Paul: The First Anabaptist

The title is a bit misleading--trying to connect my Mennonite Church with Paul, when we usually gravitate towards the Gospels. A sermon preached at SMC last Sunday, introducing the Summer Series on "the fruit of the Spirit".

Steinbach Mennonite Church

16 June 2013
Paul: The First Anabaptist
Text: Galatians 5: 13-26
Life by the Spirit
¹³ You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. ¹⁴ For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” ¹⁵ If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.
¹⁶ So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. ¹⁷ For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want. ¹⁸ But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law.
¹⁹ The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; ²⁰ idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions ²¹ and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.
²² But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³ gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. ²⁴ Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. ²⁵ Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. ²⁶ Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.

Introduction

This morning we begin our summer series on “the fruit of the Spirit”. Since the list of the qualities in the fruit of the Spirit appears in Paul’s letter to the Galatian churches, we begin with an overview of Paul’s life to show where the letter fits in, and then look briefly at the churches to which Paul wrote.

This gives us the basis on which to look at the point of the whole letter: Paul’s concern that the new Galatian Christians follow Christ, not the Law of Moses.

Within that purpose for the letter, we find this list of qualities: “²² But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³ gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”

Paul

Two years ago I used this outline on PowerPoint to show Paul’s life and where the different letters fit. The outline is adapted from F.F. Bruce, Paul: Apostle of the Heart Set Free, 475

The Life of Paul: All dates are approximate

Date                Church                                               Rome
28-30 AD        Public Ministry of Jesus                      14-37: Emperor Tiberius
5?                    Birth of Paul
33                    Conversion of Saul
35                    Paul’s first post-conversion visit to Jerusalem
35-46               Paul in Cilicia and Syria                      37-41: Emperor Gaius
46                    Paul’s second visit to Jerusalem          41-54: Emperor Claudius
47-48               Paul and Barnabas in Cyprus and Galatia
48                    Letter to the Galatians
49                    Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15)           49: Jews expelled from Rome
49-50               Paul and Silas travel from Syrian Antioch through Asia Minor to Macedonia and Achaia
50                    Letters to the Thessalonians
50-52               Paul in Corinth                                    51-52: Gallio proconsul of Achaia
Summer 52      Paul’s third Jerusalem visit                 52-59: Felix procurator of Judaea
52-55               Paul in Ephesus                                   54-68: Emperor Nero
55-56               Letters to the Corinthians
55-57               Paul in Macedonia, Illyrium and Achaia
Early 57          Letter to the Romans
May 57            Paul’s fourth Jerusalem visit
57-59               Paul’s imprisonment in Caesarea

September 59              Paul’s voyage to Rome begins            59: Festus succeeds Felix as procurator of Judaea

February 60     Paul’s arrival in Rome
60-62               Paul under house-arrest in Rome        62: Death of Festus; Albinus procurator of Judaea
60-62               Captivity Letters (Colossians, Philemon, Ephesians, Philippians)
65                    Paul visits Spain                                  64: Fire of Rome
65? (68?)         Paul’s death

Note that many commentators place the letter up to 10 years later, at the same time as Paul’s letter to the Romans. There are similarities in the theology of the two letters that support this suggestion, but I think that an earlier date is more likely correct. I just finished a set of essays on Galatians that suggests 52 as the date and makes some convincing arguments in support. This date makes the most sense to me, so that I don’t follow completely Bruce’s dating on the chart.

Why does this matter? The controversy of "the Council of Jerusalem” in 49 sets the stage for this letter. Some people came to the mother church in Antioch (representing themselves as from James, the leader of the church in Jerusalem) and effectively tried to negate the implications of the Jerusalem Council. Paul hears about their visit as he works with the church further West in Corinth or in Ephesus. He can’t get back to Galatia, so he writes this letter to make sure that the gospel accepted in the Jerusalem Council is not lost.

Paul’s gospel—the gospel of Jesus Christ—centres on the person of Jesus Christ and sets aside the Law of Moses as the way of salvation. His opponents wanted to retain the Law. Before the Jerusalem Council they tried to keep the Law as the way of salvation, with Jesus as Messiah for those who follow the Law. After Jerusalem they tried to make the Law the fruit of salvation, which real Christians would follow once they came to Christ. Paul sets the Law aside. He calls it “a schoolmaster” (KJV) or custodian (NIV), whose task had been to bring people to Christ. Now that it has done so it falls away, fulfilled in the person of Jesus Christ. This is why I call Paul “the first Anabaptist”. His great concern in life was to know Christ and follow Christ and to live Christ. He says, “Imitate me as I imitate Christ.” The first Anabaptists were similarly focussed on Christ. We can learn from Paul as he worked out the meaning of a Christ-centred gospel in his own life.

The Galatians

Paul’s first missionary journey: Paul and Barnabas sailed to Cyprus and then on to the coast of modern Turkey, that part of Turkey known as Anatolia. On the map it includes the cities of Antioch, Iconium, Lystra, and Derbe—cities in South Galatia. The political centre of the Roman Province of Galatia is north of this journey.

The commentators differ as to which churches are meant by “the churches in Galatia” (1:2). Some say that these were congregations in one of the cities mentioned in Acts and shown on the map. Others note that Paul refers to ending up in these churches because he fell ill and was forced to wait there for a time (4:13), and suggest that they were in North Galatia—probably several congregations in one of the North Galatian cities. In that case, the trip is not mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles.

In either case, the people in this church were Gentiles by background—“Galatian” is a Roman form for “Gauls” or “Celts”. If you like, they were Welsh folk who emigrated ac ross Europe to Anatolia and had settled there some 300 years earlier. They were attracted to the teachings of Judaism, and accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ gladly when Paul was laid up with illness and spent time with them.

The Message of Galatians

Although they accepted the gospel of grace gladly, when the Judaizers showed up, they were attracted to this new teaching. The idea that they could go deeper into the Christian life by keeping the Jewish Law—which in this case meant especially keeping the dietary requirements (2:11-13)—appealed to them. They thought that the difficulties of what it means to follow Christ could be resolved if they could just keep a kosher table like the Jewish Christians told them to.

Paul recognizes that this move would undo all of the good that had taken place in the Jerusalem Council. Before the Jerusalem Council some thought that Jesus the Messiah was the path to life, and others held that the Law of Moses was the path to life. If the Galatians began to smuggle the law back into the gospel, Paul could see that the long-term result would be to extinguish the gospel of God’s grace available in Jesus.

In the chapters preceding our passage he advocates for a Christ-centred gospel in a variety of ways. And then in this passage he addresses a problem that some people had when they heard him speak. If the Law is fulfilled and no longer applies, they said, we can do anything we want! Some people in the Corinthian churches understood Paul exactly this way (1 Cor 6:12): “I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but I will not be mastered by anything.

So Paul makes it clear. Freedom in Christ means freedom to become like Christ, not freedom to do anything we want. “The works of the flesh” (5:19) are the kinds of things that someone who is completely self-centred does. The fruit of the Spirit (5:22) are the qualities of someone who is becoming like Christ, putting on Christ, set free from the tyranny of self to be filled with the Spirit.

The Fruit of the Spirit

Over the next two months we will spend time on the different qualities found in the fruit of the Spirit. We will discover what the likeness of Christ is, into which we grow. It remains to make one last point this morning. You notice that Paul calls this thing, whatever it is, “the fruit of the Spirit”. He does not say “fruits”—the fruits are; he says “fruit”—the fruit is. Does this matter? I used to be an English teacher. Is this just a grammatical fine point that really is not that important? I suggest that accuracy is important.

I saw a picture of a sign in a store advertising a spray: "Roach and Aunt Killer" “Roach and Aunt Killer!” Just a little “u”. It doesn’t make any difference! At least I’m glad I’m an Uncle, so that no one sprays me with the stuff to get rid of me.

Or again, the saying, "A woman without her man is helpless" changes meaning if you add punctuation--"A woman: Without her, man is helpless." Don't worry about the political correctness of either sentiment; The extra punctuation marks change the meaning completely! Accuracy does indeed matter. Paul said “fruit”, and there’s a good reason for it.

Compare the way that Paul talks about gifts of the Spirit. In 1 Corinthians 12 Paul writes: “Now about the gifts of the Spirit, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed.” He uses the plural because different gifts are given to different people. No one person is expected to have all of the gifts. We have them all together, as the body of Christ. That’s part of what makes each of us valuable within the body—we’re needed because we have different gifts. Nobody is expected to have all of the gifts. You might have two or three, but you and I depend on each other to have them all.

But in our passage Paul writes: “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” Paul uses the singular “fruit”, because there is only one fruit. There are various ways of describing it—love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control—but there is only one fruit. Therefore a part of Christian maturity is to grow into all of these qualities. You can’t say, “I don’t have the fruit of love, because that’s not my fruit.” They are all “my fruit”.

The importance of this truth is to remind us that we all have more growing to do. Jake Loewen—MB missionary and anthropologist from BC—tells how near the end of his life his Uncle Walter (his mother’s brother) came to visit Jake and his wife, Ann. Uncle Walter asked Jake, “Tell me, what is the most important lesson you have learned in life?” Jake replied, “Obedience.” His Uncle said, “That lesson I have learned.” He turned to Ann and asked, “And what have you learned?” She replied, “Love.” Sheepishly his Uncle said, “That lesson I have not learned. I haven’t even learned to be höflich [polite]. If the good lord wants me to learn to love, he will have to recycle me.” Jake observed that he himself, although over 70 as he wrote these words, was also trying to learn the lesson of love. As we consider the qualities in the fruit of the Spirit, I trust that you and I will see places where we can still grow, and that we will open ourselves to the Spirit of Christ more fully to make us like himself. The alternative is to follow the Law and try to do it all ourselves. That way is despair and death. The way of the Spirit is freedom and life.

Remembering Our Mother: Funeral Meditation

27 April 2013
Psalm 121 (NIV)

It was just over twenty-two years ago that we held the funeral service for Dad Heise. He was taken from us too early it seemed. Today we remember Mother Heise. She lived a full life, a good life, but still it seems too soon to say goodbye. As we went to the airport for Lois to join the family, she said: “I just want to see her one last time!” One of my friends said to me: “Death is never timely.” Sometimes it is welcome because of the difficulty the body experiences, but when we love the one leaving us, we feel the separation keenly. And indeed we love our mother—Mom, Grandma, Great-Grandma, Lois Maxine Engle Heise.

Psalm 121 was one of several favourite scriptures she mentioned to her children as they gathered together over Easter, especially verse 2: “My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.” This theme—that she trusted in God and found her strength in God’s continual care—bound together all of the Scripture passages she mentioned. It was one of the hallmarks of her life, and it is basic to the legacy she has left for her family. Psalm 121 spells out this trust. God the Creator watches over us and cares for us always. By day and by night God is there. We may sleep, but God does not. As we move throughout the stages of life, through childhood and youth and adulthood, through singleness and marriage and family, through old age to the end of life, God cares for us and gives us all we need. This is the trust in which Mother lived her life.

Although Mother was a woman of deep faith, she had her share of quirks and delightfulness. She was particular about how things were around the house. That’s why I no longer take sugar in my coffee. When Lois and I were dating, Lois brought me home to meet her family. I remember a good meal, with a delicious dessert and with coffee. I took the coffee and added cream, but there was no sugar on the table! None of the family used sugar, so the sugar bowl lived a lonely life in the kitchen cupboard. I finally asked for sugar for my coffee. Mother appeared a bit embarrassed and jumped up and hurried out to the kitchen. Through the doorway I could see her get the sugar bowl down and stir the sugar around to break up the crust that had formed on the top. Rather than embarrass my future mother-in-law again, I stopped asking for sugar! We all have stories we can tell—of acts of thoughtfulness, of games of Scrabble, of gardening and cooking and on and on. I want rather to return to this theme by which she lived: “My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.”

Mother and Dad both sought for God’s presence in their lives. God gave them just what they needed, if not always exactly what they asked for. This “practice of the presence of God” is something the children were reminded of as they went through Mother’s room and found the prayer list that she used daily. There was a paper with the reminder to begin with praise and then to pray for each of her children in the devotional time with which she began each day. After praying for her family, she prayed for different people each day. This desire for God’s presence was basic to Mother’s life, as it had also been to Dad’s.

One of the greatest sources of comfort to our family is Mother’s awareness of Gods’ presence and strength, and her delighted anticipation of Heaven. That awareness and anticipation is something that her generation of Brethren in Christ took in with the hymns that they sang regularly. Singing the hymns expresses Psalm 121: “Where does my help come from? My hope is in the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” Singing the hymns points the way to Heaven.

I opened the Brethren in Christ hymnal and quickly found several that I’m sure mother knew well:

• 419: “Away from the mire, away from the clay, God leads his dear children along; away up in glory, eternity’s day, God leads his dear children along …”;
• 427: “When he shall come with trumpet sound, O may I then in him be found, dressed in his righteousness alone, faultless to stand before the throne …”;
• 428: “I know not when the Lord may come, at night or noonday fair, nor if I’ll walk the vale with him, or meet him in the air, but …”;
• 439: “All the way my Saviour leads me; O the fullness of his love! Perfect rest to me is promised in my father’s house above. When my spirit, clothed immortal, wings its flight to realms of day, this my song through endless ages: Jesus led me all the way.”

This was truly the hope in which Mother lived. This hope brought peace to her last days and helped her step out of this life into the next with grace and courage. This hope sustains us as well. We also lift up our eyes from the places in which we live. We see mountains in the distance, but our gaze goes far beyond them as we ask, “Where does my help come from?”

Life is often difficult, and sometimes the mountains are not pleasant and scenic, but threatening and overwhelming. Mother knew that too, but she knew God’s presence and found comfort and strength in him. We do the same as we walk in the valley of death’s shadow, death looming over us like a mountain more forbidding than any Everest. And in the valley of death’s shadow we find peace in God’s presence. As another favourite hymn, which Mother loved and lived, says it: “I’ll praise my maker with my breath, and when my soul is lost in death, praise shall my nobler powers employ. My days of praise shall ne’er be past while life and thought and being last, or immortality endures.”

During the service our family sings the hymn “My Hope is in the Lord”, which Mother asked to have at her funeral. This was perhaps Dad’s favourite of all. As I looked again at this hymn, I noticed how it reminds us that life in God’s love and care is not a right; it is God’s gift, which only God can give. Life outside of God’s care is dangerous. We ask him for grace and mercy, and in grace and mercy he makes us able to trust in him. Then we can sing: “My hope is in the Lord who gave himself for me.”

The Psalmist says the same thing. Danger can come by sun and moon alike. We face danger in all of life, and the only safety is found in God’s love and care. This is what comes through in Mother’s commitment to Jesus, in her regular devotions and prayers, in the love that she showed to her family and friends, and in the life that she shared with her church family. In fact, the hymn draws us back to God’s love and care, to our absolute and fundamental trust in God.

We remember Mother in little stories of food and clothes and pictures and games and many other things from her life on this earth; but Mother herself has found something that rises far above all these. We say, “Rest in peace”, but her rest now is the most joyful of all; the tears and grief of separation are left for us. Mother, whose hope was in the Lord, is home with God.

Soccer Shirts

I have six soccer shirts that wear somewhat regularly.

Egypt: I wear the least because it’s a long-sleeved shirt. From El Ahly, one of the two top teams in Egypt. So that I am sure of annoying someone who knows the Egyptian soccer scene when I wear it. A gift from Nevin (who lived in Cairo for a semester), which makes it even better.

Tanzania: A gift from Lauren (following an internship in Tanzania). The national team’s jersey. I use it often when playing local indoor soccer. It reminds me always that I am now officially overweight.

Zambia: The shirt I am most likely to wear to school, as well as for playing. A gift from Morgan, fellow Zambian—the national jersey for Chipolopolo (the Copper Bullets). Reminds me where I come from. I was called “Mr Green” when I wore it to church.

UK 1: Manchester United. I am not a Man U fan. I am for Liverpool. But an indoor team I played for in Winnipeg used it as their kit. I wear this to confuse people who know I support Liverpool.

UK 2: Liverpool. Almost my favourite shirt. Gift from Joe, bought in Harare from a sports shop run by the former national coach there. In the 1980s Liverpool’s goalie (one of the best they have had) was a Zimbo who went to the same High School as I did in Bulawayo. You cheer for your old mates, even after they’ve had a whiff of scandal. (Nothing proved!)

Zimbabwe: Gift from Mike. Highlanders! Bruce Grobbelaar’s (the Liverpool goalie) first team. I saw Peter Ndlovu—who moved from the Highlanders to Coventry, then to Sheffield United—play in Bulawayo at the Highlander’s Stadium (Barbourfields) representing Zimbabwe against Swaziland.

Why do I like my shirts? Not for their incredible style. I doubt that they make me look like anything other than I am. More for what they remind me of—lost youth, when I could run and play at full speed; the places I’ve lived; the people who are important to me.

My soccer shirts are more a symbol of life than anything else. The Highlanders shirt, for example, remind me of Mike and Lyn, whose lives are bound up with ours. And of Ray, who has stood against the tyranny of life in Zimbabwe with courage and grace as God’s man. (He is for Dynamos, so he might not rejoice that a Highlander’s shirt reminds me of him!) And of all the people who continue to sing and pray “Siyakudumisa, Nkosi” while their lives are torn apart.

The shirts are only symbols. The people are life.

Easter 2013--In Prose

I tried to picture the morning in rough verse, but words are too weak to capture reality. I add more words here, knowing that the effort can only point at what was happening.

We have had a wonderful week of spring, Manitoba style, with temperatures from zero to minus 10 Celsius, bright sunshine on snow, melting slowly so that the run-off is only slightly sloppy. It looks like winter, but Manitobans know that this is really spring, albeit a bit chilly.

Then Resurrection morning came, hazy and dark, with a light covering of snow after a week of only sunshine. I had decided to walk to church for the community sunrise service. (Sunrise is at 7 a.m.—defined by the planners, not by the sun.) On this occasion the sun’s rise came close to coinciding with the community service.

The snow made footing difficult, too little to make me change my mind and drive, but just enough to conceal an unexpected patch of ice. My footprints were the only ones I saw around me as I hurried carefully along the edge of the sidewalk. Manitobans know that the footing is better away from the centre of a smooth and slippery sidewalk. No one else seemed to be up, but I knew the church would be full, and the cold wind and slippery walk only increased my sense of anticipation for the service itself.

I got there as the brass ensemble finished their prelude and the choir took its place. There were good seats up front, but I ascended into the balcony and found a spot about three rows back with nobody behind me. The music and readings began. I must admit, I was disappointed at first—it was commonplace, ordinary, people I knew and voices I knew. The excitement and anticipation stoked by the cold wind ebbed away in the back pews of the balcony.

I concentrated on the fact of the event, and reminded myself that my feelings and expectations were almost irrelevant. We were there as an act of faith and commitment, staking our lives on the reality of the resurrection of Jesus. I can do that, whatever I feel like.

Then came the unanticipated moment. We rose to sing “Christ the Lord is Risen Today”, and a young lady who had slipped in behind me reached forward across the back of the pew to get the hymnal from our pew. She couldn’t reach it, so I gave her mine and picked up another. With the first line of the hymn I realized she had not entered the pew alone. She had a good strong soprano voice, and several others had joined her, including a strong bass underscoring our song.

The verses rose and soared: “Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia! Following our exalted head, Alleluia! Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia! Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!” No longer just the choir from the other end of the sanctuary, supported by organ and brass; now all of us sang out, sang out our hopes driving away fear.

The great moment for most in our annual community sunrise service is singing “Low in the grave He Lay.” With trumpets and organ and choir and community in full voice, the hymn moves from quiet throbbing anticipation to a crescendoing cataract of sound and joy. But this Resurrection Sunday, the voices behind me singing out when I didn’t know they were there were my great moment. The anticipation I felt hurrying through the cold wind stepping carefully on the new snow was more than rewarded—Christ the Lord I Risen today! Alleluia!

31 March 2013

Easter 2013

Early in the morning on the first day of the week
He hurried out on hazy snow-covered path
A careful scrambled haste to see what is
Rumour of new impossible hope.

Death he had seen, darkness he knew

But something more, somewhere
Hidden under new-fallen snow
Winter concealing Spring

Hurried and careful against the bitter chill

Cold north wind growing harder.
Had anyone else heard?

No one was about

Quick short steps trying not to fall
His footsteps first on the light covering of snow.

Now others hurried on in the same direction

Towards doors ahead hiding warmth and rumour
Slip inside and see something beginning
Rumour swelling into truth.

A voice cried out: Christ is Risen!

A hundred voices shouted back
A thousand thousand voices crying around the world
He cried out with them: Christ is Risen Indeed!

31 March 2013

The Week Before Easter

Life is complicated. A few weeks ago our son called us to tell us that he had just gotten engaged! Within five minutes of that joyful phone call we had a call from a close friend whose parents are planning to get a divorce. Celebration and grieving flowed together.
 
Most of us have experienced something like this: We celebrate with one friend who just had a baby while we grieve with another whose sister just died. Often grief and joy flow together in the same event: We remember with laughter and tears when a parent dies. Life is complicated.

I have noticed that some people try to reduce the complexity by turning a funeral into a “celebration of life”. Not a bad idea—there is much to celebrate, especially if the death is not too premature and if the loved one was someone we genuinely do celebrate. But I feel some discomfort. Grief and joy flow together, and we can’t—indeed should not—try to remove either one. Life is too complicated for that.

So we are celebrating a summer wedding. The time for planning is short, and the level of frustration grows as plans are made quickly and at a distance; but with the frustration runs a current of joy and celebration. At the same time we walk with the couple whose relationship is ending, not made less bitter because of a new relationship starting somewhere else. Life is complicated.

Good Friday is around the corner: “Sorrow and love flow mingled down”. Both joy and grief flow together as the shadows grow deeper, only to be dispelled by the light breaking in through the great resurrection of Jesus. Life is complicated; but a simple truth remains—that joy is stronger than grief, and love is stronger than hate, and life is greater than death. Always. (Even though death comes first.)

Waiting (Lenten 2)

Preached at Steinbach Mennonite Church
Sunday, 24 February, 2013
Text
Genesis 15: 1-12, 17-18
God’s Covenant with Abram
15 After this, the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision: “Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward.”

² But Abram said, “Sovereign Lord, what can you give me since I remain childless and the one who will inherit my estate is Eliezer of Damascus?” ³ And Abram said, “You have given me no children; so a servant in my household will be my heir.”

⁴ Then the word of the Lord came to him: “This man will not be your heir, but a son coming from your own body will be your heir.” ⁵ He took him outside and said, “Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” ⁶ Abram believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness.

⁷ He also said to him, “I am the Lord, who brought you out of Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to take possession of it.” ⁸ But Abram said, “Sovereign Lord, how can I know that I will gain possession of it?” ⁹ So the Lord said to him, “Bring me a heifer, a goat and a ram, each three years old, along with a dove and a young pigeon.”

¹⁰ Abram brought all these to him, cut them in two and arranged the halves opposite each other; the birds, however, he did not cut in half. ¹¹ Then birds of prey came down on the carcasses, but Abram drove them away. ¹² As the sun was setting, Abram fell into a deep sleep, and a thick and dreadful darkness came over him. …..

¹⁷ When the sun had set and darkness had fallen, a smoking firepot with a blazing torch appeared and passed between the pieces. ¹⁸ On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram and said, “To your descendants I give this land, from the Wadi of Egypt to the great river, the Euphrates— ¹⁹ the land of the Kenites, Kenizzites, Kadmonites, ²⁰ Hittites, Perizzites, Rephaites, ²¹ Amorites, Canaanites, Girgashites and Jebusites.”

Introduction

The theme for Lent is: Ashamed No More—an awareness of the way in which God gives us new life that moves beyond the shame that we feel in our lives. Shame can be a powerful tool for social control in various societies. But in our culture shame is most often a negative thing that can paralyze us with a sense of unworthiness in spite of anything good that God has done in us. Our theme presses us to move beyond the shame that we feel into our identity as God’s children.
 
The theme for today within the larger theme is: We will take courage and wait on the Lord. The conference material suggests the theme of waiting:

Wait on the Lord? The childless couple waits in pain and shamed loneliness. Wait on the Lord? The abused spouse waits in fear for liberation. Wait on the Lord? The angry young man waits for justice to be done. Barrenness, adversity, patience, and trust dominate these readings.

Waiting

I want to think of waiting in a different way before thinking of the most difficult situations. I suspect that all of us share a particular experience of waiting. Let me describe it through the testimony that one of our members gave on joining the church here. (I don’t know if you will recognize your words here, or if my memory has reshaped it too much!) He said something like this: “I remember one service after we started attending here when I could tell that the Holy Spirit was here. There was a kind of tingling in the air, and I looked around to see if anyone else felt it.” My own experience of such moments is that they are followed by a time of waiting—God comes to us so clearly, and then we live in a time of waiting for another such experience.

One of my colleagues told us recently about his own experience. He said that when he started teaching at Providence many years ago, God went away. He doesn’t know why. Then after several years of what we might call spiritual dryness (that time in which we pray, but the words bounce off the ceiling) God came back. He recalled the moment when he was sitting in our chapel. He doesn’t know what the chapel was about, but he recalled how a clear sense of God’s presence filled the room, whether or not anyone else noticed it.

We may spend years in such times, waiting for God to show up. We can call this waiting “spiritual dryness”, and we may think it is a bad thing. I want to look at the Scripture this morning and try to see what part waiting plays in our lives.

Genesis 15 and Context

In Genesis 11, Terah and his son Abram go from what today is Iraq-Iran to what today is Syria. In chapter 12 God called Abram and Sarai to leave Syria and trek across country to the Promised Land (“the land that I will show you”). In chapters 12 and 13 they move around some more, down to Egypt and back. Chapter 14 pictures some of the struggles the family had as it tried to establish itself in the Promised Land.

Then in our passage, which we will return to shortly, God renews the promise of becoming a great nation, first made in chapter 12. In the next chapter Abram has his first child, to Sarai’s servant, Hagar. Ishmael is born. In chapter 17, God renews his promise and changes Abram and Sarai’s names to Abraham and Sarah (the names we usually remember them by). As a sign of the promise God institutes the covenant of circumcision.

Chapters 18 and 19 show the renewal of the promise (again!), and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, with the saving of Lot (Abraham’s nephew) and his family. Chapter 20 has further wanderings around the desert—remember, they were a nomadic people, and finally in chapter 21 Isaac, the son of the promise, is born.

Note the time frame: It appears that about 11 years passed between chapters 12 and 15, so there were 11 years of waiting until Ishmael was born, and Ishmael did not fulfill the promise! Finally 14 years later Isaac, the son of the promise, was born. And even then the full promise took several generations more to come true. No wonder the writer of Hebrews describes Abraham and Sarah’s experience with these words (Hebews 11): “¹³ [They] were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth.” They were still waiting for the full promise when they died. Abraham’s experience was one of waiting—11 years for one son, and 14 more until the other, and still waiting when he died. In between the long wait there were these ecstatic experiences of God’s presence, profound and powerful.

Let’s look at this particular experience, with dead animals and a smoking firepot. Strange stuff, the sort of thing to make us wonder why we read the OT! Look again at verses 7 to 12 and 17 and 18. This scene was not nearly as strange to Abraham as it is to us. The creatures used (heifer, goat, ram, dove, and pigeon) are the same animals used in the various sacrifices described in Leviticus 1 to 7: Sacrificing these creatures was understood in that culture as part of the most solemn ceremonies. This particular way of sacrificing them—cutting them in half and laying the halves apart on the ground—was also well understood. Jeremiah 34 pictures a similar ceremony:

¹⁷ Therefore, this is what the Lord says: You have not obeyed me; you have not proclaimed freedom to your own people. So I now proclaim ‘freedom’ for you, declares the Lord—‘freedom’ to fall by the sword, plague and famine. I will make you abhorrent to all the kingdoms of the earth. ¹⁸ Those who have violated my covenant and have not fulfilled the terms of the covenant they made before me, I will treat like the calf they cut in two and then walked between its pieces. ¹⁹ The leaders of Judah and Jerusalem, the court officials, the priests and all the people of the land who walked between the pieces of the calf, ²⁰ I will deliver into the hands of their enemies who seek their lives. Their dead bodies will become food for the birds and the wild animals.

You see the idea. This was a form of covenant ceremony known throughout the region. Two kings would cut these animals apart, recite the covenant they were making with each other as they walked between the severed halves lying on the ground, and then say: “May God do to me as we have done to these animals if I ever break this covenant!” But look again at Genesis 15. God knew well that Abraham could not keep this covenant, and that if God and Abraham both passed between the severed halves, Abraham would be signing his death warrant. So God cast Abraham into a deep sleep and passed between the pieces alone, signifying that when Abraham or his descendants broke the covenant, the punishment of death would fall on God alone. Do you see what this points to? Here in Genesis 15 God points Abraham to something beyond his knowledge, to the cross!

What About Us?

This brings us back to the present, to our time of waiting—often we lead (in Henry David Thoreau’s words) “lives of quiet desperation”. About a month ago we had our day of prayer at Providence. I joined the seminary community for the morning, which was structured around restoring our first love, that is: what do we do when we are “spiritually dry”? How do we recover a sense of God’s presence overwhelming and delighting us? I mentioned my colleague’s experience earlier. He told us that morning that he believes God gives us spiritual dryness, the waiting of our lives, for our benefit. The early church fathers saw spiritual ecstasy as dangerous, and they saw spiritual dryness as the cure. What St. John of the Cross called “the dark night of the soul” was not bad, in their view, but was a good gift from God to help us grow.

You get the idea from an analogy my brother-in-law gave me some years ago. He was a grain farmer in Indiana, and I had asked him if the lack of rain that summer worried him. He said, “Actually, it’s good. Once the corn has really taken root, we like it to get pretty dry so that the roots go down deep looking for water. Regular rains mean that the roots stay close to the surface, and then a windstorm comes along and knocks the whole crop flat and you lose everything. We like it to get pretty dry so that the roots go deep!” That describes Abraham’s life. He had occasional experiences of God’s presence, powerful and profound; but he spent most of his life waiting and wondering if the promise would ever be fulfilled, if he would ever have a son. That’s what we do too. Waiting is good. Waiting gives us strength as we follow Christ faithfully. Waiting nourishes our growth, like a young child learning to walk as her parents take their hands away, even if that means that she falls over.

One Thing More

We started with these questions from the conference materials: “Wait on the Lord? The childless couple waits in pain and shamed loneliness. Wait on the Lord? The abused spouse waits in fear for liberation. Wait on the Lord? The angry young man waits for justice to be done. Barrenness, adversity, patience, and trust dominate these readings.”

I have argued that the waiting we do in our daily lives is good for us. Is waiting for justice and release also good? An African American poet wrote:

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Is waiting for justice, waiting in hope, a “dream deferred”, a case of “justice delayed, justice denied”? It can be. We work to do what is right and to help those trapped by the evils of our world. You see, the waiting that Abraham was doing was waiting for God to show up, like my colleague. While we wait, we work to deal with injustice and to make peace in our world. We make sure as far as it depends on us that peace and justice rule in our lives and in the places where we live. And we wait.

As we wait, we know that God will show up; but he comes on his schedule, not ours. Notice that Abraham does experience God’s presence, powerful and profound. So I make one last point. Seek God while you wait. You and I need God’s presence as much as Abraham did. We may have to wait years. I waited for 34 years between two such experiences—from age 24 in Zimbabwe to age 58 here in Steinbach. Neither time could I have predicted that God would show up as he did; but God comes to you and to me when he knows the time is right.

Meanwhile we wait. We wait, and as we wait, we do what God wants us to do. We pray and we read the Scriptures and we serve and we live faithfully with each other. And as we wait, we grow, sending our roots down deeper and deeper, searching for the living water of God’s presence. And God comes. God always comes!

Remembering Henry Schellenberg

The Providence family received word this morning that our friend and colleague, Henry Schellenberg, died last night. His wife sent the message with the words: "My Sweet Husband has pain no more! 
Dear Family, Friends and Colleagues, 
At 11:35 this morning, Feb 20th, Henry went to be with the Lord. Andrew, Matthew, Maddy, and I were there together for his last breath which was a gentle sigh."

Henry died from the cancer that he first learned about three years ago, I think. (My memory for dates is hazy.) After a respite in which he was able to present a recital of celebration for the apparent success of his treatment, the cancer returned, and now Henry has left us.

There are many memories: conversations at the lunch table at Prov, Festival of Christmas Praise in the first week of December for just short of 30 years (I attended that last 15), fundraising efforts to take the choir on tour. The list is a long one, but I remember one event more than the rest.

In my first year at Providence I was asked to speak on "The Wrath of God" in our community chapel. I blame David Smith and Gus Konkel for asking this peace-loving Mennonite to speak on God's wrath! (David, the Baptist preacher, was assigned "The Mercy of God".)

I used Psalm 2 as the text, and then cast about for appropriate music to introduce the talk. There is little Christian hymnody, and little contemporary Christian music, on God's wrath. "The wrath of God is greater far than tongue or pen can ever tell ..." -- no, we sing of God's love and sing little of God's wrath.

But Psalm 2 appears in Handel's Messiah, so Henry Scehllenberg (bass) and James Fast (tenor) agreed to sing the relevant arias: "Why do the nations rage" and "Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron". Henry stood up to sing. He was due a hip replacement, and sitting behind him I could see his struggle to retain his balance as his voice soared out in joyful challenge to the nations. He clutched the podium or he would have fallen, but his voice soared on.

Now his body has fallen, but his voice remains in my mind and heart. If you know Handel's Messiah, you know what follows these two powerful arias: The Hallelujah Chorus. Why do the nations rage so furiously together? The kings of the earth rise up and the rulers take counsel together ... and then the response, with joyful finality: "Hallelujah! The Lord God omnipotent reigneth! He is King of kings and Lord of lords!"

Henry has passed through the raging cancer in his body into God's presence. We miss him, and we will miss him. It is hard to type through tears. But Henry is singing the great chorus that answers the Psalmist: "Hallelujah! Our Lord God omnipotent reigns King of kings and Lord of lords!" Forever.

Mementoes

Some months ago my mother-in-law followed my parents into a retirement centre in Pennsylvania. One consequence of their moves was the sudden acquisition of mementoes from their cottages. Without the space to keep them, their children took what they wanted. In general with remarkably little disagreement over who would get what.

We got a copper tray from my folks, a reminder of 20 years of service in Zambia and Zimbabwe; and (for my Dad) of another nine years growing up in Zimbabwe. A beautiful copper tray, but the memories of people and service carried on the tray outweighs the copper considerably.


A lamp with a driftwood base and a lovely (but fragile) top made its way to our house as well. Alison carried it on her lap from Greenville to South Bend, packed into a car carrying more than it was designed to. We packed it carefully (so as not to damage it) when I drove it north across the border to our home. Memories for Lois of her love for the Southwest, and memories of her home for so many years in New Madison.






Then the water pitcher. A beautiful antique water pitcher that had belonged to M. G. Engle. There's history for you! The pitcher reminds me of a curious coincidence (providing I have my facts right). Lois' great-grandfather, M. G. Engle, was a prominent bishop and leader among the Kansas Brethren. After his first wife died, he married again -- to an evangelist among the Brethren whose knowledge of the Word and ability to expound from the pulpit was equal to his own. My grandfather performed the wedding ceremony in which they were united.


I love these memories. Carrying them up from the States was hard work. Our little Corolla was filled to window height inside, with a packed trunk, when I arrived at the border. The Customs official looked inside the car. "Are you bringing anything back with you that you did not take down?" he asked, somewhat incredulously. I motioned at the pile of stuff. "My parents and my wife's mother moved into a retirement centre. This is the stuff they told us to take home with us." Several moments of silence while he digested the news. "Any alcohol or tobacco?" "No." "Welcome home." He was not about to tamper with that pile of stuff, calculating correctly that there was no money there, just lots of dusty memories.

And I love them. Reminders of where I come from, my ancestors living on in my blood and thoughts and house, as long as I can remember them. And Lois and me living on in our sons and whoever comes after, as long as they remember. Memories.