1 John 3:1-7
Easter
4
April
29, 2012
William G. Carter
See what love the Father has given us, that we should be
called children of God; and that is what we are. The reason the world
does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are
God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we
do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him
as he is. And all who
have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure.
Today’s sermon is in three parts. I
am going to label them “before,” “after,” and “in between.” Or if you want to
number them in sequence, part one, part three, and part two.
We start with part one, the “Before.”
In the history of First Presbyterian Church of Clarks Summit, this passage of
scripture first became noticed at a baptism. The year was 1985. It was sometime
in the fall. I don’t know whose baptism it was, but I do know
who the presiding minister was. It was the Rev. Lynn Lampman, recently called
to be the assistant pastor of the church. For the very first time in anybody’s
remembrance, she took the baby that she had just baptized, his head still
dripping wet, and she walked right down into the congregation, declaring the
words, “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called
children of God; and that is what we are.” (1 John 3:1)
It
was a daring thing to say. For one thing, at that point in local church
history, there was a bit of confusion about whether or not little children
should be baptized. The Presbyterian Church as a whole had experienced some
confusion. In some corners, it was strongly felt that you had to know certain
things in order to become a Christian, that you had to do certain things to
prove that you belonged. Maybe you had to say all the right words about what
you believed, and it had to be pretty much in line with what the church
believes. Or maybe you had to learn about the history of the church, the
spiritual practices of the church, the Bible of the church, the vocabulary of
the church – and then, if you passed the examination, you could be baptized as
a believer.
But
then in fall 1985, the new baptizing minister spoke the words that we learned
as classmates at Princeton Theological Seminary. “See what love the Father has
given us, that we should be called children of God, and that is what we are.”
And it was clear to everybody, at least in that moment, that little baby was a child
of God.
A
lot of us are inclined to be this, anyway. Look into the bright eyes of a
little baby. See the beauty. Admire the innocence. If that child is a sinner,
it isn’t obvious to anybody. Not yet.
But
John makes a careful distinction – we are not God’s children because of our
birth. We are God’s children because of our adoption. There’s a difference.
Everybody who is alive has been born; everybody who belongs to God has been
adopted.
True
enough, in both cases, it’s not something you choose. In a moment of adolescent
anger, the thirteen-year-old yells at his parent, “Mom, I didn’t chose to be
born.” True enough; but your birth is a gift, a gift from God. Life is
respected, if only because you had no say in the matter. Every thought, every
feeling, that last breath you took, those birds who sang to you – everything is
a gift.
But
the mere fact of our birth does not make us a Christian. It is God’s adoption,
God’s decision to say, “You belong to me.” We do not ask for this, we do not
seek it. It is announced by a great voice than our own: “you are mine.” Done
deal. And one of the ways we can think of the sacrament of baptism is that it
is God’s adoption ceremony.
I
watched the moment in the courthouse when Laura adopted Alex. She was a single
woman, and he was a little boy with no other claim on his life. Laura took him
in as an infant. She decided to take care of him, to raise him, to feed him, to
love him. The day came when she could say to him, “You are mine.” There were
papers to fill out, commitments to make official. The presiding judge said to
Laura, “You realize that Alex will inherit whatever you leave for him, that you
are bound together forever.” She said, “That is what I choose.”
With
that, the judge signed the paper, pounded his gavel, and said, “You are now a
family. Alex is your child.” Everybody applauded and pictures were taken.
It
seems to me, this is what happens when we are baptized. It is the moment when
God adopts a child, when God says, “You are mine forever, I choose you.” It’s
not because we are beautiful or homely, it’s not because we are well-behaved or
ornery, it’s not because we have reached a level of moral excellence or because
God takes us on as a long-term project. It’s simply because we are loved. It’s
because God wants us. There is nothing we have to do but show up.
And
the preacher says, “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be
called children of God; and that is what we are.” (1 John 3:1). This is part
one.
That points us way ahead to part three,
the “after.” John affirms that, right now, we are the children of God, adopted
by God’s good grace. And leaning forward, he peers ahead, “Look what we are
going to be!” He looks back at us and says, “I can’t quite see the whole thing,
but we’re all going to see it. Can you see ahead up there, what we’re going to
be? You and I are going to be like Jesus!”
That’s the astonishing claim of this
text. John says, “What we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is
this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”
According to this writer, the working definition of a Christian is a
child of God who is becoming like Jesus Christ. That’s the aim. That’s
the intention. That’s the final result. Jesus comes, so that we can become like
Jesus.
I don’t know if you ever thought
about the Christian life having a goal, but there it is. It’s to become like
Christ. That is where every true Christian is headed. That’s what lies ahead of
every child baptized in the holy name of God.
Think
of every story about Jesus that anybody ever told you. Can you recall a story?
Turn to the person next to you and share a story about Jesus that has always
meant something to you . . . (I will wait).
What
did Jesus do? What did Jesus say? He told stories about forgiveness, and
forgave his own killers from the cross. He told stories about God’s rule in our
life, and he was never anxious about anything. He fed those who were hungry for
bread, and provided a feast for those who needed a purpose. He got indignant
when the community excluded the lepers, then reached across the invisible
divide to cure them. He was all about health care and healing.
Jesus
spoke the truth about sin’s power to destroy, and he released people from that
power. He had a complete connection with the Father whom John calls “Daddy,
Abba.” He chased away demons and he lifted people out of the prison of
hopelessness. He called people away from their greed and redirected them to
their neighbors, particularly to those with the greatest needs.
Most
of all, at the heart of it all, Jesus was the embodiment of love. Complete
love. Sometimes when I watch some of those Christian preachers on TV, who love
to mouth off about the issues of the day, I ask myself, “Where’s the love?” Not
the bitterness, not the rejection, not divisiveness, not the arrogance, not the
insistence on always being right – but the love. Where’s the love?” Because if
we are going to be like Jesus, we will be on fire with love, complete and
perfect love.
As somebody says, “Jesus revealed to
us what it means to be fully human, fully alive, fully empowered by God, fully
conscious of the delusions of the Domination System . . . When humanity finally
becomes what it is capable of becoming in God’s image, it will be like Jesus.” [1]
In a twinkling of an eye, he will be
revealed. At the end of time, all God’s children will be transformed like
Christ. That’s where our faith journey is headed. That is the great destination
for the faithful, the great “after” everything else.
Or
in the structure of the sermon, that’s part three. Part one: we are the
children of God. Part three: as Jesus Christ is finally revealed, we shall be
like him.
So that brings us to the heart of
the sermon, part two, the “in between.” If we are the children of God who shall
be like Christ, what are we doing to move in that direction? How will the
children of God grow up and become like Jesus?
Maybe the place to start is with the
story about Jesus that came to your mind a few minutes ago. There is something
in it that you recollected. It bears some magnetic pull, some appealing
invitation. I invite to spend a little time today reflecting on that. Perhaps
there is a nugget of spiritual gold in that story.
For instance, I recall Jesus
pointing to the birds of the air and saying, “God provides for them.” He waves
to the lilies and calls them “beautiful” just as they are. I want to believe in
a God who provides for me in my needs, a Savior who thinks my warts are
beautiful. There is compelling about that. I want to be like that – and it
means I have to change the way I am, and move in his direction. I must trust as
he trusts, love as he loves.
That’s what our scripture lesson
invites us to do. If we are the children of God who will become more like
Christ, we have to move toward him, take on his habits, gain his mind, practice
his speech. And it takes work and intentionality. We don’t automatically become
more like Christ. We have to want that. We have to leave behind the habits that
weigh us down. Swear off the opinions and judgments that make us snarl.
We
can grow more Christ-like. John says, “If you have this hope, if you want this
hope, you will purify yourself, just as he is pure.” You will stop yourself
before you say the sarcastic word. You will push yourself to forgive even if
you don’t feel like it. You will avoid the dark deed, the corrupt desire. When
a conflict is settled, you will let it stay settled. And you will never lash
back, because Jesus never lashed back. Revenge comes from the devil; mercy
comes from God.
O
children of God: give this some attention. God claims you in the baptismal
water. God says, “You are my beloved daughter, you are my beloved son.” That is
what we are. And God holds before us a vision of Jesus Christ, and says, “When
he is completely revealed, my children will look just like him.” That’s what
lies ahead.
But
it could be a long way off. And in the meantime, we become our habits.
This
month, the Pope issued a reprimand of a group of American nuns. As Nicholas
Kristof wrote in yesterday’s New York Times, it was as if the Vatican
“accused the nuns of worrying too much about the poor, and not enough about
abortion and gay marriage.” Sister Joan Chittister, a well-known Benedictine
nun from Erie, Pennsylvania, said she worried the nuns spent so much time that
they would have no allies. But all of a sudden, the sisters have been flooded
by local donations.
“It’s
wonderful,” she said. You see generations of laypeople who know where the
sisters are – in the streets, in the soup kitchens, anywhere where there’s
pain. They’re with the dying, with the sick, and people know it.” Out in Erie,
her order of 120 nuns runs a soup kitchen, a huge food pantry, an afterschool
program, and one of the largest education programs for the unemployed in the
state.
The
Pope should know better than to mess with the nuns, says Kristof. “They were
the first feminists, earning Ph.D’s or working as surgeons before it was
fashionable for women to hold jobs. As managers of hospitals, schools, and
complex bureaucracies, they were the first female C.E.O.’s . . . If you look at
who has more closely emulated Jesus’ life, the Pope or your average nun, it’s
the nun hands down.” [2]
We are the beloved children of God. When Jesus
is finally revealed, his children shall look just like him. In between, where
all of us reside, as any nun will show you, we become our habits.
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
[1] Walter Wink, “Chips off the old
block,” The Christian Century, April
6, 1994. P. 349.
[2] Nicholas Kristof, “We Are All
Nuns,” New York Times, April 28, 2012. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/29/opinion/sunday/kristof-we-are-all-nuns.html?_r=1
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