On Getting What You Ask

Luke 1:13-17
Advent 1
December 1, 2024

But the angel said to him, ‘Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He must never drink wine or strong drink; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.’


The first Christmas carol from the Gospel of Luke is a surprising song from an angel. On the day when the priest Zechariah offers prayers in the Jerusalem temple, the angel Gabriel appears to him. “Your prayer has been heard,” he says. “Everything you’ve asked has been granted by God.”

Now, that is an amazing gift. Who receives everything on their wish list?

I’m assuming all of us have a wish list. There are the things we want and the things other people want to give us. The conversations begin over pumpkin pie at the Thanksgiving table: “Do you have a wish list? Christmas is coming. The sales start tomorrow. No shipping charges until next Tuesday.” That’s how it sounds in a consumer household. The deals match the desires.

I was gently badgered for a list. My list is simple: three books, three CDs, and world peace. This year, I declared, please no more printed t-shirts, no more socks, no more coffee mugs. I have enough.

I’m wondering what’s on your wish list. Hopefully, it includes world peace.

And I am wondering what was on Zechariah’s wish list. If you were a priest in Jerusalem, once in your life you might be invited to light the incense and put the prayers of the nation into the air. Only once could you do this. No doubt it was heavily scripted. The priest was praying for all the Jews everywhere. It was a huge prayer – a prayer for the mercy of God, a prayer for loving kindness, a prayer for the working out of God’s holy righteousness. That was Zechariah’s job: pray that really big prayer.

The angel said, “Zechariah, your prayer has been answered. Your wife Elizabeth will have a baby. You will call him John.” Ahh, there are the prayers we say, and the prayers we are supposed to say – and then there is the desire of our heart. It is the gift we really want, the gift that gives us life, hope, and a future. It does not always get spoken out loud, but it’s there. Of course it’s there.

Zechariah and Elizabeth were getting up in years. They were really old, maybe fifty or fifty-five. Long past the expiration date. As such, they remind us of Abraham and Sarah, father and mother of the Jewish family, childless until they, too, were visited by an angel. Luke wants us to remember it’s never too late for the promises of God, especially an eternal God. God can make anything happen, which the old priest should have known.

(He shouldn’t have asked, “How can this be?” But I’m getting ahead of myself. More on that in three weeks.)

I want to focus on the gift, in this case, the gift of a child. Unexpected, unanticipated, unimaginable, yet real. When an angel says, “You’re having a baby,” there are not a lot of options open to you. The veterans of childbearing will smile slyly and say, “Your life is going to change.” They never fill in the details. They just smile.

And this particular baby – what a child of God he is going to be! Gabriel promises, “He will be great before the Lord.” Not average, but great. He will also be alcohol-free; that may sound curious, but it suggests he will be raised with the discipline of the Nazarite vows. It was an invitation reaching back to the sixth chapter of the book of Numbers, to live a pure and uncontaminated life as a way of honoring God. It also meant never cutting your hair which explains the appearance of the child who will be John the Baptist.

Furthermore, Gabriel says John will be full of Holy Spirit. That’s the prophetic presence of God, the ability to be a truth teller in a world of self-deception. And if that’s not enough, this child will be just like the prophet Elijah. That, too, is coded language; on the last page of our Old Testament, the prophet Malachi predicted one like Elijah would come. Zechariah and his people had been waiting for over four hundred years for that promise to be fulfilled.

Gabriel promises Zechariah he will get the child he has always wanted. Yet he, his wife Elizabeth, and all the people are going to get a whole lot more. We are talking now about something greater than t-shirts, socks, coffee mugs, books, and CDs under the Christmas tree. Something on the order of world peace, or at least the prospect of it.

Have you given any thought to this? Maybe the world needs something more than consumer spending for the holy days? In our house, we heard whispers of it when the cranberry sauce was still on the table. One of the young adults confessed that Black Friday has lost a lot of its luster. This is one who spent Thanksgiving Night in a parking lot to score some deals at dawn at one of the Big Box stores in Dickson City. All that seems crazy to her now (thank God!). She sees there are bigger matters to consider, which takes us back to the story of Zechariah.

The angel says, “You will have a son named John. He will be great, holy, full of God, just like Elijah, the greatest prophet we can remember.” And his primary work will be to “turn” – to turn the children of Israel back to their God, to turn the hearts of fathers back to their children, to turn those who are disobedient to the wisdom of righteousness. To summarize quickly, his life’s work will be to turn people from themselves toward God and God’s gifts. And he will do his work through his words.

If you know the story, Zechariah will ask, “How can this be?” I think he’s not just talking about the miracle birth to old-timers, but the nature of the work that their miracle child will undertake.

For instance, “He will turn the hearts of fathers to their children.” Is that a promise that parents will start showing affection? Perhaps. That would be a good thing. But it’s more. It reveals a concern for children and their well-being, a constructive continuity between “now” and “then.” Some parents regret the kind of world they are bequeathing to their children; John the Baptist will say, “Do something about it.” Give up your selfishness. Take responsibility for future generations. Open your heart to who comes after you.

By the way, that line “turn the hearts of fathers to their children”? It is the last sentence of our Jewish scripture, the very last words spoken by the prophet Malachi (4:6). God’s concern for our children’s future has been lingering for a good long while.

And the angel said John would “turn the disobedient toward the wisdom of the righteous.” That is a Jewish ism. It’s also a phrase that was tidied up when translated into English. The spiritual problem is more disobedience; it’s a willful disobedience with a large dose of foolishness and measure of hard-headedness. That is who some of us are, or at least who I am.

When I was a kid, I told my father about a mechanical problem with my car. Fortunately, his heart was already turned toward me. He told me how to address the problem, and then I thought I could improve on his suggestion. It did not work. I didn’t tell him right away. He noticed the problem and said, “Well, you can do it your way, or you can do it the right way.” Best diagnosis of my spiritual condition that I have ever received!

That’s what John the Baptist was born to point out: you can do it your way, or you can do it the right way. God’s way.

And everything John said and did was in service for his life’s purpose: “to turn the children of Israel back to the Lord.” They were already God’s children, loved, claimed, instructed – but they believed they could live their terms, not God’s terms. It never works that way. So, we hear the invitation to turn, to re-turn, to return again and again. This is the essence of repentance, the essence of the spiritual life, to turn and to re-turn. In the confession of a favorite hymn, “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love; here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.”

The invitation is always there. To come back. To come home. To return. This continuous call of the Gospel is not to those who have never heard of the love and grace of God, but to those who have. Life is hard. Trust erodes. Faith can fade. It is easy to be disappointed, discouraged, disillusioned, disenfranchised, and disengaged. Yet the angel can appear at any time. The prophet’s voice can be heard. A priest’s religious duties can be interrupted by the Living God who is at the center of it all.

That’s the promise of this Advent season. As the northern hemisphere grows dark, the angels of God announce the lights are on. The silence of sadness is interrupted by music we did not create. If we are the slightest bit attentive, something can spark in our spirits. Hope is reignited. Visions return. Songs are lifted. And a Holy Voice whispers, “There is a place for you here.”


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

Looking Behind the Curtain

Daniel 7:9-14

Christ the King

November 24, 2024

 

⁹As I watched, thrones were set in place, and an Ancient One took his throne, his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne was fiery flames, and its wheels were burning fire. ¹⁰A stream of fire issued and flowed out from his presence. A thousand thousands served him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stood attending him. The court sat in judgment, and the books were opened. ¹¹I watched then because of the noise of the arrogant words that the horn was speaking. And as I watched, the beast was put to death, and its body destroyed and given over to be burned with fire. ¹²As for the rest of the beasts, their dominion was taken away, but their lives were prolonged for a season and a time. ¹³As I watched in the night visions, I saw one like a human being coming with the clouds of heaven. And he came to the Ancient One and was presented before him. ¹⁴To him was given dominion and glory and kingship, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.

 

Before I became a pastor, I had a career in musical theater. Yes, that’s true. You probably didn’t know that because I performed in only one musical. It was a high school production. It ran for two nights, Friday and Saturday. And it was a thrill to be on stage for Meredith Willson’s Tony-award-winning show, “The Music Man.”   

I didn’t sing “Seventy-Six Trombones” or “Marian the Librarian,” but I did have a shining moment. It was in my role as, “Crowd Member #12.” For that offered me a feature as “Fourth Man on the Train.” In a Pullman car full of traveling salesmen, a piece called “Rock Island” starts moving with the train. On cue from the director, I lowered a newspaper to say, “Look, what do ya talk…?” I got to do it three times.

Now, my acting was forgettable. So was most of the play. What I’ll never forget was the production. Not the production on stage but the production that happened backstage. It was dazzling. The acting was so-so; we were high school kids. But the stage crew audience was meticulous. They were well-rehearsed. The lights went up and down at just the right time. The sound effects were spot on. The cardboard backdrops changed flawlessly. Nobody in front of the curtain saw it, but I did. It was a revelation. Literally, a revelation!

No wonder the Bible uses similar language. It’s there in that word “apocalypse.” Ever heard that word? It’s usually reserved for horrible movies about wars, natural disasters, and end-of-the world crises. Yet the term “apocalypse” comes from the world of theater. It’s when you get to see what’s behind the curtain. The true operations are disclosed – and for the moment, everybody can see what’s going on behind the scenes. The Bible word for this is “apocalypse” – a revelation.

What we have from scripture today is a moment like that. There aren’t many such moments in the Bible. Of course, there’s the Book of Revelation (the Greek title is “The Apocalypse of John”). It’s like a science fiction script. And then there’s this section from the book of Daniel. It’s a rare moment in the Hebrew Bible.

Up until now, Daniel has offered stories about the Babylonian Exile. That was the critical breakdown in Jewish history, and it prompted a lot of composition of the Old Testament. In 587 BC, a foreign empire swooped down in Israel and Judah like locusts. The Babylonians destroyed the Jerusalem Temple. The brightest and the best were stolen as slaves. It was a crisis unlike anything the Jews had experienced.

Warnings had come for years but went unheeded. When the invaders came. Society collapsed. The people had to figure out how to be Jews when they had no temple, no homeland, and the wind was blowing against them. How would they live a faithful life?

That’s what the first six chapters of the book of Daniel are about. We hear heroic stories of how the Jewish heroes remained Jewish. Stolen away to a foreign land, they still ate the kosher foods. Surrounded by counterfeit gods of a foreign empire, they prayed to the God who they believed is greater, they spoke up, acted up, and stayed faithful – even when they were cast into a fiery furnace. Even when they found themselves locked in a lions’ den.

Here in chapter seven, the book makes a dramatic shift. According to the storyteller, Daniel lies down on his bed one night. While he’s lying there, he has an overwhelming dream. He dreams with his eyes wide open. Call it a nightmare, call it a vision. The Bible would call it an apocalypse. Daniel sees a revelation of the truth. He is allowed to see what is normally hidden behind the curtain. Some of it isn’t pretty.

A dozen years ago or so, an investigative reporter named Matt Birkbeck wrote a book about organized crime in northeastern Pennsylvania. He named names. A lot of people recognized the names. Mr. Birkbeck moved and didn’t tell anybody where he was living.

As somebody who didn’t grow up around here, I found some of his stories shocking. Like the Roman Catholic priest who carried a handgun and always had a lot of cache; I presided at a funeral with that guy, had no idea. Or the quiet man who lived on a quiet street in Kingston. Who knew he was a crime boss? Or the nice gentleman that I once met at a wedding? It turns out he has, shall we say, a lot of influence? Birkbeck’s book opened the curtain – and it was ugly.

In fact, Mr. Birkbeck was invited by the Lackawanna library to talk about his book in Scranton. Suddenly, it was announced the event was cancelled, and he had been paid his fee by an undisclosed person and told to not show up. Hmm. Are things going on that everybody knows, and nobody talks about?

An apocalypse is an unveiling. It is truth-telling. It is calling out what many people know but nobody wants to talk about. It is revealing what’s behind the curtain. An apocalypse is a reality check.

I just finished reading an amazing book by Tim Alberta. It’s called, The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory. With chapter and verse and extensive research, Alberta reveals how a lot of evangelical church leaders have sold their souls to gain political power. It is a sad book, in many ways. There is one story after another about television evangelists who have no scruples. The characters in that book will do just about anything to make more money, spread their influence, and tell the congress and the White House what to do.

By the last chapter, it is the same old sad story of human corruption. You can gain the world and lose your soul. Some of these folks could have learned a good lesson from Tony Campolo, the Baptist preacher who died this week. One time, Tony told somebody, “Putting religion and politics together is like mixing ice cream with horse manure. It doesn’t hurt the manure, but it ruins the ice cream.”[1]        

What does Daniel see? What is his dream, his apocalypse? Two things, really. First, he sees the powers of the world, represented in four vicious beasts. They rise out of the chaos of the sea. There is a lion, a bear, a leopard, an unnamed monster with a lot of teeth. Through the years, scholars have perceived allusions to the empires of Babylon, Persia, and Greece, and Rome – but the specifics do not matter. What does matter is naming the evil they represent: the arrogance, the inflictions, the chaos they create, and the wreckage. One empire after another, one figurehead after another – the names change, the evil continues. It is a revelation of the broken world where we live. Daniel is given the sight or the insight to see what’s truly happening in the world. That’s the first thing he sees.

Yet then there’s a second part of the vision. He sees a throne, The Throne, and an Ancient One who takes his rightful place upon it. His presence is full of fire. And he takes a book, opens it, finds the name of the first vicious beast, and judges it. Then the same with the next three beasts. They are judged, too. Then Daniel says something we had not known: “Their dominion was taken away, although their lives continued for a season and a time.” Evil has no ultimate power, in other words, even if it sputters on.

With that, the vision gets broader, larger, brighter, bigger. Daniel sees somebody coming, one “like the Son of Man,” he says, a human being – but presented to the Ancient One as the only one worthy of true dominion, glory, and authority.

As Christians, we are quick to jump on that scene to say it’s Jesus, the exalted Christ – although Daniel does not name him, not yet. The day will come. When it does, every eye shall see him. Every voice shall praise him. Every living being shall declare he is the Only One worthy of worship and praise. It is the sort of thing we can only sing about – and in a minute we will sing the song.

Before we do, let me simply make the connection that, when the curtain is pulled back, we see the world in all its corruption for what it is. We see the One who rules over it with holy love, and the One who is worthy of all praise. And we see that the battle between good and evil will finally be won by goodness. Arrogance will not be defeated by further arrogance. Rather, God judges the world through by perfect goodness. This is the true meaning of judgment: God will win over the world by truth, glory, and goodness. Everything less than that will be taken away. One “like the Son of Man” will rule – forever and ever.

Like I said, this is truth so deep that we cannot fully describe it. But we can sing it. And let the song ring out forever.

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

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[1] Quoted in https://religionnews.com/2024/11/19/tony-campolo-sociologist-and-famed-red-letter-christian-has-died/

Preaching After the Temple Falls Down

Mark 13:1-10
November 17, 2024

William G. Carter  

As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

 

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs. As for yourselves, beware; for they will hand you over to councils; and you will be beaten in synagogues; and you will stand before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them. And the good news must first be proclaimed to all nations.”

Like most of the Bible, the Gospel of Mark was written after the events that it describes. We know this to be true. There was no first-hand account of God creating the world because there was nobody yet to write it down. Adam and Eve hadn’t invented pencils yet. They were too busy figuring out the names of the animals.

In the same way, no one wrote down the story of Christmas before that Easter resurrection thirty-some years later. The shepherds were illiterate. Mary and Joseph were busy. The angels had already gone back to heaven. And the birth of a peasant child didn’t mean anything special until that child grew up, made a name for himself, was crucified, and raised, and people said, “Wow! Where do you suppose he came from?” And his mother said, “Let me tell you what I remember.”

When we listen to the Bible, we listen to memories. They have been collected by people of faith. These are recollections, sifted and organized, sometimes years later. In the passing of time, memories grow in importance. Disconnected pieces start to make sense. Hidden threads become visible. We discern the significance of events we were anxious to speed by.

Sometime in April in the year 29 or 30 AD, Jesus stepped out of the Jerusalem Temple with his disciples. The writer of the Gospel of Mark remembers how one of those upcountry fishermen turned around, looked at the huge edifice, and exclaimed, “Shazam! Look how big it is! We don’t have blocks of limestone like this up in Galilee.” Of course not.

The second Jerusalem temple filled on a 36-acre lot. King Herod took this on as his personal rebuilding project. He loved to put his name on buildings; the bigger, the better. According to the accounts, a trench was dug around the mountain. Foundation stones were carved and rolled in, some of them weighing a hundred tons or more. The towers stretched 150 feet into the sky – and they didn’t have mechanical cranes back then.

This was an enormous building. The largest in the land! It offered a suitable location for God to touch down on the planet, which is how the Jewish people understood the temple. It’s the House of God. It’s where the Divine Transaction of Mercy is carried out on behalf of the entire world.

And Jesus said, “Do you see this big pile of stones? The whole thing will come tumbling down.” He said that sometime in April in 29 or 30 AD. Forty years later, it happened. Titus, eldest son of the Roman Emperor Vespasian, finished a four-year siege of Jerusalem by tearing down the Temple. Not one stone was left upon another, just like Jesus said.

Now, we can regard his prediction a few different ways. One way is to assume Jesus was a fortune-teller and knew what would happen. A slightly different slant is that he could perceive the inevitable clash between Rome and Jerusalem, which Rome would win. Or third, perhaps Mark wrote down the words of Jesus after they were fulfilled. This makes great sense to me. When something important happens, something traumatic, we sift through our memories to make sense of the crisis. Harsh as it is, truth bubbles up.  

“This temple is coming down…” That’s what he said. His prediction suggests there would be no central Temple for those who followed Jesus, no singular location to gather and pray. The faithful people of God would have to spread out, differentiate, find multiple places to worship. And so it has unfolded. But remember, as Jesus remembers, the Temple had been destroyed six hundred years before. The truth is that every Temple is temporary.

Then he said, “Beware of the fakes and the fear-mongers. They will profess to have inside knowledge, and they won’t.” And that’s exactly what happened, too. It has never really ceased. Those people are still out there, pretending to follow Christ as they snarl beneath their smiles.

Ever notice how someone writes a book about the Bible and the End of the World, and the next week, somebody else writes another book – and another book – and another book. Fear is Big Business, especially in the so-called Christian World. Jesus calls them “imposters.” 

Then he said, “For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines.” These are inevitable, he says. We are a warlike species who can’t quite figure out how to live in peace with one another. And we do this on an unstable planet. There are San Andreas fault lines, erupting volcanoes, and enlarging deserts. Terrible things happen in our world. Nobody will be surprised by that.

The worst of what happens is what people do to one another. For Jesus said, “They will betray you and beat you up,” and that shouldn’t surprise us at all. It happened to Jesus – in the very next chapter of Mark’s account, someone betrayed him. In the chapter after that, somebody beat him up. If we follow Christ, the road goes all the way to the cross.

Just one more reminder that life is hard. It is hard for everybody – please remember that. Nobody is exempt from pain, difficulty, distress. Especially if they are following Jesus. Especially if their faithfulness is what sets off the powers of destruction.

This is how memory helps us. Others have gone through trouble before us. Others have lost their temples – not to foreign invasions, but to floods, earthquakes, acts of violence, or even changes beyond their control. These days, there are a lot of empty church buildings, once full, once thriving, once bustling with spiritual energy. But things can change.

Like the congregation I knew that had been through so much. They lost their building in a fire, but they pulled together and rebuilt. But finances were tough, and they couldn’t afford a minister anymore. They tried fundraisers, but raffle tickets didn’t do the job.

Kind-hearted friends pointed out how the old neighborhood had changed. It was no longer a tight-knit community of Welsh families. The new neighbors were speaking Spanish. Further down the block, they spoke Vietnamese.

One night, the small remnant of Welsh souls decided to turn in the keys. They couldn’t do it anymore. No energy to look beyond themselves. No passion to serve a neighborhood full of strangers. There was no earthquake, no famine, no invading army – just a weary few who lost their Temple by walking away from it. One of the most tragic sights I’ve ever seen. They didn’t have sufficient energy to dial 1-800-Got-Junk. We had to dial it for them.

And then, there was the tragedy of opening the closets of a church that had imploded: a broken mimeograph machine no one had ever fixed, a stack of worship bulletins from 1978 that no one had ever thrown out, a rack full of choir robes spotted with mildew. I couldn’t help but fear those dear people had gotten so stuck that they forgot what Christ has called them to do.

And what was that? Jesus says it in the text: keruxenthai euangelion. Preach the Gospel. When the Temple is tumbling down, what do you do? Preach the Gospel. When earthquakes shake and floodwaters roar, proclaim the Good News that Christ is stronger than the storm. When crisis creates human need, kneel before the needy and reveal the suffering love of God in Jesus Christ. Keruxenthai euangelion: proclaim the Gospel.

That’s what we do because it doesn’t depend on our circumstances. Our proclamation rests solely on the grace of God. That’s why we speak and act. That’s why we are here.

There’s nothing like a good, old twenty-month pandemic to expose what you’re made of. It reveals if you have any hope, and where you find it. It shakes away the crust and reveals the truth that life comes only from God.

So, the Temple tumbles down. That doesn’t mean God has been destroyed. Merely the building. And what this reveals is our all-too-human tendency to freeze in time what we love. We love this moment and wish it continues forever. We love this constellation of relationships and don’t want it to shift. We love this sacred space, the way we do things, the routines we maintain. This is why good people can freak out at the possibility of change, much less the trauma of enormous change. Having survived a pandemic with you, I understand that.

Then I hear Jesus say, “Even when the Temple is falling, the Gospel must be proclaimed to all.” Or in his words, Keruxenthai euangelion

Some of my volunteer work is to help out other churches, especially those who don’t have the resources that we currently enjoy. As I make my way around the region, I have heard a lot of belly aching. “The church isn't what it used to be. Our congregations are fading away. We don't have any hope. We don't know how much longer we can go on.”

I have only one thing to say in reply: Is the gospel still true? Is Jesus still Lord, crucified and risen? Do old King Herod or Emperor Vespasian think they can hang on to power forever? Is anybody or anything eternal, beyond the Eternal One? I think you know what the Bible has to say about that.

Jesus came preaching the kingdom of God. This is the announcement that God rules over everything. The Good News reveals at least two truths.

• First, none of us are going to get everything what we want. Why? Because we are not in charge; the planets don’t revolve around any of us.
• Second, because God rules over everything, God's ways will ultimately become the world’s ways, and God willing, they will become our ways, too. This may take a while. We can expect a struggle. But resistance is futile. God will win.

What we hear today is a hopeful word. God is greater than the temple that worships him. God is greater than the people who worship him. God rules over all things, not just the small, undersized heart, not only the puny despots who tear down physical temples, but all things. God rules over all. It is a theme as old as the book of Psalms. That’s what we proclaim. 

So, we have nothing to fear. And that’s good news. Let’s tell other people about it.

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

On Trusting a Prince

Psalm 146
November 3, 2024
William G. Carter

On the week of a national election, the scripture texts offer a faithful context of the work that is always before us. The call to worship comes from the central affirmation of the Jewish faith: Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord alone; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and might. God is first in all that we feel, think, and do. Nothing comes before the One who gave us life. We love the One who first loved us.

The Gospel lesson takes a snapshot from a moment when Jesus was questioned by a Bible scholar. Which of the 613 divine instructions is the first, greatest, and best? Naturally, Jesus says, “Hear, O Israel, love the Lord your God.” Then he immediately glues it to have a verse from Leviticus, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” God comes first, and God gave us every person around us. We love the One who first loved us, we love the ones that God has given us. Jesus will not separate what God has joined together. That’s the foundation for all public policy and every decision we make. 

And then there is the psalm for today, which speaks of God and neighbor. Listen to this:

     Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul!

I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
   I will sing praises to my God all my life long.

Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help.
   When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day, their plans perish.

Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God,
   who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them;
   who keeps faith forever; who executes justice for the oppressed, who gives food to the hungry.

The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow,
   but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.

The Lord will reign forever, your God, O Zion, for all generations. Praise the Lord!

Praise the Lord, love the Lord your God. Psalm 146 declares the primary theme of the book of Psalms, that God is the ruler over every human life. That the God of eternity will outlive every human life, for “the Lord will reign forever.” That the Holy One of Israel, church, and whole world, is worthy of human praise, because God offers help and hope and faithfulness. 

There’s also mention of our neighbors, especially those who are struggling: the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoner, the blind, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow. The God who rules over everything is on their side. That’s the clear testimony of scripture. If there’s anybody out there who takes advantage of other people, who puts them down or keeps them down, God the Ruler will become the judge. As the psalmist says, “The way of the wicked (God) brings to ruin.” This is God’s world. These are God’s people. There is no dispute.

And then there’s that sticky little line in verse three: “Do not put your trust in princes.” The word for prince is a royal word, a leadership word, a word of economic privilege. The princes are those people who believe they are in charge. Don’t sink all your hopes in anybody like that, says the psalm. It’s a line repeated from Psalm 118:9, under the general Biblical rule that if it’s worth saying once, it’s worth saying again.

So, in the middle of a poem offering elaborate praise of God, the poet says don’t put all your faith in a mere mortal. Mere mortals cannot do everything they promise. Mere mortals are never going to live long enough to get it all done. In fact, they may be full of hot air and bluster, aiming to gain popular approval at best, or to scam you at worst. This is the word of the Lord; thanks be to God. And we know it is the word of the Lord because it tells the truth.

Regardless of its truthfulness, it is an unusual line, like finding a pebble in your oatmeal. Yet it’s worth remembering that a line like that is based in years of practical experience. In Israel’s case, at least five hundred years of experience. Some scholars believe the book of Psalms was collected as early as 500 years before ethe birth of Jesus, if not a good deal later. During that long history, the people of God had been disappointed by one bad national leader after another.

It began early, with the prophet Samuel. The people of Israel said, “We want a king. Every other nation has a king. We want a king, too.” Samuel said, “We already have a king. God is our king.” The people said, “But we want a king. Ask God to give us a king.” Samuel was beside himself. So, he prayed to the Lord, “What should I do?” God replied, “Remind them of what kings are like.”

So, Samuel said, “Let me tell you about kings. They send your kids into war. They take your fields and your crops. They demand you make his weapons for him. They steal your daughters. They take your livestock. They take your servants. They make you their servants. And when you wake up and see what kings are truly like, you will whine about it. You don’t want a king.”

And the people said, “But everybody else has a king. Why can’t we have one?” Samuel reported this to the Lord. The Lord shook the divine head, and said, “Well, give them a king.” They aren’t going to learn any other way.[1] And for the next five hundred years, they had one inadequate ruler after another. Inadequate is a kind word.

Saul was the first. Tall, good looking, subject to emotional turmoil. He made terrible decisions, got a little batty, finally exposed himself as a coward. Then came David, wise, good looking, morally suspect, beloved but with a profoundly ambivalent legacy, depending on which Bible book you read. Then it was King Solomon, a builder, a very wise man, who couldn’t keep his tunic on. After that, it really unraveled. Five hundred years of bad leadership can do that.

So, the psalmist looks back and says, “Don’t put your trust in a prince, in a mere mortal. Put your trust in God. God give help and hope.”

It was an important word for Israel. The historians kept a record of all the achievements and failures of Israel’s princes. It was so long they had to break it into two scrolls, titled “First Kings” and “Second Kings.” If we read them, we discover two things noteworthy about those scrolls. First, the primary characters are not the kings, but the prophets. The truth tellers of God. The preachers. They are the mighty ones. When they are full of God’s Spirit and clearly speaking for God, the prophets interpret God’s ways. That means they are constantly going up against the long chain of imperfect kings.

The second thing noteworthy is the title of the scrolls: Kings. In his commentary on the book, one scholar says the title should have a question mark. “Kings? You call these kings?” They are certainly a poor substitute for God, who rules over all.

All of this is the backstory for the lesson from the Psalms. The people of God need good leaders. But none of them are perfect. Some of them aren’t even close. The possibility of power twists them away from the virtues of public service. As one of our retired county commissioners said once to one of our adult classes here, “If money gets in their pockets, elected leaders can easily forget what they are there to do.” We asked, “What are they there to do?” And he replied, "Serve the public good.” There it is. 

So, what’s the word of God for us? “Don’t put your trust in princes.” By subtraction, that means, “Put your trust in God.” It’s all about investing in the things that God cares about. To care about the people that God created. And Psalm 146 provides a list. The end of the Psalm sounds like a drum beat of righteousness:

The Lord executes justice for the oppressed; the Lord gives food to the hungry.

The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.
The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the strangers; the Lord upholds the orphan and the widow,

but the way of the wicked the Lord brings to ruin.

It’s clear to me that the Lord undertakes these tasks through the people who care about God’s own values. None of them will be perfect. Yet perhaps they can prove that they are worthy of our investment in their service. There is no reason for us to name names. The names change, the issues are the same. We are fortunate to have a democratic system to choose our leaders or replace our leaders. It’s imperfect but it is the best system we have, and it means we are not stuck with whoever was born next into the royal line. We have choices.

Back in 1989, I attended an event at Muhlenberg College. It was the bicentennial of the American constitution. That Lutheran college brought in Martin Marty, the Lutheran church historian, to talk about the constitution. The first thing that Lutheran said to that mostly Lutheran audience was, “Thank God for the Presbyterians!” All the Lutherans gasped, then he explained.

When James Madison was drafting the American constitution, he drew from his college education. He surprised his family skipping out on the College of William and Mary, choosing instead to study at the College of New Jersey, now called Princeton University. He studied Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and theology, and then stayed on to study political philosophy with John Witherspoon. That’s the Rev. John Witherspoon, Presbyterian minister, the only clergy person who would go to sign the Declaration of Independence.

Witherspoon taught him two key ideas. First, drawing upon Presbyterian principles, the people must be empowered to elect their own leadership. No princes, no kings, no endless tenures. Second, and just as important, Witherspoon taught we should never put absolute power in the hands of a single person. They can’t be trusted with it. The possibility of corruption is too high. There must be checks and balances. Leaders must be accountable to the people who elected them to serve.

So, when Madison sat down to work out the constitution, he rolled both of those ideas into our founding document. He knew it was an imperfect system, but there would always be the possibility of amendment and improvement. And it all began with his studies with a Presbyterian: elect your own leaders, don’t give them unchecked power. Or in the words of Dr. Martin Marty, thank God for the Presbyterians.  

The good news is that the election season is coming to an end. It’s been long. It remains contentious. It could be contested. But it’s almost over. Some will cheer the outcome. Others will not. The challenge of an imperfect system is the imperfect people who run for office and the imperfect people who vote for them.

Yet here’s the one question that lingers for me. I hope it will linger for you. How will the decisions that you and I make reflect the values of the Lord our God? Will we move toward improving our love for God and neighbor? Or will we settle for something far less than the hope and help that God sets before us. All of us get to decide that one. Time will tell.

Meanwhile, God will continue to rule over heaven and earth, watching to see if we are paying attention to what really matters.

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

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[1] See the grim recital in 1 Samuel 8.