Sunday, February 23, 2014

Six Impossible Things

Six Impossible Things
1 Corinthians 1:17-31
            “Sometimes I believe in as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”  So says Alice in Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass, which we usually refer to as “Alice in Wonderland.”
            We all believe in impossible things.  We believe things we’ve been told about the natural world even though they aren’t true.  Some people believe that water spins backward in toilets in the southern hemisphere (it doesn’t).  People believed (if we go back far enough) that the sun revolves around the earth—and that belief is natural enough if you have no evidence to the contrary.  We stand in one place and watch the sun as it “comes up” and “goes down”—and we continue to use those words even though we know they’re not correct.
            If you’ve ever read “Alice,” (or seen one of the many movies from Walt Disney to Johnny Depp) you know that the whole book is fantasy—or is it?  There’s a lot of truth in that story, and a lot of characters who resemble people we meet every day, people with faults and curious personality traits that make us say, “Oh yes:  I know someone just like that!”
            Paul speaks eloquently about impossible things in the first chapter of his first letter to the Corinthian church.  He doesn’t use the word “impossible,” of course.  Instead he uses the word “foolish.”  The idea is the same.  If we are to accept the gospel then we have to believe facts that we can’t prove.   We have to believe that the laws of nature as we understand them can be set aside by the God who created them.  Those of us who are believers don’t have a problem with that.  Our faith is strong enough to accept these impossibilities.  We know in our hearts that they are true, even though the world tells us they can’t possibly be so.
            The world says that there is no God, so it’s impossible that this “imaginary” Creator could somehow come to earth in human form.  That’s just an extension of the old Greek myths, and we know how unbelievable they are.
            The world says that, while there are heroes who give their lives for friends, family or comrades, or because they have a commitment to humanity, the idea of someone giving his life for the world in one of the ugliest and most painful ways to die is impossible.  Even if there were a God, that God couldn’t care enough about all humanity to die for it—and for what?  To “save” us from sin?  Who says there is anything like sin in the first place?
            The world says that once you’re dead, you’re dead.  There’s no coming back to life.  There’s no escaping the grave—not now and not in some rose colored future called “eternity.” 
            Paul was an educated man.  He knew the Hebrew Scriptures thoroughly.  He had quite likely read Greek philosophy and non-biblical Middle Eastern wisdom literature as well.  He knew enough about human wisdom to know its strengths and weaknesses.  He was trained in the law, and therefore in logic, and would have thought matters through in a way that few people of his time would have been able to do.
            Yet Paul tells us with no equivocation that human wisdom cannot understand or explain God or God’s way of interacting with humankind.  This God, the creator of the universe, the One who set the stars in place and the whole of life in motion, has chosen to behave in ways that go beyond our comprehension.  If we try to apply the rules of human wisdom to this God we will fail miserably.  All we can do is rely on the wisdom of God to be our wisdom, our righteousness, our sanctification and our redemption.

            Like Alice, we have a lot of “impossible” things to believe.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Anxiety for the Churches

Anxiety for the Churches
2 Corinthians 11:28-29
            It’s difficult to avoid saying, “I’ll never….”  It doesn’t matter how you finish the sentence, those words are a dangerous way to begin.  Learning never to say never is one of life’s hardest lessons.  I have often said to prospective teachers, “Remember when you sat in the classroom of a teacher who had done something you thought was really horrid, and you said, ‘When I become a teacher, I’ll never do that!?’  Well, when you’re in your classroom, and you’re under stress, you’ll likely find yourself doing what you swore you would never do.”  The same is true for parents.  How often have we heard a parent say, “I sound just like my mother/father!”
            I never thought I would become a preacher.  I believed God had called me to teach, and that’s how I would spend my life until it was time to retire to the front porch rocker.  I didn’t say, “I’ll never become a preacher,” I just didn’t think it would ever happen.  When I finally felt God calling me into the ministry, however, I did say, “I’ll never be a pastor.”  My wife said it too.  She felt that God would call me to some other kind of ministry, but not to a pastorate.  Imagine our surprise when I began to fulfill the role of pastor, first to my students and faculty members, and now to a congregation.  Where did this come from?  How did it happen?
            I realize now, as I look back over my life, that God has been preparing me for this role for a long time.  My father was an excellent pastor.  When his denomination assigned him to do evangelistic work across the northeastern United States rather than serve one congregation, he became pastor to all the churches where he preached, both to the members of the congregations and to their pastors.  When, at the end of his life, he became bedridden, he was a pastor to those who cared for him.  For much of his pastoring I had a front row seat.  For the rest of it I heard about his effect through conversations with those he pastored.
            So here I am, about to graduate from seminary and pastoring a congregation, while I continue to serve in the same role in my teaching position.  It’s clear that this is what God wants me to do at this point in my life.  How long this will last, or where and what God may have in store for me in the future, I have no idea.  I do know this:  for now, God has called me to be a pastor, and that’s what I’ll be.  Because of this calling I can empathize with Paul in his second letter to the church at Corinth.
            Paul has just spent many verses complaining about false apostles and their effect on the Corinthian congregation.  His comments have been blistering, as he turns his displeasure first on the false apostles and then upon the church.  Then he states—at length—his credentials, both his background and his suffering at the hands of those who would stop him from preaching.  Finally, he says, “And apart from other things, there is the daily pressure on me of my anxiety for all the churches.”
            I feel anxiety for one church and one group of teachers and students.  Paul felt anxiety for all the churches he had planted, all he had visited, and those he had only heard about and written to.  I can’t begin to imagine that level of anxiety.  How could anyone care that much?  I suppose, when I think about it, my father must have carried that same burden for all the churches with which he had been involved.  It’s difficult for me to imagine a heart that great, a love that full, and a level of caring that high. 

            As I enter more fully into my life as a pastor, I have two objectives.  First I must teach myself never to say never, but to always be open to God’s leading.  Second, I must pray that God will increase the size of my heart, the depth of my love, and the breadth of my compassion for those I have been called to serve.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Why Me?

Who, Me?
1 Corinthians 12:27-31
            Who, me?  I’m the body of Christ?  No way!  First of all, I don’t want the distinction.  It’s too much.  I don’t deserve the honor, I don’t want the honor, and I won’t accept the honor.  Just let me be.  Let me be the insignificant little church member I want to be.  Don’t give me too much credit or too much responsibility.  All I want to do is go to church on Sundays, try to be good, and (I hope) secure my tiny little corner of heaven.  That’s all.  No big deal.  Nothing more than that—and certainly nothing less!  Why can’t you just leave me alone?  Forget this body of Christ deal.  It’s not for me!
            Oh, wait a minute!  I’m not the body of Christ; I’m part of the body of Christ?  That’s better.  Yes, that’s me.  I’m a churchgoing, Bible-believing, dyed-in-the-wool body member.  Thank you very much for including me.  Now, let me just sneak over to my little corner here.  I’ll listen to the announcements, the Scripture reading and the sermon.  I’ll really listen!  I promise!  I never fall asleep.  I’ll even sing the hymns—but not too loudly.  I don’t think my voice is very good, and I don’t want to disturb anyone’s worship by singing off-key.  I don’t want to draw attention to myself.
I don’t want to be noticed at all—don’t want anyone to make a fuss over me.  If they become aware of me, they might ask me to do something, and I really don’t want to get involved.  No telling where that might lead.  They might even give me a job to do, and I wouldn’t want that.  Everyone would find out I’m just a no-talent little person with no real abilities.  I have no desire to look like a fool when I fail at some task.  No thanks.  I’ll just come and go quietly, not disturbing anyone—not even the air around me; not bothering anybody, not creating any waves.  All I want is to be a silent partner in this church business.
            God has done what?  What do you mean, God has given me a gift?  What kind of gift?  What’s a spiritual gift?  I may be an apostle? A prophet? A teacher?  I might be able to work miracles? I might be able to heal?  To be a helper?  To administer?  Next thing you’ll be telling me is that I can speak in tongues—and isn’t that ridiculous…what?  Maybe I can?
            Impossible!  I’m no preacher, no teacher, no administrator.  Oh, I might be able to help move the furniture around, or maybe—if really pressed—take up the collection; but then again, no.  I don’t like to be noticed; and someone might get the wrong idea.  They might think I can actually do something useful, that I might want to do something for the church; but I don’t—I really don’t.  I just want to be invisible.
            What’s that?  I can’t be invisible?  Why not?  Why me?  Why do I have to contribute?  Isn’t it enough that I put five dollars a week into the offering?  That’s pretty generous, considering I don’t make all that much.  After all, I’ve got to live.  What about food? Clothing? Rent?  What about entertainment?  What would I do without my TV, my video games, my Ipod?
            But you say God wants more from me?  You say God won’t be satisfied with my hiding in the corner every Sunday morning?  You say, even if no one else has noticed me, God has, and that God has work for me to do?  But, what?  When?  Where?  How?  Most importantly, why?  Why me?
            I can’t get off that easy?  Whether I like it or not, God has given me a gift, and it’s my job to find out what it is and then use it for the good of the church?  I’m not sure I can do that.  I don’t have a choice?  I’ll have to think about that.  I’ll get back to you.

            Now?  Right now? Who, me?   

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Let Go, Let God

Let Go, Let God
Matthew 11:28-30
            In his prayer for Sunday morning (A Diary of Private Prayer), John Baillie writes, “May Jesus Christ…be in me and I in Him, even as Thou wert in Him and through Him mayest be in me and I at rest in Thee.”  There’s something about Baillie’s biblical English that gives greater dignity to his prayers.  Even though we no longer use words like “wert,” and “mayest” (to say nothing of “thou” and “thee”), in this setting the language sounds right.
            Most of us lead hectic lives.  Between work and home, school and social life, high-speed traffic on our highways and on the internet, we run ourselves ragged.  Many nights we fall into bed for an all-too short rest with our cares and concerns weighing on us so heavily that sleep is impossible.  We can’t stop reviewing the past day and planning the next one long enough to get even a few hours uninterrupted respite.  How can we not worry, with health concerns, relationship concerns, business concerns, money concerns—more concerns than we can list?  Children and parents, spouses and friends, bosses and co-workers—all those we know and are supposed to love drive us crazy by adding their cares and concerns to our own.  Life can be overwhelming, with escape options limited and growing fewer.
            Then we hear Jesus say, “Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.”  If only we could!  If only we could give God all our cares, our worries, our concerns—just toss them at him and walk away.  Wouldn’t that be wonderful!
            The first problem is that, because of our broken and sinful natures, we have difficulty accepting this promise.  We may tell our troubles to God, but we won’t give them up.  Peter reminds us (1 Peter 5:7) that we should trust God completely, casting all our anxieties upon God “because he cares for you.”  That sounds wonderful, but seems impossible.  We don’t seem to be able to turn everything over to God.  How can we forget all those people, situations and conditions that trouble us?  How can we just stop being anxious about—everything?
            The answer, of course, is faith.  In another prayer Baillie asks that “the Christian graces of faith, hope, and [love] be every day more firmly established in me.”  Near the end of that prayer he asks, “Help Thou mine unbelief,” understanding that faith doesn’t come easily.  Perhaps if we prayed for greater faith at the same time we asked for a release from worries we’d get farther in both our spiritual growth and our freedom from cares.
            The second problem is that we can’t just toss our cares on God and walk away.  Walking away is not an option.  Jesus doesn’t say, “Come unto me, and I will give you rest, and you can go on your way worry free.”  No, he says, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”
            That’s the part we don’t want to hear.  It’s the yoke thing that we don’t like.  Jesus is willing to take our cares, but in return we take his yoke.  Even if his “yoke is easy and his burden is light,” we don’t want to give up our freedom to anyone.  We want to be free to be who and what we want to be, even if that freedom comes at the cost of bearing our anxieties alone.
            The third problem is that those people, conditions and situations that cause us so much trouble don’t go away.  They don’t disappear, nor are they magically transformed.  We have to deal with the same troublesome people, the same worrying conditions, the same upsetting situations as before.  The difference is that we no longer have to do it alone.  We have someone to share our troubles with.  That’s what that yoke is all about.

            God doesn’t promise us peaceful lives.  God promises us peaceful hearts and minds.Let Go, Let God
Matthew 11:28-30
            In his prayer for Sunday morning (A Diary of Private Prayer), John Baillie writes, “May Jesus Christ…be in me and I in Him, even as Thou wert in Him and through Him mayest be in me and I at rest in Thee.”  There’s something about Baillie’s biblical English that gives greater dignity to his prayers.  Even though we no longer use words like “wert,” and “mayest” (to say nothing of “thou” and “thee”), in this setting the language sounds right.
            Most of us lead hectic lives.  Between work and home, school and social life, high-speed traffic on our highways and on the internet, we run ourselves ragged.  Many nights we fall into bed for an all-too short rest with our cares and concerns weighing on us so heavily that sleep is impossible.  We can’t stop reviewing the past day and planning the next one long enough to get even a few hours uninterrupted respite.  How can we not worry, with health concerns, relationship concerns, business concerns, money concerns—more concerns than we can list?  Children and parents, spouses and friends, bosses and co-workers—all those we know and are supposed to love drive us crazy by adding their cares and concerns to our own.  Life can be overwhelming, with escape options limited and growing fewer.
            Then we hear Jesus say, “Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.”  If only we could!  If only we could give God all our cares, our worries, our concerns—just toss them at him and walk away.  Wouldn’t that be wonderful!
            The first problem is that, because of our broken and sinful natures, we have difficulty accepting this promise.  We may tell our troubles to God, but we won’t give them up.  Peter reminds us (1 Peter 5:7) that we should trust God completely, casting all our anxieties upon God “because he cares for you.”  That sounds wonderful, but seems impossible.  We don’t seem to be able to turn everything over to God.  How can we forget all those people, situations and conditions that trouble us?  How can we just stop being anxious about—everything?
            The answer, of course, is faith.  In another prayer Baillie asks that “the Christian graces of faith, hope, and [love] be every day more firmly established in me.”  Near the end of that prayer he asks, “Help Thou mine unbelief,” understanding that faith doesn’t come easily.  Perhaps if we prayed for greater faith at the same time we asked for a release from worries we’d get farther in both our spiritual growth and our freedom from cares.
            The second problem is that we can’t just toss our cares on God and walk away.  Walking away is not an option.  Jesus doesn’t say, “Come unto me, and I will give you rest, and you can go on your way worry free.”  No, he says, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”
            That’s the part we don’t want to hear.  It’s the yoke thing that we don’t like.  Jesus is willing to take our cares, but in return we take his yoke.  Even if his “yoke is easy and his burden is light,” we don’t want to give up our freedom to anyone.  We want to be free to be who and what we want to be, even if that freedom comes at the cost of bearing our anxieties alone.
            The third problem is that those people, conditions and situations that cause us so much trouble don’t go away.  They don’t disappear, nor are they magically transformed.  We have to deal with the same troublesome people, the same worrying conditions, the same upsetting situations as before.  The difference is that we no longer have to do it alone.  We have someone to share our troubles with.  That’s what that yoke is all about.
            God doesn’t promise us peaceful lives.  God promises us peaceful hearts and minds.