The Call

15th Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 3:1-15; Matthew 16:21-28; Romans 12:9-21

One of the benefits of spending time in the blogging world is noticing the responses of people to Christianity. Most of the people I read and hear from are either overtly Christian in their orientation, or at least have a working knowledge of, if not a standard appreciation for the teachings of Christ and the role of the church in our world today.

But I run across some other folks – folks for whom the call of Christ and His church are a bother and a burden. Many are the walking wounded – they speak of ways in which the church has harmed them over the years. They speak of instances in which the church denigrated them, or shamed them in their faith journeys. They speak of times in which God has “deserted” them, or let them down in some other way. They are the walking wounded.

You and I understand them – Many of us would testify that the church has harmed us in some way in the past, and if we were really honest, that we were disappointed in God from time to time. For we, too, are the walking wounded. But there is a difference – you and I have found a place of sanctuary - a place of redemption - a place of recovery – a place of a new orientation.

I am trying to develop a ministry with this second group of people. This last week, I responded in an e-mail to one young lady who expressed her deep frustration with the church. She had been burned – badly – and her response was both typical and predictable. She had just moved into what, for her, was safer territory. And that territory was nowhere near the church. Interestingly enough, while her experiences had shaken her faith, they had not terminated it. She still perceived of herself as being one who seeks after God. Now, though, she has abandoned what should be the best tool for the person of faith – her church. In my response to her, I attempted to encourage her to seek another congregation – because I know something that I hope she comes to know – all congregations of faith pilgrims are not alike.

I read a sermon this week by Larry Bethune. Three years ago, in his sermon on these passages[1], He delineated between those in this life who are merely tourists, and those who are pilgrims. He said, “A tourist makes a trip for his or her own personal satisfaction. A pilgrim understands the journey as a spiritual quest. The purpose is not just to see and to enjoy, but to receive and to absorb, to do something good, to find your destiny, to draw closer to God, to leave the world better for your having been here. The tourist seeks only what entertains or amuses or relaxes. The pilgrim remains alert because any experience on the way may turn out to be an encounter with the Holy One in thinly veiled disguise. For the tourist, people and sites are interesting diversions. For the pilgrim, the world is imbued by the Divine presence and filled with mystery and miracle and grace. The tourist deals in superficials, but for the pilgrim, the inward journey is as important as the outward journey and must always occur simultaneously. In other words, the tourist goes everywhere but gets nowhere while the pilgrim journeys even while staying in one place.”[2]

In other words, those who see themselves as pilgrims in this life generally have a knowledge of the “call” of God. Moses had a sense of call. The disciples heard and responded to Christ’s “call.” Paul had a “Damascus Road” call. Even Jesus experienced what He sensed as the “call” of God on His life. Pilgrims in this life do not hesitate to place themselves in the company of these and many others.

You have noticed that the two subjects that are mentioned most in Christianity are gratitude and obedience. Even in most of my sermons – you know, the ones that deal with community – even those sermons wed our twin responses of gratitude and obedience. We speak of gratitude for what God has done for us, and we speak of obedience as a conscious, lifetime response to God’s grace.

Our scriptures this morning, if taken in succession, indicate a progressive movement in our faith pilgrimages. We move from faith to faith, and in that movement, we deepen and broaden our expressions of gratitude and obedience.

Let me offer some illustrations – and the illustrations come from our scriptures. The Old Testament story we heard a little while ago was the story of Moses when he encountered the burning bush. In my educations classes back in college, we talked about the stages of learning – all of my teachers will remember this – when you want to teach someone something, first you have to get their attention. There are lots of ways to get someone’s attention. Do you remember hearing about the Mennonite farmer who sold his mule to the local preacher. The preacher brought the mule back after just a couple of days, complaining that the mule wouldn’t do a thing. “When he’s stopped, I can’t get him to go, and when he’s going, I can’t get him to stop.” The old farmer went around to the front on the mule, looked intently into his eyes, and then reached down and picked up a 2X4, and “Whack!!” Nailed that mule right across the forehead, dazing him. Then the mule started listening to what the farmer told him to do. The preacher, being a gentle man, said, “Why’d you do that?” And the farmer said, “I had to get his attention.” There are lots of ways to get someone’s attention.

God got Moses’ attention by this bush that was burning. God was in the bush – God is always in the thing that gets our attention. God told Moses that he understood the plight of his people, and that He had chosen Moses to help him deliver those people from Egypt. Moses said, “BBBBBut I I I Sttttuttter.” Besides, they want to kill me back in Egypt. “I’ll be with you, Moses. The eternal ‘I Am’ – I will be with you.” Moses received the call. He eventually practiced obedience, even though he dragged his feet all the way.

When we listen to the Old Testament prophets declare the glory of God, and offer their thanks to God, what they had to say seems rudimentary to us today. What they had to say was rather “matter of fact” – “God is God, and you’d better obey.” By the time David came along, he understood in greater detail our calling, and the manner in which we express gratitude to God. “Oh give thanks to the LORD, call upon His name; make known His deeds among the peoples. Sing to Him, sing praises to Him. Speak of all His wonders. Glory in His holy name; let the heart of those who seek the LORD be glad.” He did a better job with expressing gratitude, and David taught us, and continues to teach us better, more complete and mature ways to express gratitude and obedience.

Then we come to our gospel story for today – Jesus and Peter. Jesus introduces Peter to a new concept – service. And the service that Jesus intended to perform was death. He asked this of Himself, He eventually asked it of His disciples, and He asks it of us. In order for us to practice true obedience to Christ, we die to self. Now, that’s a progressive revelation that they didn’t teach me when I was 8 and 9!! I didn’t start to hear talk about taking on the cross of Christ until I was older.

And the examples of how we die to self – well, look at what Paul had to say. “Love completely. Give preference to each other. Persevere in tribulation and persecution. Contribute your money, whether you agree with how it’s being spent or not. Don’t be haughty – rather, be lowly of stature among all men. Never pay back evil for evil – never take revenge.” Enough, Paul. You’re wearing us out with these examples of behavior – behaviors we haven’t mastered, and we’re not sure we want to master.

As pilgrims, in the pursuits of expressions of gratitude and offerings of obedience, we progress. Our experience is progressive. You and I do not express gratitude the same as we did 15 or 20 years ago. We are learning how to express our gratitude. We do not practice obedience the way we once did – we are constantly learning how. Sometimes we regress – but we commit again to the task, only to discover again the truth of the gospel story, applied to our lives.

I read a second Larry Bethune sermon this week. In it, he said, “Grace and calling are not the contradictory messages they appear to be. Not at all! When you realize that Jesus' love for us is expressed most of all in his invitation that we be 24/7 in following him, that we recognize every place and every person and every moment is holy, pregnant with the presence of a good and loving God, then it makes perfect sense. Jesus' gifts and his demands are the same thing. Spirituality and life are the same thing.”[3]

I had already looked at the scriptures when Pat Robertson made his ill advised statement earlier in the week. In my blog[4], I was not very gracious to him – I’m still learning how to practice Christian grace toward those who create so much havoc in the very place in which I am trying to spread the gospel. I confess that I tire of fundamentalist teaching which insists upon obedience as a means to a change of heart. Jesus taught things the other way around. Jesus taught that when He changes our hearts and our minds, obedience and gratitude are natural outflows of that inward change.

We don’t always practice the hymns, but the choir rehearsed the hymns this last week in choir rehearsal. I told them that one of the reasons I wanted them to rehearse the hymns was that I intended to make a point from two of the hymns this morning. A couple of the boys on the back row snickered, and then reminded the rest of us that you as a congregation pretty much expect me to make a point every week. We do have a good time in choir. Anyway, the point that I want to make is this. For the most part, you and I have to deal with religious zealotry and other forms of fundamentalism more as we would something pesky or tiresome or merely bothersome. It is the rare occasion that fundamentalism seriously harms us. But for us, the day to day concern which would be ours in terms of this “call” of God is this – with what kind of attitude will I respond to God’s call. That really is our greater concern.

And that’s where the two hymns come in. You noticed we sang “Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken,” followed by “I Then Shall Live.” Listen again to the words, and I suppose, the attitude expressed in the first verse of each of these hymns.
Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow Thee;
Destitute, despised, forsaken,
Thou from hence my all shalt be.
Perish every fond ambition,
All I’ve sought, and hoped and known;
Yet how rich is my condition,
God and heav’n are still my own.[i]

That has a rather somber tone to it, don’t you think. Now listen to the first verse of the other hymn.

I then shall live as one who’s been forgiven;
I’ll walk with joy to know my debts are paid.
I know my name is clear before my Father;
I am His child, and I am not afraid.
So greatly pardoned, I’ll forgive my brother;
The law of love I gladly will obey.[i]

Can you sense the difference in the tone of the song? I tell you, I’ve been a Christian for nearly 40 years now, and I can say that things have changed for me. Where I was once taught, and practiced, that Christian obedience, and I suppose Christian gratitude, for that matter, were dour, obligatory practices, I have learned that just the opposite is true. Expressions of gratitude and personal obedience to Christ are wonderful opportunities to share in the relationship that is mine as a result of the grace of Christ. Gratitude and obedience are not burdensome tasks to be performed – they are joyous outgrowths of the call issued to me by our Lord.

“Well, preacher – you’ve thrown a lot of stuff at us this morning – what shall we leave with?” It’s a fair question. I would say three things – you knew that was coming, didn’t you. First, it is evident to me that the scripture indicates that we are all called. Not just Moses, not just disciples, not just Paul – we are all called. Second, practice the grace of Christ that allows for this progressive revelation in our lives. Give yourself, and then give others, the opportunity to become all that God intends for you and them to become. And then, finally, live as pilgrims. Understand the holy mystery of this calling which is ours in Christ Jesus. Share your gratitude freely and humbly, and serve Christ while serving others with joy and privilege.

[1] http://www.ubcaustin.org/sermons/20020901.htm - “Travelling Mercies” - Larry Bethune, Sept. 1, 2002, University Baptist Church, Austin, Tx.
[1] Ibid.
[1] http://www.ubcaustin.org/sermons/19990829.htm - “24/7” - Larry Bethune, August 29, 1999, University Baptist Church, Austin, Tx.
[1] http://sojourningpilgrim.blogspot.com/2005/08/they-just-dont-get-it.html
[1] “Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken” – text by Henry F. Lyte, arr. By Hubert P. Main
[1] “I Then Shall Live” – Text by Gloria Gaither, Music by Jean Sibelius (Finlandia).

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

Right Back at ya

14th Sunday after Pentecost

Matthew 16:13-20; Romans 12:1-8

My friend, Bob Searl, pastors the University Baptist Church over in Shawnee. Several years ago, we were talking about one of his most beloved parishioners, Dr. Hurley – Mike Pontious counts Dr. Hurley as something of a mentor – anyway, Searl mentioned how difficult it was to be a preacher and have Dr. Hurley in his congregation – high standards of excellence and such. He shared Hurley’s brief synopsis of his performance at the conclusion of his morning sermon from the previous week. He said, “Pastor, I perceive that you are becoming a better preacher.”

Bob took it as a compliment, and he should have. We strive for excellence in this life – granted, some of us more than others – and we count upon certain people in our paths to champion the cause of excellence as an example to us.

I realized this week that is one of the things I miss about Dad. We didn’t see eye to eye on everything – but he was my first and greatest coach on competition – with others, and with myself. Well into his 60’s, he would still go with us to the tennis court – that’s back when I was actually agile enough to play tennis – and he would golf with us until about the last three years of his life. In those outings, he was still trying to win – to best his boys – and he was somewhat disappointed that he couldn’t beat us anymore.

Apart from a competitive nature, Dad also taught us to try new things. He counted each car that one of us would purchase as another in the experiment of cars that we, as an extended family, were “trying.” He would take on a new game, or try something new, if for no other reason than to encourage us to do the same. Now, sister Tracy is doing that very thing this morning. I can report to you that she is preaching a sermon this morning on the Psalm for today, and she has determined that with her West Texas, small town congregation, she is going to attempt to preach in the style of an African-American preacher – because she thinks the scripture simply begs to be preached in that style. I can’t wait to get home and call her to see if she how it went – that is, if they haven’t had her committed.

I read her sermon on Friday. She commented about the nature of African-American churches to “talk back” to the preacher during the sermon – saying things like, “yes”, and, “uh-huh,” and “you said it, preacher,” – Jim Wideman used to say that commentary helped the preacher know how they were doing, and that they were doing okay unless they heard someone say, “help him, Lord.” Anyway, Tracy said this in her sermon – “Sermons in those churches are not monologues – they’re dialogues, and intentionally so.”

It occurred to me this week that Jesus and Peter had a most unusual dialog in our gospel story for this morning. Matthew places this story late in the “big story” – just before the Transfiguration, really. I don’t know what Jesus was up to with his questions – it could be that He was simply trying to discern if He had accomplished His goal of getting His message out there so the masses could understand it. That may have been the “big picture” idea – however, I suspect He always had more than one reason why He did anything.

In this case, I suspect that Jesus was trying to test the waters in the case of this one disciple – Simon Peter – and was trying to make a larger point about the manner in which God intended that the kingdom of God work itself out in our world. Whatever the case, this was an unusual dialog.

Jesus put a question out there for the “boys in the band” to answer. “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” He liked that term, “Son of Man.” He liked to refer to Himself that way – “the Son of Man.” Isn’t it interesting that the “Son of God” would call Himself the “Son of Man.” Kind of a demotion, don’t you think. And yet, that may have been the larger point all along about the redemptive approach God chose to take with us. We couldn’t come up to God’s level, so God chose to come down to ours.

Anyway, they answered His question. And they gave some pretty good responses – “John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, another prophet.” He had done a good enough job with them that they at least placed Him in some pretty good company. So He asked the second question – and I personally think He looked straight at Simon Peter when He asked it – “But who do you say that I am?”

It isn’t my sermon for today, really, but I can’t pass this question by with reminding us that this is the question that each one of us must answer for ourselves. This is the question that every person ultimately must answer – “Who do we think Jesus is?” Just like He looked straight at Simon Peter, He eventually looks straight at each of us and asks the same question – “Who do you say that I am?”

Peter gave a good answer – bordering on a spectacular answer, really. “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” He got it right that day, Peter did. Peter hit the nail right on the head. He might not have known all the implications of his answer – this side of heaven, I don’t suspect any of us know all the implications. But he did hit the nail right smack on the head. Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God.

Now, I want us to go back to this dialog idea for a minute. You noticed that I entitled the sermon, “Right Back At Ya.” When I first read these questions this week, I thought, “What if the situation were reversed? What if we were asking these questions of Jesus? “Jesus, who do people out there really think I am?” Jesus, who do you really think I am?” And what if the situation were reversed still another way – what if it were Jesus asking these questions of us? “Richard, who do you think you are?” Or, “Mike, who does Jesus think you are?” Hmm.

Here’s my point. I mean, we could actually explore those four questions for a little while, and maybe we might get somewhere this morning. But I think the larger point is that when we enter into relationship with Jesus, that relationship is a “dialog” relationship. In other words, Jesus expects us to come at Him with some questions and some challenges, and we should expect the same thing in return. This is no casual relationship – this is real intimacy – the kind of intimacy that expects things of one another, and demands answers, and doesn’t walk away from the relationship for any reason, and by doing all of those things, shows true respect for the other party.

I made an observation about myself this week. Lately, as board President of a couple of organizations in town, I’ve been expected to do some hand holding and polite prodding of the other board members. We have board meetings – we determine to perform certain actions – we make assignments to one another. There was a time when I didn’t mind so much calling those other “volunteer” board members to remind them to complete their duties. But recently, I’ve gotten a little weary of having to be the board monitor in those situations. I think this may have something to do with Dad’s passing – I am suddenly a foot closer to being in my own grave, and I don’t have time for such things any longer. It’s not really an impatience – more like a respect that calls upon the best of other adults, and expects them to take responsibility for their commitments and their actions. I frankly expect them to hold me to the same standards. In other words, in those wonderful venues, lets stop holding hands, and instead, show each other how much we care by really doing our jobs, and if we must, maybe kicking each other in the seat of the pants every once in a while – in Jesus’ name, of course.

When Jesus entered into relationship with us, I think He expected some things of us. He expected some things of us because we were now members of the royal family – and I don’t mean a dysfunctional royal family like the ones across the big pond. We are children of the King – adopted brothers and sisters of Jesus, and grafted offspring of God. That doesn’t come lightly. No longer is it appropriate for us to sit around and discount our own worth in the eyes of God, or in the work of the kingdom. That’s where the truth of the Psalm this morning reminds us that we are who we are, exactly and precisely because the “Lord was on our side.” That’s where the truth of the Old Testament story of the salvation of Moses comes into play. Moses wasn’t saved because he was anyone special – he was saved for a purpose, and that purpose was the continuation of this tremendous story of the salvation of God coming into our world. We are all Moses’, each and every one of us. We were saved for a purpose, and we dare not discount our purpose in the spread of the kingdom of God. I suspect God tires of listening to us as we say, “well, I’m only one person,” or as we say, “I’m no Moses – there are more important people in the kingdom than me.” I suspect God tires of all of that hooey – God expects us to rise up and claim our inheritance as children of the King, brothers and sisters of Christ, emissaries to a fallen, wounded, hurting world. I suspect God expects more of us.

I have two illustrations to make my point. The first one, I shared with you three years ago in a sermon on this same passage. In our gospel story this morning, Jesus said to Peter, “You are Peter (petros – little pebble) and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it.” In my lifetime, I have gone through three understanding of what Jesus meant by those words.

When I was much younger, one pastor I sat under said that “on this rock” referred to Peter and his wonderful, stalwart kind of faith. In other words, “Peter, you are just the kind of person I am looking for on which I might build the church.” That explanation doesn’t work for me any more – because when we look ahead to the next week, we see just how “rock-like” Peter acts then. Peter never was trustworthy when it came to sticking it out. If Jesus was planning to build his church on Peter’s wavering faith, the church would have been doomed to fail.

Some years later, I heard another explanation. Jesus called Peter a rock, petros, which means small pebble. Then Jesus pointed to Himself and said, “and on ‘this’ rock, I will build my church.” For a long time I became convinced that is what Jesus meant in that situation. “Peter, your faith is so small, I better build My church Myself. As a pebble, I’ll put you where I want, and let you know about it afterwards.”

Then just a few years ago, I encountered an explanation I continue to like. Jesus called Peter a little rock, petros, and then pointing, first to Himself, and then back to Peter, in a back and forth kind of motion, said, “and on this rock” – indicating the relationship between Christ and us. A “dialogue relationship.” The church will expand and prevail, not just on the wavering faith of Peter-like people. The church will expand and prevail, not just on the power and deity of Jesus. But the church will expand and prevail on the basis of the relational power, the “dialogue relationship” between all of us who are Peter-like people and our Lord Jesus Christ.

Then, here’s my second illustration. Our epistle for today – Romans 12. “I urge you therefore, brethren (and sisters), by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect.” (NASV mostly) Paul goes on to proclaim that we are members of the same body as is Christ. We are members of His body. That’s hard to discount. That’s tough to belittle. We wouldn’t put down the body of Christ. No, we exalt the sacrifice of Christ and we worship Him for Who He is. We don’t worship ourselves, but we are called to hold ourselves, and our contribution to the expansion of the kingdom of God in high esteem. We don’t mumble about our commitment to God – rather, we proclaim our involvement in the greatest venture this earth has seen.

We are involved in a living “dialogue of life” with our Lord, and with this world. Our participation is called for, and as a mature expression of our place in God’s eyes, our participation is expected.

“Right Back At Ya, Jesus.” We see who You see us to be. We understand Your expectations of us, and we gratefully respond with an expression of our lives that is appropriate and excellent. “Right Back At Ya.”

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

The Hinge

13th Sunday after Pentecost

Matthew 15: (10-20) 21-28; Romans 11: 1-2a, 29-32

I can’t take you far enough this morning. I can’t remove us from the safety and knowledge and experience of our salvation so that we can feel the lostness that so much of the world feels. But we must try.

I could take us to the world of true poverty. The last time that Larry and Jan Frey and I went to Juarez, I was reminded of the distance that separates the poorest of poor people from the richest nation in the world. It’s not very far. From the second floor balcony of the Hyatt Regency of the garbage dump, the Catholic compound where we stay in Juarez, you can actually see the United States. You can see the land of promise, the land where dreams can come true, where people can pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, the land where people can move from one economic status to the next – if they dare to dream and work as though their lives depend on it. But as we moved and worked that week among the residents of the old city dump, where men are paid $5/day to work at the Adidas factory, and the women sweep the dust from the bare, dirt floors, and the children run out to the 55 gallon drum in the front yard to collect water for cooking the evening meal, and where electricity to their cardboard home comes through a single wire which has been carefully stolen from the electric poles scattered through the community – it occurred to me – there are children living in this dump who can see the promised land just on the other side, and they will never cross over. They will never cross over because they don’t have the money, and their world is the only world they will ever know. The promised land is just a few miles away – but it might as well be 1000 miles. They will never see it. They will never go there.

Or I could take us to another world. I could take us into the world of mental illness. Thursday evening, I listened to the angels from NORCE play handbells in the sanctuary of St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church. They played the Bach/Gounod Ave Maria, and it was the most beautiful music I have ever heard. But that is the result of perspective. Technically, the music was flawed and imperfect. These mentally handicapped adults live in another world. They live in a world where they hear the words, and they wear the clothes, and they go through the motions of what we so casually refer to as “normalcy” – but they live in a different world. Living with a mentally handicapped person for so many years has taught me that – they live in a different world, and their realities are so very different from our realities. Having seen the beginnings of infant life, you and I realize that the miracle is that no more of us are mentally handicapped than there are – so traumatic and fragile is that process. Some do not escape unscathed – some bear the trauma of birth, and are affected for life, and bear the stigma and the horrors and the unrelenting trappings of an accident of birth. Their's is a world where things do not come easy – where life is a struggle – to understand, to comply, to fit in, to succeed, to contribute, to even exist. And yet they hold our hands, and sit at our tables, and attend our schools and play our handbells and wind up in the same hospitals at the end of their lives – but they might as well be 1000 miles away, so great is the distance that often separates their reality from ours.

When Jesus wandered into the region of Tyre and Sidon, He encountered a different world, with different people from those who were “His own.” This was the land of the Canaanites – the half-breed Gentiles who were so despised by the Jews. They used denigrating terms to refer to them – uncircumcised, Gentile dogs is the translation of their favorite term. Jesus is confronted by a woman. In His eyes, she would have been a three time loser - she was prohibited from speaking to him on three levels – race, gender, and status. Perhaps it troubles us that at first, Jesus plays out this conversation just as He would have been expected to play it out – He ignores her. Her first request is for mercy – for her daughter who was demon-possessed. He doesn’t say a thing. His disciples suggest that He send her away, and His answer to them is rather confirming of His thinking – “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” She doesn’t relent – she begins to bow down in front of him, begging for mercy saying, “Lord, help me.” He continues with His distanced posture – I personally think He didn’t so much answer her as He continued to speak to the disciples. “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” Even the Son of Man, our Lord and Savior, referred to her in the common language of the day – offering an accepted denigration of her existence as a person.

But then she uttered perhaps the most important words ever uttered – the hinge. I’ll tell you my reality on this passage. My life was forever changed when I watched the ABC movie presentation of the life of Jesus some years ago. My life was forever changed when the move came to this point in the story. It played out much the way I’ve just described it – Jesus played the part of the good, Jewish Messiah, and this woman continued to press Him for mercy – and then she uttered these words – “Yes, Lord; but even the dogs feed on the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”

In the movie, Jesus paused for a moment. He had a bit of a surprised look on His face – a look as though this idea had never dawned on Him before – “Gentiles – receive My mercy? Non-Jews – receive My mercy? Women, as well as men – receive My mercy? Sinners – receive My mercy? Blacks and Mexicans and Chinese – receive My mercy? English and Spanish and Americans – receive My mercy? Thieves and murderers and harlots – receive My mercy? Rich people and poor people – receive My mercy? Heterosexuals and homosexuals – receive My mercy? People other than the children of Israel – receive My mercy???? And finally, He answered and said to her, “O woman, your faith is great; be it done for you as you wish.”

This scripture has stretched me this week. I have traveled far – farther than I ever thought I could travel in a week. I have traveled in my mind into the world of those who know a poverty that I can only suspect. I have traveled in my mind into the world of those who lack the mental acumen to cognate on the same level with most of society. I have traveled in my mind this week into what you and I casually describe as the dark world of sin and degeneracy. I have traveled far – and yet, I still cannot take us far enough to know the gulf that was traversed in this exchange between Jesus and this woman.

She is the hinge.

Her faith is the hinge upon which our faith hangs. Her faith opened the door to salvation to every person who sits in this room this day. I look around and I don’t see any of you who are Jewish. Before this moment in time, it very well may be the case that none of us had a hope of salvation. It may very well be the case that Jesus understood His mission to be only to the lost sheep of Israel, and that this encounter opened the door for us – for all of us.

I read Paul this week. At first I was just going to use the gospel as text for the sermon. But Paul says something – something that is profound, even by Paul’s standards. Chapter 11, verse 32 – “For God has shut up all in disobedience that He might show mercy to all.” On Friday, as I blogged some of my thoughts about this subject, I said, “You'd think by this time in my journey, I'd be confident on the point of whom God will save. I have come to grips with the concept that whoever is saved, God is the One Who does the saving. We can't save ourselves. I have a pastor friend, who when presented with the question ‘Pastor, don't you think pretty much everyone will ultimately be saved?,’ responds with the answer, ‘When it comes to that question, I find that I must separate my hope from my belief. My hope is that God will indeed save everyone - but my belief is that there's more to it than that.’

Generally, that's where I fall on the theological scale - I suspect that there's more to it than that, and that at least part of the equation involves some response on our part to the love of God. But then, this week, I am confronted by two ideas. One of them, the actual words of the Apostle Paul - Romans 11:32, where he says, "For God has shut up all in disobedience that He might show mercy to all." Paul says "all." So part of the question hinges upon what your definition of "all" is. The other part of that question hinges upon what your definition of "shows mercy" is.”

I can’t answer all of those questions. All I can do – all any of us can do – is to do exactly the same as this woman. We turn to Jesus for mercy. We recognize that if there is mercy to be found, we will find it in the words and comfort of Jesus. We go to Him, and we ask for mercy. Then we beg for mercy. If we have to, we argue with our Jesus for mercy. We do all that we can do in the confidence that He will do what He must and will to save us – and to show us mercy.

Three years ago, on this passage of scripture, I suggested that grace and mercy are two sides of the same coin. There’s a third side to that coin – it’s the concept of forgiveness. I need to preach a sermon on forgiveness sometime soon – if for no other reason than to straighten out my own theology. I think we would be hard pressed to argue which comes first – grace, mercy, forgiveness – I do know this – the three of them are intimately related.

Sister Tracy was in a bit of a panic on Friday, looking for the perfect illustration for her sermon on forgiveness. I don’t blame her – she loves good stories, and she’s really good at telling good stories. As the much older, much stodgier brother, I submitted again and again to her that the greatest story of forgiveness is the story of Jesus’ forgiveness of us – of you and me.

This day, we pause to thank Jesus for hearing the pleas of a woman who, according to the law, had no business asking Jesus for anything – mercy, grace, or forgiveness. Aren’t we glad He listened to her?

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

Confession

12th Sunday after Pentecost

Matthew 14:22-33; Romans 10:5-15

Those who have had a boat will tell you that often, a boat is a “hole down which you throw money.” I have had my little fishing boat for about three years now, and there is some truth to that. I’m not mechanically gifted enough to do much of the work that is required when things break, and so often when something stops working, I take it into the shop. Usually I try to have Gary diagnose what’s wrong with it over the phone, but then I go ahead and take it in to the professionals anyway.

I think I do that, in part, because I don’t ever want to have to swim back to shore while my boat sinks or burns or just sits there. Canton Lake isn’t all that deep, but I don’t swim as good as I used to, and I have a healthy respect of water to accompany my healthy fear of drowning. And I suppose I have that respect and fear because more than once in the last three years, J.D. and I have been caught out on a lake when we had no business being caught out on any lake. The first time he and I took the boat out together, we went over to Kaw Lake, and put in a good distance from where we intended to fish, and then we fished too long, and then we had to head back to the launch ramp in winds and waves that I don’t ever want to experience again. I know what it’s like to be scared, in a storm, on a small lake. Thanks to J.D.!!!

More than once, the disciples had an experience with Jesus out on the open waters of the Sea of Galilea. One time they were getting battered and tossed, and Jesus just slept in the back of the boat. They finally woke Him, and He simply told the water and the waves to settle down – pausing to rebuke them for the “littleness of their faith.” I always used to think of that little exchange as way harsh – until J.D. and I were caught out on Kaw – you know, he had a bunch of fun kidding me about how anxious I was. Of course, we weren’t in his boat!! It just might be that Jesus wasn’t fussing at the disciples as much as He was kidding them about their faithlessness. When you’re the Son of God, and can still the waves with the spoken word, you might enjoy having a little fun with your disciples.

But this was a different experience. They had started across the lake just at sunset, and then they got caught in this little storm during the black of night. I don’t want to experience that, either. Evidently, they had battled the waves all night, and it was coming up on 3 in the morning. That’s roughly 7 to 9 hours of oarsmanship and sailing, and I assume water bailing. Anyway, they look up, and see this ghost walking toward them on top of the waves. At least they think it’s a ghost. Jesus could tell by their voices – how shall we say it – they were expressing their fear. That leaves a little room for the imagination. Jesus picks up on their fear, and so He calls out to them, telling them to “take courage, it is I.” That must have calmed them down a bit, because Peter calls back to him. “Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water.”

I read what some others said about this passage this week, and for some reason this year, they got caught up in this request of Peter. I’ll agree with some of their comments – I have no earthly idea why Peter wanted to get out of the boat. In the middle of a storm. Jesus or no Jesus, I’m gonna be looking for another life preserver. A bunch of folks that are preaching this passage this morning got caught up in the fact that this request on the part of Peter comes across as a little test. “Lord, if it is You . . .?” What was Peter thinking at the moment? We really don’t know – at least, I don’t!!

Well, we know how the rest of this story goes. Jesus motions for Peter to come ahead, and calls out the command, “Come.” Peter obeys – jumps out of the boat, and starts walking on the water straight toward Jesus. He makes the mistake of looking around, taking his eyes off Jesus, and the moment he does, he starts to sink.

I’ll bet that if you’ve heard this story preached before, that’s been the sermon – don’t take your eyes off Jesus. I’ve preached that sermon once or twice myself. It’s a pretty good sermon, and it’s some pretty sound advice. We shouldn’t take our eyes off Jesus. He is our salvation. We ought to keep our focus glued to Him.

But I want us to look in a slightly different direction for the core of our thinking this morning. I want us to listen in on what everyone had to say about Jesus from this point on. Two statements – the first one from Peter – “Lord, save me!” That may be the shortest prayer in the bible – and it may be the most effective. And the second statement evidently came from everyone in the boat – “You are certainly God’s Son.”

Now, I need to make a little acknowledgement. Remember the Romans passage for today? Paul said, “‘The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart’ – that is the word of faith which we are preaching, that if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved; for with the heart man believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.” Here’s the acknowledgement. This statement is made in the positive. By that I mean that it doesn’t say that if you don’t believe in your heart and confess with your mouth that you’ll go to a devil’s hell. I suspect that most of the sermons we’ve heard on the matter didn’t mention that. Most of the sermons I’ve ever heard on this passage insist that if you don’t believe and confess, you’re doomed. But this passage is stated in the positive. If you do, you will be. If you believe and confess, you will be saved. I needed to make that acknowledgement. But having made it, I suspect these words that Paul spoke are more important than some other things he said in his lifetime. They say all scripture is equally inspired – but not necessarily equally profitable. This is, I think, one of those passages that is more than equally profitable. I think what Paul said here in these three verses may have been some of the most important stuff he ever said.

Mary Lassiter told us last week during the announcements about our last outing with the children for Summer DAZE. We went over to Roman Nose state park, and we took the children on a little hike. I gave each of them one of those little New Testaments we’ve had on a shelf in the office for about 6 years, and then we took a little hike. I sent the kiddos on, one at a time, walking this path – as a reminder that we all walk this journey of salvation by ourselves. There are others along the way, to be sure, but this is a singular journey. There were four stops along the way– the Roman Road. The first stop was at Romans 3:23 – “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” We’re all in the same boat – every man, woman, and child who has walked the face of the planet has sinned – against themselves, against other people, and certainly against God. Then the second stop was at Romans 6:23 – “the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” I remember when it first struck me that we work at our sin, and we actually get paid for it. The wages we are paid for our sin is death. Sin begets dead things in this life, and a life of sin begets an eternity of death. That seems to be the larger teaching of scripture. Our third stop was at Romans 5:8 – “God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” That day, I noticed that the children listened pretty well. I also noticed that the ladies in our group got a little quieter when we got to this verse. It’s kind of overwhelming, isn’t it – to consider that Christ died for us. I think that day I went around the circle and called out most of the kid’s names – making mention of the fact that Christ died for each one of them. Our last stop was at these verses in chapter 10. Believe in your heart, and confess with your mouth. Pretty simple stuff.

I think that’s what Peter did out there on that lake as he started to sink beneath the waves of Galilea. He confessed with his mouth. He called out to Jesus to save him. And Jesus did. He confessed. You know, confession means agreement. In the most literal sense of the word as it is used in the Greek language, confession means agreement. That’s what we do when we confess. It’s what we do every Wednesday night during our prayer service. We share with one another places in our lives where we struggle, and then we agree with God that we are in need of His salvation. We agree that God has designs on our lives, and we have designs on our lives, and the two don’t always agree. We agree that God has asked us not to do some things, and that we went ahead and did them anyway. We agree with God.

We sang a great old hymn this morning. “Love Lifted Me.” I remember back from my youth years hearing someone make a joke about that hymn. They said, “we like to sing it this way. I was sinking deep in sin, Wheeeee!” Most of us know what that feels like. We like our sin. That’s why we work at it so much. We like our sin, and we work at it, and too often, we don’t take our sin seriously. God does. God takes our sin so seriously that Jesus died for us. That’s the story. That’s the good news. That’s the gospel.

We talk a lot around here about salvation. I’ve never been in a church where we can be so open and honest about what we think about what the scriptures have to say. I know a lot of us around here get the point that God is the One Who makes the decision about who is saved and who isn’t. We get that point. We don’t assume to know the heart of others – most of us have enough trouble knowing our own hearts. And I know that a lot of us around here hope that God’s standard of salvation is a lot broader than some of the people we’ve heard preach in the past seem to think it is. We hope that God has a big tent, and that God has a lot of children, and that Jesus has died for a lot more people than maybe have ever believed and confessed. I know a lot of us hope that very thing.

But we must never take the gospel – the good news of Jesus Christ lightly. I think most of us agree that we are sinners – every one of us. And I think that most of us agree that sin begets sin which begets death and dead things. I think most of us agree on those things. And I also think that virtually everyone in this room believes that Jesus died for us – for everybody, for that matter. We believe these things in common, and we ought to. We must never take them lightly.

I don’t know about you, but I have some friends in this town that are pretty good people – a lot better than most. I want them to know some things. I want them to know what my Jesus did for them. I want them to know that my Jesus died for them. And after they know that my Jesus died for them, just like Andrew did with his brother Peter, I want my friends to know my Jesus. I mean, personally. I want them to know this same Jesus who reached down His strong hand, and lifted me right out of the waves that were lapping at my feet. I want them to know that He saved me – how did the girl from the movie Titanic put it – “He saved me, in every way that a person can be saved.” That is my confession. That is our confession. Jesus saved us. Jesus saves us still. Jesus will save our friends. Jesus will save you.

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.