Who Is This Guy?

Introduction

As Randy reminded us last week, the gospel writers each have their own emphasis. John begins like a philosophical treatise, with a reflection on the Eternal Word, the one who is “in very nature God”, made like us in human form. Luke begins like the academic person that he was, with a careful statement about how he had sifted all of the data in order to give us the true story. Matthew organizes Jesus’ life and ministry around five major sets of teachings or sermons, such as the Sermon on the Mount. And Mark? Mark jumps right in without any preliminary beyond the first verse: “The gospel of Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God.”

I was thinking, if they had lived in Steinbach and were part of our church, what language would the gospel writers have used? Luke was the best writer of the group, a well-educated Greek physician. John was perhaps the deepest thinker of the four. They would have probably both spoken and written in English. Matthew was Jewish, and he would have probably spoken High German. He would have been a good preacher here! And Mark? Definitely Low German. Plautdietsch! Mark tells the story simply and directly, no messing around. You get right to the action.

Mark 2

So we get to the verses we read.

In the first story, Jesus Forgives and Heals a Paralyzed Man. Two of the three stories that end chapter one resemble the stories of chapter two: Jesus casts out an evil spirit, and Jesus heals many sick who were brought to him. Here, Jesus heals a paralyzed man—by forgiving him! [Like going to the doctor, and instead of a diagnosis of your illness, he says, “I forgive you.”] His friends had lowered him through the roof of the house to get past the crowds of people who surrounded Jesus.

You notice the response. “⁶ Now some teachers of the law were sitting there, thinking to themselves, ⁷ ‘Why does this fellow talk like that? He’s blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?’” This is a basic point in the way Mark tells his stories. Jesus deliberately gets people thinking and asking, “Who is this guy? What is he doing!”

In the second story, Jesus Calls Levi and Eats With Sinners. In chapter one, Jesus called Andrew and Simon Peter and James and John. Here he calls Levi (who may be the same as Matthew, the writer of the first gospel). This encounter with Levi, a tax collector, becomes part of Jesus’ growing reputation and prompts the Pharisees to ask again, “Who is this guy?” So verse 16: “When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the sinners and tax collectors, they asked his disciples: ‘Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?’” 

Jesus response has become basic for our understanding of his ministry: “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

In the third story, Jesus is Questioned About Fasting. You remember that John the Baptist was known for his extreme lifestyle in the desert, where he wore a camel hair shirt and ate locusts and wild honey (1:6). People wondered about Jesus. John pointed Jesus out as the Messiah and calls himself the one who goes before the Messiah (1:1-8). [John’s gospel makes the identification more completely, but clearly this is what the first verses of Mark’s gospel refer to.] Some people wondered why Jesus was not more like John. “Who is this guy anyway?”

Jesus replies with two images—he is the bridegroom, so that his disciples do not fast; and he is the “new wine” that breaks the old patterns that try to contain him. Verse 22: “No one pours new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and both the wine and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins.”

Finally, we read that Jesus Is Lord of the Sabbath. Jesus and his disciples break the rules for making food on the Sabbath Day, and the Pharisees question him about it. His response is calculated to cause trouble. He can break the rules because he is “Lord of the Sabbath.”

In each case Jesus provokes comments and questions, and the basic question beneath all of the others is, “Who is this guy?” Before we answer the question as far as we can, I wonder why Jesus felt that he needed to be so provocative. Why did he push this question the way that he did?

Expectations of the Messiah

Jesus could have come to the Jews and announced himself more openly—if he had been willing to use what they expected.

·         The Jews expected a Messiah who would come and rout the Romans.

·         The Jews expected a Messiah who would come as a warrior and king.

·         The Jews expected a Messiah who would restore the greatness of the Kingdom of David.

·         As you can see, they expected something very different from what they got in Jesus.

So Jesus began by breaking their expectations and doing everything he could to make sure that they would not confuse him with their twisted ideas of the Conquering King. Matthew and Luke make the point by emphasizing Jesus’ humble birth, including Herod’s confusion at the idea of a baby born as king in Bethlehem. Mark makes the point by the way that Jesus begins his ministry.

There is a bit of a splash with John the Baptist and his preparing the way for the Messiah—just enough to get the attention of some people in a time when many expected the Messiah at any moment. Then there are a series of actions designed to clash with the establishment, which makes people ask, “Who is this?” In chapter one: Who is this who teaches with such self-assurance? Our rabbis quote other rabbis as their authority; he speaks with authority that comes from inside himself. Who is he? In chapter two: Who is this who forgives sins? Who is this who casts out spirits? Who is this who treats the Sabbath as his own personal day? Who is this guy?

We are a lot like the Jews of the first century today. I was reading someone’s personal faith statement recently. It went like this: “We like Jesus. A lot. The real Jesus, not the supernatural one. We like the one who was 100% human, who moved around in space and time. The one who enjoyed the company of women and was obsessed with the kingdom of God. … We endorse the Sermon on the Mount. Or at least the sayings within that can be identified by modern biblical scholarship as authentic. The sayings emphasizing love, mercy, compassion, nonviolence, and non-attachment to material things.”

Do you see what this writer has done? He takes what he likes so that he ends up making Jesus into what he wants. In 1970 Ralph Carmichael wrote a song titled “Dressing Up Jesus”.

Everybody’s dressing up Jesus.

Style him just like you want him to be.

Everybody’s dressing up Jesus now.

You’re just seeing what you want to see.

Let him keep his sandals, robe and flowing hair.

Now you add some red and yellow beads. Cover up the calluses, keep him thin and fair.

Little bit of love and peace is really all you need.

Where is Jesus, Who’s side is he on? Where is Jesus, Wonder where he’s gone?

Would you know him if he stood up now? Finding Jesus, can you tell me how?

Have you really seen him, looked at him straight on?

Can you take him as he is with the trimmings and trappings gone?

Everybody’s dressing up Jesus.

He looks fine in establishment gray.

Everybody’s cutting up Jesus now.

See his hair, you’ll have to trim it away.

Look in high society, he knows what to do.

After all he really is a king.

Quote his words of wisdom; join the chosen few.

Keep your Jesus dignified; the image is the thing.

Chorus

Everybody’s dressing up Jesus.

Get your brush, are you ready to paint.

Everybody’s touching up Jesus now.

Make him afro or a dashiki saint.

Brighten up his seamless robe, darken up his skin.

Keep his eyes of black and keep his soul.

Red and yellow black and white, which one’s going to win?

Guess you’ll have to wait and find out when they call the roll.

Chorus

We all do this. We think of Jesus in ways that fit what we want, and we fail to see the Son of God, who reveals the Father to us. So Jesus breaks our preconceived ideas and acts in ways that we don’t expect, forcing us to ask, “Who is this guy?” This is also what’s going on when Jesus tells the spirits he casts out not to tell who he is (1:24, 34) and when he tells people he heals to keep quiet about who did this (1:44). Rather than let people conclude quickly, “This is the Messiah, this is what he looks like”, he wanted them to wrestle with his identity.

Some Tentative Answers

To answer the question, we look again at what Jesus said and did. Notice first of all that the secret of his identity was not really a secret. He said enough to make his identity quite clear. The evil spirit in chapter one refers to him as “the holy One of God”—a Messianic title; and he calls himself the Son of Man in two of the four stories in chapter two. He also calls himself “Lord of the Sabbath” when talking with the Pharisees, and they understood what he was claiming. So people who were listening could tell that this is the Son of Man and Lord of the Sabbath—this is the Messiah of God! But Jesus kept them from speculating too much, so they had to look at what he did.

It interests me that people did not seem to notice anything special about his appearance. You observe that the text does not tell us what he looked like. He did not stand out in the crowd until he did something. He walked into a group of people and hardly anyone noticed—at least based on what Mark describes. Then he did something, such as forgiving the paralyzed man his sins, and everyone said, “Who is this?”

Maybe we think that Jesus must have been at least six feet tall, with long flowing hair and piercing eyes, but Mark doesn’t suggest that he stood out in a crowd. King Saul in the Old Testament stood out. He was a head and shoulders above anyone else around him, but Jesus does not seem to be noticed until he says something, “Your sins are forgiven you”, or until he does something like casting out the evil spirit, “Come out and leave that man alone!”

What did he do? He healed people who were sick. He cast demons out, setting people who were possessed free. He ate with broken people, the outcasts of society—aka, tax collectors and sinners. He enjoyed life the way that working people enjoy life, walking through a field and taking something to eat from the grain growing there.

It was what Jesus did that got him noticed, and that got him in trouble. He seemed to be drawn to broken people, and he walked with them, ate with them, forgave them their sins—such a strange idea, and healed their hurts. Years later the disciples kept trying to figure out who Jesus really was. They came up with some powerful claims.

Listen to the writer of Hebrews: “³ The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word.” (Heb. 1)

Listen to Paul: “¹⁵ The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.¹⁶ For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. ¹⁷ He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. ¹⁸ And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. ¹⁹ For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, ²⁰ and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.” (Col. 1)

Wow! No wonder Jesus began by hiding his identity. People were expecting a warrior king, and he was revealing God, showing us what God is like. Do you see what that means?

God is drawn to broken people. God walks with those who are hurting and broken, healing and restoring them.

We can say more. Once we are restored—because everyone here has been broken (and if you haven’t been, you will be)—once we are healed, we also are drawn to broken and hurting people. We also go where people seem possessed and crazy, where people are trapped by the structures in which we live, where people think there is no hope. We walk with them, and we bring Jesus into their lives so that he can bring them healing and new life.

What does that look like? That’s another sermon, but we know people here at SMC who have done exactly this—with refugees from overseas, with homeless people in Steinbach, with young people who just need to hang out and with old people who think that life is over. We have not always done this so well. Sometimes we act like we are the healthy and unbroken ones. Of course we aren’t, but in our weaker moments we might look down on people who don’t fit, or who we think don’t fit. God forgive us when we do so.

Meanwhile, Jesus keeps coming into our lives and doing things that make us ask, “Who is this guy? Who is this man who forgives sins, who heals paralyzed people, who gives life to the dead? Who is this man?” He is Jesus, the Son of Man, the Son of God.

Text: Mark 2
Steinbach Mennonite Church
24 January 2016

Trust and Betrayal: Christmas 2015

The priest gave a good homily. “Did it have to be so hard? Couldn’t God have waved a hand and fix everything without the mess of a pregnancy and baby in a stable behind a crowded inn?”

The proclamation of Jesus’ birth transfixed me, as it usually does:

The Twenty-fifth Day of December,

when ages beyond number had run their course from the creation of the world,

when God in the beginning created heaven and earth, and formed man in his own likeness;

when century upon century had passed since the Almighty set his bow in the clouds after the Great Flood, as a sign of covenant and peace;

in the twenty-first century since Abraham, our father in faith, came out of Ur of the Chaldees;

in the thirteenth century since the People of Israel were led by Moses in the Exodus from Egypt;

around the thousandth year since David was anointed King;

in the sixty-fifth week of the prophecy of Daniel;

in the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad;

in the year seven hundred and fifty-two since the foundation of the City of Rome;

in the forty-second year of the reign of Caesar Octavian Augustus, the whole world being at peace,

Jesus, eternal God and Son of the eternal Father, desiring to consecrate the world by his most loving presence, was conceived by the Holy Spirit, and when nine months had passed since his conception, was born of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem of Judah, and was made man:

The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

The planners at St. Mary’s Church of Loretto had a more modern version—locating the birth within the billions of years since the universe began, as a point within incredibly recent history transforming humanity. Theistic evolution as a continuous action of God, preparing the way for the Messiah of God—possibly a man of just over five feet in height, with short hair, rough hands, and the features and manners of a Palestinian Jew from the First Century. (No wonder Lesslie Newbigin—I think he’s the one—referred to “the scandal of particularity.)

These repeated annual memories of God’s self-insertion into human experience suggested something to me this year, something about trust.

Life runs on trust. Society cannot exist without trust. But we experience betrayal so often that we trust hesitantly.

I think of someone who was once a good friend. I sat in the committee that recommended the end of his job. Later, when all of the proceedings were finally over, he made it clear that I had betrayed his trust and that our relationship was at an end. “It can never be safe for us to be friends.” Although I had fought for his position until I felt myself unsafe, I understood—and, grieving—understand still today. Betrayal, real or perceived, ends trust.

God knew betrayal lay ahead when Jesus began his journey “in the year seven hundred and fifty-two since the foundation of the City of Rome; in the forty-second year of the reign of Caesar Octavian Augustus”. Jesus began the journey anyway. Divinity embraced betrayal by trusting humanity. “He came to his own, and his own did not receive him.”

We cannot and should not trust blindly. When we see danger in a relationship, we act prudently, wisely. A battered wife leaves her spouse. An abused child finds safety away from the abuser. But with each betrayal, society as a whole is left more fragile and comes closer to complete disintegration.

So we trust. Even though we know that our trust will somewhere sometime end in betrayal, even though we trust hesitantly, carefully, still we reach out in trust. I saw a man as I walked today, standing by the road with a sign asking for help, any help. I gave $10 with a word of encouragement and an admission that I don’t understand his path at all. A small helpless act of trust. So we trust, following one who was “rich beyond all splendour, [and] all for love’s sake became poor; Thrones for a manger didst surrender, Sapphire-paved courts for stable floor.”

“Thou who wast rich beyond all splendour, All for love’s sake becomes poor.”

Third Advent: The Path of Trust

Our theme this Advent is a play on the word “bound”. We are bound for freedom—on our way to glory; but in our lives freedom is bound—tied up in chains of worry, care, and fear. Through the paths of justice, kindness and mercy, trust, and love, we come to the place where the chains that bind our freedom are broken. Then truly we are “freedom bound”, on our way to glory! Today I will reflect briefly on the four passages found in the bulletin, and then ask what it means to walk the path of trust on the way to freedom.

Isaiah 12

We find the word “trust” immediately in our first passage: “Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord himself, is my strength and my defense; he has become my salvation.” What does this mean?

The passage begins with the phrase, “In that day”, which signals that Isaiah is looking at a goal at the end of a long path for God’s People. That path is filled with turmoil and trouble, so that God’s salvation is not obvious to them. Chapter 11 also promises the salvation of God, using language that points to the coming of the Messiah (reading from a Christian perspective).

Chapters 10 and 13 speak of judgment on Assyria (the Northern Kingdom of Israel’s enemy) and Babylon (the Southern Kingdom of Judah’s enemy). The whole promise of salvation and declaration of trust, then, comes in the context of trouble and fear, with which God judges the earth in order to bring salvation.

Zephaniah 3

Zephaniah prophesied a generation after Isaiah, during the reign of Josiah. He was a contemporary of Jeremiah, and the great-grandson of King Hezekiah. (Isaiah had prophesied in Hezekiah’s reign.) Where the great threat of Isaiah 12 was invasion by Assyria, the threat during Zephaniah’s life was invasion by Babylon. Chapters 1 and 2 speak of this threat and of the judgment that God is bringing upon the earth.

In this context our passage begins with judgment on Jerusalem (verses 1 to 8), which purifies a remnant who repent (verses 9 to 13). Repentance opens the way for God’s promise of salvation and joy. When God’s people truly repent, then God works within them to bring them a new life of freedom and restored worship. The word “trust” is not used, but the idea is clear: Trust in the Lord, who will restore you to life. We note the link between judgment and repentance, which is the necessary step on the way to salvation.

Luke 3

So we turn to Luke’s gospel and the preaching of John the Baptist. One notes immediately that John’s preaching was consistent with what Jesus also preached. John did not preach the grace of Jesus so clearly, but points towards it in this passage (“I baptize with water [repentance]; he will baptize with the Holy Spirit.”) But Jesus’ words in Luke 6: 27-31 sound a lot like John the Baptist.

Here is John’s message:

God’s judgment is coming. Only those who repent will survive. Repentance is acted out in concrete ways. You can’t just say, “I’m sorry”, but carry on as though nothing has changed. Don’t cheat your customers. Don’t abuse your power. Be generous and kind to each other. John rounds off his teaching with the promise of the Messiah, who will come with judgment and with grace to make their repentance real and effective.

Philippians 4

Paul rounds off our passages with a closing word of encouragement to the Christians in Philippi. They are worth reading again in full:

⁴ Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! ⁵ Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. ⁶ Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

We think sometimes that Jesus and the gospels speak gentle words of encouragement and that Paul is the strict disciplinarian. In fact (as we see in the passage from Luke), John and Jesus have a lot to say about real repentance, and (as we see here) Paul often speaks about how good and kind and helpful Jesus is.

So Paul encourages us to rejoice in God’s salvation, to be gentle with each other, to leave our anxieties with God, and to allow God’s peace to permeate every part of our lives. In short, Paul tells us what trusting Jesus looks like. It’s a really cool picture!

Bringing the Texts Together

What do we learn from all of this? The ideas are not new or surprising, but restate what we already know, but sometimes forget.

1. God hates sin and evil and acts in this world to destroy it. We call this action: judgment.

2. The appropriate response to the evil in the world around us is repentance and turning to God.

3. God forgives those who turn and leave their participation in hatred and evil behind.

4. Forgiven people live with a radical trust in God, expressed in living with trust towards each other.

This last point needs a bit of explaining. You remember that the greatest command is to love God, and the second goes with it: Love your neighbour as yourself. John the Baptist says something like that by calling people to treat each other fairly and kindly. Paul says something like that at other points in his letters, most notably in Romans 12. Think of verses like 9 to 16:

⁹ Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. ¹⁰ Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. ¹¹ Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. ¹² Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³ Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

¹⁴ Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵ Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. ¹⁶ Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

Here Paul makes it clear that love for God is expressed by the way that we love each other. Similarly, our trust for God is made visible in the way that we trust each other. This does not mean a blind trust that ignores plain realities. If someone is winding up to hit you, get out of the way! Trust, with eyes wide open. But it does mean that we start with a basic stance of trust for others, both inside and outside the church. Let’s explore this idea a bit.

A Case Study from the Past Week

I read a story this past week. The story begins, “Massachusetts College of Art and Design professor Steve Locke shared a story on his personal blog earlier today about what happened when he wore this outfit [see picture] to work yesterday, an outfit that police told him matched the description of a robbery suspect in the area.” Locke tells how the police held him and asked him questions while people walked by. A white woman said to the police, “You’re busy today.” A black woman watched from a distance, praying. Locke is a black man. (See Locke’s blog for his story.)

As I read the story, I observed that Locke gave the police credit for remaining professional and courteous, but they would not accept his self-identification as an art professor, even though he was wearing his ID card. At one point in the conversation he says, “It was at this moment that I knew that I was probably going to die.  I am not being dramatic when I say this.  I was not going to get into a police car.  I was not going to present myself to some victim.  I was not going let someone tell the cops that I was not guilty when I already told them that I had nothing to do with any robbery.  I was not going to let them take me anywhere because if they did, the chance I was going to be accused of something I did not do rose exponentially.  I knew this in my heart.” In the end the police concluded that he was not the man they were looking for and let him go. They apologized for disturbing his lunch break, but he was so shaken that he stumbled through class and went home, cancelling all other appointments.

You see the problem. Told by Locke, the story is of the potential for police to hurt and kill. Told by the police involved, they could have noted their fear that a break and enter might turn into a shoot-out. They were acting out of fear as well, and their fear also has been justified in experience.

Here is our problem—a radical lack of trust in our society. People do not trust the police. Officers do not trust the people they stop. I know that this case study in mistrust comes from New England (Massachusetts), and we may be inclined to say that this is an American problem. After all, we’re Canadians! We elected Trudeau just to prove that we are not driven by fear! But of course the same undercurrent of fear is part of our lives as well. The same struggle to trust each other surfaces in our conversations and actions.

I think of the church that I come from, the Brethren in Christ. A few years ago the leadership proposed to the General Conference that we divide into two General Conferences, one in the USA and one in Canada. The move was a response to political and economic realities in North America. It is just too difficult to run one conference that crosses national boundaries. The proposal passed, but more than one person wonder why the Canadians were separating from the Americans. Somehow those opposed to the proposal felt that the action was a real betrayal. To put it another way, we didn’t trust each other (at least not completely)—and the mistrust was not simply an American phenomenon. This is a minor example; the hurt feelings were cared for without much difficulty, but how often have we acted out of a belief that someone in the church is pursuing an agenda that we don’t want? We fail to act in a trusting manner often enough.

So What Should We Do?

You may think that I have stretched the application too far. Can one really say that how we trust God shows up in the way that we trust each other? But think about it again. If you act out of fear and mistrust, you act on the basis that the other person controls your destiny. You are not trusting God, but trying to control what happens to you.

The passages we read suggest that hardship and trouble function in our world as God’s discipline to draw us back to himself. That clearly is what Isaiah, and Zephaniah, and John the Baptist are saying. And when we put ourselves completely and radically into God’s care, we are no longer afraid. We are set free to interact with others without fear. I play soccer at the EMC church on Main Street on Monday evenings. Some months ago a Muslim friend who also plays there came in. “Do you think I’m a terrorist?” he asked. People had been accusing him of being a terrorist because he is Muslim. They were acting out of fear, failing to trust him and showing their lack of trust in God.

I am asking you this morning to renew your trust in God and to act out that trust by trusting the people around you. You need to count the cost of such a stance. If you live trusting people around you, sooner or later someone will betray your trust and that will hurt. If we act on that hurt, we can become bound by fear, like the person in Paul Simon’s song from 1965:

A winter’s day

In a deep and dark December

I am alone

Gazing from my window

To the streets below

On a freshly fallen, silent shroud of snow

I am a rock

I am an island

I’ve built walls

A fortress, steep and mighty

That none may penetrate

I have no need of friendship

Friendship causes pain.

It’s laughter and it’s loving I disdain.

I am a rock

I am an island

Don’t talk of love

Well, I’ve heard the words before

It’s sleeping in my memory

And I won’t disturb the slumber

Of feelings that have died

If I never loved, I never would have cried

I am a rock

I am an island

I have my books

And my poetry to protect me

I am shielded in my armor

Hiding in my room

Safe within my womb

I touch no one and no one touches me

I am a rock

I am an island

And a rock feels no pain

And an island never cries

(Taken from Paul Simon’s website.)

But then you learn to trust God more deeply and to leave the hurt with God to work with and to bring healing. And you keep on trusting people around you. That means living in an open and vulnerable way—not fighting back when people attack you, not looking for your advantage in relationships with others. You see, this open and vulnerable path is the path of trust, and it leads to real freedom, freedom that comes from relying on God for everything. In my own experience this kind of life is beyond my ability to live. I can’t do it. You can’t do it either. We try, and for a few days we succeed and feel good about ourselves. But then we come under pressure and snap at our family or at someone at work. We struggle to relate to people around us, and we stop living in simple trust.

When that happens, I have to turn back to God. I try to take more time in prayer, in silence before God. I seek to live more fully in God’s presence. I work at trusting God alone and always. But you know something? I can’t—and you can’t—work hard enough to create this complete dependency. Only God can create this complete trust in your life. Only God can give us the grace and strength to follow Christ in all of life. So we repent of our failures. We turn to God again. We open ourselves up to God’s healing Spirit, and start to live again openly and vulnerably with the people around us. It’s a long road to freedom, and we are Freedom Bound!

Steinbach Mennonite Church                                             

Sunday, 13 Dec, 2015

Texts

Isaiah 12:1-6; Zephaniah 3:14-20; Luke 3:7-18; Philippians 4:4-7

Aim for Heaven (Part 2)

All Saints Day (Nov 1) and Eternity Sunday (Nov 22) deal with the same themes. I preached this sermon at Grace Bible on Nov 1, and revised it for SMC on the 22nd -- so here is a brief revision with some added reflections at the end. The attacks in Paris challenge my basic idea, and make it clear that the path I suggest is a hard one.

Introduction

Today is Eternity Sunday in our church. It feels to me like All Saints Day in the Anglican church calendar, but in fact it comes from the Lutheran Church in Germany, where it is called “The Sunday of the Dead” (Totensonntag). I don’t know why one church remembers the saints who have gone before at the end of October, and another church remembers them at the end of November, but I am assuming that Eternity Sunday is much the same as All Saints Day. …

Our Scriptures this morning direct our thoughts towards Heaven and invite us to live today in light of Heaven’s glory. We walk together through the texts, and then ask what they say today.

Isaiah 25:6-9. In this great passage from Isaiah 25 we see the Messianic Banquet, where all wrongs are made right and all evil is destroyed. Chapter 24 pictures the coming of the end. In the midst of people worshipping God (24:14-16) Isaiah sees the coming doom, judgment in which no one has any hope at all. …

So Isaiah gives us this picture of joy and victory, but only after reminding us of the reality of evil and despair in this world. I think I grasp what Isaiah wants us to hear: The reality of the Great Banquet gives meaning to the present. God gives us the ability to live in the present in the reality of God’s reign, in spite of the evil and terror around us.

Revelation 21:1-6a. As the book of Revelation comes to an end, we see the destruction of evil in chapter 20, bringing about the New Heaven and new Earth in chapter 21. Just as Isaiah 24 pictures judgment and Isaiah 25 shows the joy that follows, Revelation 20 pictures judgment, and Revelation 21 pictures the joy that follows. The New Jerusalem shows us all wrongs made right and all evil destroyed. As with the Messianic Banquet, we can live in the present in the reality of the consummation of good at the end of all things. … The sea is a constant source of danger and of the power of evil. Then we read verse 1: “There was no longer any sea.” This goes further than the previous chapter, in which Satan and Death and Hades are thrown into the Lake of Fire. Now we learn that the very source of evil and danger itself is done away with. Not only are sin and sorrow overcome, but their source is gone, and in its place we see the New Creation where God’s people live forever with God.

The Text in our Present Experience

… This pattern [of fighting back when we are attacked] is not reserved only for great international events, but is played out in almost every relationship we have in our daily lives. When someone attacks us, we find ourselves fighting back with attitudes and actions that do not fit the way that Jesus has taught us to live. …

Aim for Heaven

… Hear a quote from C.S. Lewis:

If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next… It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither (p. 134).

Some people accuse Christians of being “so heavenly-minded that we are no earthly good.” … Lewis responded to these charges by pointing out that our ultimate goal in life tells what we will live for now. If we aim at earth, trying to fix things using whatever means come to hand, we lose both Heaven and earth.

[Illustration: You can mow in a straight line only by fixing your eyes firmly on something at the end of the lawn you are mowing. Eyes fixed on the goal = straight line.] I preached on this same theme a few weeks ago in Winnipeg, and I have been thinking over this image of walking a straight line towards a distant goal. The events of the past week have made it clear to me that this is actually much harder than it sounds. Follow the image out a bit further. As I walk towards some tree in the distance pushing my mower, I have to be aware of what is in front of me as well. More than once I concentrated so hard on that tree that I didn’t notice a rock in front of me. I hit the rock, stalled the mower, and bent the blade. I assume the same thing is true with tractors in a field before GPS. If you drive straight towards a tree a mile away, but don’t avoid the tree stump in front of you, your straight line won’t be much good!

The obstacle in our way is the problem. Think again of ISIS, and of the attacks in Paris a week ago on Friday. If I am so focussed on Heaven that I don’t respond to the practical events on the ground, my actions will self-destruct. The challenge is to keep our eyes fixed on Heaven while we concentrate also on what is happening around us—like keeping the tree on the horizon in mind while observing the tree stumps around which we detour. It is a difficult balancing act, but it is absolutely essential.

If we respond to ISIS—or to any other event in our lives—on the basis of what is happening here and now, we become caught in the anger and bitterness and the cycle of revenge that are so common today. Instead we remember that the source of such anger and hatred itself will be destroyed and we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus himself, drawing us to the New Jerusalem. …

Never Give Up

Introduction

This morning I will reflect primarily on Hebrews 10. To set the stage, I refer briefly to 1 Samuel and to Mark’s gospel. Then we look at the Letter to the Hebrews and ask what God is saying to us today.

1 Samuel 1:4-20. The story of Hannah’s barrenness and the birth of Samuel is a basic part of God’s mighty saving acts in the history of Israel. You remember how Hannah had no child, although Peninnah had several. So she went to the tabernacle at Shiloh to pray for a child. Eli, the priest there, thought at first that she was drunk, watching her pray silently and desperately to God. When he understood her real desire for a child, he sent her home with the promise of a son. The son was born, and she named him Samuel (sounds like: God hears). Later she gave her son to God to serve him there at Shiloh, and he became the priest in Eli’s place and the judge of all Israel (7:16-17).

One notes Hannah’s persistence in prayer, which can serve as a model for our theme this morning: Never give up. One notes also that God brought salvation to Israel through the marginalized, which is the way that God has often acted in human affairs. Hannah’s song in chapter 2 serves as a model for Mary’s song at the birth of Jesus.

One notes finally that the tabernacle represents the dwelling of God, so that what is done in the Tabernacle is done before God’s face. We will return to this idea.

Mark 13:1-8. In the gospel reading, Jesus has been teaching near or in the Temple—watching people make their offerings in the passage we read last week. As they left the Temple one of his followers commented on the wonder and appearance of the Temple (built by Herod to please the Jewish people). Jesus replied that the Temple is only temporary. It points beyond itself to the End of all things, when it will be destroyed. He continued with warnings about “the beginning of birth pains”, which bring in the End.

Two thoughts: One is that the disciples were headed into dark troubles, which are reflected in the context of the Letter to the Hebrews. Two is that the Tabernacle was a copy of God’s presence in Heaven, and the Temple was a more permanent Tabernacle. Both in the end fade before the coming of Jesus, who is the very presence of God. As the physical Temple is destroyed, the church becomes the place where God lives on earth.

The Letter to the Hebrews

We don’t know who wrote this letter. You can research possible authors for yourself—from the traditional answer of Paul to the contemporary answer of Priscilla. We have a better idea of who the letter was written to: Jewish Christians, perhaps in Jerusalem. (I am unconvinced of the location: Jerusalem makes sense in terms of the content, but the quality of Greek suggests a writer and an audience in some place outside of Jerusalem, such as Rome.)

The letter was written to encourage Jewish Christians who were wavering in their faith not to relapse into Judaism, but to hold on to Christ. To achieve this purpose, the writer makes the case that Jesus is the perfect High Priest—better than Aaron or any of his successors, “after the order of Melchizedek” (that is, called directly by God). Jesus the High Priest is “the exact representation of God’s being”. Jesus the High Priest is also one with the human race. He understands us and brings us fully into God’s presence.

Look at the verses we heard read this morning.

Verses 11-14: The priests in the Levitical priesthood repeated their sacrifices for sins every day, because they did not really work. The fact that they remain standing is a way of emphasizing the fact that they had to repeat the sacrifices endlessly. Jesus, in contrast, sacrificed his own body “once for all”, after which he sat down at the right hand of God. With that sacrifice Jesus also brought us into the perfect relationship with God that the Levitical sacrifices were unable to achieve.

Verses 15-18: This action is sealed by the Holy Spirit, fulfilling the promise of Jeremiah 31 to write the new covenant on human hearts. We no longer need to participate in the sacrificial system in the Temple, because Jesus has made the perfect sacrifice. [This line of argument is part of the evidence for an audience living in Jerusalem before the destruction of the Temple in 70 A.D.—they were people who could have participated in the Levitical system.]

Verses 19-25: Therefore we can live as people who enter God’s presence thanks to the sacrifice Jesus has made for us. As people who walk with God, we can hold on to the promises of God. [This was the temptation that “the Hebrews” faced: To leave their walk as ones saved by Jesus, “walking in the resurrection” and to re-enter the old system that does not actually work.]

Therefore also we “provoke one another to good works”, and we continue to meet together regularly to worship God in Christ. Especially as we anticipate the end of all things. [Unlike Peninnah in 1 Samuel, who provoked Hannah by jeering at her, we “provoke” each other by encouraging each other to do better.]

We see in this argument the truth that human efforts do not save us, but they do enable us to participate in God’s work, which does save us. In 1 Samuel 1, we meet Hannah in the Tabernacle, praying to God in a shadow of the eternal Tabernacle in Heaven (Hebrews 8:5). The Temple (in Mark 13) appeared more permanent than the old Tent of the Tabernacle, but in truth it also would be thrown down. Jesus then enters the true Tabernacle, the presence of the eternal God (Hebrews 9:24). The sacrifice of Jesus’ body on the cross replaces the old shadow and the system attached to it and brings in a new covenant with God, written on the hearts God’s people.

Application

One can find a variety of applications as we think of these passages in our world today—copying Hannah in our readiness to take our situation to God; the way that God so often works through unexpected and humanly marginalized people; the importance of being ready for the End; the fact that problems in our world remind us that the End is coming [so that, for example, the terrible news of this past Friday in Paris is part of the “beginning of birthpains”—that is, signs of the coming End]. I have chosen one theme that relates to these and other themes.

If they had heard the critique in Hebrews, the Levitical priests could have felt that they were wasting their time offering sacrifices that could not take away sin. But of course they were doing what God called them to do. There was a time for the shadow or copy of the Heavenly Tabernacle to do its work. Those sacrifices were not wasted, even if they were ineffective.

If nothing else (and I think there is a great deal more than only this point), they helped prepare the way for the coming of Jesus. The priests—who had to keep standing because their work was never done—were faithful to what God called them to do. In the End of all things, God will reward them for their faithfulness. Perhaps God already has.

We find ourselves in a similar situation. We believe God has called us to do certain things. In worship we gather and pray and read Scripture and encourage each other. These are all good, but sometimes we may wonder how much they really matter. Our text suggests that they matter because they are a copy or a shadow of the real thing in Heaven, and they prepare us to participate in the real thing in Eternity.

Our society has a fixation on efficiency and effectiveness. We want to know what works. If something does not work quickly and effectively, we are inclined to stop it. So we come together in worship, and sometimes you will hear someone say, “What did you get out the service this morning?” But this emphasis on getting something out of the service is a short-sighted emphasis on results, giving in to our society’s obsession with technique and effectiveness.

So the writer to the Hebrews says, “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching” (verses 24-25). We gather as a weekly discipline, whether we see results or not. We gather together each Sunday to sing and pray and encourage each other. The reason that it works is that what we do is a copy or a shadow of the gathering of the saints before the throne in Heaven.

Some days the service works wonderfully. We feel God’s presence. God’s Holy Spirit touches us inside, where no one else can see, and we say, “That was such a good service!’ Maybe we give credit to the music, or the singing of hymns, or the special music, or the prayer time, or the presence of friends, or even the sermon. The truth is that, when the service “works”, it does so because God is here, and we are participating in Christ’s perfect act of sacrifice and worship and praise. Some days the service seems more like a formality. We can’t put our finger on the cause or identify what is missing, but we feel as though we are going through the motions. That’s okay. Go through the motions. Keep on with the routine. We are still acting out the copy or shadow of the gathering of the saints before the throne in Heaven. We are still participating in Christ’s perfect act of sacrifice and worship and praise.

Do any of you exercise regularly? You know that some days you will feel as though the running or exercise routine is wonderful, and other times you will have to push yourself to finish. But every time that you work out, you are getting stronger, moving towards the goal of greater physical fitness. Similarly, every time we continue meeting together, copying our Lord in worship and praise, God is growing greater spiritual strength in us.

A Sample Case: Relationship between worship and social action

Ron Sider has written about the importance of Christian faith for maintaining a strong commitment to social action. He writes about his own journey:

In 1979 I spent two wonderful weeks lecturing in South Africa. One of the most fascinating persons I met was a young university student named James. He came to the annual conference of an evangelical university movement where I was speaking about Jesus’ concern for the poor and his resurrection on the third day. Like most other parts of the South African church then, this evangelical movement had split into four groups: white Afrikaans-speaking, white English-speaking, colored, and black. The students at the conference were mostly white English-speaking.

James was not a Christian. He was Jewish and an ardent social activist. His passion in life was the struggle against apartheid. Somehow, however, these devout white Christians had caught his attention. James and I quickly became friends during the conference, talking about South African politics hour after hour.

Abruptly one evening after a three-hour conversation, James said: “Ron, I’m burned out.” I wasn’t surprised. He was trying to be a full-time activist and a full-time student, but his next comment startled me: “God told me that if I would come to this conference, I would learn something about his Son.”

I looked at James and replied, “James, I believe that Jesus died on the cross and rose again for you.”

He paused for a second and then astonished me again: “I believe all of that, Ron, I really do.”

Still he held back. Something obviously was blocking his acceptance of Christ. After a moment he said quietly, “I don’t want to be like these white Christians here. They sing about the love of Jesus and the joy of heaven, but they don’t care about justice in South Africa. If I become a Christian, will I have to give up the struggle?”

“Goodness no, James. Jesus wants to strengthen your passion for justice …”

I waited quietly for a moment and then added, “I’m not in any hurry, but if you’d like to pray together, I’d be glad to do that.” … He prayed a beautiful prayer, confessing his sins and accepting Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior.

After I finished praying, I looked at James, and his face was shining. I’m sure mine was too. …

…

During that same period [1981], I happened to meet on a plane one day a man who had been a key leader in ecumenical social action circles in the sixties. He had done great work fighting for civil rights. As we talked, however, I realized that he was no longer a Christian. During seminary he had lost all belief in historic Christian orthodoxy. All he had left was the ethics of Jesus, so he threw himself passionately into the civil rights movement and became a leader in social action for mainline Protestants. But by the time I met him around 1981, he was discouraged. He had lost his hope and his faith.

Good News and Good Works, 15-17.

The basic point for our purposes in Sider’s narrative is this link between continuing to do God’s work in a broken and failing world. If we think primarily of effectiveness and what works, we turn into disillusioned pragmatists. The writer to the Hebrews directs our attention back to Christ. How do “provoke one another to good works”? One way is by continuing to meet together and to act out our copy of God’s great work in our world. We may fail. We may find ourselves as helpless as the Levitical priests who could not really deal with sin. But we keep on keep on copying our Lord, following our Lord, resting in the great work of salvation that Jesus has already done. “Jesus, I am resting, resting in the joy of what Thou art. I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.”

Never give up. Not when terror strikes in the heart of the French capital. Not when the bombs explode in Beirut and Baghdad. Not when Syria and Iraq struggle to hold together as States. Not when the University of Missouri experiences hatred and racism. Not when we hear again of problems in the North End, or in our own homes. We live in a world that no human action can redeem, but God can and does. In our worship together this morning we are participating in Jesus’ perfect sacrifice, in anticipation of Eternity with God.

Grace Bible Church, 15 November 2015

Texts: 1 Samuel 1:4-20; Hebrews 10:11-25; Mark 13:1-8