Misreading the Bible

Luke 4:1-13
Lent 1
March 9, 2025
William G. Carter

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. 

 

The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’” 

 

Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” 

 

Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” 

 

When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.

Lent begins with this familiar account of Jesus being tempted. He is tempted because every human being is tempted, and Jesus is completely human. He is fresh from the waters of baptism yet still tempted. He is full of the Holy Spirit, yet the devil tests him. He is not exempt because we are not exempt. 

The spiritual life aspires to be full of the Holy Spirit. We want to be infused with the presence of God. We wish to be surrounded by the power of God. We aim to flourish within our faithfulness. We’d like peace in our hearts and compassion in our hands. We want to grow in our holiness. We hope to look more and more like Jesus. We wish to be like him in every way. All worthy pursuits!

That means we are going to be tempted.

Luke tells us how it happened for Jesus. Before he began his ministry, Jesus withdrew to the wilderness. He was there for “forty days,” which is a biblical euphemism for “a good long time.” After they were claimed as God’s people, the people of Israel spent forty years in the wilderness. In other words, a good long time. It was a season of preparation, a time to get their heads straight and their hearts aligned, a time to get the kinks out of their faith. So, it took them forty years; it took Jesus forty years. And it was necessary time. Nobody is claimed by God – then instantly ready to serve God. There is spiritual work to be done.

I think of the quick believer, the person whose faith is ignited, and they are ready burn with glory. There’s a high level of enthusiasm, a hunger for ready the Bible. They jump in with both feet. They volunteer for everything. They come with high enthusiasm for the works of God. They can’t wait to go to a lot of committee meetings.

We had a man like that. Showed up, stood tall, jumped in, got elected to our Board of Deacons. He took it as an act of affirmation. Then the Deacons couldn’t find a moderator, so he said, “I’ll do it.” We met together, I offered some coaching, showed him a sample agenda – because he had never done this before. But he wanted to. His faith was burning. I have no doubt he was full of the Holy Spirit.

Three months later, he was gone from the church. He sent a hastily composed resignation. He wouldn’t answer the phone. I tracked him down in his regular haunts. He didn’t want to talk. I respected his distance but tried to stay connected. Finally, he approached me at the diner one day to say, “I’m sorry, it wasn’t for me.” What wasn’t for you? “The whole thing, I guess.” I suggested he give it some time. We would manage, the Deacons would manage, but I wanted him to be all right. He slipped away.

When the fire was burning in his soul, the sparks were flying. But the wood was not cured long enough to keep burning. It can happen. So, Jesus, like his people Israel, is driven into the wilderness to prepare.

What is striking about the story for today is its content. Jesus faced three representative temptations. There might have been four temptations, or four hundred of them, but three of them summarize any others. Turn this stone into bread. Claim the kingdom, power, and glory. Call on God to protect you.

Each temptation has great value. None of us can turn stones into bread; but if we could, we could feed every hungry multitude around the world. None of us bear the authority and glory of all the nations; if we did, we could use that power to make a constructive difference wherever we wanted. And none of us have the influence to call God’s angels to catch us when we jump. That would be an impressive superpower, and we could win over everybody’s hearts, minds, and souls. To each, Jesus says no.

And how does he refuse? By quoting the Bible.

Now, anybody can quote the Bible. That’s what the devil was doing – he was quoting the Bible. Because you can quote the Bible – or you can quote the Bible. And there’s a difference.

Forty days of fasting had left Jesus famished, one of the great understatements of scripture. Of course he was hungry. The devil said, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone – this one right here – to become a loaf of bread.” For the Devil knows Jesus has the power to make bread. In just a few chapters, Jesus will feed five thousand hungry souls with five loaves and a couple of fish (9:13-17).

Not only that, in the story of Israel, God provided food to his people in the wilderness. It was just a short time after God brought them out of slavery in Egypt. They began to complain, “There’s no food. Back in Egypt, we never went hungry.” So, God sent down the manna from heaven. God spoke and their needs were met.

“Come on, Jesus,” said the devil. “Don’t be so noble. I know you can do it. Your stomach is growling. You have the power. There’s nobody around to see you do it. Just take care of yourself. Make a sandwich out of the sand.”

And Jesus said, “It is written: We do not live by bread alone. We live by the Word of God.” That’s an old quote from the book of Deuteronomy.[1] We live by the commandments of God. We flourish by the mercy of God. We do not twist the Word of God to serve our own purposes. No. We find our purpose by serving God.

Then there’s the second temptation: the kingdom, the power, the glory. “They can all be yours, Jesus. Just say the word. Get on your knees. Worship what I have to offer, and you can have it all.” Sounds attractive, right? There are people in our country, good Christian people who really want the kingdom, the power, and the glory. They will organize rallies, tell their church people how to vote, and declare they alone have the noble cause.

And should they be successful, they are going to win over the whole world. Isn’t that what good Christian people want? A whole lot of winning?

Jesus says, No. “For it is written: Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.” That’s another line from the book of Deuteronomy. In fact, it’s close to the center of all that Deuteronomy teaches. The power is God’s. The glory is God’s. The true kingdom is God’s dominion; it’s not some shadow kingdom from a Devil who lies. Oh no, Jesus taught us to pray, “The kingdom, the power, and glory are yours.” Not mine, not ours, but yours. They are God’s.

This can be a difficult matter to sift out, but there are a few clues to discern the truth. Does the kingdom exhibit any signs of humility? Does it truly honor God or only a few puny humans? Is the power used for serving all the people in that dominion? Or is it preoccupied with benefiting the few? Does this kingdom operate with openness, mutual respect, and competence? Or was there a backroom deal like the one the Devil was pushing on Jesus? Everybody needs to decide.

And this second temptation is particularly devilish. Here’s what the devil was saying, “Jesus, you can skip the cross and get the power right now.” You don’t have to suffer as you take on the sins of all the people. You don’t have to give yourself away. You can keep your life, without any wounds. No need to suffer humiliation, abuse, or rejection. Just fall to your knees, say the word, and we’ll do this my way, not God’s way.”    

Jesus says no. Worship God, God alone. Not the power, Not the glory. Worship God. If you’re going to build a kingdom, do it God’s way, not your way. That’s what the Bible says.[2]

So, the Devil says, “The Bible? Well, I know what the Bible says. The Bible says, ‘He will raise you up on eagles’ wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand.’ Jesus, that’s what the Bible says in Psalm 90. Don’t you believe it? Why not try it out? Jump from the highest place on the Jerusalem temple. Do a triple flip. Command the angels to catch you. Just think how popular you would be.”

Father Henri Nouwen called this “the temptation to be spectacular.” To be impressive. To be a winner. To show everybody how special you are. As Nouwen says, specifically to the church, “We act as if visibility and notoriety were the main criteria of the value of what we are doing… To be spectacular is so much our concern that we, who have been spectators most of our lives, can hardly conceive that what is unknown, unspectacular, and hidden can have any value.”[3]

Yet what do we know about Jesus? When he would heal somebody, he’s often said, “Don’t tell anybody about this.” He would go on healing. When he taught, folks would often say, “I don’t get it.” He kept on teaching. When the mob of desperate Jews shouted, “Hosanna! Save us, Messiah,” Jesus risked catching fleas from a humble donkey that he rode downhill to the cross. A nobody, from a town nobody could find, and this was the Son of God. For it is written, “Do not put the Lord to the test.” That’s a quote from the book of Deuteronomy.[4]

Do you hear how Jesus counters the Devil and his misreading of the Bible? He counters this misreading of the Bible by quoting the Bible. And it’s not some silly Bible game of, “I know more verses than you do.” Of course not. I had old friends who used to play that game. It was usually to be impressive, or to exert power, or to meet their personal needs. No, no, no.

What Jesus is teaching us, through the help of the Gospel of Luke, is that the spiritual life is primarily about God. It’s completely about God. The Bible’s main subject is God. The best way to counter the temptations to feed ourselves first, or to grab power for ourselves first, or to make ourselves impressive and first, is to stop thinking about ourselves. Instead, we are invited ask, “Who is God? What does it mean to claim my identity as a child of God? How can I live simply and faithfully in a way that honors God? And if I have fallen into a bitter, cold pool of selfishness, how can I return to God?”

These are questions that lead us through the barren land of Lent. These are the searchlights that guide us home. For temptations will come, even if we are full of the Holy Spirit. Yet if we keep God first - ahead of us, behind us, above us, beneath us – the way is not easy, but it is clear. We are the beloved of God. So we seek God in all things. The Bible tells us God is the One who is worthy of all praise, power, and glory.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Deuteronomy 8:3.

[2] Deuteronomy 6:13

[3] Henri J. M. Nouwen, The Selfless Way of Christ: Downward Mobility and the Spiritual Life (Maryknoll NY: Orbis Press, 2009) 56.

[4] Deuteronomy 6:16.

House Call from the Soul Doctor

Luke 5:27-32
Ash Wednesday
March 5, 2025
William G. Carter

This is the overture for a Lenten series on “Coming Home – With Luke.”

After this Jesus went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up, left everything, and followed him. Then Levi gave a great banquet for him in his house; and there was a large crowd of tax collectors and others sitting at the table with them. The Pharisees and their scribes were complaining to his disciples, saying, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?” Jesus answered, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.” 

There are a few twists and turns in that brief vignette. More than a few surprises! The first surprise is that a two-word invitation released Levi from his tax booth. Jesus did not plead with him. He did not encourage a career move. No, just two words: “Follow me.” Levi dropped everything and went. That’s all it took.

If we know about first century tax collectors in Palestine, we can understand his motivation. Jewish tax collectors collected for Rome. They agreed to get enough funding for Rome to house their occupying army and keep whatever more they could get. It was lucrative work. And difficult.

People like Levi got rich at the expense of their neighbors. They were cursed for it. They hunkered down in little shacks, protected by an ancient form of chicken wire, and made as much money as they could. Was it worth it? Outside of the tax booth, they were unprotected. At home, they were prisoners behind locked doors. I will bet Levi was ready to go when Jesus said, “Follow me.” No surprise.

Righteous people complained about this. They grumbled to the followers of Jesus, “Why do you eat with people like that?” We never hear their answer, Instead, Jesus interrupts on his own behalf, “I have come to call sinners to repentance.”

Those righteous Pharisees and scribes were grinding their teeth. They worked so hard to keep themselves pure, always guarding their associations, minding their habits, obsessing over the Torah and how to keep it. They would cross the street in silence if someone of questionable character came their way.

For their world was parsed in two camps: sinners and righteous. Sinners like those people, righteous like themselves. Outsiders and insiders. Cursed and blessed. Dirty and pure. Everybody knew tax collectors were cheats, infidels, and Collaborators with the Evil Empire. Those who presumed they were righteous avoided those deemed sinful. No surprise about that.

Levi filled his house for a dinner party, Jesus as his guest of honor. The isolated man reached out just like himself – fellow tax collectors and those described as “others.” It was a free meal in a big house. The invitation was simple: “Come and eat, come and drink, come and hang out with Jesus. He invited me out of my tax shack, so I invited him to my table.” This is no surprise.

And then comes the biggest surprise: the room was full. Luke describes it as a “mega feast” – a full table. The house was jammed with a “multitude.” And why were they there? Because Jesus reached out to Levi. Levi, in turn, wanted to honor him. He invited all these other questionable people. They wanted to be with Jesus, too.

It is a brief story and astonishing. Jesus never says to that crowd, “You must clean up your act before you can eat with me.” He never says, “Let’s get all the tax collectors together to turn the Roman Domination System upside down.” He never says, “Let me hear your confessions.” Doesn’t even say, “Let us pray.”

No, I think what he said was, “Pass the hummus. That matzah ball soup smells delicious. And folks, how was your day?” That is how he calls them. It is the same way he calls us. Never wagging his finger – but with the invitation, “Follow me.” Come with me. Sit with me. Eat with me. Because, no matter what you have done, you matter to me. You have a place by my side.

When somebody loves us, it is the best motivation to change our ways. Some folks cannot understand this. They exert so much energy to keep themselves pure that they will not admit their own impurities. They will not step over their fine reputations long enough to invite Jesus to their own tables. Sad to say, that is their spiritual illness. If only they would invite the Lord to sit with them!

Over the next weeks, we are going to chew on the word that keeps coming up in the Gospel of Luke. The word is repentance. In Greek, it is pronounced “metanoia.” It’s a turning around, a stepping in a new direction. I regard it as the invitation to come home to God, to keep company with Jesus, to welcome his loving, cleansing Spirit that heals us into health.

As Jesus puts it, “I did not come for the righteous (or those who think they are righteous). I came for those who admit they have they are not well.” To tap into that healing power, we must let down our defenses, give up our pretenses, and abandon all attempts to be spiritually self-sufficient. Jesus comes to help us. His first move, always the first move, is to say, “You are loved, even in your imperfections.”

Is that hard to hear? Maybe. If we sit with him long enough, we discover he is telling the truth.

Jesus has not come for those who are perfect. No, he comes for you and me. Tonight, we are honest enough to mark our own limited mortality. It is our opportunity to welcome Christ’s infinite love. This is the first move of repentance. Nobody ever gets through this life on the strength of their own perfection. But we do get through with a whole lot of help from the Christ who comes to love and heal. The Soul Doctor is here.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Unveiled Faces

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2
Transfiguration (C)
March 2, 2025
William G. Carter

Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness, not like Moses, who put a veil over his face to keep the people of Israel from gazing at the end of the glory that was being set aside. But their minds were hardened. Indeed, to this very day, when they hear the reading of the old covenant, that same veil is still there, since only in Christ is it set aside. Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their minds;  but when one turns to the Lord, the veil w. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.

Therefore, since it is by God's mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart. We have renounced the shameful things that one hides; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word; but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God.

Maybe it’s because people know what I do for a living, but I don’t get a lot of invitations to a Mardi Gras party. But there was that one time, a few years back. A couple of us were invited to a restaurant in the Poconos. On the buffet there was a simmering pot of gumbo, shrimp etouffee, and a very tasty jambalaya. Over at the bar, the fluids were flowing. Dessert was a King Cake, a sweet delicacy with three colors of icing: green to symbolize faith, purple for justice, gold for power.

It was a festive gathering. Hot jazz was jangling in the background. People were doing their best to talk over the music – and everybody was wearing a mask. We didn’t get the memo about the masks. It was obvious we were guests.

A short woman with moussed-up Cruella deVil hair drew near to give me a hug. Her face was covered with feathers. I could tell it was Lois who had invited us to the bash. After her ice-breaking hug, a few others came up to say hello. Then some dude in a flannel shirt, reggae dreadlocks under a New York Yankees cap accosted me with a bear hug. He spilled his beverage on my shirt. I had no idea who it was – his mask had a long white beard that descended to his waste. “Who are you?” I asked. No reply. I looked at my friends. They didn’t know.

Just then he gestured in a certain way. Ah, it was Kent, Lois’ husband. The mask disguised him very well. In fact, he had been dancing and grooving to the music, something I never would have guessed he would do. Normally he’s quiet and mild-mannered. The mask released something else.

Have you ever been to the Mardi Gras? Masks are a big part of the celebration. There are big parades with elaborate floats and syncopated marching bands. All the social clubs get out and strut their stuff. People are singing, laughing, and dancing in the streets. Strings of beads are thrown into the crowds, with the same three colors of green, purple, and gold. And then the masks – simple masks, elaborate masks, masks with rhinestones and sequins, masks with ostrich feathers.

Why would anybody wear the masks? There is no single answer. A mask keeps you anonymous. Masks are the great equalizer. People are no longer distinguished by their looks. Everybody is the same. Others say masks take away inhibitions. Put on a mask and you become somebody else for a while. Lose your inhibitions. Let yourself go. Dance like nobody recognizes you!

It’s interesting that two of the Bible texts for today tell us something about masks. The first is the story of Moses. He climbs the mountain to talk to God. He is infused with the holiness of God. When he climbs back down the mountain, he’s glowing like the sun. It scared everybody, beginning with his brother Aaron. They wouldn’t come near him. So, he put a veil over his face. He took it off when he returned to talk with God, but then put it back on when he talked with the people of Israel.

It’s a strange story – and it has nothing to do with the masks in New Orleans. Mardi Gras began there as a religious festival in a French Catholic town. It was the last hurrah before the restrictions of Lent. In time, it has gotten crazy at times. Like the guy pulled aside from the revelry one year. The news reported asked him, “Why are you wearing that mask?” He replied without thinking, “Nobody is going to recognize me on the security cameras tonight.” Not a lot of holiness going on, we can be sure.

But then there’s that other text. Saint Paul is thinking out loud about that old story of Moses. And he’s wondering why a lot of people don’t comprehend the Gospel. Why do they miss the point about Jesus? He admits some of us are afraid around too much holiness. If there’s too much Holy Spirit, it’s scary. They back off. They pull the shades on too much light.

That reminds me of what Professor Jim Dittes used to say when he taught at Yale Divinity School. He said, “The reason people come to church and sit in the back is because they want to be in the presence of something holy – but not too close!”    

So, the apostle Paul says the old veil in the Moses story didn’t just keep too much glory from being shown to others. It also functioned to keep the glory of God from getting too close. And when we keep God away, it never turns out well for us. The apostle gives us a quick list:

We play games and hide the shameful things that we do.

We practice cunning, maneuvering and manipulating behind the scenes.

We twist God’s Word to suit ourselves, making it say things it doesn’t say.

And ultimately, we lose heart. We throw up our hands and walk away.[1]

The people of God have always had to live in deceptive times. In every age, there’s somebody out there trying to dominate us or deceive us or twist us out of shape. It leads the apostle Paul to say, “Take off the masks.” It’s OK to play dress up for fun, but it’s better to be real. Better to be honest. Better to think and reason and stay true, rather than manufacture noise and nonsense that lead others and ourselves astray.

The truth is that Jesus is the truth. He is the truth that God rules over us all and waits for us to wake up and claim his rule. Jesus is the Perfect Light who dispels all the shadows. To be bathed in his light is to never need to hide. We stand tall, we claim our dignity and everybody else’s dignity. And Jesus is the Spirit of True Freedom. To know his love is to never be ashamed. To step into his freedom is work for everybody else’s freedom. For God created us for truth, light, love, and freedom. There is no need to hide from him. We can take off the masks.

Yesterday, a minister friend in New Jersey shared a poem. I don’t know if he composed it spontaneously, like a jazz poem, but it sounds like he’s been thinking about it for a while. For it sounds like he knows what it looks like to live in truth, light, love, and freedom. He calls it “Make America Good Again.” Goes like this:

Make America good again—

The wiser, more faithful path.

Greatness isn’t necessarily goodness,
It’s often an excuse to stay small,

To be stuck in adolescence.

Winning at all costs isn’t winning at all—

Not if we trample others on the way.

Securing our comfort,

Ensuring our privilege

May be the norm,

But it’ll never be true greatness,

Not for those who bear Christ’s name,

Who take Jesus to heart.

Jesus is crystal clear—

Goodness is the narrow way,

The harder, more righteous path.

So, be like Jesus again—

Choose purpose over power,

Solidarity over isolation.

Confront the oppressors,

Lift up the oppressed,

And let goodness reign.[2]

This is God’s world, and the world is always ready for more goodness. Goodness and honesty and freedom and love and joy. Above all, joy. So, let’s have some fun today. Tap our feet, clap our hands, and do what we can to look a little bit more like Jesus. Take off the masks and be who God has created us to be.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] As suggested by Eugene Peterson’s translation of the text, https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20corinthians%204&version=MSG

[2] Marc Oehler, “Make America Good Again,” 1 March 2025.

All Alive All in Time

1 Corinthians 15:21-28
Epiphany 7
February 23, 2025
William G. Carter

For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

February is Boy Scout month. It’s a good time to remember a service project that I once did with the Scouts. As part of my Eagle Scout badge, I was required to undertake a project that benefited the community. The project needed to exhibit leadership, lead a group of volunteers, and make a difference. Naturally, I turned to my pastor for suggestions. He pointed me to the cemetery next door. 

It had fallen into some disrepair. Some of the headstones had fallen over. Weeds and crabgrass had taken over some spots. An old pine tree, now dead, had dropped a lot of needles and several branches. The church’s part-time custodian couldn’t manage the work, and she probably pointed out that it exceeded her job description.

So, I talked a number of boys into helping out. Some collected the pine branches and raked up the pine needles. Somebody else got out the lawnmower, while another tended to the dandelions. A few of the husky guys lifted and adjusted the tombstones. And I directed others to fill a couple of wheelbarrows with topsoil and dump them in a few of the depressed areas.

I’ll never forget when one young Scout (I’ll call him Tommy) pointed and said, “Look at that depression in the ground. Why is it a perfect rectangle?” Everybody got quiet, almost reverent. Then an older kid replied, “It must have been a cheap wooden casket.” There was a flash of recognition and a unanimous sound of “Eww!”

We were working an acre of death. There’s no way to dress it up. That two-hundred-year-old field had been neglected for a long time. There were many depressed rectangles that needed to be filled in, raked, and reseeded. The flat limestone planks needed to be lifted and reset, even though the acid rain had erased the names and dates that had once been carved into them. It was a matter of respect. Whether we teenagers knew it, we were honoring people that none of us knew and nobody else remembered. Nobody, that is, except God.

Ever since, I’ve spent a lot of time in graveyards. Occupational hazard, I suppose. Most of my visits have lasted twenty minutes or less. One thing I’ve noticed: nobody wants to be forgotten, even though it’s probably inevitable.

Some years ago, a funeral director and I were winding up a morning’s duties at a local cemetery. We heard a sound, and my friend nodded toward a man riding in a golf cart. He was attached to an oxygen tank. He had come to inspect the construction of a large marble mausoleum with his last name inscribed along the top. My friend whispered, “Won’t be long.” The whole scene screamed, “Don’t forget me.” With the kind of money he was investing in his own memorial, perhaps folks might remember him a little longer than others, but maybe not.

Now, what would the apostle Paul have to say about this? Probably a lot. That church he started in the city of Corinth had questions about death. They all knew that death would come for all of us. It’s the one perfect statistic. We will try to postpone it as long as we can. But all of us have a shelf life and an expiration date.

But Jesus Christ has been raised from the dead. Somehow, the perfect statistic has been broken. As a character in one of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories, “Jesus is the only One that ever raised the dead, and He shouldn’t have done it. He thrown everything off balance.”[1] Indeed he has. As we heard last week, Paul said, “Jesus has been raised, we shall be raised.” Jesus was first, the confirmation that everything he did and said was what God wanted said and done.

The more we reflect on the resurrection, the more expansive it becomes. In Christ’s raising, he did not return to exact revenge on those who wanted to get rid of him. Rather, he prayed from the cross, “Father, forgive them, they are clueless;” that is the one prayer we want the Father to answer, thank God. Then there’s this elusive quality of Christ’s resurrection. Jesus appears here and there, but never long enough for us to control him or capture him; all we can do is listen for him and pray to him. He says, “I am with you always,” yet we do not see him; not directly at least.

And the resurrection gets even bigger. Paul says to the Corinthians, “All will be raised.” Just as death came through the one man Adam, all will be made alive in in the one man Jesus Christ. That’s quite the promise.

I remember the afternoon when my Eagle Scout project was winding up. Most of my volunteer team had evaporated. The sexton of my hometown church appeared. She had some blank sheets of paper, a couple of chunks of charcoal, and a Bible.

She took the paper, held it up to the gravestone, and rubbed it with charcoal. She said, “Even if the name is faded, we might find out who is here.” Clearly, they deserved to be remembered. The people beneath our feet mattered to God even if everybody else forgot them.

Then she wiped the charcoal off on her pantleg and opened the Bible to the prophet Isaiah. She nodded toward those depressed rectangles that we had filled with topsoil. Then she read these words:

Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together,

for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.[2]

It was the same thing Paul said to the Corinthians, sharpened by the resurrection of Jesus. I stood in that field of death, now a field of memory. For the moment I imagined everybody rising. For that is what Easter has set into motion. And the worn-away gravestones don’t matter because God remembers who those people are. And that marble mausoleum that the rich man built won’t matter, either, because God knows his name, too, and he will be no better than anybody else. “All shall be made alive in Christ.” That’s the Gospel promise.

Now, we don’t know when. Nobody knows when. That’s why the language in our obituaries is so confusing. The funeral home may print, “Uncle Johnnie went into the arms of Jesus,” while another might say, “Aunt Sarah passed away and awaits the final day of resurrection.” I happen to believe both are true simultaneously; God is eternal, and our sense of time collapses in the light of eternity.

What matters is what Paul most wants us to remember, that Jesus Christ is the Lord of life, and death, and life. Christ is working out God’s purposes until he puts all his enemies under his feet. That’s an important verse. It’s from one of the Psalms. In fact, it is the most frequently quoted Old Testament verse in the Christian scriptures.[3] The essence is this. God has appointed one ruler over all things, one King, one Lord, one Savior. And he is going to keep ruling until he rules over all things. Until all things are either under his feet or removed from God’s dominion.

All things, not some things. All things. Just like he says, “all people,” not some people, but “all people.” All people shall be raised to stand before him once again. It’s hard to imagine this, but this is the size of God’s salvation. Every valley lifted, every mountain lowered, every life restored, every name remembered.

And the wilderness shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice.

The blind shall see, the lame shall dance.

The hungry shall feast, the selfish shall be relieved of their selfishness.

And God shall dwell in the midst of them.[4]

We are talking about a really big resurrection. That’s the hope. That’s the promise. That’s what the raising of Jesus has begun. Any questions?

Well, just one. What about death? That’s a good question. People still die. They – we – run out of time. But Paul wants us to know one final thing. Death is more than a natural process; that’s “little d death,” and all things die. But there is a “Capital D Death” as well. This is the power that Adam and Eve unleashed when they ate the mythical apple in the long-ago Garden of Eden. According to the ancient story, when they disobeyed God, they created their own tombstones. And God said, “I still love you, but you have now put limits on your longevity.”

Ever since, the grandchildren of Adam and Eve have continued to get into one mess after another, largely of their own making. This is the evidence of Capital-D-Death. It’s there every day for those with courage to turn on the evening news. As someone notes, “Along comes capital-d Death to sneer at our hopes, to take away our freedom, and to turn us into slaves paid only the wages of sin, which severs our relationship with the eternal God… while Death stands in the shadows and laughs.” Only God can solve this problem.[5]

The good news is that God has loved all of us enough to stay with us, no matter what. But the day is coming, the Final Day when God will say, “Come home. All of you. All of you, or at least all who can still hear my voice. Enough with the mistakes, the pain, the losses, and the dying. All rise.” And Death, Capital-D-Death, will die. We know it to be true, because we sang it in the third stanza of our first hymn. Remember?

When I treat the verge of Jorden, bid my anxious fears subside.

Death of death (hear it?) and hell’s destruction, land me safe on Canaan’s side.

Now, I know the hymn stirs the blood, as it should. And it’s the promise of God that points us to the final day: the death of death. And all that God loves will be brought alive once again. That’s the Good News.

How will it happen? We can’t say yet because we’re not the ones in charge of the universe.

When will it happen? It will happen when the God of eternity says so.

Why will it happen? Because God is a God of perfect love and perfect justice. And it is God’s will that everything shall be made well, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

One thing we know. On that final “getting up” day, all God’s creation is going to sing:

Songs of praises, songs of praises,

I will ever give to Thee. I will ever give to Thee.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Flannery O’Connor, “A Good Man is Hard to Find” 

[2] Isaiah 40:4-5.

[3] Psalm 110:1.

[4] Some of my favorite salvation verses from: Isaiah 35:1-10 and Revelation 21:1-6.

[5] Thomas G. Long, Accompany Them with Singing: The Christian Funeral (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009) 38-41.

The Great Undoing

1 Corinthians 15:12-20
Epiphany 6
February 16, 2025
William G. Carter

Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified of God that he raised Christ—whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have died in Christ have perished. If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

 

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. 

 

I’m sure somebody is wondering why we are singing Easter hymns today. It’s the middle of February. Easter won’t come until the end of April. That’s a long time away.

It is not a novelty, like Christmas in July. We’ve done that in our summer hymn sings. We pull out the carols that we sing only once a year. In the hottest month of summer, we dream of a White Christmas and a Silent Night. We remember the little town of Bethlehem and listen for the angels to sing.

But here, in winter that has been way too white, we sing of resurrection. Why do you suppose that is?

It could be because the schedule of scripture lessons brings us to this point. We are working through Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth. He addresses many of that congregation’s concerns. He saves the biggest concern for last – the resurrection. It’s big enough to require two sermons out of me, and it really serves four. To which I’ll add, “Easter’s coming.” But why now?

Perhaps it is because we worship on Sunday mornings. This is the first day of the Jewish week, the eighth day of new creation. Jesus was raised from the dead on a Sunday morning. Ever since the followers of Christ altered their worship schedule from Friday night Sabbath to Sunday morning (which they call the “Lord’s Day”), every Sunday is regarded as a little Easter. That’s why the forty days of Lent don’t include the Sundays. Some day when you’re bored by winter weather, count them up. It’s Sunday, a little Easter.

The better reason, however, is not the date nor the schedule, but that Christians are Easter people. The resurrection of Jesus is central to what we believe about God, Christ, and the faith. This is where Paul begins in chapter fifteen. This is the Good News, he says. It’s the Message, the Saving Word. It is the Spoken Tradition that we continue to voice: Christ has died, Christ is risen. Jesus died for our sins, because of our sins, with our sins – and God raised him from the dead. That one weekend event revealed the heart of God’s love for the world. We received that Message. We speak it – and sing it.

But what does Easter have to do with us? Good question, because on the face of it, Easter has to do with Jesus. He is the One who is alive again, not us. And he is the focal point. Today, without the distraction of brunch plans, a lot of beautiful flowers, the visits of a hundred church alumni, and all the extra musical notes, we can take a bit of time to reflect on this. What is Easter for us?

Because it has to do with Jesus: the world tried to push him out, but God brought him back. Therefore, everything God was doing in Jesus was the right thing. Every word he spoke was worth hearing and keeping. Every person he loved is a person we are commanded to love. God has confirmed that Jesus the Christ is the One with whom we have to deal. There is no other. He has been raised from the grave and raised to authority. He is Lord, the Lord. Only one!

So, Easter has something to do with God. The event revealed the God is stronger than death, which is a good thing to remember when death comes close to us. By faith, we trust God sent his own son to us; we killed him, God said, “No, you don’t1” And that’s extraordinary, too. For it reveals God is stronger than the sin that conspired against his son, stronger than the human hatred and religious jealousy that convicted him, stronger than the brutality that murdered him, stronger from the impulses that could lurk in any of us to twist and destroy another life. God says, “No!” and cancels the power of sin – even though there’s a whole lot of sin still going on. This is what God has done.

But what about us?

This is where Paul digs in. He preaches Easter as a Message, yet he knows something bigger is afoot. The resurrection creates a chain reaction that affects all reality. If we deny the message, we miss out on what God has begun. To get at this, Paul creates a little chain reaction of his own. It’s so important he says it twice:

If there is no resurrection, then Jesus has not been raised.

If Jesus has not been raised, then our message has been in vain.

            If our message has been in vain, then your faith has been in vain.

At this, the Corinthian Christians would have looked at one another and said, “But our faith is not in vain.” It’s real. There are good things going on. We know more about God. His message gives us a new kind of life. There is evidence that Jesus still speaks to us and the world. The Message is reaching others. Lives are being changed. Our faith gives us eyes to see. It stirs up positive values. It directs the daily work God wants us to do. It’s not futile at all.

You see, the resurrection cracks open the confinement of living only in this world. As John Calvin once commented on our scripture, "To believe 'in this life only' means here to confine the benefits derived from our faith to this world, so that our faith no longer looks or extends beyond the bounds of this present life."[1] (p. 321)

But something has happened. Life, as we generally know it, has been punctured from the outside. God has done something in raising Christ that will affect all of us. Paul describes it as the “first fruit” of a future harvest. It is the first evidence of cosmic goodness. All his years of studying the Jewish scriptures, particularly the scriptures of the Jewish prophets, have prepared him to see God has begun to work out the salvation of the world. In Jewish thinking, salvation is more than a “me and Jesus” thing. Rather, it is the restoration of all that is broken or dead. And it’s now underway.

This is Paul's central interpretation of the resurrection. Christ's resurrection is the "first fruit" of God's coming reign. It is God's initial offering of what is yet to come. It’s big. It’s as enormous as that chapter eight in his other book, the letter to the Romans. Christ’s raising opens the way to our raising. It opens the way to the raising of all that God creates and loves.

Winter is a good time to chew on this. I picked up a thick book by J Christiaan Beker, the eminent New Testament scholar. I wanted to see what he had to say. After wading into the deep, I heard him use a word I did not know. The word is “prolepsis.” I had to look it up in three different dictionaries. It’s exactly what Paul was talking about: "Prolepsis: (noun): the representation or assumption of a future act or development as if presently existing or accomplished."

Easter is Prolepsis. Christ is raised; the future has been revealed although it’s not quite year. What we expect from "this life only" is not what we're going to receive in Christ. Rather, "we believe in the resurrection of the dead." Jesus was raised, we shall be raised, all things shall be healed. That’s the chain reaction. Sure, we have seen it only once, yet faith affirms this is our final destiny. Death shall not have the last word. Here and now, we are no longer enslaved by the powers that lead to death. That’s something I’ll talk about more next week.

In the meantime, Easter frees us to live as if we are already raised with Christ. We do not have to concede to the twisted rulers, authorities, and powers of the world. The resurrection of Christ has opened a new way to live. It provides an alternative script for the future. Here’s how somebody puts it,

There are some people who live toward this future, even if they do not know how to name it. Some people say, "The poor are always with us," and with a shrug of the shoulder, walk away to make the next payment on the Mercedes. Other people, however, sacrificially share their possessions from warm and generous hearts. Why? Some people say, "There will be wars and rumors of wars," and just hope that when the time comes we have more firepower than the other guys. Other people pray for peace, work for peace, and live as makers of peace. Why? Some people say, "Once a jerk, always a jerk," and let many suns go down on their anger. Other people forgive and forgive, seven times seventy. Why?

The only sensible answer lies in the fundamental assumptions we make about the future. If tomorrow is to be just like today, only more so, then only a fool would forgive, pray, love, and sacrifice. To be sure, some prudent planning might be in order so that we can draw the best available hand from the present deck, but we already know what's in the cards.

But if the tomb could not remain sealed, if suffering and death do not have the last word, if God's future for us is more than an infinite extension of yesterday, then we can hope for more than a reshuffling of the same old cards. A radically new game has been promised.[2]

We remember Easter. It’s a past event, a Message we have heard. Easter is also our future hope and our present life. It is the invitation to live under the rule of Christ. His sacrificial love, his amazing grace – they are the promise for the world. God’s future has been signaled. Yet is it going to happen? Is it really going to happen?

I can only tell you a story. Garrison Keillor says the people of Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, must live through a bitter, interminable winter. Does anybody know how that feels? To break up the bleakness, the Sons of Knute have a contest that begins on Groundhog Day. They haul Mr. Berge’s maroon 1949 Ford out onto the lake, about forty yards offshore. A long chain is attached to the rear axle. Then the Sons of Knute start taking wagers on when the Ford will break through the ice. It’s a dollar a chance. Guess the day and the hour. The winner gets a fishing boat, and the proceeds go to a college scholarship.[3]

No one knows when the ice will break. Early March? Middle of April? Nobody knows. But one day, suddenly, the thaw will come. Just as the resurrection will come for us. Winter will not last forever, for we are no longer bound to the present harsh circumstances. We are no longer captive to our mistakes. We are longer confined to the limitations of weakness, bad habits, foolishness, or mortality. For Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] John Calvin, Commentary on 1 Corinthians, p. 321.

[2] Thomas G. Long, "The Easter Sermon," Journal for Preachers, Easter 1987, 9.

[3] Garrison Keillor, Lake Wobegon Days (New York: Viking Penguin, 1985) 275-6.