all the kingdoms of the earth are under his control.  That’s exactly what he wants us to think.  “This is my world,” he tells us.  “Don’t you realize God has gone away and left it to me?  If you’re going to live in my world, get used to doing things my way.”

            Remember the passage in Matthew (4:1-11) where Satan is tempting Jesus?  The devil offers all the kingdoms of the world if Jesus will only—just for a minute—bow down and worship him.  Jesus’ answer has to do with the fact that the Bible (remember the Ten Commandments?) says we are to worship only the Lord our God.  Jesus could have given another answer that might also have stymied Satan.

            “How can you offer me that which is not yours to give?  I was present at creation, and helped with it.  My Father and I created each of those kingdoms.  By right of that creation they belong to me.  How can you suggest that somehow they have passed into your possession, that you could give me something which is already mine?”

            Think the earth is Satan’s and the fullness thereof?  Think that the world and all who dwell therein belong to the devil?  Think that, when all is said and done he’s going to be in charge?  Not a chance!

If You Build It, He Will Come

If You Build It, He Will Come

Revelation 21:1-4

John 14:1-7

            You may remember the movie Field of Dreams.  Kevin Costner plays a man who seems completely crazy to his family and his neighbors.  He clears an income-producing cornfield to build a baseball diamond.  He does this because he hears a voice whispering, “If you build it, he will come.”  Famous ballplayers of the past appear, but only Costner can see them.  Near the end of the movie, “he” comes.  The father with whom Costner had a strained relationship appears and the two of them play catch.

            But more than these show up.  As the movie ends, we see a long line of cars, stretching to the horizon, coming to watch players they have only heard of.  Costner’s vision has become a reality, and what he alone could see is now visible to everyone.

            Isaiah had a vision of such a future.  In 2:2-4 he describes it.  “It shall come to pass in the latter days that the mountain of the house of the Lord shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be lifted up above the hills, and all the nations shall flow to it.”  Once God’s house is established on God’s holy mountain, all the peoples of the world will be drawn to it.  Swords will become the blades of plows.  Spears will become farm implements (dare we add:  guns will be melted down and become objects for construction rather than for destruction).  When the Lord’s house has been built, “they” will come.

            God shows John of Patmos the same vision.  We read about it in Revelation.  God will create a new heaven and a new earth.  Instead of us going to heaven to be with God, God will come to earth to be with humankind.  The New Jerusalem will be on earth, and they will come.

            The similarity between these two passages is remarkable.  In each case God promises to create a place that will be wonderful—more wonderful than a baseball diamond in a cornfield—and people will come.  Not just cars full of people, but nations of people from every corner of the earth.  God will build it, and they will come.

            How do we get to this place?  Is it all in God’s hands?  Not completely, I think.  If Kevin Costner hadn’t listened to his inner voice, that baseball field wouldn’t have been built.  The great players of the past wouldn’t have shown up.  He would not have reconciled with his father, and the field wouldn’t have become a shrine that people came to visit.  The work had to be done by someone—the one who was called to do it—or the cornfield would have remained a cornfield.

            Near the end of John’s gospel, at the Last Supper, Jesus is giving his disciples their final instruction.  He will teach them his most important lesson over the next three days, but this is his last chance to speak with them.  He tells them that he must leave, but that he is going to prepare a place for them.  He will return, and when he does, he will take them to that place.  When Thomas declares his cluelessness about the place and the way to get there, Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”  It sounds as if Jesus will do the building, and this is true.  As both Isaiah and Revelation demonstrate, God is preparing a place for us, and will show us the way.  But that doesn’t mean we can sit and wait for everything to happen.

            It’s our job to clear the cornfield.  It’s our job to prepare the land on God’s holy mountain for God’s holy city.  Jesus gave us work to do, and expects us to do it.  We have to turn the soil.  We have to lay the foundation.  We have to make sure the world is ready.  We have to build it so he will come—and then, they will come.

What Does it Cost Us?

What Does It Cost Us?

Mark 6:30-44

Mark 8:1-10

            In Mark’s gospel, Jesus feeds huge crowds on two separate occasions.  The first (Chapter 6) occurs immediately after the disciples return from the mission trip Jesus sent them on.  He tries to take them aside for a debriefing, but crowds follow, and he must either take compassion on them and feed them, or send them away hungry—something Jesus would never do.  The disciples produce five loaves of bread and two fish.  Jesus stretches that meager fare to feed five thousand men plus women and children.

            Two chapters later (Chapter 8), Jesus is in Gentile territory—the Decapolis, by the Sea of Galilee—when another huge crowd gathers.  Jesus also has compassion on this crowd because, as he says, “they have been with me three days and have nothing to eat.  If I send them away hungry to their homes, they will faint on the way.”  Again the disciples find food, this time seven loaves of bread.  Again, Jesus multiplies this small amount to feed the multitude, this time four thousand people.

            If just bread doesn’t sound like much of a meal, remember, these were simple folk, fishermen and farmers.  They seldom had much to eat at any time.  They didn’t expect steak dinners at Ruth’s Chris.  They could make do with bread if they had to.

            Jesus fed them because he had compassion on them.  They had come to him for spiritual food, but they also had bodily needs that had to be met.  Without bread to eat, the Bread of Life would mean little to them.  It’s a good thing for us to remember:  preaching to an audience that is physically hungry will almost assuredly mean they will remain spiritually hungry as well.

            Let’s focus for a moment on what it cost to feed these two great crowds.  Certainly, a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish did not constitute a huge expense, especially when you consider that the fish had probably been caught by the person who provided them, and the bread had been baked at home.  The food didn’t cost the disciples anything, nor did Jesus pay for the food.  In one sense, then, the cost of the meal was minimal to everyone involved.  In monetary terms, the persons who provided the food gave up very little.

            On the other hand, those who gave their sustenance for Jesus to distribute gave all the food they had.  We have no proof that they held anything back.  As far as we know, they gave everything to Jesus.

            This is what is demanded of all who would follow Jesus.  We are expected to give willingly of ourselves and our goods.  The disciples did not wrestle the food from those people, nor did they demand that those listening to Jesus turn over their food to him.  We can’t even imagine such a thing.  Those who were asked gave—perhaps a little reluctantly—but when Jesus, through his disciples, made a request, they responded.

            Today, God demands that we give our all—not all of our goods, although God expects us to give more than most of us are willing to share.  Instead, God demands that we give ourselves in the service of those who are desperate to be fed, both spiritually and physically.  If we haven’t placed our all on God’s altar, then we are short-changing the One who gave everything for us.  There’s a line in an old hymn that asks the question, “How can I make a lesser sacrifice when Jesus gave his all?”

            What does it cost us to serve the poor, the needy, the downtrodden—those who have never had a chance to enjoy all the blessings we have had?  It’s all or nothing.