Hope is the Holy Disruption

Matthew 24:36-44(51)

Advent 1

December 1, 2019

William G. Carter

Jesus said, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

Today is the beginning of the Advent season, so I want to talk about hope. Hope is a big word, so it will take a while; four weeks, in fact.  For such a time as this, there is no better word than hope.

But what do we mean by that word “hope”? What exactly is it?

Some define hope as optimism, looking on the bright side, the expectation that all will turn out well. Left to my own devices, that’s what I have commonly thought.

·        I hope the snowstorm doesn’t keep us here overnight; I can’t say for sure, but I hope to get home.

·        I hope to get everything on my Christmas wish list; to tell the truth, I haven’t bothered to make a list, not yet, but if I do, I hope to get everything on it.

·        I hope the final Star Wars movie turns out ok, that good wins over evil; that’s a reasonable expectation for the ninth and final episode of a film series that has continued through most of my adult life.

Be positive – that’s the message. It is a peculiarly American message. 

There are a lot of preachers out there who have turned the Gospel into a success story. Believe it and you can become it, they say. It’s a message that sells pretty well among the poor. See some guy in a white suit and white shoes, flying around in his own private jet, in an arena full of people who want what he has. And he smiles and says, “You can have it.” He’s selling hope; except that’s not what the Bible calls hope, and it's not for sale.

What is hope? Is it wishing for something, even if you can’t be sure if it’s going to happen?

·       When you blow out the birthday candles, make a wish, and maybe it will come true.

·       When you’re finished with the Thanksgiving turkey, extract that Y-shaped bone, the wishbone; two of you tug on it, and the winner may get what she wants. Is that hope?

·       See the scenes of people risking their lives to save their children at wartime, or to cross a well-guarded border to pursue a better life for their families. They might not make it, but they hope so. It’s a form of wishing.

I remember the Scottish proverb from 1628, when I was a little boy: “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.” Or the wisdom of Perry Como, 1951: “If wishes were kisses, I’d still be kissing you.” Or Frank Herbert, the science fiction writer: “If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast our nets.” Sadly, wishing doesn’t make it so. It falls short of what the Bible calls “hope.”

So what it hope? Listen to Jesus describe the coming of the Son of Man, not the first coming, nor the intermediate arrivals, but the final coming: “It will come like the flood of Noah, a total surprise; people will be eating and drinking and going to weddings – and BAM, then it comes.”

“So will it be with the coming of the Son of Man,” he says. Two folks will be picking vegetables in the field; one is taken and the other is left. Two peasants will be grinding out the grain. One will be taken and the other is left. Which one do you want to be? The one who is taken or the one who is left? I don’t know. If it's like a flood, I hope to be left. Either way, that’s missing the point. Hope is not a preference. Nor is it a privilege.

No, do you know what hope is? Hope is a punctured sky. Today, that’s my definition. Hope is when we are going about our business down here, doing our chores, living our lives, thinking this is all it’s ever going to amount to anything – and God sticks a finger through the dome above our heads and we discover there’s something so much more.

Hope is hearing the Son of Man is coming. Suddenly you realize the world is not going to stay the way it is. The systems that demean and defraud are not going to stand. The flattening of human relationships into use and abuse will no longer be the rule. The reduction of human life to empty consumerism will not abide.

Here’s the real question for Black Friday: did God create us in the divine image and blow Holy Breath into our lungs, so that we could get another half-price flat screen TV? I hope not.

Christ is coming. That is the truth that punctures the sky. It rips the lid off the closed systems of human operations. It is light that floods the darkness. It is love that exposes all the hurt that God’s people have done to one another. It is the announcement that cruelty, greed, ignorance, and rebellion have run their course; now it is God’s turn to rule over human life.

If all we hope for is a pair of socks and an air fryer for Christmas, it’s not much of a hope. But if God has broken in somehow, if the Living Christ has spoken a word we can no longer ignore, if the Holy Spirit is stirring the pot and something new is bubbling up, that’s where hope comes to us. Hope is a gift from God, a summons to wake from sleep and embrace God’s future.

That’s how the prophets of Israel understood hope. Isaiah is the one we hear today. God gives him a glimpse of the day when people will take hammers and pound their weapons into farm tools. They will bend all their spears into pruning hooks that they can use to tend their vineyards. The vision punctures the status quo.

Somebody I know worked for a company that made armaments, heard Isaiah’s vision, and said, “That wouldn’t be good for business.” All I could remember was Charles Dickens and the words of Marley’s Ghost: “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business.”

He pushed back and said, “OK, but do you know how disruptive that is?” Sure do; and when Jesus Christ comes in power and glory, do we really think this tired old world is going to keep going on the way it was?

This is our hope, our disruptive, holy hope: that Christ is coming, once and for all. While we wait, Christ remains with us, invisible but frequently noticeable, silent yet still speaking, comforting while yet agitating. He is like a prophet of God who is not content to let us sleep. And he is so much more than a prophet.

So take heart, my friends. Keep your heads up high. Sink your confidence into what God reveals among us. Trust what you have heard but cannot yet see, for every word is true.

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

The Ideal King Has Wounds

Colossians 1:11-20, Luke 23:33-43

Christ the King

November 24, 2019

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

I was twenty-five years old when I discovered a new hymn. Having grown up in the church, I thought I knew them all. We sang from the old red Presbyterian hymnal in the church where I grew up, the 1955 edition with all the hymns that were fit to print. Thanks to our pastor, we sang them all. I learned as much faith from those hymns as I ever did from pulpit or classroom.

So when the graduating class at my seminary took a poll to select our graduation hymn, I naturally made a lot of suggestions. My family took me to church every week. I was loaded with recommendations. To my astonishment, I was vastly outvoted. My classmates picked something I had never heard and never sang. When I inquired, a friend said, “I think it’s a Lutheran hymn.”

I had never heart of it. He said, “You never heard it? What’s wrong with you?” A few weeks later we lined up to process down the aisle of the Princeton University Chapel. The organ fired up, a brass quartet blended in, and we sang, “Lift High the Cross, the love of Christ proclaim.” It was stirring. It was powerful. It was triumphant -and therefore a little weird.

“Lift High the Cross”? Celebrate the crucifixion? It portrays the death of Jesus as a joyful event, puts the “good” in Good Friday. Have you ever considered how strange that is?

Years ago, the gothic chapel at Duke University was rented out for a movie set. The film was Margaret Atwood’s novel, The Handmaid’s Tale. The original film was filmed at Duke before it recently was re-created for cable TV. The producer booked the chapel during spring break, and then erected a gallows on the lawn outside the chapel. They filmed a terrifying scene of an execution outside of this enormous Christian chapel. Word spread, critics called it sacrilegious, tempers flared.

When the chapel preacher arrived on Sunday morning, here’s this gallows erected outside his church. It wasn’t just any Sunday. Spring break coincided with Palm Sunday! People were furious. He said, “Now, wait a second. I agree this is scandalous, horrifying, and wrong. But if you look inside the chapel, right behind the altar, you’ll see the cross, an instrument of capital punishment. If we are true to the Christian story, the cross was a first-century Roman gallows.”[1]

He's right about that. The Roman Empire crucified troublemakers to display as a bad example. That’s why the crucifixion of Jesus took place right along a heavily traveled highway outside of Jerusalem. It happened at Passover, when the traffic was higher than any other time of the year. The message was clear: don’t do what these people did. Keep in line or this could happen to you.

Crucifixion was a brutal death. Arms extended, full weight of your body bearing down, the prisoners died of suffocation. It could take three to five days, unless you were beaten severely as Jesus was. Then it might take three hours.

And that anybody would look on this scene, and then sing, “So shall our song of triumph ever be: praise to the Crucified for victory… Lift high the cross!” What is it, that turns this horrible, wretched scene into a moment of triumph?

The New Testament suggests a lot of answers, all based on the deep reflection of people of faith. One of the most common is that “Jesus died for our sins.” (1 Peter 3:18). We hear that a lot, even say it a good bit. It’s a scapegoat idea, drawn from the sacrifices of Jewish temple religion. In the 16th chapter of Leviticus, the priest presents a goat to be sacrificed – a scapegoat. The blood of that pure animal atone for the sins of the people.

Some Jewish writers like the apostle Paul thought of the cross of Christ this way. As he wrote to the Corinthian church, “God made (Christ) to be sin who knew no sin so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Cor. 5:21). Paul says this was done “for our sake.” Christ died for sins.

Over the years, as Christian people thought about this, and thought some more about this, theological circles were added. Some declared it was God’s will that Jesus should suffer, drawing on the words of the prophet Isaiah. Then somebody else said it was God’s intent from the dawn of time to send Jesus to die; however that seems to speed by all the life-giving work that he did (the healings and the feedings) and all the life-giving wisdom he taught. Everything is reduced to the cross, an event set on autopilot at creation.

The problem with reducing all this is that it ignores the mess that people generally keep making of things, and the original intent of God to make a beautiful world in a beautiful universe. As surely as we can say “Jesus died for our sins,” we can equally say he died as a result of our sins. People crucified the Lord. The cross is a collision between the will of God and the willfulness of human beings. It is the worst thing we have ever done.

So why do we lift it up high? What’s the Good in Good Friday?

Well, listen to what Luke hears. In the third Gospel, the Son of God comes into our midst with prophetic love for all, and we do away with him. Just like all the prophets before him! It’s an enormous mistake. We do our worst – yet on the cross, God in Christ does his best. Luke hears Jesus say, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” Or to translate that more literally, “Father, forgive them, they are clueless…”

According to Luke, that is the recurring diagnosis of the human family. It’s still going on. Breathe in toxic substances, and we wonder why our lungs are damaged. Put toxins in the atmosphere, and we wonder why the weather goes haywire. Sell weapons to people of other nations and wonder why they turn on us. Give violent video games to our children and wonder why they are combative and unable to concentrate. We know better, but we don’t really get it.

So hear Jesus pray: “Father, forgive them.” That’s the prayer that he offers with that sign over his head, “This is the king of the Jews.” Father, forgive us, all of us. I tell you the truth, the Gospel truth: my life depends on the answering of that prayer. So does yours.

When Christian people speak about the cross, one way or another they declare it is inevitable. Either God set it up or people cooked it up. It could be either; it’s probably both. What matters is what happens there: Christ prays for forgiveness – for the cancelling of the sins that put him there – and we trust God has answered this prayer. That’s what make all the difference.

In the high language from our reading in Colossians, the event is a reconciliation, a balancing of accounts, a cancellation of debt and debtors. It’s the making of peace between heaven and earth, and it happens, says the text, “through the blood of his cross.”

Is Jesus the scapegoat? The sacrificial Lamb? Is he the Passover lamb, as the Gospel of John suggests? Is he the innocent victim of the Gospel of Luke? All the above, and then some. The truth about Christ and what he has accomplished is far great than one specific description . . . because he is the king, the true king even on the cross.

To speak of Jesus and what he has done will always lead us to the brink of paradox, which is exactly how the New Testament portrays the immensity of his grace. We will have a taste of this in the hymn by Sylvia Dunstan which we will sing in a few minutes. The title itself is a paradox: “You, Lord, Are Both Lamb and Shepherd.” Well, which is it? Is he the Lamb? Or is he the Shepherd? The New Testament says, “yes.” Listen to what the hymn goes on to declare:

Clothed in light upon the mountain, stripped of might upon the cross,

Shining in eternal glory, beggared by a soldier’s toss…

You, who walk each day beside us, sit in power at God’s side.

You, who preach a way that’s narrow, have a love that reaches wide…

Worthy is our earthly Jesus! Worthy is our cosmic Christ!

Worthy your defeat and victory; worthy still your peace and strife…

You, who are our death and life.[2]  

All of it is true – and it is held together in the truth of God. A month from tonight is Christmas Eve. We will light candles and sing, “Silent Night, holy night, Son of God, love’s pure light…Jesus, Lord, at this birth.” Have you ever considered the immensity of what we sing? That a child, born to peasants and laid to rest in a feeding trough, is the ruler over all things. It’s mind-boggling. It doesn’t compute easily – because it’s that enormous. It’s the stuff of paradox.

Or the subject for today: the profound truth that the King of the Universe rules from a cross. A couple of jokers put a sign above his head that said, “Here’s your king.” He has no crown, so they weave him a crown of thorns. He has no royal robe, so they give him a make-believe robe, make fun of him, and then take it back and gamble it away. He possesses nothing, yet he gives us everything – for he prays, “Father, forgive them.” Rather than punish us, God answers that prayer.

So maybe we shouldn’t live by punishment, since God has forgiven all of us.

·        Maybe we should be careful about punishing others, since God in Christ has already forgiven them.

·        Maybe we should lighten up and refuse to punish ourselves, since God in Christ has forgiven us too.

·        Maybe we could reconsider a lot of the ways the evil world works and work a good bit harder at living by mercy, if only because the mercy of God is the only reason any of us are still here.  

I think that’s the good news. What do you think?

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

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[1] https://indyweek.com/culture/screen/forgotten-handmaid-s-tale-movie-filmed-durham-missing-link-classic-novel-hulu-hit/

[2] Sylvia Dunstan, “You, Lord, Are Both Lamb and Shepherd,” Glory to God, # 274.

Living with Disappointment

2 Timothy 4:6-22

Ordinary 33

November 10, 2019

William G. Carter

As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

Do your best to come to me soon, for Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica; Crescens has gone to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia. Only Luke is with me. Get Mark and bring him with you, for he is useful in my ministry. I have sent Tychicus to Ephesus. When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, also the books, and above all the parchments. Alexander the coppersmith did me great harm; the Lord will pay him back for his deeds. You also must beware of him, for he strongly opposed our message.

At my first defense no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them! But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion’s mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen. Greet Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus. Erastus remained in Corinth; Trophimus I left ill in Miletus. Do your best to come before winter. Eubulus sends greetings to you, as do Pudens and Linus and Claudia and all the brothers and sisters. The Lord be with your spirit. Grace be with you.

A lady I know was in a bit of a tizzy this week. I called to chat and asked what’s new. She said, “I just did something and I don’t know what to do.” Before I could help her figure out what to do, I had to ask, “What did you do?”

Well, she had just retrieved the mail and walked up the driveway. It was the usual assortment of catalogs, advertisements, the weekly local newspaper, and the credit card bill. She sighed. Since she had a little time, she sat down, reached for her checkbook, and opened the envelope. As she starts to write out the check, she says, “Wait, there’s a charge here that I did not make, and another one, from a store that I never go in.”

The matter distressed her. She thought for a moment about calling the bank to register her complaint but reconsidered. It’s her only card. With the holidays coming up, she didn’t want to go through the hassle of having the account canceled. As she stewed about this, she looked again, only to realize the mail had been misdelivered. This was the credit card statement of her next door neighbor.

That’s about the time that I called, and she said, “I don’t know what to do.” I replied, “Well, you have the checkbook out. Why don’t you just pay her bill?”

“Oh no,” she said, “I couldn’t do that. She spent a lot more money than I would ever spend.”

“So you looked at the statement?” She said, “I’m looking at it now.” I bet that’s pretty interesting. In the end, she planned to smooth out the wrinkles, seal it back up, go next door, and explain what happened. It’s really none of my business, so I’ll trust she did something of the sort.

It reminds me that when we read the letters of Paul, we are reading somebody else’s mail. He mentions a lot of people that we will never meet, all of their names now immortalized in scripture. He sends personal greetings, says “tell Prisca and Aquilla that I said hello,” and shares a bit of news. We are looking over his shoulder. In this case, unlike most of Paul’s other correspondence, we listen in to somebody who is disappointed.

Paul is an old man, far from home. He's tired. He’s cold. He is worn out. In an uncharacteristic moment, he admits about how other people have let him down. He usually doesn't grumble like this. Paul frequently stays upbeat and positive, and usually takes the high road. Yet in a reflective minute, we hear a twinge of sadness in his voice.

"Dear Timothy," he writes, "do your best to come and see me. Demas ran off to Thessalonica, chasing after the pleasures of this world. Crescens has gone to Galatia. Titus disappeared in Dalmatia. I sent Tychicus back home to Ephesus. Now I'm stuck here all alone, with only Luke to keep me company."

Paul says, "Bring that cloak I left behind in the fellowship hall at Troas. Pack up my books and my parchments. Bring them too." Here is a man who is summing up his life at the close of a long afternoon. He says, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race . . . the time of my departure has come."

This is a remarkable moment of self-reflection. Maybe that's why the apostle sizes up his successes and failures. Like Alexander the coppersmith. We don't know much about him, except that Paul was ready to write him off. "He did me great harm," said Paul, "and the Lord will pay him back for his deeds."  Then he gets on his high horse: "You also must beware of him, for he strongly opposed our message."  Then he starts wagging his finger, "At my first defense, no one came to my support. Everybody deserted me."

These are the words of somebody who comes up short. According to the accounts, nobody worked as hard as the apostle Paul. He traveled all over the known world, preaching the good news about Jesus, starting churches, training the next generation of leadership, working tirelessly. There was opposition along the way – of course there was resistance and opposition – but he accomplished so much.

At the end, most of his closest companions have left him. Everything he worked so hard to accomplish seems at risk. His entire life’s work looks like it could circle around the drain. It seems the encouragement he has offered so freely to young Timothy is something he wish somebody could offer to him. He’s disappointed. Anybody knows how he feels?

Some of us raise our kids, teach them to stand up and be productive. We encourage them to be independent. And they are so good at being independent that they never call, forget to keep in touch, make other plans at Thanksgiving. It’s disappointing.

Or there is the dream job. From the moment it’s posted, you imagine how good it would be: more money, better hours, more vacation time, greater responsibility, in an excellent location. And then you get the job, and it’s all those things – and it’s also a whole lot less. As a wise old sage said, “If it looks like the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, just remember it’s still grass. It’s only grass.” That can be disappointing.

Others of us can’t wait for the holiday catalogs to arrive. All these wonderful things we never knew about and never thought to purchase, and here they are in glossy splendor, with the enticing tag lines, “Free shipping no payments until February.” So we put them on the wish list, give out well-placed hints, live in patient hope, anticipate the day. Christmas comes, and there is the perfectly shaped package. Rip open the paper, exclaim in delight: and it’s the wrong size, or the wrong color, or it’s nothing like we expected. Feel the disappointment.

I remember the great theologian, a man so smart that he taught at Duke Divinity School and Duke Law School. He taught a class on the meaning of marriage. One day, I went to hear him speak. He said, “Here is the truth about marriage: we always marry the wrong person. When we discover that truth, we have to decide, ‘Am I staying with this person, or should I look for another?’” There was an audible gasp.

Over coffee someone said, “What exactly did you mean by that?” He replied, “Only to say that no human relationship can bear the full weight of everything we think that relationship should bear. Friends let you down. Neighbors betray you. Spouses can never be perfect; and if you don’t believe that, ask your spouse.”

How do you deal with disappointment? Sometimes the best way is to push through it, stay positive, spin the situation in an affirming way. Squeeze that lemon into lemonade. Turn that frown upside down. Accentuate the positive.

Or in Paul’s situation, begin with the conclusion. How does he spin the situation of weariness, abandonment, and disillusion? He says, “I’ve fought the good fight, finished the race, kept the faith, and I know there is a crown of righteousness waiting for me. And you can have that crown, too!” Yet it sounds a little empty when the next words out of his mouth are, “Demas has abandoned me and Alexander the silversmith has done me wrong.” Which is it, Paul? The good fight or the lingering resentment? A good place to stand is in the honesty of that ambivalence, and say, “All the above, and I’m a tangled mess.”

Another time-honored approach to disappointment is simply this: to reduce our expectations. The runner-up to the contest says, “The winner was a lot better than me.” Or the graduate with below-modest grades says, “I wasn’t valedictorian material anyway.” Or the bar-room romantic describes his girlfriend in the words of the country music song, “She wasn’t much to look at except through the bottom of a beer glass.” Hear all of that? Reduced expectations.

Sometimes it’s called “putting cushions on the floor.” I don’t know if our team is going to win tonight; that’s a way of saying, if we don’t win, I won’t be quite so disappointed. Put the cushion on the floor, so when you fall, it won’t hurt quite so badly. Some people do this. A lot of people do this.

A third approach to disappointment is to look for the blessing in the middle of the experience. That has been the consistent message of people like my parents. The high school girlfriend would dump me, and Mom would say, “Well, wait for the right one.” No comfort in that. Or have a six-point buck kiss your bumper on a Friday night, Dad would say, “You’re OK, it could have been worse, the car can be replaced but not you; by the way, do you think the venison is still available?” I’m kidding, of course; not really.

I talk regularly with a wise friend who calls himself a spiritual companion. He has a phrase for this. He says, “Look for the grace in the grit.” That’s a great phrase. There may be flecks of gold in the mud, so look again.

It sounds like the advice of Yoda to a disillusioned Luke Skywalker. That little green elf appears in the last Star Wars movie to say, “Pass on what you have learned. Strength, mastery, hmm… but weakness, folly, failure also. Yes: failure, most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond. That is the true burden of all masters” (The Last Jedi).  True enough, although Yoda still sounds like my mother.

Yet another look at Paul’s final words and we see plenty of grace in the grit, blessing in the brokenness, and mercy in the mess. The first place is in the thick of his lament of how everybody has run out on him. “They all ran away,” he says. “Everybody deserted me.”

As he says it, I wonder, just among friends, if he paused to remember Jesus in his time of need. The second Jesus was arrested, everybody ran away from him. They forsook him and fled. Yet Jesus had the graciousness to say, “Father, forgive them…forgive them all.” So Paul takes a breath. He considers how he too has been abandoned, and he prays, “I hope these things aren't counted against them."

It's a remarkable turn, a turn toward mercy. Sometimes the Gospel appears in the small details.

The second moment comes after Paul unloads about how weak he is, how abandoned he feels, how there’s nobody except Luke by his side – did you notice this? He starts to name all the people he still loves, who are still out there somewhere, cheering him on, grateful for his life’s work, affirming him for what he cannot see in himself on that cloudy day.

"Greet Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus." (I don't know any of those people, but Paul does. They have stood by him in troubles before, and they will do so again.

Then he says, "Eubulus sends greetings to you, as do Pudens and Linus and Claudia and all the brothers and sisters." I don’t know any of those people, either, but isn’t it striking that Paul, who cries “boo hoo” that nobody is with him --- still has people with him. Eubulus, Pudens, Linus, Claudia, and “all the brothers and sisters.” Maybe the circle of support is larger than he thought it was. It always is. There are people on your side, you know. They are sitting all around you today.

Then comes the final blessing: "The Lord be with your spirit. Grace be with you." Ah, there it is. Not merely the wish that the Risen Lord will breathe his Spirit into the soul of Timothy, his church, Prisca and Aquila, and the family of Onesiphorus … but the affirmation that the last word on all of us is grace. Grace be with you. The grace of God, that invisible, incomprehensible favor that holds us even when we feel weak and all seems lost. God finishes what we cannot.

The point of the entire Gospel of Jesus Christ is that our saving is not up to us. In the thick of his emotional stew, Paul at least has the clarity to say, “The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom.” The last word is not up to Paul, any more than it’s up to you or me. The last word is always grace, the grace of God, to whom be the glory forever and ever.

So here is the final word: “The Lord be with your spirit. Grace be with you.”

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

Equipped for Every Good Work

2 Timothy 3:10-4:5

Ordinary 31

November 3, 2019

William G. Carter

Now you have observed my teaching, my conduct, my aim in life, my faith, my patience, my love, my steadfastness, my persecutions and suffering the things that happened to me in Antioch, Iconium, and Lystra. What persecutions I endured! Yet the Lord rescued me from all of them. Indeed, all who want to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted. But wicked people and impostors will go from bad to worse, deceiving others and being deceived. But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it, and how from childhood you have known the sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work.

In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I solemnly urge you: proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage, with the utmost patience in teaching. For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths. As for you, always be sober, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.

A good friend tells how he learned the Bible. It wasn’t in church or Sunday School; no, by the time he was old enough to sit still for all of that, he already knew the scriptures. It began on his mother’s lap. From the time he could remember anything, his mother used to read to him a chapter from the King James Bible, a chapter a day. If he wiggled, she said, “Be still. You need Jesus.” He later discovered that’s how she was raised, too.

She was no fundamentalist, but she had been raised to take scripture seriously. It is a gift from those who came before us, offered to keep our lives rooted in the love and justice of God, so that we are able to withstand whatever life throws at us.

And when my friend’s mother was dying, he sat beside her bed to read her a chapter out of that same, well-worn King James Bible. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.”

So old Paul says to young Timothy, “As for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it, and how from childhood you have known the sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus.” 

What is the first Bible passage that you learned? When did you learn it? Think back for a minute and see if you recall.

That favorite psalm, Psalm 23, is one of the first engraved on my memory. I don’t know if it came first from church or at home, but it’s never left me. As the English translations of scripture change and evolve, that old version from 1611 is the one that sticks with me. I don’t spend enough time in green pastures. Nor do I sit sufficiently beside the still waters. But my soul has been restored over and over again. The One who restores it is the Creator of the green pastures and still waters. The Bible names it, even before I believe it.

When Paul speaks of scripture, he is thinking of his Jewish Bible. Not the Christian Bible, because that was far from finished; this letter would not be declared authoritative to the church for another three hundred years. Paul was referring to the Torah, to the foundational stories. God created the heavens and the earth, God created you and me and declared us “good.” When we went bad, God wiped out the world with a flood, saving only Noah’s families and the animals; then God realized that punishment was a big mistake and put the rainbow in the sky as a perpetual Post-It note: “Don’t do that again.”

Then God said to Abram and Sarai, “I choose you to be a blessing to all the families on the earth, with descendants as numerous as the grains of sand on the seashore.” That’s when the story got interesting. And Paul says, “Everything we need to know is there in the book.” Do you want to know who you are? Where you come from? It’s in the book.

Someone in one of our Bible reading groups was grumbling about the book. Specifically, she and her group were reading through the prophets. I could sympathize. The prophetic books are full of unpunctuated sermons, mostly written as free-verse poetry. You can’t tell who is doing the speaking – is it God? The prophet? Or the people? Can’t always tell.

It’s also difficult to tell the context. God was speaking through the prophets over hundreds of years. A lot of things can happen over eight hundred years. But if your country is coming unraveled, and your leaders are lying to you every day, and the very few at the top of the food chain are getting exponentially richer while everybody else is struggling, suddenly the biblical prophets make a lot of sense especially when they speak of justice and righteousness and truth.

When I was growing up during the Civil Rights era, we didn’t hear anything about the Bible’s prophets. They were not mentioned in our Sunday School material. We never heard any of them speak, unless it was the week before Christmas, and old Isaiah would say, “The Messiah is coming!” That was how it was in the white church where I was raised.

Meanwhile in the African American churches, they heard from the prophets every week. Martin Luther King Jr. loves to preach sermons on texts from the prophet Amos. His “I have a dream” speech was inspired by the dreams of the prophet Isaiah. When they tried to get King to quiet down, he could quote the prophet Jeremiah, how the good news burned within like a “fire in his bones.” In response, he was treated like a prophet. Somebody tried to silence him as they tried to silence all the prophets – yet his voice rings out. He found his voice in the Book.

The prophets of God speak of the holy day of judgment that cast out the evildoers and establish God’s justice. If we didn’t have the scriptures, we would be misled to think the evildoers will always win. But we know better. We have been shown the mind of God.

We have the Torah, God’s instruction; we have the Prophets, God’s light in every season of darkness. In between, we have proverbs, the love poetry of Solomon, the wisecracking cynic of Ecclesiastes, and we have the Psalms. It has been said – and I now believe – that everything we need to know about God is in the Psalms.

The overarching theme of the Psalms is that God rules over all things. Take note that it doesn’t say that “God is in charge;” that is a distortion by those who have control issues, but rather it says God rules over all things. “The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence.” Of course, the people of earth ignore that and chatter away. If we spent more time in silence, we might discover that God inhabits silence.

The Psalms declares our help is not in the mountains. The mountains are where the fake minor league deities of the Canaanites hang out. They can’t save you. They merely invite you to consume more and waste what you have. God is so much bigger than that – for God created the mountains, and created the storms, and created the sun and the moon and the stars. So who are we? We are the children that God created a “little less than the angels.” It’s in the book. That’s why we have the book.

Keep thumbing through the Psalms, and you find the deep questions and paradoxes that beguile us. Why do the wicked prosper? How long will selfishness and perversity persist?  Why does God linger when we are in trouble? The Bible is honest enough to ask what we are afraid to ask. As surely as we read the Bible in our search for wisdom, we discover that the Bible reads us. God knows who we are – because God rules over all things.

So when the Bible announces how God so loves the world to enter the world through Jesus and rescue us, that’s good news! And when the Bible calls us to join in the work of Jesus, we know who we are, we know what we’re up against, and we know who is ultimately going to win – for God rules over all.

I suppose people come to church for all kinds of reasons. Some people come because they like to sing, others because they like to eat. Some come because they are seeking something important to do.

There’s that story of the Jewish man who asked his father, “Why do you go to synagogue?” “There are many reasons why a person would go to synagogue,” replied his father. “Take Silverberg. He goes to synagogue to talk to God. Me? I go to synagogue to talk to Silverberg.”[1]

There is no shortage of reasons why we are here. At the heart of them all is the central act of opening the Bible and releasing it into the air. This is the book that contains the Breath of God. As one poet says so well,

I open the Bible and a wind comes out of the book.

I close the Bible and the wind keeps blowing.[2]

That’s the true meaning of “inspiration” – the Spirit of God blows this Book alive and “we are equipped for every good work.”

Without the scriptures, and the preachers and teachers who open it, we are prone to a lot of opinions. As in the days of Paul and Timothy, there is no shortage of crazy ideas and looney tune notions.

One so-called “spirit store” sells high-priced quartz crystals, professing if you hold them a certain way, they will reveal the mysteries of the universe. Wow, the mysteries of the universe, you say? You still need to pick up a quart of milk on the way home.

Somebody else declares she is true-blue guru and invites you to the mystic waterfall of a South Seas island. The price tag for the trip is $12,000. Before you go, ask her: how did you get to become a true-blue guru? “I paid somebody else, took the trip myself, and there the earth called out to me.” Really? Well, you still need a ride home from the airport.

“Put your hands on the television set and you will be healed,” says the preacher with the white shoes and the hair that defies gravity. Wow! Does this mean that I can get along without medical insurance? Hmm… did you ever notice those faith-healers don’t work in hospitals?

So we come together, open the Bible together, and wait for God to speak. Sometimes the Voice is immediate. Other times the Voice is mediated through human words and deeds. Most of the time the Voice seeps in secretly, sinks down deeply, to be brought alive when the time is right.  

Old Paul says to young Timothy - and old Timothy says to us - “As for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it, and how from childhood you have known the sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus.” The scriptures are the meeting place for God and God’s people. And they are sufficient “to equip us for every good work.”

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

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[1] Quoted by Thomas G. Long, “Why Are We Here?” The Princeton Seminary Bulletin, Vol. 10, issue 1, p. 52

[2] From Tom Troeger, 2001 meeting of the Homiletical Feast.