(Click on the title to hear JJ's sermon on Leviticus 19 from October 26, 2008)
In 1861, Harriet Jacobs wrote the first slave narrative composed and published by an African American woman entitled “Incidents in the life of a slave girl.” This is what she wrote about her early childhood mistress:
“After a brief period of suspense, the will of my mistress was read, and we learned that she had bequeathed me to her sister's daughter, a child of five years old. So vanished our hopes. My mistress had taught me the precepts of God's Word: "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." "Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them." But I was her slave, and I supposed she did not recognize me as her neighbor. I would give much to blot out from my memory that one great wrong. As a child, I loved my mistress; and, looking back on the happy days I spent with her, I try to think with less bitterness of this act of injustice. While I was with her, she taught me to read and spell; and for this privilege, which so rarely falls to the lot of a slave, I bless her memory.”
I have no doubt that Ms. Jacobs’ mistress was a deeply religious woman. But like many that we come into contact with everyday, I am not sure she was really Christ’s disciple. For some reason, religion and discipleship are thought to be separate from each other – as if what we do on Sunday has nothing to do with what we do during the week. I suppose that the people of God have always tried to separate them; and I suppose the prophets of God have always tried bringing them back together, as they are brought together in Leviticus 19.
Leviticus 19:2 says – You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy. Following this bold declaration is a litany of laws that may seem unreasonably legalistic, authoritarian, and completely foreign to our worldview, but whose purpose, simply put, was to make God’s people holy.
What does it mean to be holy? Ubiquitous in both the Old and New Testaments, holiness sounds like a religious concern, not a discipleship one. The very word ‘holy’ tends to conjure into our minds images of cowled monks huddled in a chapel at the top of a mountain praying day and night.
To be holy is to be separate…it is to be distinct. Leviticus 19 equates holiness with righteous and ethical living. Holiness has a purpose, it is about treating other people the way God would have us treat them and seeing within them the image of God that we believe is in us. Holiness means that the people of God, as part of God’s family, are held to a higher standard of behavior than anyone else because God is holy and we are to reflect this divine attribute.
But what is this higher standard of behavior? Many people believe that Christian life means that we abstain from things. But simple abstention is not what Leviticus 19 or I are talking about. Let me highlight three areas or ethical behaviors which I believe are necessary to be holy that I think are problem areas for us today.
In verses 9 and 10 we are told that as we go about our regular routines of life, in this case harvesting crops, we should be intentional about helping the poor. How many of our regular life practices are designed with the poor in mind? Whole facets of our society have been built to get away from the poor (and others) – we call them suburbs. We rationalize the separation by saying that suburban life is best for our families – crime is lower and schools are better out here. I am sure that we are all possessed of the best of intentions. We likely never intentionally decided that we would live here to be away from certain types of people. However, the truth is that we unwittingly participate in the process of keeping people in poverty by living in the suburbs (much could be said here about the connection between white flight, the culprit behind the ‘burbs, and the poverty of the city). The ease and comfort of the suburbs have lulled us into forgetting the poor (and others), the very people to whom, as Jesus said, belongs the kingdom of God. Do we have to have to move into the city to be holy? No. But we must intentionally engage with those areas that are historically poor and marginalized if we are going to be holy. To be holy means to take care of the poor.
A second area of ethical concern from the text comes from vs. 32, where we are told to rise before the aged and defer to the old. Sometimes, in our society, the elderly are perceived as an unbearable burden. Like the poor, elderly people are put out of our sight (thank you nursing homes), and frequently out of our mind. It is sad to me that even the church, which has received specific instructions from the New Testament writers about honoring our elders, champions the cause of the young over the old. Young people speak of the elders as hampering our new and exciting agenda and holding us back. Church programs are designed to attract youth because there is at least an implied idea that somehow young people are better for church growth than not-so-young people. But as Christians, we are challenged to come up with clear and unwavering commitments to honor our elders—for our holiness sake, and for the Lord's.
Before moving to the third area of ethical concern, let me mention vs. 18 and the familiar command to love neighbor as self. The treatment of the neighbor says more about one's theological commitments than any ecclesial confession. Indeed, how one defines who is one’s neighbor reveals the kind of God in whom one believes. Racism, sexism, and homophobia are theological issues because conforming to such prejudices hinders us from viewing those of other races, genders, and sexual orientations as neighbors. I have highlighted 2 areas of concern for the church today – the poor and aged. But they are only examples of a far-reaching problem within today’s church. Christians have gotten it into our heads that we get to choose who we are going to treat with respect and who we will not; who is worthy of the gospel and who is not; who bears the image of God and who does not. Leviticus 19 and the New Testament which relies upon it do not afford us this luxury. It is no wonder that Jesus, Paul, and James all appropriate this statement from Leviticus 19:18 as being fundamental to what it means to live as a Christian.
This is why many of the commands in chapters 18-20 end with the phrase “I am the Lord,” or “I am the Lord your God.” This phrase recalls to the mind the broader context of Israel's relationship with God. The God who speaks to Israel is the God who has already faithfully and redemptively acted on Israel's behalf: "I am the Lord your God, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt" (v. 36). By placing these instructions in the context of deliverance, the writer understands them not as the arbitrary dictates of power for power's sake, but as the practices that will continue and extend the effects of God's redemptive presence among the people.
Finally, perhaps the most incendiary area of concern from Leviticus 19 comes from vs. 33, where we are told to love the aliens who live among us as ourselves. This has obvious relevance in America where a major political battle is being waged regarding what should be done with people who live here illegally. I make no claim to solve the political debate in our country. Let me just say this. How we treat someone or speak about someone must not be determined by that person’s legal or illegal status in our country. We might be tempted to say that this is another time and place and Israel did not have the problem of aliens in the land like we do. However, if you remember your Bible, Israel was not supposed to have any foreigner in the land at all so as to protect the purity of the people. Yet despite that fact, Israel was still told to treat the foreigner, the alien, the illegal alien as fellow citizens of Israel. What can we say about the foreigner who lives among us except this – we were once foreigners who lived in a strange land; we were once sinners, alienated from God, but in God’s love we were welcomed into the kingdom of God’s glory and grace and if we are to be holy then our hospitality must extend to those who are strangers in the land as well. In our time there is perhaps no other issue that will demonstrate what our theological commitments are than this one. The true test of ethics and holiness will be whether or not we can speak of and treat the immigrant among us, legal or otherwise, as neighbor.
There are many other things to be said about Leviticus 19. Let me end with this: holiness demands that we put the injustice perpetrated on Harriet Jacobs by her owner to rights. Let us demonstrate that a holy people will champion the cause of justice and equality because that is the cause of our holy God. If we would be the people that God calls us to be; if we would be followers and disciples of Christ then we must land on the side of justice and holiness for that is where Jesus is. And where Jesus goes, we will follow.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A Reflection on Exodus 33:12-23
(Click on the title above to hear JJ's sermon on this passage)
The episode of the golden calf is a blight on the record of Israel’s history. Because of it, Yahweh threatened to remove the divine presence from leading the people to the Promised Land. But I am not sure the Israelites were as bad as we have been led to believe.
Let’s put ourselves in their shoes. We have been brought out of Egypt, and know that it was only due to the might hand of Yahweh that we got free from Pharaoh’s tyrannical grasp. Yet Yahweh has been closeted away for weeks meeting with Moses, and we have no idea about when they will be done and return. We’re not sure what to do. Fear is beginning to spread amongst the people. And when fear dips its toe into our communal waters, waves begin to ripple. “How are we going to survive as a people without any clear direction on where to go? There is no clear voice that can point us toward existential certainty…we are standing in the shadow of Sinai and are not sure that we are going to survive and make it to the promised land,” we exclaim!
Hoping to calm the growing uncertainty, our leaders call a tribal meeting. And amidst all the standing around and scratching heads wondering what to do now arises a voice from the back of the tent – “I’ve got an idea!” These are four very dangerous words.
This is what fear does, doesn’t it? Anxiety and fear will cause us to look for anything that will provide relief – it doesn’t have to work; it just has to provide us with the illusion of action and progress.
The golden calf is unimportant by itself. The particularity of the idol is not the issue – the golden calf is simply the symbol of a people who are too afraid to wait on the legitimate presence of the LORD to lead them to the Promised Land.
Upon learning of their collective march toward idolatry, God is, understandably, upset. “Get out of my way, Moses, so that I might smite them with my cosmic death ray!” But Moses’ cooler head seems to prevail in the face of God’s wrath, bent toward the annihilation of God’s people, and God relents.
So in Exodus 33:12-23 we might assume that the problem is God’s temper, and the angel a fitting answer to the Israel/Yahweh relational problem. This is a bad assumption. The problem is, rather, that God’s presence has been withdrawn from the people in favor of a surrogate guiding angel, which is not a welcome sign of God’s presence, but a disappointing substitute.
Moses understands exactly the implications of leadership via angel or the divine presence. God’s presence was always to be Israel’s mark as the unique people of God. From the pillar of fire by night and the cloud of darkness during the day, to Paul’s claim that the church is the temple of the living God, the presence of God is the bedrock principle of what it means to be God’s people. And if God refuses to lead the people then the Exodus was all for naught. So Moses successfully argues that God and not the angel should lead the people to the Promised Land.
But how can we know that the presence of God is with us? In this story, God’s temper seems imperfectly trustworthy, even Moses is a bit suspicious of God’s intentions. So he says in verse 18 – “show me your glory, I pray.” Moses knows that seeing the glory of God will be a reassurance of Yahweh’s presence. In the face of fear and uncertainty, opposition and anxiety, we ask God for unambiguous physical and visual symbols of God’s presence.
But today’s theophanies, or encounters with God, are more subtle. God doesn’t light up the sky with personal messages of enduring presence. Sometimes it doesn’t seem as if God is around at all.
The fullness of the Lord’s presence, what Moses in his fear and uncertainty thinks will help, is in and of itself too much for human comprehension. Such presence would be coercive – faith would be turned into sight. There is always some uncertainty with regard to the Lord’s presence, some mystery associated with God. Otherwise, would there be room for faith and trust?
So how can we know that the Lord is with us?
God told Moses that God will be known through proclamation – “I will make all my goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim the name of the Lord before you.” Knowing God – faith, as Paul wrote – comes by hearing the proclamation of the word. Sight, it appears, does not tell us much about either divine or human behavior. What good is it to see some great miracle of power and glory? It tells us nothing about the nature and character of God. Even if it were possible to walk by sight, I am not sure that we would learn to be faithful anyway. Remember the story of the rich man and Lazarus? After his death, the rich man begged to have Lazarus sent back to bring testimony to his family so that they may avoid his fate. And the response? If they did not believe the words of Moses and the prophets; if they did not heed the proclamation, then they would not pay attention to a resurrected poor man come to save them.
I don’t know how to concretely answer the question about how we can experience the presence of God. Moses asked for a visible symbol and received a proclamation of the goodness and mercy of God instead. We cannot go back to a pre-calf existence when the fullness of God can be seen more clearly…we are left instead with the task of knowing God through our obedience. But isn’t this the way it’s always been? We hear the word of God proclaimed; we hear about God’s gracious and merciful nature and respond to it by offering our obedience – and faith says that somewhere in the offering of ourselves through submission, we will see and know God. I like what the Trappist monk Thomas Merton once wrote - “How shall we begin to know who You are if we do not begin ourselves to be something of what you are? We receive enlightenment only in proportion as we give ourselves more and more completely to God by humble submission and love. We do not first see, then act: we act, then see…and that is why the man who wais to see clearly, before he will believe, never starts on the journey.”
The episode of the golden calf is a blight on the record of Israel’s history. Because of it, Yahweh threatened to remove the divine presence from leading the people to the Promised Land. But I am not sure the Israelites were as bad as we have been led to believe.
Let’s put ourselves in their shoes. We have been brought out of Egypt, and know that it was only due to the might hand of Yahweh that we got free from Pharaoh’s tyrannical grasp. Yet Yahweh has been closeted away for weeks meeting with Moses, and we have no idea about when they will be done and return. We’re not sure what to do. Fear is beginning to spread amongst the people. And when fear dips its toe into our communal waters, waves begin to ripple. “How are we going to survive as a people without any clear direction on where to go? There is no clear voice that can point us toward existential certainty…we are standing in the shadow of Sinai and are not sure that we are going to survive and make it to the promised land,” we exclaim!
Hoping to calm the growing uncertainty, our leaders call a tribal meeting. And amidst all the standing around and scratching heads wondering what to do now arises a voice from the back of the tent – “I’ve got an idea!” These are four very dangerous words.
This is what fear does, doesn’t it? Anxiety and fear will cause us to look for anything that will provide relief – it doesn’t have to work; it just has to provide us with the illusion of action and progress.
The golden calf is unimportant by itself. The particularity of the idol is not the issue – the golden calf is simply the symbol of a people who are too afraid to wait on the legitimate presence of the LORD to lead them to the Promised Land.
Upon learning of their collective march toward idolatry, God is, understandably, upset. “Get out of my way, Moses, so that I might smite them with my cosmic death ray!” But Moses’ cooler head seems to prevail in the face of God’s wrath, bent toward the annihilation of God’s people, and God relents.
So in Exodus 33:12-23 we might assume that the problem is God’s temper, and the angel a fitting answer to the Israel/Yahweh relational problem. This is a bad assumption. The problem is, rather, that God’s presence has been withdrawn from the people in favor of a surrogate guiding angel, which is not a welcome sign of God’s presence, but a disappointing substitute.
Moses understands exactly the implications of leadership via angel or the divine presence. God’s presence was always to be Israel’s mark as the unique people of God. From the pillar of fire by night and the cloud of darkness during the day, to Paul’s claim that the church is the temple of the living God, the presence of God is the bedrock principle of what it means to be God’s people. And if God refuses to lead the people then the Exodus was all for naught. So Moses successfully argues that God and not the angel should lead the people to the Promised Land.
But how can we know that the presence of God is with us? In this story, God’s temper seems imperfectly trustworthy, even Moses is a bit suspicious of God’s intentions. So he says in verse 18 – “show me your glory, I pray.” Moses knows that seeing the glory of God will be a reassurance of Yahweh’s presence. In the face of fear and uncertainty, opposition and anxiety, we ask God for unambiguous physical and visual symbols of God’s presence.
But today’s theophanies, or encounters with God, are more subtle. God doesn’t light up the sky with personal messages of enduring presence. Sometimes it doesn’t seem as if God is around at all.
The fullness of the Lord’s presence, what Moses in his fear and uncertainty thinks will help, is in and of itself too much for human comprehension. Such presence would be coercive – faith would be turned into sight. There is always some uncertainty with regard to the Lord’s presence, some mystery associated with God. Otherwise, would there be room for faith and trust?
So how can we know that the Lord is with us?
God told Moses that God will be known through proclamation – “I will make all my goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim the name of the Lord before you.” Knowing God – faith, as Paul wrote – comes by hearing the proclamation of the word. Sight, it appears, does not tell us much about either divine or human behavior. What good is it to see some great miracle of power and glory? It tells us nothing about the nature and character of God. Even if it were possible to walk by sight, I am not sure that we would learn to be faithful anyway. Remember the story of the rich man and Lazarus? After his death, the rich man begged to have Lazarus sent back to bring testimony to his family so that they may avoid his fate. And the response? If they did not believe the words of Moses and the prophets; if they did not heed the proclamation, then they would not pay attention to a resurrected poor man come to save them.
I don’t know how to concretely answer the question about how we can experience the presence of God. Moses asked for a visible symbol and received a proclamation of the goodness and mercy of God instead. We cannot go back to a pre-calf existence when the fullness of God can be seen more clearly…we are left instead with the task of knowing God through our obedience. But isn’t this the way it’s always been? We hear the word of God proclaimed; we hear about God’s gracious and merciful nature and respond to it by offering our obedience – and faith says that somewhere in the offering of ourselves through submission, we will see and know God. I like what the Trappist monk Thomas Merton once wrote - “How shall we begin to know who You are if we do not begin ourselves to be something of what you are? We receive enlightenment only in proportion as we give ourselves more and more completely to God by humble submission and love. We do not first see, then act: we act, then see…and that is why the man who wais to see clearly, before he will believe, never starts on the journey.”
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A Reflection on Philippians 4:1-9
(Click on the title above to listen to this sermon)
Recently, it seems like the only thing anyone talks about is the financial crisis. Even the election seems to have become solely about the crisis, with each candidate doing what he can to convince voters that he has the very plan to come in and save the day. It also seems like every time I turn on the TV there are news analysts, experts, and journalists up on the screen sounding a lot like Chicken Little running around saying “the sky is falling, the sky is falling.” Maybe they are right? Ask just about anyone and they will tell you how things are – stock, credit, and housing markets all in the toilet, civil and political unrest the world over, and soaring food prices; all of which seems trivial to us in light of the news that we received last week that Oscar has cancer.
This past Sunday the lectionary asked us to consider Philippians 4:1-9, in which Paul issues a list of exhortations that include, among other things, instructions to stand firm, rejoice, be gentle, be thankful and prayerful, to not worry about anything and to be at peace.
Paul clearly has not been paying attention to the news! He is in prison, there is division in the church, the stock-market is falling, retirements are being lost, health is threatened, we’re not sure how we are going to survive as a church, much less grow, the government is borrowing money to save the credit markets, loved ones can’t find a job, people are facing real, painful situations and nobody can say how it is going to turn out, and all Paul has to offer us is platitudes – stand firm, rejoice, be gentle, don’t worry, pray, give thanks, and be at peace? To be frank, it appears as if Chicken Little is right - the sky is falling. We are just one small, insignificant church. How can we, a small voice in a market of competing megaphones, hope to make any difference for Christ?
It is unfortunate that our lectionary passage began at 4:1, and not back in 3:20, where Paul offers us a serious dose of perspective that might make the platitudes of chapter 4 seem possible. Back in 3:20 Paul writes – “our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory…”
It is as if Paul has answered all of my questions – “ok JJ, you want to know how I can have the nerve to ask you to stand firm, rejoice, be gentle, don’t worry, pray, give thanks, and be at peace? It is because you are a citizen of Heaven. You are over there with Chicken Little in the wrong time zone. You are thinking like you belong here on this earth, but you don’t. You are a part of the kingdom of heaven and that is where you live.”
What in the world does it mean to be a citizen of heaven? This is the only use of the word translated ‘citizenship’ in the entire NT, and there appears to be no English word which sums up what Paul appears to be saying to the Philippian church. Under the provisions of the Roman form of government, Philippi was governed as if it were on Italian soil. The concept is perhaps similar to a consulate or embassy – the American embassy in Egypt, for example, though it is technically in Egypt, is American soil and is governed and conducted by American rules and regulations. Thus, Paul tells the Philippians that they are part of a heavenly embassy, their state and constitutive government is in heaven, and as its citizens they are to reflect its life. There is no dual citizenship here.
Trying to maintain dual citizenship means that earthly thinking tends to dominate how I live. And guess what happens when the mind is set on earthly things? I spend a lot of time listening to Chicken Little, and he is right. When viewed from one perspective, the situation is bleak, and maybe even hopeless.
But such is not the way of the Kingdom of Heaven. Paul reminds us that when we put on Christ, we experience a permanent change of address. Our reality is transferred from this world to the world of the Kingdom of heaven. It is as if, in putting on Christ, we have walked through the brick wall and landed in magical, mystical, wonderful Diagon Alley. And once we discover the real world, the world of Christ, the world where we belong, why would we want to go back to Muggle-land?
And in this world of the kingdom we expect a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is transforming our bodies of humiliation – our bodies of flesh and bone and their reliance on all things brick and mortar, invested and saved, medical and dental – so that they may be conformed to the body of his glory. We are part of a system that knows no governments, citizenships, or allegiances other than the one to Christ. This heavenly kingdom is a present reality and determines how we live in this world – we wait patiently for Christ’s return and live by the heavenly character of the commonwealth to which we belong. I am pretty sure that this is what it means to be in the world but not of it.
Therefore, as we live here in America by the rules of the Kingdom of Heaven, it is to be expected that we would be a people who, in the face of adversity, hardship, health crisis, and economic ruin, stand firm, are gentle, aren’t worried about anything, pray, give thanks, and are at peace. Maybe the old song was right? “This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through; my treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue; the angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door and I can’t feel at home in this world any more.” I pray that it may be so.
Recently, it seems like the only thing anyone talks about is the financial crisis. Even the election seems to have become solely about the crisis, with each candidate doing what he can to convince voters that he has the very plan to come in and save the day. It also seems like every time I turn on the TV there are news analysts, experts, and journalists up on the screen sounding a lot like Chicken Little running around saying “the sky is falling, the sky is falling.” Maybe they are right? Ask just about anyone and they will tell you how things are – stock, credit, and housing markets all in the toilet, civil and political unrest the world over, and soaring food prices; all of which seems trivial to us in light of the news that we received last week that Oscar has cancer.
This past Sunday the lectionary asked us to consider Philippians 4:1-9, in which Paul issues a list of exhortations that include, among other things, instructions to stand firm, rejoice, be gentle, be thankful and prayerful, to not worry about anything and to be at peace.
Paul clearly has not been paying attention to the news! He is in prison, there is division in the church, the stock-market is falling, retirements are being lost, health is threatened, we’re not sure how we are going to survive as a church, much less grow, the government is borrowing money to save the credit markets, loved ones can’t find a job, people are facing real, painful situations and nobody can say how it is going to turn out, and all Paul has to offer us is platitudes – stand firm, rejoice, be gentle, don’t worry, pray, give thanks, and be at peace? To be frank, it appears as if Chicken Little is right - the sky is falling. We are just one small, insignificant church. How can we, a small voice in a market of competing megaphones, hope to make any difference for Christ?
It is unfortunate that our lectionary passage began at 4:1, and not back in 3:20, where Paul offers us a serious dose of perspective that might make the platitudes of chapter 4 seem possible. Back in 3:20 Paul writes – “our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory…”
It is as if Paul has answered all of my questions – “ok JJ, you want to know how I can have the nerve to ask you to stand firm, rejoice, be gentle, don’t worry, pray, give thanks, and be at peace? It is because you are a citizen of Heaven. You are over there with Chicken Little in the wrong time zone. You are thinking like you belong here on this earth, but you don’t. You are a part of the kingdom of heaven and that is where you live.”
What in the world does it mean to be a citizen of heaven? This is the only use of the word translated ‘citizenship’ in the entire NT, and there appears to be no English word which sums up what Paul appears to be saying to the Philippian church. Under the provisions of the Roman form of government, Philippi was governed as if it were on Italian soil. The concept is perhaps similar to a consulate or embassy – the American embassy in Egypt, for example, though it is technically in Egypt, is American soil and is governed and conducted by American rules and regulations. Thus, Paul tells the Philippians that they are part of a heavenly embassy, their state and constitutive government is in heaven, and as its citizens they are to reflect its life. There is no dual citizenship here.
Trying to maintain dual citizenship means that earthly thinking tends to dominate how I live. And guess what happens when the mind is set on earthly things? I spend a lot of time listening to Chicken Little, and he is right. When viewed from one perspective, the situation is bleak, and maybe even hopeless.
But such is not the way of the Kingdom of Heaven. Paul reminds us that when we put on Christ, we experience a permanent change of address. Our reality is transferred from this world to the world of the Kingdom of heaven. It is as if, in putting on Christ, we have walked through the brick wall and landed in magical, mystical, wonderful Diagon Alley. And once we discover the real world, the world of Christ, the world where we belong, why would we want to go back to Muggle-land?
And in this world of the kingdom we expect a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is transforming our bodies of humiliation – our bodies of flesh and bone and their reliance on all things brick and mortar, invested and saved, medical and dental – so that they may be conformed to the body of his glory. We are part of a system that knows no governments, citizenships, or allegiances other than the one to Christ. This heavenly kingdom is a present reality and determines how we live in this world – we wait patiently for Christ’s return and live by the heavenly character of the commonwealth to which we belong. I am pretty sure that this is what it means to be in the world but not of it.
Therefore, as we live here in America by the rules of the Kingdom of Heaven, it is to be expected that we would be a people who, in the face of adversity, hardship, health crisis, and economic ruin, stand firm, are gentle, aren’t worried about anything, pray, give thanks, and are at peace. Maybe the old song was right? “This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through; my treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue; the angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door and I can’t feel at home in this world any more.” I pray that it may be so.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
A Reflection on Philippians 3:4b-14
“If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more…” I used to read these verses as a polemic against legalists. Indeed, this seems to be what Paul is after. He apparently intends to contrast those who place their confidence on the things of the flesh, i.e. legalism, with those, represented by Paul, who place their confidence in the righteousness that comes by faith. And so Paul says – “ok, if you want to compare reasons for confidence, then I win! But all of these things which made me confident of my standing before the Lord; whatever I perceived to be to my religious advantage, I count as loss. It does not even come close to the surpassing value that comes from knowing Christ.” Ah, such great rhetorical polemic against those legalists!
But suppose that the application of Paul’s polemic here goes beyond the legalists. Suppose that Paul is talking to anyone who places too much stress on their own spiritual achievements, even those which aren’t classically legalistic?
The current favorite whipping boy of “enlightened” are those whom we believe to be legalists. How fond we are to remind ourselves that after much consideration, we are right and they are wrong. I am sure that we mean it with the best of intentions, but we are quite fond of reminding our congregations how great it is to finally have realized how wrong we were all those years we spent as one of the legalists, and how happy we now are to have discovered grace, and if only all those legalists would just wake up and discover how much better it is to live over here where we are.
I can almost hear Paul saying it. “If anyone has confidence in the flesh, I have more: a preacher of grace; proponent of inclusiveness; purveyor of social justice; and towards those who get it wrong – non-judgmental.”
Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with any of these things. I think that this is truly who I should be and the kind of preacher needed in the church. The problem is that my confidence in my achieved spiritual maturity is just a re-packaged version of the confidence that a legalist feels in claiming to have gotten everything right.
Paul says that all that confidence in the flesh is rubbish, it is garbage, it is putrescence; it is to be left behind so that we may “gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ,” a righteousness that really comes from God, not my own sense of spiritual achievement, and that is really based on faith.
I like the fact that I know that I am right. I am proud of the fact that I am considered a liberal, maverick preacher in my denomination. What’s more, it affords me the privilege of lobbing my smug grenades at any and all who disagree with me. “Oh if only they could figure out how much better it is over here – KA BOOM” “If only those legalists would wake up and smell the grace – KA BLAM!”
And God, through Paul, flies through the smog of my superiority and asks – what are you really willing to give up to know Christ?
No, I can no longer think that Paul is just talking to legalists here in Philippians 3. He is talking to me. He is asking me to give up my confidence not in my legalism, but in my liberalism. He is asking me to rely on actual faith instead of spiritual achievement, regardless of how right I believe that achievement to be.
Instead, Paul calls me to a righteousness that is from God and is based on faith that leads me not to Spiritually Superior Mountain, but to “knowing Christ” and a shared experience of his sufferings and conformation to his death.
In Philippians 3, Paul calls me to realize that what I have done in the past, whatever achievements or strides in maturity or growth in grace I have made do not allow me to simply stop and bask in the glow of my spiritual perfection. Wherever I am on discipleship’s road is merely one point on the journey toward the ultimate union with Christ at the resurrection of the dead. Paul calls me to understand that I am still imperfect in my positions and in my understandings, no matter how confident in them I might be. I never get to the point where I get to proclaim that I have arrived.
What am I willing to give up to know Christ?
Am I willing to give up my own confidence in my spiritual decisions? Am I willing to sacrifice the theological certainty in which I operate for the frightening uncertainty of truly pursuing a righteousness that comes from God through faith? Am I willing to try and intentionally conform to the pattern of Christ’s life so that I might share in his sufferings and be conformed to his death?
I would like to say that I can confidently answer these questions. The truth is that I can’t. Just as my spiritual location is simply a point in time on a journey of ever-increasing discipleship toward the image of Christ; so also is my desire continually in the process of transformation. Perhaps all I can hope for is that I want to know Christ and be conformed to his image more today than I did yesterday; and I that I want to do more in my life to attain to the goal of Christ-likeness today than I did yesterday, that the same will hold true for tomorrow.
Such is the kingdom of God - a world where confidence rests solely, only, singularly, and whole-heartedly in Jesus and not in my own spiritual confidences or achievements.
But suppose that the application of Paul’s polemic here goes beyond the legalists. Suppose that Paul is talking to anyone who places too much stress on their own spiritual achievements, even those which aren’t classically legalistic?
The current favorite whipping boy of “enlightened” are those whom we believe to be legalists. How fond we are to remind ourselves that after much consideration, we are right and they are wrong. I am sure that we mean it with the best of intentions, but we are quite fond of reminding our congregations how great it is to finally have realized how wrong we were all those years we spent as one of the legalists, and how happy we now are to have discovered grace, and if only all those legalists would just wake up and discover how much better it is to live over here where we are.
I can almost hear Paul saying it. “If anyone has confidence in the flesh, I have more: a preacher of grace; proponent of inclusiveness; purveyor of social justice; and towards those who get it wrong – non-judgmental.”
Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with any of these things. I think that this is truly who I should be and the kind of preacher needed in the church. The problem is that my confidence in my achieved spiritual maturity is just a re-packaged version of the confidence that a legalist feels in claiming to have gotten everything right.
Paul says that all that confidence in the flesh is rubbish, it is garbage, it is putrescence; it is to be left behind so that we may “gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ,” a righteousness that really comes from God, not my own sense of spiritual achievement, and that is really based on faith.
I like the fact that I know that I am right. I am proud of the fact that I am considered a liberal, maverick preacher in my denomination. What’s more, it affords me the privilege of lobbing my smug grenades at any and all who disagree with me. “Oh if only they could figure out how much better it is over here – KA BOOM” “If only those legalists would wake up and smell the grace – KA BLAM!”
And God, through Paul, flies through the smog of my superiority and asks – what are you really willing to give up to know Christ?
No, I can no longer think that Paul is just talking to legalists here in Philippians 3. He is talking to me. He is asking me to give up my confidence not in my legalism, but in my liberalism. He is asking me to rely on actual faith instead of spiritual achievement, regardless of how right I believe that achievement to be.
Instead, Paul calls me to a righteousness that is from God and is based on faith that leads me not to Spiritually Superior Mountain, but to “knowing Christ” and a shared experience of his sufferings and conformation to his death.
In Philippians 3, Paul calls me to realize that what I have done in the past, whatever achievements or strides in maturity or growth in grace I have made do not allow me to simply stop and bask in the glow of my spiritual perfection. Wherever I am on discipleship’s road is merely one point on the journey toward the ultimate union with Christ at the resurrection of the dead. Paul calls me to understand that I am still imperfect in my positions and in my understandings, no matter how confident in them I might be. I never get to the point where I get to proclaim that I have arrived.
What am I willing to give up to know Christ?
Am I willing to give up my own confidence in my spiritual decisions? Am I willing to sacrifice the theological certainty in which I operate for the frightening uncertainty of truly pursuing a righteousness that comes from God through faith? Am I willing to try and intentionally conform to the pattern of Christ’s life so that I might share in his sufferings and be conformed to his death?
I would like to say that I can confidently answer these questions. The truth is that I can’t. Just as my spiritual location is simply a point in time on a journey of ever-increasing discipleship toward the image of Christ; so also is my desire continually in the process of transformation. Perhaps all I can hope for is that I want to know Christ and be conformed to his image more today than I did yesterday; and I that I want to do more in my life to attain to the goal of Christ-likeness today than I did yesterday, that the same will hold true for tomorrow.
Such is the kingdom of God - a world where confidence rests solely, only, singularly, and whole-heartedly in Jesus and not in my own spiritual confidences or achievements.
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