Connecting the Right Dots

What do you see when you look around? It’s a great question, a very revealing question. It can tell us an awful lot about ourselves.

When you look at a forest of trees, what do you see? A business opportunity? Sacred ground?

When you look at others, what do you see? Sex objects? Children of God?

Maybe we see nothing at all. Our senses have been dulled, and we take everything for granted.

In our text (Luke 17.11-19) there are nine lepers who don’t see anything all. They don’t connect the right dots. They’re healed of this dreaded disease, and they did not see what needed to be seen. For notice, they’re criticized by Jesus. I’m sure they were grateful. You have to be a complete dunce not to be grateful. But there’s still something lacking. They took it for granted perhaps; they did not see God’s glory or his goodness or the in-breaking Kingdom of God. Maybe they did not see anything at all other than a healing—a powerful reminder to us that healings don’t necessarily change hearts.

But there’s one who did make the right connections. One leper sees that he’s been healed, and he returns to Jesus, praising God with a loud voice. I believe what’s happening here is very profound. This man gets it. His faith has made him whole. His faith in God has enabled him to see what needs to be seen--the goodness of God, the in-breaking of God’s kingdom through Jesus. I get the sense that this one leper is ready and willing to live his entire life in gratitude for what God has done.

The same might be said of us. Faith in response to what God has done gives us the right vision of the world. Faith teaches us that life is a gift not a right. (The doctrine of the Trinity reminds that God doesn’t need anyone for he is a communion of love, but he creates out of the abundance of his love.) Faith also teaches us that without God’s mercy, we could not know the source of love from which we came. Faith gives us the right vision so that we can live rightly. And the only way to live rightly is to live with gratitude and reverence toward God and his creation. What other response can there be to a God who gives us life out of love and redeems that life in love so that we might live in and out of his love? I can’t think of any other response but to live for the glory of God. Our faith—if it’s an active faith!—should enable us to see rightly so that we can live righteously. It will make us whole. Peace.

A Heart for the Missing

How easy it is to get stuck in the maintenance mode. We start to believe that everything is about me. Church—it’s about me. Jesus—he’ll make it all better for me. Children—they give meaning to my life.

I stated last Sunday that Jesus’ hometown crowd slipped into that maintenance mode very quickly (Luke 4). After hearing Jesus’ inaugural vision, they were thrilled—our hometown boy has returned to take care of us. I know the text doesn’t say that explicitly, but it’s implied in the conversation. Notice how Jesus confronts them. He anticipates their line of reasoning, saying, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor cure yourself!’” This proverb was used in antiquity to suggest that one ought to care for his own first. The hometown crowd was thinking, in essence, Jesus has returned for us, to make it all better for us. The maintenance mode.

Jesus doesn’t stay there however. He reminds the crowd with two offensive stories that he will be on the move. He’s going to keep moving, reaching out, blessing people the powers-that-be don’t really like. He will heal the sick, embrace the outcast, and call the sinner to repentance.

Why? Because God is like that—God has a heart for the missing. It’s this thought that comes to expression in the parable of the lost lamb (Luke 15). Jesus asks the question, “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” The answer to that question is not many—not many would leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness. In a sheep-pen? Yes. With another shepherd? Yes. But not in the wilderness. Which is the point of the parable: when it comes to the father’s love, we’re not talking about playing it safe but about extravagant love. Love beyond reason. God has a heart for the missing, so Jesus won’t get sucked into the maintenance mode vortex.

All of this poses a great challenge for the church. Do we have a heart for the missing? Does our heart beat with a love for our neighbor? If we have faith—an active faith, the faith of mustard seed—then surely our church should have a heart that beats for those who do not yet know that they belong to the Father. Peace.

Living for Others

“Our life and our death is with our neighbor. If we win our brother, we win God. If we cause our brother to stumble, we have sinned against Christ.”--St. Anthony

This quote might be difficult to embrace. We’ve been taught otherwise. In our individualistic culture, we’ve been trained to believe that I’m free to do whatever I want, whenever I want--I’m not answerable to anyone but myself.

The church believes (should believe) in an alternative way of life. In scripture we discover that we are to live with other people in mind. Our attitudes and actions should be shaped by the impact they might make on the community, on our brothers and sisters in Christ.

Isn’t that what Jesus proclaimed last Sunday? He warned against causing another to stumble: “Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to anyone by whom they come.” Paul writes a similar message in Romans 14.15: “If your brother or sister is being injured by what you eat, you are no longer walking in love . . .” Did you hear that? Maybe we should substitute the word “do” for the word “eat”--if someone is injured by what we do, we are no longer walking in love.

So the call is simple enough to understand: as disciples we are bound to one another, and we are called to live responsibly for one another. It’s not just Jesus and me but Jesus and we. Our life and our death is truly with our neighbor. Let’s live in such a way that we win our neighbor for God. Peace!

Getting It Wrong--Luke 16.14-31

I don’t know if anyone is reading this, but I’ll continue to write. It’s cathartic for me. Sometimes I don’t feel good about what I said or how it might have been received; writing helps.

Last Sunday, from Luke 16.14-31, I asked the question where do we go wrong. As individuals and as communities, we can easily travel down roads that are detrimental to ourselves and others. The Christian church doesn’t have a spotless record, to say the least. Why and how do we get it wrong as Christians?

First, we go wrong in our thinking whenever we assume too quickly that God is on our side. That’s what the Pharisees were doing. They believed that wealth is next to godliness. Such a view stifles compassion. To challenge their perspective, Jesus tells a story about a divine reversal: the rich man goes to Hades; the poor man, to heaven. Jesus is not describing hell or what it might take to end up there. Instead, Jesus is drawing a large startling picture because the Pharisees are nearly blind. Jesus is saying, your thinking is skewed, your values are inverted, don’t assume God is on your side.

As I suggested last Sunday, this happens all of the time. Our own values get twisted. It’s like what Augustine said as he was trying to describe the moral decay of the Roman Empire, “People care more about having a bad house than about having a bad life.” What would he say about us today? People care more about having the wrong clothes than about living the wrong way? People care more about having a bad image than about having a bad character? I believe he might say those things. And too often, we put some sort of spiritual or godly spin on this type of thinking: “God wants me to be happy; God wants to me to be blessed.”

But Jesus challenges this view: “what is prized by human beings is an abomination in the sight of God” (Luke 16.15). Ouch! What do we value? Glitz and glamour? Wealth? The bottomline? Million dollar contracts? All of that might be an abomination. What does God value? We don’t like the answer to that question. But answer it we must. He values justice, righteousness, the poor, equity, love, humility, to name a few.

So we go wrong whenever we assume too quickly that God is on our side. We must acknowledge that he is addressing us, and we must respond to his calling, to his challenge, to be a new type of people.

Secondly, we go wrong because we do not listen very well. We stifle God’s truth. Back to the text: The rich man wants Lazarus to go back to earth to warn his brothers. Evidently, he has five other brothers who are living just like he was—without compassion, without righteousness. Abraham refuses. Not because Abraham is uncaring, but because Abraham knows that if his brothers don’t listen to Moses and the Prophets, they won’t listen to Lazarus. Did you hear that? If these brothers aren’t the type of people who are listening to Moses and the Prophets, then a miracle won’t do an ounce of good.

Again, this is what frequently happens. We hear only what we want to hear; we see only what we want to see. We listen selectively, cafeteria style—I’ll take some of that, some of that, but none of that; dessert, carbs, but no vegetables. That’s what the Pharisees did. They read scripture, took some of the verses out of context, and concluded that God blesses the righteous—wealth is next to godliness. It worked well for them, since they were, for the most part, middle-class men. But they neglected the call to justice. We can fall prey to the same temptation. We can stifle God’s truth. We can create truth and God in our own image and end up missing the mark.

God have mercy on us. We need to be the type of people who listen with every fiber of our being. It always amazes me how people can sit in church, nod their heads, and yet still live in sin. I can preach on being reconciled to others and people will leave church still remaining stuck in their stubborn ways of life. Or I can preach on following Christ, and people will refuse or do so half-heartedly and wonder why they're so unhappy. They don't listen. They have hears but do not hear. I must stop now . . . Let me know if I’m way off base. Peace!

God's Grace

What an amazing story in Luke 15.11-31. To defend his ministry practices—eating with those who are despised by the religious leaders (15.1-2)—Jesus tells a story of a father with two sons.

The first son requests his inheritance early, then he squanders it in loose living and then returns home because his stomach is empty. What should a father do with a son like that?

Restitution? You need to pay back the money you’ve wasted! Interrogation? You have a lot of explaining to do! Probation? I’ll give you two or three years and then we’ll see! The father doesn’t employ any of those reasonable options.

When he sees his youngest son traveling toward the house, he runs out to meet him. That’s significant. Elderly men did not run in that culture—it’s undignified. But this father throws all social conventions out the window. He runs and hugs his son with a passionate embrace (literally in the original language: he falls onto his neck) and then he proceeds to completely restore the son to his original standing. Robes and rings were symbols of authority. Sandals were worn only by masters in the house not slaves. No probation. No restitution. No interrogation. Just full restoration!

This story is telling us something about God. His desire for a relationship with us is greater than our sin. It’s greater than an imperfect repentance, greater than any impure motives we might have for returning to him. God delights in us. He desires us. Therefore he takes us in as we are.

But we’re not done yet. This story is about a father who has two sons. The older son is not very pleased with this entire scene. He’s mad. It’s unfair. I’ve been faithful, he says in so many words. He has a good point. He’s worked hard, he’s never left, and he’s never even received a goat to celebrate with his friends.

Notice the father’s response. The father is pleading with his oldest son to come in and join the party. You see, God’s desire for a relationship with us is greater than anything, except one thing: a willingness to consent. His love respects our freedom. The story ends with us wondering, will the older son go in and join the party? Will he participate in what God is doing? Will you? Will I? All it takes is a yes, a consecration with of our entire selves to God’s love. Peace.

Share and Share Alike

Last Sunday was a children’s sermon. After I preached it, I went home and wondered if the adults understood the radical implications of the story. In 1 Samuel 30 David and his men are on a mission to recover their families and their possessions taken by the Amalekites. Along the way about two hundred men couldn’t make it any further; they stayed by the Besor ravine guarding excess baggage. Four hundred men continued and risked limb and life to defeat the Amalekites. After their victory there is a dilemma in the text: Should the ones who fought in the battle share with those who didn’t? The victors acquired more than just their own possessions. Should they share? There were some men who said, No! Their argument flawless: These men who did not fight can have what they lost but nothing more, no profit, no booty; they did not do anything; we deserve more. It makes perfectly good sense. Those who guarded the baggage did not pay the price. Those who risked their life should receive more. That’s how the world works. But text gives us an alternative to the world. The text refers to these men as “corrupt and worthless” (30.22, NRSV). And then David demanded that everyone share in the victory: “You shall not do so, my brothers, with what the Lord has given us . . . For the share of the one who goes down into the battle shall be the same as the share of the one who stays by the baggage; they shall share alike” (30.23-24).

I believe this has huge implications for us. We often possess an attitude that says, this is mine, I’ve earned it, I’ve worked hard for it. We often argue that everyone could be where we are today, if only they had applied themselves like we have. Is that attitude Godly, I wonder. In the story, David acknowledges that God gave the victory. Such an acknowledgement changes everything. If God is truly the source of all that is, then who am I to claim ownership of anything? The story seems to suggest that since everything comes from God, we must honor God with it. I wonder what this means for us. Any thoughts?

Hard but Liberating News

Yet another difficult passage of scripture—Luke 14.25-33. I don’t know about you, but I’m growing a little weary of Luke’s gospel by now. With the last several Sundays, we have faced some difficult words in our commitment to follow the Lectionary. To make matters worse, many of the themes are repeated frequently. Before we talk about last Sunday’s text, let me comment on what all of this might mean for our community. Last year I made a commitment to follow the lectionary. Why? First, I felt led to this. Second, I don’t always trust myself to create good sermon series (though I will that again next year). So the lectionary forces me (and us) to commit to something larger than our own personal preferences. Left to ourselves, we become less than ourselves. After all it’s easy to pick the stuff we want to hear. Secondly, and related to the repetition we’ve been faced with, is another spiritual lesson—we learn through repetition. The truth of the gospel has to penetrate our hearts that are more like stone than flesh at times. We always need to be reminded that the point is not to know some information but to allow the truth to enter deep within where it can change us. So for example, if Luke keeps highlighting Jesus’ teaching on possessions (which he does), we have to assume that money and possessions are some of the things in life that can make following Christ with a purity of heart difficult if not impossible. Thus we need to lean in and listen again . . . and again . . . and again . . . and again, even if it gets a little annoying. In short, though it might be difficult, everything we’re doing right now is probably what the Good Doctor orders—we’re committing ourselves to something bigger than ourselves and we’re opening up our hearts to the difficult but liberating truths of the Gospel.

Now to last week’s sermon. After preaching it, I told my wife, I think Jesus is just fleshing out the first commandment--“You shall have no other Gods before me”—in this text. Think about it: Jesus challenges some of our most cherished ideals in Luke 14.25-33—family, self, and possessions. Let’s look at each of those in turn. First, the core identity of a disciple is not shaped by family (14.26). Jesus uses the word hate here (perhaps communicating by hyperbole). The word hate is a way to speak of commitment; it is not a psychological or emotional hatred; it can mean “to turn away from” or “detach oneself from.” With that in mind, we learn that faith and family don’t always go together. Disciples are called to be committed to Christ and his cause first, even before family. But here’s the catch: in doing so, disciples obtain the distance necessary that makes love possible. If Christ and his cause is first, a disciple then has a foundation that makes love—a true love—possible. 1 John 5.2 speaks powerfully to this issue. John states that we love the children of God by loving God and keeping his commands. Love of God and obedience is the road we must travel in order to love. The point is obvious: we have to have a core from which to give true love; we have to live in love, and then we can live out love. Christ and his cause must be first, not family.

Second, a disciple’s core identity is not to be shaped by a commitment to self (14.26). Jesus says we must hate our life; again it means to detach ourselves from, not emotionally hate. This is somewhat revolutionary. Self worship is big business in America. We’ve been advertised to for so long that we're tempted to believe everything is about us, about being happy and having our needs met. The problem is love of self and love of God don’t mix. We’re not fully human if we’re not living in response to all that God has done for us. It is in losing ourselves that we find ourselves—our true selves.

Third, a disciple’s core identity is not shaped by possessions (vs. 33). The Greek verb is in the present tense. Many take that to mean that Jesus is talking about an on-going willingness to surrender. Bottom line: disciples can’t be shaped by what they have or what they don’t have. Disciples can't be possessed with their possessions, either their lack or their abundance. Hopefully, we’re so busy learning to enjoy God and love our neighbor that we’re no longer worried about stuff.

So how can we summarize all of this? I stated yesterday that the disciple is someone who is living out the good news that Jesus is Lord. God raised this rejected one from the dead as a powerful announcement that He is King and that one day everything will be recapitulated in Him. Disciples have turned (repented) from sin and are embracing the great news that Jesus is Lord. Which means, of course, that family, money and self should not be . . . should not be Lord. I don’t know about you, but I find this to be great news, because now we are called to participate in something that’s worth living for, something bigger than ourselves, something that gives us a foundation that makes love possible—God’s kingdom, here and now as well as there and then. Peace!