A New Robe of Faith . . .

1st Sunday after Christmas Day

1st Samuel 2:18-20, 26

Well, Happy New Year to you all. This is the weekend when we celebrate the beginning of a new year in our world. It is a natural time of new beginnings, new hopes. Many of us will be making resolutions – did you know that the #2 most popular resolution is to lose weight? That surprised me a little – the #1 most popular resolution is to get a better job. Hmmm. We could talk a little about the chicken and the egg, there, don’t you think?

Anyway, one of the things that catches my attention on the television this time of year, in between football games, are those news stories that list the highlight news events of the year, and especially the passing of important people in our world. My nephew this past week couldn’t get over the fact that James Brown didn’t live as long as Gerald Ford. I don’t know why that struck him so – but it did. I’m always amazed to see which celebrities have passed that I had forgotten about over the course of the year . . .

My mind this week turned again to the Old Testament scripture. I had about decided that I was through with the prophets and the Old Testament for a while – Advent about wore me out. But I was struck by a phrase in the Samuel passage that really jumped out at me, and that’s where I got the glimmer of an idea for the sermon this morning.

It was that second verse in the passage Mary just read for us – verse 10 of 1st Samuel, chapter 2. “His mother used to make for him a little robe and take it to him each year, when she went up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice.”

The story of Samuel is another of those stories of the bible where we have to step outside our contemporary moral judgments, and it is also a story where we get a real look at real life problems – how people try to handle them, and what God does in response to the pleas of his people. Here’s the short version. Hannah was married to Elkanah – interestingly enough out of the same country near Bethlehem we looked at last week. Elkanah actually had two wives – wait a minute – I thought this was the Bible we were studying?!?! Anyway, the other wife was named Peninnah, and she had lots of children – which wasn’t so much of a problem, except Hannah was barren. Another biblical “barren woman” story. Peninnah would rub it in from time to time – especially when Elkanah would go up to the temple for sacrifice. The first chapter of 1st Samuel tells us that he would sacrifice for Peninnah and each of her sons, but that he would offer a double sacrifice for Hannah, because he loved her. This really irritated Peninnah, and so she would go out of her way to make fun of Hannah and her barrenness. Hmmm.

So, Hannah turned to God with her pleas, and eventually promised God that if God gave her a son, she would give him back to God in God’s service. The priest, old Eli was watching her offering this prayer to God one day, and he approached her about the whole matter, and Eli rather prophesies that her wish will be granted. And so it was. Samuel was born to Elkanah and Hannah, and she did as she had promised – when the child was old enough, she took him to the temple, they offered sacrifices, and after he was weaned, she left him there to minister with old Eli.

In my mind’s eye, I’m just trying to imagine any woman I know leaving her newly weaned child with the old priest at the temple, and then going home, only to make yearly visits to the temple to see her son. I’m trying to imagine . . .

And I could also just imagine Samuel’s mother trying to figure out what size he had grown to over the year – did she measure the robe up against other little boys in her town to get an estimate of Samuel’s size and height? I’m sure she picked out the best cloth she could find for this new robe. He obviously needed a new robe – he was a growing boy, and you know how they go through clothes, especially if they only have one robe to wear!!

Well, that’s the story. But it got me to thinking about our own growth – especially our spiritual growth – growth in our faith. We talk a lot about growing in faith, but I don’t think we’ve ever really tried to define what we’re talking about. One of my favorite Pauline verses comes from Romans, chapter 1. Verses 16 and 17 – “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the
Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, ‘But the righteous man shall live by faith.’” From faith to faith – as a result of those growth spurts in our faith, the righteousness of God is revealed through the power of His Gospel.

Just how does that growth in our faith occur? Well, I don’t think we can narrow it down to just one method. It probably happens a number of ways. I’ll suggest two. Sometimes growth in our faith happens as a result of moving through life’s difficult circumstances; and secondly, sometimes our growth comes as a result of choosing to step out into new ventures.

Unless you’re immune from life’s problems, you’ve had something happen to you this past year that has been hard to handle. It was a troubling event – something you didn’t ask for, but it came your way nonetheless. Perhaps you had a death in your immediate family. Perhaps some member of your family was ill for some period of time. Maybe you lost a job and had to find a new one. Those are the big things we usually think about. We call them the “stress” points in our life. Psychologists consider the stress factors that come our way, and they’ve devised a scale that allots points to each kind of stress we experience, and then suggests how much stress any one human can live with before they are at risk for health related issues – by one scale I looked at, they think the average person can live with 150 points of stress in their lives without facing significant risk to their health. Some of the things on the list are the biggies in our world – death of a spouse, divorce, death of family member (parent or sibling) – those kinds of things. But other stressors in our lives are the things that are common to all of us every year of our lives – a mortgage or loan over $10,000 is worth 31 points all by itself. A vacation is worth 13 points, a traffic ticket is worth 11 points, and Christmas, just the event of Christmas, is worth 12 points. We’re probably nuts to ever consider taking a vacation at Christmas, huh??

We all live with these kind of life circumstances, but many of us thrive during them, or at least as we move through them. Ed Vineyard sent me a thought provoking e-mail yesterday which serves as something of an illustration here. Sometimes we wonder, "What did I do to deserve this?" or "Why did God have to do this to me?" Here is a wonderful explanation! A daughter is telling her Mother how everything is going wrong, she's failing algebra, her boyfriend broke up with her and her best friend is moving away. Meanwhile, her Mother is baking a cake and asks her daughter if she would like a snack, and the daughter says, "Absolutely Mom, I love your cake." "Here, have some cooking oil," her Mother offers. "Yuck" says her daughter. "How about a couple raw eggs?" "Gross, Mom!" "Would you like some flour then? Or maybe baking soda?" "Mom, those are all yucky!" To which the mother replies: "Yes, all those things seem bad all by themselves. But when they are put together in the right way, they make a wonderfully delicious cake! God works the same way. Many times we wonder why He would let us go through such bad and difficult times. But God knows that when He puts these things all in His order, they always work for good! We just have to trust Him and, eventually, they will all make something wonderful!

Friends, our faith can thrive as a result of trials in our lives. I suspect – no, I know that every person in this room is testimony to that truth.

But trouble and difficult aren’t the only ways we grow in faith. All of our growth doesn’t come as a result of problems. We can also choose to grow in our faith.

I offer as illustration my upcoming mission trip this next week. People have been asking me if I’m excited about going to Romania. Honestly, and I’ve been answering them honestly, not so much. Neither am I especially dreading it. Truth of the matter is I don’t really like long flights, and I know that I’ll miss my bed and my pillow. But I know that I will grow in faith – at least in some small way – as a result of this mission trip. I virtually expect it. That has been my experience in the past, and I suspect it will always be my experience in the future.

We didn’t read the epistle this morning – it comes to us from Colossians 3, verses 12 and following. Just the first verse is pretty good all by itself – “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience.” Were we to resolve to do anything in the coming year, we could do worse than to resolve to live our lives with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. I know that I could do worse.

I have had one other thought about growth in our faith. By its very definition, the word faith assumes some level of naïveté. I know that my choice of illustrations here is somewhat dated, but I hear that even the younger folks are watching “All in the Family” reruns. Old Archie once waded in on the subject of faith. I’ll delete the expletive, but basically he said, “Faith is believing what any ______ fool knows ain’t so.” He was correct in this respect - faith suggests naïveté – or at least some level of simplicity or innocence – certainly a lack of sophistication in the way we see and know our world. I really beg to differ with that way of looking at faith. Over the years, I think my faith as become anything but simple, while at the same time remaining quite simple. To pull that off, I think faith requires something rather sophisticated – the ability to see and know in multiple ways, according to the variety of situations in which we find ourselves. Whether or not that’s the case for you in your life, we would probably agree on this – we don’t wear the same robe of faith that we wore when we were children, or when we were of youth age, or young adults, or even the same robe of faith we wore last year. Our capacity to faith has changed – it has grown, and we are better for it. Perhaps we need a new robe of faith for the coming year.

By the gospel of God, the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith. You and I have the opportunity to grow in our faith this year. Spiritual, faith growth. Such a noble opportunity. I suspect as we approach these opportunities, we will have to take off the old robe of faith, and don the new robe. How will it fit us? Will there be room for a little growth? Same gospel – same gospel message in our lives – but somehow, as each year comes, it fits just a little differently, doesn’t it.

And I say, “Thanks be to God” for the growth – for trials and difficult circumstances, and for new opportunities.

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

From one of the little clans . . .

Fourth Sunday in Advent

Micah 5:2-5, Luke 1:39-55

I think that, sometimes, God must chuckle at us. At least, I think God smiles at our insistence that anything of worth and note must be large and perhaps even grandiose in scale.

Most of us have been around church and religion long enough to recognize our feeble attempts at conjuring up grandiose displays of our affections for God. In the ecclesiological world, bigger is better. The last couple of decades in American church life have witnessed the rapid rise of the phenomenon known as the “mega-church.” Churches have grown to such huge scale that they purport to be “all things to all people” – boasting initially of gymnasiums and activities buildings, building larger and larger auditoriums, and some churches going to the extent of having deli lunch counters and shopping opportunities, right there within the halls of the church grounds. They offer opportunity, but sometimes, I wonder, opportunity for “what.”

You could turn on the television this evening, and watch a Christmas mass, or worship service, at some remote location of our nation, or perhaps from somewhere across the globe. And if you were to do so, undoubtedly, it would be on a grandiose scale – great pomp, for these circumstances.

We can blame it on God, I suppose. He did send angels to announce the birth of our Christ. But God sent those angels to – shepherds. Lowly shepherds. Young boys, most likely. Perhaps, even, tending the temple flock. We don’t know. And we could blame God for letting Israel talk Him into a king, way back there with Saul. I think that’s when things really started going south as far as mankind seeing God in the small things. From that time on, smallness was the watchword only from the lips of the prophets.

I think when God starts over with us, God does so in smallness.

“But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.” From one of the little clans . . . Not the stuff from which epic stories begin. Nothing grandiose here – small clan – small nation – one of the “unnoticed” groups blessed of God. Or was it so “unnoticed?”

We’re not completely sure of the etymology of the second word Micah uses to describe Bethlehem – the word is Ephrathah. It is most probably an ancient name for the place, but when you go back to the book of Genesis, even then, they used both names. It was the place where Rachel died, more accurately, where she was buried, and at that time, the name of the town was Ephrath. Genesis 48 tells the story where the aged Jacob virtually adopts his grandsons, the sons of Joseph as his own, and in verse 7, recounts his sorrow at the death of the love of his life, Rachel – “Now, as for me, when I came from Paddan, Rachel died, to my sorrow, in the land of Canaan on the journey, when there was still some distance to go to Ephrath; and I buried her there on the way to Ephrath (that is, Bethlehem).” I think it’s interesting that even at this early date, both names were being bandied about as descriptive of this holy place.

The name may also refer to one of the twelve tribes. The original twelve tribes came from the sons of Israel, or Jacob. Those sons were Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher, Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph, and Benjamin. When God assigned the role of priests to the tribe of Levi, the names of the sons of Joseph became the other two tribes – Manasseh and Ephraim. Evidently, the tribe of Ephraim settled in this region just to the south of Jerusalem – Bethlehem.

The town was best known as Bethlehem. The Hebrew word means “house of bread.” This smallish town was just south of Jerusalem, some 5 or 6 miles, and would be described as the hill country to the south. Important biblical references include the story of Naomi and Ruth – Ruth, who gleaned in the field owned by Boaz, her kinsman/redeemer. It is possible that the name “house of bread” came from the fact that they grew significant amounts of wheat in that region.

Bethlehem was also the birthplace of David – Israel’s greatest king, and we suddenly arrive back at that “greatest” concept. The promise from God was that the savior would come from the house and lineage of David. David was Israel’s greatest and most beloved king, and the biblical and societal expectation was that the Messiah would surpass David’s greatness in every way.

The gospel for today is broken into two readings, from the same passage. Luke 1 tells the story where Mary conceives, as does her much older cousin, Elizabeth. Verses 46 – 55 are known as Mary’s “magnificat” – where her soul “magnifies” the Lord. “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”

Mary had many good reasons to rejoice, not the least of which was her selection as the mother of God. She was, by any standard, insignificant in that day and age. She was young – we surmise somewhere in her early to mid teens. Her status in that day and age would have been about that of a servant. But she was person enough to recognize the activity of almighty God when she saw it. She’s one up on many of us in that regard.

We can think even smaller again. Later in that same chapter of Luke, Elizabeth’s blessing of her cousin in verse 42 – “. . . Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” The smallness of a child. From conception, a child begins small. Originally, the division of a single cell. People start out small.

Now, Chelsea was never small. She started out larger than her brother was at birth, and she had a significantly larger set of lungs. But Travis – weighed into this world at 6 lbs, 1 oz. Over the next couple of days, lost down to 5 lbs, 7 oz. Three days after his birth, they rushed him to the hospital in Ft. Worth, and when I saw him there the next day, he had become a giant. He dwelled as a giant for 20 days in the land of neo-natology – children smaller than the mind can conceive. I saw one child who could fit in your hand.

But there’s nothing small about the impact of a child. Every child that I have ever heard of disrupts and otherwise discombobulates the home into which they are born. They start out small, but their impact is mighty.

I guess as we think about the smallness of the work of God, at least in its beginnings, it seems somewhat natural that growth occurs. I guess I’m just a little cynical when it reaches the standard we might call “grandiose.”

Now, I have a pastoral word for us, as a church. We mustn’t ever discount our smallness. Often, when I invite people to attend our church, they say the same thing – “You are that little church there, with the cross outside, and the marquee. I love to read your marquee.” Isn’t it funny how something as seemingly insignificant as our decision to put a marquee out front has such a profound impact?

Anyway, people in this town, and I suspect even in the larger community of Baptist churches, think of us as a little church. I think they couldn’t be further from the truth. We are small, yes, in number. But one doesn’t measure the impact of God’s work in the world by numbers. Lord knows, we try. I remember the days when we would attend “Minister’s lunch” on Mondays, and one of the major functions of this activity was to report on what had happened the day before. Those pastors who had a good day were high as a kite, and those pastors who were thinking about resigning that Monday were lower than a snake’s belly. It never made much sense to me, because of the extremes of the day, don’t you know. I’ve long since given up on that ridiculous practice.

No, our contribution is seen in more significant ways. We hand out food to people who can’t afford food. One such fellow stopped in this week, and I gave food to him and his companion. We pay electric bills for people who are out of work, or who have been beset by staggering medical bills. We received a thank you from one such family this week, and I’ve posted it back there on the back window. We gather up our old reading glasses to send with our friend the doctor and his youngest son – you remember, the boy all of us thought we were going to have to shoot, and then tell God we lost him. He’s turned out pretty good. We send our other children off on mission trips to Mexico, and our pastor off to Romania, and another of our laymen on a junket to Juarez. We minister to children, who eventually grow up to the point that they have the audacity to ask this same Christ – the babe of Bethlehem – to come and live in their own hearts.

And we perform myriads of other acts of mystery and service and worship. We gather up resources for those who have less, and we share our journeys of faith with those who are struggling with their own journey. We gather a few hearty souls to practice, that we might sing songs of praise to God the Father. We take our skills at decorating, and we decorate the house of God. We take our gifts of cooking, and we fill the homes of hurting people with the smell of bread, straight from the house of Bethlehem. We do so very much.

Is it enough? We all know the answer to that question. My dad said it well, as he was passing from this life. He said, “Richard, there are never enough days.” Well, Cornerstone, there are never enough acts of service, and ministry, and worship. We know that we can do more, and we shall.

But we must always remember – the genesis of God’s work in us begins small. Hardly even noticeable. Seemingly insignificant. It is up to us to notice, and then nurture the work of God in our midst.

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

Joy in the Midst . . .

Third Sunday in Advent

Isaiah 12:2-6; Zephaniah 3:14-20; Luke 3:7-18

Advent is something of an anomaly for contemporary Christians – we are moving headfast toward a celebration of our Savior’s birth, and at the same time we are thrust into an opportunity to consider the return of our Lord at the end of the age. Confusing images – parallel themes – prophecy and history intertwined in expectation and mystery – yearning for peace in a season of hope – knowing that joy and love are right around the corner.

The first two weeks of Advent this year have been heavy and burdensome. Part of that comes as a result of my decision to listen to the prophets. This morning we hear from three of them – Isaiah, Zephaniah, and John the Baptizer. They remind us that we are in an “in-between” time – and that we have much work to do as we continue to wait.

I told you last Sunday morning that Susan asked me before the service began if we could “have a little joy around here?” Last week the answer was “not yet.” This week, the answer sounds a little more like “Why not” or “Well, it’s about time, don’t you think?”

I want to put another image in front of us this morning before we dig into the texts. Do you remember the movie “Castaway” from a few years ago? Tom Hanks was the star – played out most of the movie alone. His character was a man named Chuck Noland, an executive with Fed Ex. Suddenly and violently in the early moments of the movie, Noland’s plane is caught in a violent thunderstorm in the South Pacific, and he is marooned on an uncharted island, hundreds of miles off his predicted course. His early efforts on the island are spent discovering if he will be able to survive on the meager resources available. He repeatedly attempts to escape the island by raft, only to be beat back by the tides. The scene shifts forward 4 years, and we realize that Noland is now a man who is no longer waiting for rescue, but is simply in the process of day-to-day survival – and doing so somewhat successfully, with one caveat – psychologically he is a man who has been radically changed by his circumstances and his environment.

I wanted to put that image in front of us this morning in order to suggest to us that our season of Advent should not represent or help facilitate that kind of mindset or scenario in any form or fashion. While Chuck Noland was hopeless, we are people filled with hope. His was a world of rather pointless waiting – ours is a world of active waiting – purposeful waiting.

It has happened to me before during Advent – forgetting some of the truths of the season. This year, I had forgotten to remind us that while we wait, we wait actively. For eschatological believers, waiting is an active pursuit.

I watched a movie the other night that some had suggested I watch – “Glory Road.” Maybe you’ve seen it. It’s the story of Don Haskins, from right here in Enid, who moves into the ranks of Division 1 NCAA Basketball coaching during the mid 1960’s. He took the job at Texas Western out there in El Paso, Texas. He made use of his personal experience to put five black players on the court for the first time in NCAA history, and his gamble paid off with a national championship. During the movie, Haskins works to instill within his new players a sense of discipline and technique that requires they practice the fundamentals of basketball – over and over – until they are chomping at the bit for an opportunity to actually play a game. Many of us who love sports have been through that process – the process of practicing and practicing – waiting for the opportunity to play – knowing that our time is coming – but also knowing that it was not yet. So, while we waited, we prepared.

That was the message of one of our prophetic voices for this morning. John the Baptizer reminded the people who would listen that he was simply the forerunner, and that they should prepare their hearts for the coming of the Messiah. Christ was coming, and soon. He was coming, and they needed to prepare for his coming.

John’s message is one we have heard through this Advent season. We are to prepare. We are to get ourselves ready for the return of our Lord. It’s a simple point, but one that we lose sight of during Advent – Advent is not about getting ready to celebrate the birth of Christ – rather, Advent is about preparing the people of God for the return of Christ by remembering what is was like to wait for Him to come the first time. We are not getting ready for His first Advent – we are preparing for His return.

I read somewhere this week a question I had already asked myself – where was the good news that John had to offer? It is exactly and precisely the good news that Jesus was coming. We get bogged down in the rest of His message – the part that calls us to repentance and personal cleansing. But rather than that part of the message being a burden, it should be for us a blessed opportunity for rejoicing.

Most of us decorate our homes for Christmas. Do you think about the process of decorating as you are doing it? We are using symbols of the season to remind us of the meaning of Christmas. A tree that reminds us of new life, and of a cross that has purchased our redemption. Lights, which remind us of the light of the world coming into our very dark world. Gifts which remind us that we have received the eternal gift of God’s Son. So many symbols – so many opportunities to remember God’s good gifts, and the joy that is ours because Christ has come into our lives.

Isaiah introduces the truth of joy into our Advent. Listen to Isaiah again!! “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. And you will say in that day: Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name; make known his deeds among the nations; proclaim that his name is exalted. Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously; let this be known in all the earth. Shout aloud and sing for joy, O royal Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.” Joy and praise. Singing and proclamation. Active responses from the people of God, directed toward the promise that God is coming. For contemporary Christian people, additionally active responses that Christ has already come into our midst.

There is even more good news. The prophet Zephaniah reminds us of more good news. “Rejoice and exult with all you heart, O daughter Jerusalem! The Lord has taken away the judgments against you . . . you shall fear disaster no more . . . The Lord your God, is in your midst . . . He will renew you in his love.” These are good words of promise – words that should produce within the hearts and lives of believers a symphony of praise and gratitude, expressed in honest joy and gladness.

Friends, it should be easier for us – this side of the first coming of our Lord. We have seen testimony of His presence among us. God is truly in our midst. We have seen evidence of His presence – not just in the lives of others, but in our own lives as well. He is in our midst, and so we should be experiencing joy in our midst.

I know it’s difficult. This past Wednesday, I told the Wednesday evening crowd (and I continue to use that phrase loosely) that nearly everyone I ran into during the early part of the week was having difficulty getting past the business of the season in their efforts to enjoy the season. That saying that’s out there on the marquee – “We are all too blessed to be stressed” – it’s one thing to say something like that – it’s another thing entirely to believe it and to be able to live it out.

This is where the message of the prophets becomes our message. We live in a world where people are stressed. We have a message for them – they can experience the joy of the season – most simply by meeting the Savior of our world, and experiencing His Joy. You and I can tell them – but they want to see if the message is true. They want to know if our lives are more joyful as a result of knowing Christ. We have a message to share, and an obligation to live out that message in our lives.

Years ago, in my counseling work I ran across a book entitled, “Happiness is a Choice.” The premise of the book is stated in the title – in our lives – happiness is a choice. Well, the same is true of joy. Joy is a choice. We choose joy in our lives. But joy is more than a choice – it is also a result of our choice. The abiding nature of joy becomes a continuous statement of our present Christian promise – we are people of joy – most specifically because Christ is present in our midst. We are “present tense” believers – joy is ours – now, and in this present time. We don’t have to wait – it is ours now, for the claiming.

Jan read Paul’s good word to us this morning as we began our service of worship. “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

That is our reality – God is in our midst. Christ has come, and the Spirit of God indwells every believer. We are people who have received redemption. We are people who live in a reality of joy, even as we wait for the return of our Lord and Savior.

How great our Joy!!! Amen, and Amen.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

A Not So Clear, Yet Present Danger to our Faith

Second Sunday in Advent

Micah 2:17 – 3:7

This week I got an earlier start on the sermon than I have been getting lately – walked over to the south office (Starbucks) on Tuesday morning, with just the text and a couple of commentaries, ordered up a cup of the dark roast, and sat down to read for about an hour. It was wonderful – the setting, I mean. Once I delved into the text, I began to immediately feel the polarities of this passage and of the point of the second week into Advent. Let me explain.

Every since I started following the lectionary as a guide to sermon preparation, I have been puzzled and somewhat troubled by this second week, and next week’s subject matter. Here we are in Advent, making preparation for the Christ to come into our world, and we are confronted by His cousin, John the Baptizer. To say that John is rough around the edges is an understatement. Go back and look up his attire and his diet. Let’s just say he wouldn’t be invited to any of the Christmas parties you and I might be attending this year. On thi second Sunday in Advent, the theme we have been considering all morning is “peace” – and we have as our poster child – the wild-haired prophet, John???? Talking about repentance and justice????? That’s how we’re going to get to “peace?”

And if that’s not enough, the Old Testament comes from Malachi. I had been listening to this passage without knowing it each week when I attended “Messiah” rehearsal this past month. One of the choruses we sang was “And He Shall Purify.” Sort of a catchy, toe-tapping kind of tune, with lots of Baroque style vocal arpeggios and minor cadences. The main text of the passage says what is quoted from Malachi, chapter 3, verse 3 – “and he shall purify the sons of Levi . . . so that they may present to the Lord offerings in righteousness.” All the time we were singing that great masterpiece during November and last weekend, I didn’t get it. But Tuesday morning, sitting next door, sipping my cup of coffee, I read the explanation – the sons of Levi were the priests, and this problem that Israel had – God was going to deal with it, but first He was going to purify the sons of Levi – the priests. I started getting kind of an uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

I’m not going to deal so much with that part of the passage this morning, so you can relax just a bit. But I tell you all of that to say to you that as uncomfortable as this passage makes us feel, not to mention having to deal with John the Baptizer in order to find this peace that we are searching for – frankly, I’ve been through a lot worse this week, dealing with the reality that God always intends to purify the priests in order to work toward reclamation of God’s people. At least, that’s the way I’m reading Malachi.

Israel was living the good life by the time we first hear from Malachi. The setting of this book comes years after Israel has returned from Babylonian captivity and exile, and even some time after the rebuilding of the Temple. They are a people who can worship and live in relative ease and freedom – as much as any people of that day. Jerusalem, rather than retaining its beauty, was beginning to look disheveled and unkempt. The people of God were lapsing into apathy and indifference regarding the worship of God. I suspect that if you’ve ever heard a sermon from Malachi, it was probably a tithing sermon. And for good reason – the sense of the book deals with the piddling, second rate offerings that the people would give as sacrifices to God.

In his commentary on this passage, Thomas Dozeman says, “The danger to faith that is being explored in this book is indifference and cynicism to the presence of God in the daily routines of the people of God.”[1] But the problem was that the people couldn’t see it – they didn’t see that they were non-challantly distancing themselves from the God of their salvation. With every passing day, and with every mediocre offering of life or sacrifice, they were slipping deeper and deeper into this chasm of indifference.

Whether Christian people feel a heaviness on the tops of their toes when they hear this particular teaching may very well be a factor of their own personal level of dedication to God. It is never okay for the people of God to take the blessings of God for granted. Bu the way, the statement on the north side of the marquee came from this past Tuesday as well. When I made my way back from the south office, a gentleman was making his way into my cubbyhole to request some benevolence assistance. When he and I concluded our business, he stated that he needed to continue to trust God for his care and sustenance in this life, and then he offered this mantra with which he reminds himself daily – “I’m too blessed to be stressed, and I’m too anointed to be disappointed.” I immediately went out and put the first part of that on the marquee. We are all too blessed to be stressed. It’s something we need to remember during the holidays.

Which are, by the way, holy days. During holy days, we offer an additional offering of praise and thanksgiving to God – in all sorts of ways. We give additional tithes, and we offer our worship at an increased clip. It’s what Christian people do in response to the loving care our God has given to us.

Well, enough preaching for a minute. Back to the text. Reread verse 17 of the 2nd chapter with me again. “You have wearied the Lord with your words. You say, ‘How have we wearied Him?’ In that you say, ‘Everyone who does evil is good in the sight of the Lord, and He delights in them,’ or ‘Where is the God of justice?’”

Here’s the scenario – the people of God had become so comfortable with their lives – relaxed in their living – that they had become lax in their worship. In an effort to mentally accommodate this laxity, they conceived in their minds two arguments – in essence two excuses for why it was okay to give God less than their best. First excuse – and you and I have heard many a person offer this same excuse – heavens, we offer it ourselves from time to time – “Since God loves the sinner, we shouldn’t worry about God’s reaction to increased levels of sin in our lives.” Or something like that. That kind of argument puts me in mind of what Paul was dealing with in Romans 6 when he vocalizes the two faux arguments in that chapter – verse 1 of chapter 6 – “What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace might increase?” and in verse 15 – “What then? Shall we sin because we are not under law but under grace?” He had an answer to both questions – “May it never be.” That’s the English translation. In the Greek, it was a stronger negative, sounding more like this – “no, not a chance, uh huh, no way, never.” Years later, Dietrich Bonhoeffer dealt with the same kind of thinking in his book entitled “The Cost of Discipleship” in which he spoke of Christianity’s tendency toward “cheap grace.” Even the best of Christian people have a tendency to cheapen the trace of Christ – to take for granted the gifts of God – especially our salvation – saying to themselves, “well since God loves me anyway, what does the way I go about living my life matter.” He called it “cheap grace.” What do you call it?

Their second argument in Malachi was more straight-forward. I rather started to ask it last week in the sermon, and you and I feel this so much of the time. Frankly, I won’t let God off the hook completely for His part of it – the question was, “Where is the God of justice?” You pick up on it with me, don’t you? Where is our God? He’s promised – when will He deliver? When will the Lord send His anointed messenger? When will the Lord send the Savior? In our case, “when will the Lord return in glory?” Those are the questions that waiting believers ask – we wait, in relative patience, but occasionally, our patience wears thin, and we wonder about our God. “Just where is He? Why hasn’t He come? How much longer, O Lord?” In fact, Christian people have adopted the Greek word “Maranatha” as their eschatological mantra, which is most accurately translated, “Come quickly!!”

I wish I had better news about how we, as Christian people, are to move past this last argument. I do wish I had better news. The solution to the problem of waiting – is to wait. We’re not very good at waiting. I don’t know anyone who’s good at waiting. Some are better than others, but I don’t know anyone for whom it is easy.

Well, there you have it. Listen to me carefully, friends. I understand apathy and cynicism in our faith walks. Frankly, I’m ashamed for anything that I’ve done to create an environment which makes any level of apathy and cynicism possible in your lifes. I am quite sure that over these last eight and a half years that in my efforts to be your friend, and preach the love of Christ, that I have both inadvertently and sometimes purposefully communicated to you that something less than full-blown offerings of righteousness were acceptable in the sight of God. I am humbled by my own personal callousness. But I am starting to see the hand of God working in my life to purify – to clean out the dross in my life – and I don’t find any aspect of that process comfortable.

Lest you think that this sermon is a judgment of you as a congregation, let me put you at ease. It is not. This is a message of Hope and Peace. God has already passed judgment on the callousness and apathy and laxity of His people. God has moved on to something far beyond judgment. God has moved on, and always continues to move on toward reclamation. God intends to reclaim God’s people. That will never change. God loves you. I want you to hear that, Cornerstone. God loves you. God claimed you as His own, and God stated God’s own position on your value when God sent Jesus, and the sacrificed Jesus, and then raised Him from the dead. He did every bit of that because He thought you were valuable. Don’t you forget that bit of gospel news. And so, God is always about the business of reclaiming God’s people, and He wants to do that in your lives and in this congregation. It is His intent. It is what He desires to do.

And so, you and I should have no doubt, my dear children, that God will do exactly that – that God will reclaim us in His righteousness – that we might experience eternally the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension.

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

[1] Marion Soards, Thomas Dozeman and Kendall McCabe, Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year C, Abingdon Press, Nashville, 1994, p.32.

In those days and at that time . . .

First Sunday in Advent

Jeremiah 33:14-16

I’m completing my 9th year of preaching through the lectionary passages each Sunday, and I noticed that I’ve always done the New Testament passages during Advent. So, this past week, I told the Wednesday night crowd, and I continue to use that term loosely, that I’m going to preach the prophets this Advent – that means Old Testament, and that isn’t easy for me – I’m kind of a gospel guy.

So, we’re in for something of an adventure, you and me. Here’s the way I see it. You and I have heard the Christmas story so very many times – and we’ll hear it again this year – but this year, during Advent, let’s take a look at what it would have been like to wait for the Promised One for the first time. We’ll listen to the prophets – Jeremiah and Malachi and Zephaniah and Micah – ragged and edgy – ready to move us out of our comfort zones in order to find the comfort we so desperately seek. They speak of a promise – a promise that we need to remember. They speak of hope – something that our world is in short supply of. They speak to our future – we get there by looking at our past.

What do you hope for? That may seem like an odd question during the holiday season – we hope for so many things. So let me phrase the question a little differently – the things for which you hope – are they things for which you have hoped for a long time?

Israel was a nation perpetually troubled by her standing in the world community. Some things never change. They were a nation of promise – they weren’t sure of the exact point of the promise, but they were a nation promised greatness. Their greatness would come through a promised Son – the Messiah. He would come out of the lineage of David, who had been their greatest and most loved king.

When we look at our scripture for today, it contains several promises – start with me in verse 15 – (1) in those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David. (2) and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. (3) In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety.

These sound like promises given to a nation who was the perpetual underdog – a nation who had taken its fair share of beatings at the hands of other nations. In fact, part of the time that Jeremiah prophesied was during the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem. Jerusalem was eventually overthrown, and Israel was exiled to Babylon for more than a generation. Israel would long for generation after generation to see these promises fulfilled. In fact, they still wait . . .

If this passage of scripture sounds familiar, it should. Jeremiah is actually quoting something written earlier in his book – from back in chapter 23, verses 5 and 6 – which read, “‘Behold, the days are coming,’ declares the Lord ‘When I shall raise up for David a righteous Branch; And He will reign as king and act wisely and do justice and righteousness in the land. In His days Judah will be saved, and Israel will dwell securely; and this is His name by which He will be called, ‘The Lord our righteousness.’’”

It seems that the one thing that can always be said about Israel is that they were a nation of perpetual, permanent promise. Promise which was never fulfilled. As far as they are concerned, promise which still has yet to be fulfilled.

Did you ever have someone promise you something, and then they didn’t come through on their promise? I had a wonderful father. In retrospect, Dad did so many things for us and with us, that the vast, vast majority of my memories are good ones. Isn’t it funny how the bad memories stand out so vividly, though. When I was 12, Dad had promised to take my brother Tony and me fishing. This was a big deal, because Dad didn’t do a lot of fishing – no one ever really took the time to teach him how. So, he didn’t take us very often, I suspect partly because of personal embarrassment at not knowing how to fish successfully. But we were relentless sons, and he had promised us over and over that he would take us, and finally we pinned him down on the occasion. We were really looking forward to this particular trip – sort of a Dad/Son outing. On the morning that we were to go, Dad bent over to pick up Tracy, who was a small infant at the time, and he wrenched his back. Literally fell to the floor. I don’t remember Tony’s response, but I was mad. How could he do something like this to me? In my child’s mind, I was absolutely sure that he had conjured up this phony act just to get out of taking us fishing. My reaction was one of the things I had to apologize for to him in later years . . .

I started us a few minutes ago with verse 15. Back up one verse with me to verse 14. “‘Behold, days are coming,’ declares the Lord, ‘when I will fulfill the good word which I have spoken concerning the house of Israel and the house of Judah.’” It almost sounds as if Jeremiah is quoting God as saying, “Seriously, though – I really will come good on my promise – seriously. It’s getting closer, just you wait. It’s coming. Be patient. I’m good for it, don’t you know . . .” You and I have heard promises like that before, haven’t we? We’ve been promised things, only to listen to more empty promises.

And yet, like the fools that we are, we hold out hope.

Well, I feel like I’ve been grazing, and you’re wondering where I’m going with all of this. So, let me try to focus our thoughts on two or three points.

First, Hope is always focused on something which is in our future. We say, “I hope so . . .” and we are speaking of something that will come to us, in the future. Children hope for Christmas and presents they have been waiting for. Teenagers hope for a car, and to be loved by their beloved. Adults hope their children turn out okay, have good jobs, and are happy in their lives. Others of us hope we can just remember where we put the car keys. But hope is focused on us, and is focused on the future.

When it comes to our salvation, we are somewhat perplexed as Christians. We speak of both ends of the stick – we speak of confident expectation, and yet we know that there is something of a mystery surrounding our salvation – that it is wrapped up somehow in the choice of another – and so we speak of hope in two different voices.

Which leads us to the second point regarding hope – hope is either based on actions we will accomplish for ourselves, or it is based on actions that someone else will pull off. This is true in all of our worldly pursuits. It is true in our relationships – we hope for grace and honesty and realism in our relationships, and that hope is based partly on our doings, and partly on the actions of others. It is true in our work – we are rewarded internally by ourselves for the good work we do, and we are rewarded externally by others for the good work that we do – somewhat subject to the whims of that other person. It depends on us, and it depends on someone else.

When it comes to matters of our salvation, we realize that some of the same conditions exist. There is a sense in which our salvation is dependent on our own purposes and actions. We choose to accept that which has been done for us. God gives us the faith with which to accept His good work in our lives, but we act upon that faith all the same.

You and I realize, however, that most of the work of salvation is on the part of God. Jesus Christ came to this world – we are entering into the time of the year when we celebrate that fact – Christ came into this world to bring salvation to us. Christ lived a righteous and circumspect life in order to show us how to live. Christ died to purchase our redemption – in effect, accomplishing all that needed to be done for our salvation. And Jesus will come again to redeem us in a final, glorious act of salvation. So much of our hope of salvation rests on the actions of our God, who has chosen, in Christ, to redeem us.

So, the third point – our hope is secure because Christ has already come. If we’re counting on someone else for our salvation – in our case, our loving Jesus – how do we really know that we can count on them. I mean, if a part of the reality of hope is knowing that there is the possibility that what we hope for may not happen, what business then do we have putting our faith in a carpenter’s son from Nazareth.

For me – and I think for a lot of us – our hope in the return of Christ in order to complete our salvation is based on the fact of His first coming. Look around you – even the most cynical in our society can tell you that the real meaning of Christmas is that Christ was born. They may not be able to tell you very much more, but they can tell you that much. They may not know another thing about Jesus, but they know that Christmas is the celebration of His birth. Here’s the facts – God promised to send His Son. God did just that. Jesus came to this earth. Jesus promised that He would come back to reclaim us when the time is right. So the question is, can we trust what He has promised?

I’m banking on it. I’ve put all my eggs in His basket.

Just a quick side note to wind things up this morning. I want to ask you a question. I’ll play the part of the aloof prophet here for a moment. What are you, as a church, hoping for? It’s been a long time since we talked about our hopes and dreams for this ministry. Are things going about the way you had hoped? Are there missions and ministries you wish we would tackle, but know that we aren’t quite ready for it, and hope that we will be in the near future? What kind of things are you, as a church family, hoping for?

As we enter into Advent, we enter into hope. Faith started us out this morning with a reading about Hope. We have listened to scriptures and hymns and prayers which speak to our hopes. We can trust God to be the source for the answers to our hopes. We can trust our God, and His Son, Jesus. We hope, again, for Him.

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

Ruler of the Kings of the World

Christ the King

John 18:33-37

The problem of having to come up with my title every week for the paper is, of course, that there is so much that happens from the time I come up with a title until the sermon is finished – and the sermon isn’t finished until it is preached. The sermon title has to be called into the paper on Wednesday, and on weeks like this one – where not much gets done until really late in the week – the sermon changes quite a bit.

Early this week, I was impressed by the passage from Revelation that Mike read for us a while ago – especially that part of the passage that says “ruler of the kings of the earth.” That phrase was selected as the title, and my early direction sought to juxtapose the reign of Christ to that of David and of Pilate.

We know much about David – certainly the scriptures are full of his story. He was the second King of Israel, following Saul. He was the most beloved King of Israel, and the one to whom Israel looked back as their prototype of what a King should be. David was not without faults – his kids were a mess, he was involved in a scandalous liaison with Bathsheba, and in an attempt to cover up his sin, he had her husband, Uriah, murdered. Despite all of his failing, though, he was loved by his people, and the scriptures tell us that God loved him and that he loved God with his whole heart.

David was a poet, and we have many of the writings of David – from several stages of his life – in our biblical book called Psalms. In this church, we read from the Psalms every week – and for good reason. They are our book, because they speak of and to our needs, our passions, and our hopes. It is an earthy book, taking every opportunity to suggest that matters of the heart and the head go hand in hand.

Of course, Pilate wasn’t a king. Pilate was the Fifth procurator of Judea (AD 26-36). A procurator was much like an old fashioned governor – he did not rule, except on behalf of another. He ruled that region of the world on behalf of Caesar. We don’t know as much about Pilate as we do about David. Pilate was evidently something of a troubled soul – he sought power and prestige, only to discover that the power he sought came with countless associated problems, and that there was not a commiserate level of prestige associated with the little power he had. Pilate was the person who officially condemned Jesus to death – and attempting to not look like he was responsible by washing his hands of the matter – literally!!

It is an interesting contrast – these two rulers, in comparison to Jesus. David and Pilate were substantial figures in Christian history, but their individual contributions, so to speak, were miniscule in comparison to what Jesus accomplished.

Who is our Jesus? This time last year, I had more answers than questions. Not any more. Earlier this fall, I attended a pastor’s conference over in Missouri. Will Willimon was the guest speaker. I had been looking forward to listening to Willimon for many years, and this opportunity was in the midst of friends retreating together on the Lake of the Ozarks. It was a wonderful week. Then, I got home, and something that Willimon pointed out started to bother me. In His teaching, he referenced the Marcan story of Jesus walking on the water, and he quoted Mark as saying, “And seeing them straining at the oars, for the wind was against them, at about the fourth watch of the night, He came to them, walking on the sea; and He intended to pass by them.” I started pondering that verse, especially that phrase, “He intended to pass by them.” The longer I pondered it, the more troubled I became. I narrowed down my troubled nature to one of two things – either we’re presented with Mark’s opinion of what Jesus was doing, or I don’t understand a thing about who Jesus is. I’m either confronted with a troubled opinion from one of His closest followers, or I’m presented with a picture of a Jesus who would walk right past His closest friends when they were in their hour of need, and that’s not the Jesus I’ve been taught about all these years.

To be candid with you, I’ve not resolved my crisis. I’ve started seeing things in the scriptures for the way they are stated, not for the way others have interpreted them for me in years gone by, and often there isn’t a ready explanation. Moreover, I’m terribly troubled by the fact that my calling is to explain to you a God that I don’t quite understand right now. About the best I can do at present is to tell you what the others have said, and what I happen to think about the matter.

For example, this week in my study, I ran across a poem by H. Mel Malton, entitled “Sunday School Curriculum: Gentle Jesus.” She speaks to my present state of confusion.

You think he’s meek?

You haven’t seen him hoist a beam of wood

Or sink a spike, then.

Power fit to burst beneath the

taut bronze skin

that barely holds him in.

There’s seldom softness in a carpenter.

It’s true he can be gentle.

He’ll lift a baby to his shoulders in a crowd

with hands all velveted like lion’s paws,

but don’t mistake that loving man

for someone tame.

We’ve seen him blast a tree with temper,

toss a table weighted down with gold

across a temple pavement with a roar

that scattered us.

You think he’s mild?

If he is water, he’s a strong and heady brew

that satisfies with sips.

If he is bread, do not expect him all refined

and pale and palace-palate-sweet.

He’s nourishing, but tough.

And when he lifts that sharp

chin skywards,

laughing at some joke of John’s,

when those lips form Father,

whisper benedictions cobweb-soft on

leprous flesh,

when all the ragged band hangs breathless

on his truly, truly –

when he’s skewered,

retching vinegar in agony,

oh never think it is his nature

to submit to earthly rule.

This man’s a rebel, dangerous and perfect.

Never paint him in a royal robe.

His garment’s stiff with living,

fingernails dark with tearing fish into a

thousand morsels,

feet trod filthy, oiled with tears,

then caked again.

This man’s no mendicant;

three year’s slog with outcast rabble

never offered silver till the last.

You think he sits with sheep and crook?

Perhaps to beat back wolves but not

to pose for windows.

He is blood and flesh
and gut and sinew,
teeth and hair and sweat and bone.
Spirkt-soaked an dGod-begotten,
God loved messenger and master of us all.
Jesus is meek?
And fire is ice
and we are doomed to dust. 1

I don’t know that I know Jesus well enough to tell you Who He is. I feel a little like the seminary student taking his final in Systematic Theology, who looked at the first and only test question, which read, “Explain God. Give three examples.” I’m pretty sure I can’t explain God, but I have thought of three examples this morning.

This is Christ the King Sunday. It is the end of this Christian year – next week we begin Advent as we start our long trek toward Easter morning. But today is Christ the King Sunday, when our scriptures lead us to examine the rule of Christ in our lives. We learn by looking at the lives of David and Pilate – perhaps you are more like one of those guys than you’d like to admit.

Jesus is King. He is king over all that exists, as He helped breathe life into all that is. He is ruler over all others who rule, in whatever small way they might influence humankind’s story.

And He is King over your life.

I’ll give you three examples. They are just examples – this is not an exhaustive list. Christ is King over every aspect of your life – these are only three examples.

Our study from the gospels this year has come from the book of Mark. I used to tell people that Matthew was a gospel written for the Jews, Luke for the Gentiles, and Mark for the Romans. This year, I started thinking that was somewhat redundant – Romans were certainly gentile. So what was the difference in Mark’s gospel? Mark speaks to power. Mark speaks to power in all of its forms. Mark speaks to the powers that lord over our lives, and Mark speaks to power resident in our lives. In the telling of our gospel story for this morning, Mark reminds us that Jesus is King over the power you seek and possess in your life.

When we examine this scene, we might at first think that Pilate is in charge. Read it again. Nothing is happening that Jesus has not ordained should happen. The choice of Jesus to give up His life for us was exactly that – a choice.

From the moment we are born, we seek the autonomy of power. We learn to walk, to feed ourselves, to determine our own destiny. We turn 16, and we seek the keys to a car. We choose our vocation, our mate, we have some say in how many children live in our homes, and we determine where we live. The longer I live, the less I seem to have power over. When we stop to think about it, we are confronted with a truth – Jesus is king over our power. What power we possess, be it great or small – Jesus rules over our power.

Jesus also rules over our freedom. There is certainly a link between power and freedom. As American people, wealthy and self-determining, we are people captivated by the concept of freedom. Those 16 year old car keys we seek – they represent freedom as much as they do the power over our own lives. We virtually worship freedom, as American Christians. And we practice our freedom – to choose, to act, to acquire, to invest, to sustain, to learn – our freedoms are as varied as are our people. But the truth of the matter is this – Christ is King, and Christ is King over our freedom.

As there is a link between power and freedom, there is a link between freedom and truth. Jesus said, “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” Pilate asked the question for all of us – “What is truth?” That question is the second ultimate question of modern philosophy – what is truth?

You and I think we have an answer to that question. If we are really honest with ourselves, we would admit that we think truth is that which we have come to know. We know that others know things – truths, as it were – but we really think that truth is those things which we have come to know. Truth is personalized, resident in personal experience, viewed through personal insight.

Willimon has a statement on the matter. “The truth, as Christians know, is that the unexplorable, indefinable, ultimate cause of the universe is the author of life, the inventor of love, and the giver of every grace.” 2 I’ll put it slightly differently – all of life’s truths, small “t”, are found in the greatest truth, capital “T”, Jesus Christ Himself. Christ is King over our truth.

Next weekend, the Enid Symphony and Chorus are going to perform Handel’s Messiah. One of the final numbers, of course, in that great musical work, is the Hallelujah Chorus. The text for that chorus is quite simple. Five simple phrases.

“Hallelujah.”

“For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.”

“The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ.”

“And he shall reign for ever and ever.”

“King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.”

That’s it – those are all the words – well, in a wonderful variety of combinations.

I have questions for us this morning. Christ is King over your life, but I have questions. Is He King of Kings, and Lord of Lords over your life? Are there areas of power and freedom and truth in your life over which you don’t want Him to rule? What will you do this year to exalt Him in your life?

Christ is King. Christ is King over the rulers of this world, and He is King over your life. Let us worship Him with our whole hearts – as we serve Him with our entire lives.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

1 H. Mel Melton, "Sunday School Curriculum: Gentle Jesus", Behold: Arts for the Church Year, Pentecost 2 2006 (Year B) Logos Productions, INc. Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota, p. 7. (Permission given by the author)

2 Will Willimon, "What is Truth?", Pulpit Resource, Vol. 34, No. 4., p.39.

My 2 Cents

23rd Sunday after Pentecost

Mark 12:38-44

Jesus noticed her. He pointed her out – to His disciples – and to us. He thought she had some things to teach us. Maybe we ought to listen.

She doesn’t get much of a headline. The sentence is brief by biblical standards. “A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.” But Jesus noticed her, and He pointed her out to all of His disciples, and that includes you and me.

Her actions seemed so extravagant. Mark tells us that she was a “poor widow.” I wonder how he knew. Did they know her? Did they interview her after Jesus pointed her out? Was it obvious from her dress and her demeanor?

I was listening to a debate – well, really an argument on one of the evening talk shows Friday night. Post-election rhetoric, don’t you know. One man said, “I’d like for the Democrats to tell us just who qualifies as ‘rich’.” It was an interesting debate about the possibility of roll backs on the tax cuts we have seen over the past years, and the sense of the argument was in defining just who the “rich” were. Well, I’ll tell you this – we may not be able to make that distinction very easily, but the poor know who they are.

This woman was poor. The bible has a lot to say about poverty and poor people. Jesus said that we would always have the poor among us. He wasn’t wrong. In 2002, the United States government estimated that 12.1 percent of the people in our nation live in poverty. For those under the age of 18, that number is higher – 16.7 percent. America is one of the wealthiest nations in the world. Globally, the problem of poverty is much greater. It is estimated that 1 out of 6 people in this world do not have enough to eat. That’s 1 out of 6. 40,000 people around our world die each day from hunger. Poverty is with us, and by every measurement, it is increasing.

Some of us have seen this kind of poverty. Larry, Jan and I have seen the really poor in Juarez. People who live in cardboard houses in the old city dump – men who work at the Adidas factory for the equivalent of $5 a day – many of them stop off and drink that away before it ever reaches their families. Mike Pontious has seen the face of poverty in Jamaica. He said a few things about that last week to us. I suspect I will see the face of poverty in Romania when I visit there in January. Others of us face the poverty problem in our own community – a little closer to home. Poverty doesn’t go away when we ignore it. It has a way of presenting itself, right in front of our eyes, at the most conspicuous of places – like the temple treasury.

Or yesterday’s mail – while I was in the middle of writing this sermon, I remembered that I hadn’t checked the answering machine or the mail since I got back in town. We received this letter in the mail – it’s addressed to you – I opened it, but it has your name on the address line. READ LETTER. I don’t know how he got our name, or why he thought we had the resources to help them. I wonder what we should do with mail like this?

You know, out of your generosity, we are able to help some of the poor in our town. For the years that we have been in existence, we have put in place the “Pastor’s Benevolence Fund,” which you graciously allow me to administrate in helping the poor of our town. Over the years we have helped hundreds. There are so many more we could help with additional funds. On average, we receive about $50 a week, and that amount is usually gone by the end of business on Monday. I wish we could do more.

My sister’s church does an interesting thing. For fifteen years now, they have done this thing – each week, in their service of worship, some member gives the “$50 report.” In their congregation, a different member each week is responsible for taking $50 from the treasury and using it in some benevolent manner, and then reporting back to the church how that money was used. They might use it to buy school supplies, or help with a medical bill, or put gas in someone’s car. It is a wonderful ministry – it serves to keep charity in front of the congregation, and it reminds them that serving others is everyone’s responsibility. I wonder if we could do something like that?

She was a widow. That’s not all that unusual – most of us, if we live long enough, will find the loneliness that accompanies the loss of a spouse at the end of life. This woman was alone, and in that society, that meant that you were relatively unnoticed. She was on her own – no children mentioned, no relatives – she was alone. She had no one to rely upon, save God. Her story reminds me a little of the story of Ruth, who when her husband died, had no one except her mother-in-law. She eventually was noticed by Boaz, who was her kinsman Redeemer. There are obvious parallels between the two stories.

Jesus noticed this woman. How could He not notice this kind of extravagance? She gave little, but it was all she had. We know that because Jesus said so – “she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

You know, you and I might have noticed her for a different reason. We might have noticed her for the foolishness of her actions. Here she gave away all that she had – how foolish is that? You and I might call that kind of action foolish. And we might have something to say about her emotionality in the matter. Obviously, only an emotional, overly sensitive person would do something like that!! Give away all that she had – REALLY!!

Jesus noticed her. He pointed her out – to His disciples – and to us. He thought she had some things to teach us. Maybe we ought to listen. So, perhaps a few lessons.

Lesson 1 - Maybe being emotionally involved in our faith isn’t such a bad thing. Will Willimon says that “those of us who practice a more moderate, balanced form of Christianity, for whom religious faith is a matter of reasoned deliberation and cautious examination, are judged by the testimony of this anonymous widow.”[1] Contemporary Christians have a tendency to separate their daily living from their faith. That practice insulates daily actions from things like emotion and extravagance and reckless self-denial. It protects us from the possibility of seeing our life-style change on account of our faith.

Lesson 2 – comparative giving may be deceptive. You’ll notice that I didn’t focus on the first part of the scripture for this day. I don’t think our congregation has a problem in this area. I don’t know of a person in this congregation who has ever given out of their pomposity. For that matter, I don’t know any of us who serve in any capacity out of our pomposity. That was the problem Jesus was identifying in looking at the scribes of that day – they loved to be identified – for what they had and what they did. We don’t have that problem. If we did have this problem, that part of the scriptures would have spoken to us. What we can take from this point is that what we have to give – in offerings, in talents, in time – is important. It is not the size of the gift that counts – it is the scope. She gave all.

That’s the problem with the scriptures – it challenges us with little things, and little words – like the word “all.” And I guess it all depends on what your definition of the word “all” is. For some, “all” means more than for others. I’ll tell you what it means for me, and you see if this sounds anything like your definition. First of all, “all”, for me, is a term best measured in longevity. When I think of giving my all, I think of measured, consistent giving over the period of my life. I don’t want to expend too much energy at this particular point in time, because it might mean that I won’t be able to do as much in the future. Second, “all”, to me, is compared to my other pursuits in life. I’ll gladly give all – as long as it doesn’t cost me everything. And third – “all” shouldn’t be too difficult. For example, I’ll do all I need to do to get the physique I want – as long as I don’t have to put out too much effort.

On this Veteran’s Day weekend, I am impressed by the story of Marine Cpl. Jason Dunham. He is the soldier who, in April of 2004, threw himself on a grenade in a small Iraqi town in a selfless act of bravery which saved his comrades from injury and possibly death. He would have turned 25 this past Friday. I think his definition of “all” was a bit different than mine.

Lesson 3 – and this point comes from the sermon title. You know that on our Channel 9, Kelly Ogle does a periodic commentary called “My 2 Cent’s Worth.” His point, and one of the points Jesus was trying to make by singling out this woman, is that our “2 cents worth” matters – it counts. Hers did. Yours does. And I’m not just speaking of money, although that’s important. And I’m not just speaking of talents, and time. I’m talking about your general contribution to Christ, His Church, and to His Kingdom. It’s intangible, really - until you give it – until you put in your two cents. And every person’s two cents is important and unique. In the eyes of Jesus, you aren’t unnoticed, or unimportant. Your contribution to the kingdom is important. Every person’s two cents is important and unique.

Hers was. At least – Jesus noticed it.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

[1] Will Willimon, Pulpit Resource, Vol. 34, No. 4, p.30

A Gospel of Prosperity?

Randall L. Ridenour, Guest Speaker
21st Sunday after Pentecost

We can learn a lot about the deepest human desires by knowing what people pray for. I don’t mean the prayers that we say in church, because, to be honest, we are often more worried about how they will sound than how they express our deepest needs.
So, if you want to know what the deep desires of humans are, listen to the prayers of those that don’t care about impressing the people who hear them. That is, listen to the prayers of children.

I, like everyone else, occasionally get those e-mails from well-intentioned friends that begin, “I usually don’t forward e-mails, but this is just too good. . . ” Most of the time, they really aren’t that good, but this one was. It was a collection of cards supposedly written to God from children. Here are some samples:

Dear God,
It rained for our whole vacation and is my father mad! He said some things about you that people are not supposed to say, but I hope you will not hurt him in anyway.
Your Friend (but I am not going to tell you who I am)

Dear God,
If we come back as something, please don’t let me be Jennifer Horton, because I hate her.
Denise

Dear God,
I bet it is very hard for you to love all the people in the world. There are only four people in our family and I can never do it.
Nan

Dear God,
My brothers told me about being born, but it doesn’t sound right. They are just kidding, aren’t they?
Marsha

Dear God,
Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother.
Larry

Dear God,
Thank you for my baby brother, but what I prayed for was a puppy.
Joyce

Dear God,
Please send me a pony. I never asked for anything before. You can look it up.
Bruce


We can divide these prayers into two categories. First, the ones that deal with relationship issues among family, friends, or, in the case of Jennifer Horton, enemies. The second category is prayers for material blessings. Joyce is thankful, but she would have been more thankful had God been considerate enough to give her what she actually asked for. Bruce, on the other hand, has showed great self-control in the past, and given his remarkable self-constraint, feels that he is owed that pony.

And why not? Hasn’t God promised to give us what we ask for? In Jesus’ own words, “Ask and ye shall receive,” or as we hear in the classic stewardship sermon, “Give and it shall be given to you. A good measure, shaken together, running over. . . Surely God wants his people to be happy. We read the testimony of Scripture, God wants to bless his people. The lectionary Psalm for today is Psalm 34: “I sought the Lord, and he answered me. . . O taste and see that the Lord is good.”

What better testimony could there be to the power of the Gospel than the blessings poured upon the people of God? Wasn’t Job rewarded at the end of the book by having family restored, and possessions doubled? The Prosperity Gospel This attitude can be found in an old, but ever-growing, tradition in the church. It is known by various names: the prosperity gospel, positive confession, the word of faith movement, or simply “faith.” Those of us who are a bit more cynical call it the name it-claim it movement. It’s had several leaders in the past few decades, including Paul and Jan Crouch, owners of Trinity Broadcasting Network, Kenneth Hagin, Robert Tilton, Kenneth Copeland, Paul Yonggi Cho, and others. Their claim is that through faith, we can have anything we want— health, wealth, and success. To gain these things, we simply have to ask for them by the spoken word.

In his booklet How to Write Your Own Ticket with God, Kenneth Hagin claimed to have been told this in a vision by Jesus himself, “Then the Lord Jesus Himself appeared to me,” said Hagin and and instructed him to write down a simple four-step formula, and that “if anybody, anywhere, will take these four steps or put these four principles into operation, he will always receive whatever he wants from Me or from God the Father.” That includes whatever you want. The formula is simply: ”Say it, Do it, Receive it, and Tell it.”

According to Kenneth Copeland, “All it takes is 1) Seeing or visualizing whatever you need, whether physical or financial; 2) Staking your claim on Scripture; and 3) Speaking it into existence.” Are people listening to this? Is it possible for anyone to take these teachings seriously? It seems so, and I think you can find it in the teachings of Joel Osteen, the now best-selling author and popular pastor of Lakewood Church, which meets in the 18,000 seat Compaq Center in Houston. Note a few of his sermon titles:
• Enlarge Your Vision
• Holding Onto Your Dreams
• Financial Prosperity
• Faith to Change Your World Do All You Can to Make Your Dreams Come True

The word “Gospel” is the word used in place of a Greek term meaning “good message” or “good news.” The prosperity gospel is certainly good news to those who hear it, otherwise Lakewood Church would not have baptized 18,000 people last year. So, it is good news, but is it the good news of Jesus Christ?

If the prosperity gospel is true, and I could have anything I asked for, then after reading the gospels, I’m not sure that I would ask for wealth. Jesus’ teachings on wealth are anything but comforting.

In first-century Palestine, there were two groups of people, the rich and the poor. These major groups were composed of several sub-groups. The rich included the four high-priestly clans. They gained wealth from the offerings presented in the temple and controlled the extensive commercial activities associated with temple life.

Another group was the family and associates of Herod. Herod and his family, by some estimates, owned more than half of the land that was under his control.

Other wealthy people included what remained of the older Jewish aristocracy and rich merchants. To be considered truly wealthy, a person had to own land. So, as these people became wealthy, they would buy land, but would rarely farm it themselves. Instead, he would rent it to tenant farmers, while he lived and conducted his affairs in the city, primarily Jerusalem. Hence the parables about tenant workers and absent landlords. This system led to a practice of abuse of tenant farmers and laborers, but was considered perfectly legal by the wealthy. This practice in turn led to constantly increasing resentment of the wealthy merchants, and it is no surprise that one of the first things to occur during the Jewish revolt in the late 60’s was to burn the debt records and kill many of the aristocrats.

Of the people who were not wealthy, the best-off was clearly the small landowner. Palestine essentially had an agricultural economy outside the city, and the primary source of income was farming, which required land. So, those who owned some land were clearly better off than those who owned none. The problem is that those who owned land were always only two years away from financial ruin. After one bad crop, the farmer had to borrow money to purchase seed for the next year. If next year’s crop also failed, then he would lose his land to pay his debt. We know from records that the first-century had several bad droughts, so more and more land became concentrated in the hands of fewer and fewer wealthy people.

The ones in the worst position were obviously those who owned no land at all, including tenant workers, laborers, and beggars. The poor lived on the brink even in the best of times. There were Roman taxes to pay, Pharasaic interpretations of the Law prescribed a tithe that ranged from seventeen to twenty-three percent of gross income. This put the poor in the position of a choice between religious piety and feeding one’s family.

This is the world into which Jesus comes. He is the son of a carpenter who neither inherited land nor acquired any himself. He took a special interest in the poor, the outcasts, and those on the fringes of Jewish society.

He never viewed possessions as inherently evil, but neither did he see wealth as something safe. It is something that easily becomes dangerous. It can function exactly like the idols in ancient Hebrew culture, it seduces the people away from total devotion to God. In the parable of the Sower in Mark 4.18-19, it is the deceit of wealth and the desires for other things that chokes the word.

In fact, surprisingly, one should not see wealth as a mark of God’s favor! It makes it difficult to enter the kingdom! Hence, the story of the rich young man ends with the claim “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” Since the former is impossible, it implies that the latter is also impossible. The disciples are shocked, and ask, then how can anyone be saved. Jesus assures them that all things are possible with God.

Luke follows this same story with the story of Zacchaeus. The impossible does take place, Zacchaeus is saved, but he is not left rich. After Zacchaeus announced that he would give half his possessions to the poor and repay anyone that he has defrauded fourfold, Jesus proclaimed that now salvation had come to this house.

We misunderstand the teaching of Jesus when we think he is simply telling us to
keep wealth and possessions in their proper place, and giving God his proper due. The danger is that both God and mammon demand our service. Wealth must be preserved, one’s daily bread must be earned. Jesus rejects that there is no proper service to mammon: it is impossible to serve both money and God.

Jesus makes this point explicitly in the parable of the rich fool who has a bumper crop and decides now to take life easy, relax, eat, drink, and be merry. He has arrived, he has reached the American dream. He has attained the position that everyone would want. He has made it. But something is wrong. Most translations say something like, “You fool, this very night your soul is demanded of you.”

The implication, then, is that he will die that night. What’s the moral of the story? Don’t save? Spend it while you can?

My colleague, Dr. Bobby Kelly, who teaches New Testament Greek, pointed out to me that the Greek text is not passive voice, but active voice, with a plural subject. So, the translation should read, “You fool, this very night they demand your soul from you.” What demands his soul? It can only be the riches themselves. Both God and wealth make the same demands, only one can be satisfied.

What then is the solution? Is Jesus calling us to give up our wealth? I have no doubt that Jesus is clearly calling us to give up some of it. I also have no doubt that Jesus is demanding that we be prepared to give up all of it. To even be prepared to take such radical action requires radical commitment on the part of the disciple. How is it possible? Only because of radical trust in God. “Seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.” Those who are convinced that their heavenly Father will indeed care for them are able to give freely. Those who are not convinced that God will care for them will need to ensure for their own security by serving Mammon.

The prosperity gospel has turned the gospel upside down. It is not that we should trust God so that God can further enrich us, but we should trust God so that we will be able to enrich others. The world that Jesus entered was a world of social dichotomies, rich and poor, male and female, slave and free, all instances of one basic distinction: the powerful and the powerless. Jesus came to usher in a new kingdom, a kingdom that breaks down barriers, a kingdom that rights social wrongs, a kingdom that values those that the world decrees to be worthless. In his own words, he came to “bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, and to let the oppressed to go free.” Yet after nearly 2,000 years of Christianity, our world looks much like the world of first-century Palestine.

October 31 is Reformation Day, a important day of remembrance in some Christian denominations, although not often noted by Baptists. On that date in 1517, Martin Luther nailed the 95 theses on the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg. Robert McAfee Brown, in his book, Spirituality and Liberation records a similar event. On June 16, 1985, pastors around the country read from their pulpits a statement acknowledging that these are troubled times and calling for prayer and action. A simple call to prayer, created an unbelievable furor, upset the social order, and was called an act of treason.

The country was South Africa, and the date was the ninth anniversary of the Soweto Uprising, when government troops entered Johannesburg and opened fire on black children. The statement read, in part,

“We now pray that God will replace the present unjust structures of oppression with ones that are just, and remove from power those who persist in defying his laws, installing in their places leaders who will govern with justice and mercy. . . The present regime, together with its structures of domination, stands in contradiction to the Christian gospel to which the churches of the land seek to remain faithful. . .

We pray that God in his grace may remove from his people the tyrannical structures of oppression and the present rulers in our country who persistently refuse to hear the cry for justice. . .

We pledge ourselves to work for that day.”

True Christianity is never a means of seeking one’s own prosperity and comfort. Instead, true Christianity is subversive, unsettling, and upsetting. In this, the prosperity gospel is simply another heresy.

On the other hand, there is something that the preachers of the prosperity gospel have right. The lesson of the blind man is that God asks us the same question that he asked him: “What do you want from me?” The blind man knew what he wanted from Jesus, and he knew that Jesus could give him what he deeply desired. How did he respond? Mark said that he followed Jesus on “the way” the term used for discipleship in the Gospels. The way does not always lead to prosperity. For Jesus and his followers, the way lead to Jerusalem and the cross. But the way, is the way of the disciple, as Jesus said, if any of us want to truly be his follower, we must deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him.