Thinking Faith

For those of us who live along the front range of the Rocky Mountains, it’s easy to take the biblical metaphor of the mountain for granted. The same is true of Advent.

Many of our Christmas images come from the book of Isaiah. It’s a long book written in three stages over two centuries. It addresses people in various places: People who are being threatened; people who have been exiled but on threshold of returning; and people who have returned but who are changed. These are people many of us can relate to.

Isaiah’s message to all these people, and to us, is that no matter what, God is still your God and you are still God’s people. Peace will return to you. But Isaiah also saw a future where this is true for ALL people, and even all creation.

The Christmas images come because Isaiah promised a Savior. The Savior would not be a warrior, or a politician, or a person of success by any measure. Instead, the Savior would be a child. “A child has been born unto us,” to use his familiar words; a peacemaker for the whole world.

So, Isaiah says in our passage for today, the wolves, leopards, lions, and bears (“Oh my!”) won’t eat lambs, goats, calves, or cows. And children will play near snake dens without fear. These are captivating images. And one of his favorites images is the mountain of the Lord. Here Isaiah says, “They will not hurt or destroy on my holy mountain.”

It’s easy for us who live in Colorado to take this for granted. But let us not forget that mountains where people meet God in the ancient world. Mountains reach towards heaven. And though it may take an arduous climb to summit the mountain, afterwards we arrive a place of rest and changed perspective. The world looks different from God’s point of view.

This is why our theme this Advent comes from Isaiah 2:3. “Come, let us go the mountain of the Lord, that God may teach us his ways, and we may walk in his paths.” This is Isaiah’s Advent promise. We see it being fulfilled in Christ’s coming. And we await the complete fulfillment in his promised return.

We’ve been waiting a long time. How can we keep faith while waiting? First Thessalonians is the earliest book of Newer Testament. It addresses the anxiety of waiting, as some in the community had begun to die. The Thessalonians were asking, What happens to them until and when Christ returns?

Nearly 2000 years on, we’re still waiting. What shall we do while we wait? Shall we despair, lose hope, abandon the faith? Shall we become apathetic? Shall we pursue a life of leisure and entertainment? Maybe we should explore the world, or exploit the world? Should we try to accumulate as much as we can? Shall we take up a causes? Most of us “embusy” ourselves while we wait. (I coined that word!)

Paul’s answer is none of these things. Instead, while we wait, we should “rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.” Rejoice, pray, give thanks. Any time of year this is good advice, and in January you might set a New Year’s Resolution to do more of these things. But it’s Advent, and instead of three more things to do in this busy season, maybe think of these as brakes, as guides, as the criteria for a spiritual checkup during Advent.

What does it mean to rejoice, pray, and give thanks? First we have to deal with “always, without ceasing, and in all circumstances”! If we were actually to do this, we couldn’t do anything else! To do one precludes the other two, so they even contradict each other. Perhaps the best way to hear this is that “any time is appropriate” to do any of these three.

The easy ones are pray and give thanks. Here Paul is probably referring to intercessory prayer during which we ask for God’s help in our own lives or in others’. It’s always appropriate to ask for God’s help, and it’s never hard to find someone or something to pray for.

Giving thanks probably refers to concrete things. Think back on your day or your life. What blessings have come to you? It’s always appropriate to give thanks, and though it maybe hard, everyone can find something to be grateful for.

Rejoice is the most interesting one. Remember some people who rejoiced. The Magi rejoiced when they saw the star. Zacchaeus rejoiced when Jesus invited himself over for dinner. The crowds rejoiced when Jesus entered Jerusalem, and also when Jesus bested his opponents in argumentation. Those who reap rejoice at the harvest, Jesus says in a parable. And the Father rejoiced at the Prodigal Son’s return.

There is a sense of celebration in this word. Paul is telling us to find something or someone to celebrate and to do it!

This is Paul’s prescription for those who wait: Rejoice, pray, and give thanks. This Sunday of Advent we have come to the mountain to receive instruction to walk in God’s ways. We have been Instructed to rejoice, pray, and give thanks.

Rejoicing adds joy to our lives. Prayer reminds us of our dependence on God. And thanksgiving makes us sensitive to God’s redemptive action in our lives. Check in with these when overwhelmed, fragmented, distracted, uncentered, or lost this Advent season.

How will you remember to do this? Think of the word “repent.” The meaning of repent starts with a change in your thinking. Make a change to Rejoice, Pray, give Thanks. Changed thinking leads to different behavior. Different behavior leads to a different destination.

If you repent this Advent—Rejoice,Pray, and give Thanks—it could lead you a different Christmas.

The Lord’s Table is an Advent able, a waiting table were “We proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.” It’s also a table of repentance. Here we Rejoice in the presence of the resurrected Christ. We Pray for God’s grace to help us. We give Thanks for God’s gift of salvation. Let us come ome to this table in this spirit of waiting and repentance.

I love Advent, but it can be hard. I love hearing the promises again, like of nations beating their swords into plowshares—that is, of nations dropping food on each other instead of bombs. But it’s hard because even though Christ has come, the promises have yet to be fulfilled. I find this one-or-the-other thinking changes the message of Advent from good news into bad news. Fortunately, there’s a way to hear the good news again.

The John community, which produced the Newer Testament books bearing that name, tends toward binary thinking. Binary thinking offers clarity. It simplifies the world. It expedites decision making. It can provide us a goal. So there are some good uses for binary thinking.

John’s community loved binaries. Some binary terms from books of John include: purity/sinfulness, fellowship/dissent, light/darkness, obedience/disobedience, truth/lie, love/hate.

Jesus used binaries to inspire goal-oriented behavior. He told his disciples to “walk through the narrow gate, not the wide one.”  He also used binaries when teaching. To the would-be disciple who wanted to bury his recently dead father, Jesus said “let the dead bury their own dead.” To the one who wanted to say goodbye to his family, Jesus said no. (see Luke 9) And another time Jesus said, “whoever loves father, mother, son, daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” (Matthew 10)

These binaries may sound harsh, and they certainly are hard. But they are effective illustrations of Jesus’ point. They do, however, invite interpretation and discernment.

Perhaps the most pervasive binary today is the political one of left/right. Everything gets sorted according to this binary.

When discerning the best option, it’s helpful to remember Jesus also saw middle ground. In Mark 9:38-41 John rebukes someone casting out demon because they were “not following us.” Jesus responds to let it alone, because “whoever is not against us is for us.” Did you see that? It wasn’t just the binary of either for us or against us. Jesus created a middle ground for folks who were not against us.

So how do we benefit from the binaries in scripture without losing sight of the middle ground? How can binaries inspire us to “the pursuit of holiness” without causing despair of our falling short? Because we can give up on serving others, on prayer, on generosity, on forgiveness, even other people if we don’t recognize some middle ground.

Here’s how I do it. First, we have to acknowledge that the binaries exist. But we can also look for that middle ground. If we’re open to the Spirit’s leading, we may find it. The prophet Isaiah encouraged the wandering Israelites, “Though the Lord may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself any more, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” (Isaiah 30:20-21)

Second, within the binary, accentuate the positive independent of the negative. So, for example, when Christ calls us to love him more than family members, I find a way forward by recognizing my need to always grow in my love for Christ, but not to decrease my love for family. I think that’s the spirit of his teaching.

We say Gospel is Good News, but we often forget it looking for bad news. We say, “God is a Savior. That means you are a sinner. Let me tell show you how bad of a sinner you are . . .” Why not say, “God is Savior, and this is Good News because we need a savior” and leave it at that?

We say, “God is Light, and you are hopelessly lost in darkness. Let me show you all the darkness in your life . . .” Why not say, “God is Light, and that’s Good News because we need light. God lights our path”?

I was recently asked if, because I’m Presbyterian, I preach fire and brimstone. “Not too often,” I replied. On the contrary, I get criticized for not doing so often enough. I figure most people know the bad news, and my job is to proclaim the good news and let the Spirit do the convicting.

So I preach forgiveness, love, and generosity, and the Spirit bears these fruits in your lives. Or she doesn’t. And if she doesn’t, is it because I should have berated you with bad news first? Hopefully I find the faithful middle ground.

That’s what I invite you to do, too. “Let us go to the Mountain,” Isaiah says, “to receive instruction and guidance.” This Advent, listen to the binaries. There’s good news and there’s bad news, and often there’s a middle ground. And if you get discouraged, emphasize the good news without dwelling on the bad news.

If you can’t walk in the light, walk towards the light. We can’t stop the nations from waging war, but we can move ourselves towards peace with someone. Make your way towards the mountain. Eventually we’ll get there, step by step, with God’s help.

Like most people, I don’t like waiting. Still Advent is my favorite season—especially after what I discovered this week.

Waiting is something all of us must do, and we do it our entire lives. As a child I could hardly wait for Christmas, or to drive, or to move out, or to make real money. As adults we may wait for partnership, or maybe having children, or going on vacation. As parents, it’s waiting for kids to drive, or graduation from college, or to have grandchildren, or come for a visit. Later, we’re waiting for retirement, and I know some people who are waiting for death.

A short wait can be exciting as anticipation builds. But a long wait can be just the opposite as we lose hope and experience despair. Most of us are tired of waiting for the end of our war with Afghanistan or a meaningful response to gun violence.

Maybe that’s why we fill up Advent—which means “waiting”—with shopping, parties, activities, and visits—all to avoid facing the reality of waiting. Waiting is part of our human nature. From the very beginning we’ve considered it a curse. Our story of origins presents Adam and Eve, after eating the forbidden fruit, hiding from God. I imagine them waiting for God to come, as was God’s custom “in the cool of the day,” except not in anticipation but in dread. In this sense, waiting is to the future what regret is to the past. Paul says all Creation waits for our redemption. (Romans 8:19) No wonder we avoid it.

But here’s what I learned this week. Waiting is not just human nature, it’s God’s nature as well. Second Peter was written to encourage long-suffering Christians who were tired of waiting and were at risk of abandoning the faith.

Despite some defensive parts including lists of dos and don’ts, and good guys and bad guys, which makes contemporary application a challenge, there is also this insight: God is patient, which means God is waiting. Waiting isn’t just part of being human, it’s part of being divine. And this means that when we wait, we participate in God.

It’s like when we serve others, or when we forgive others, or when we love others. When we are waiting, we are participating in God. So 2 Peter calls us to keep waiting, and to “regard the patience of our Lord as salvation.” This is how Paul could say that patience is a fruit of the Spirit. (Galatians 5:22)

This is why this Advent, this time of waiting, we call you to “come to the mountain of the Lord, to receive instruction and to walk in God’s way.” (Isaiah 2:3) Moses went to the mountain. So did Elijah. Abraham went to the mountain. So did Noah. All went to the mountain and all had to wait there for instruction and guidance.

Jesus, too, went to the mountain. Like the others, he met God there but he also had to wait. Like the others, waiting led to questions, but he regarded the patience of the Lord as salvation. And after a day of darkness and three days of death, he saw God’s salvation. He saw God’s dream described by Isaiah of all people celebrating a thanksgiving feast on the mountain of the Lord. And this is why Jesus gave us the Communion liturgy, as a reminder of that dream. Here Jesus took bread and blessed it. He broke it and gave it to his disciples saying, “This is my body, given for you, given for the life of the world.”

“As often as we eat this bread,” Paul taught, “we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.” In communion with Christ, let us pray for patience. And in communion with God, let us await salvation.

In a letter that moves between invitations to love and particular religious requirements, we find a gem that balances the two with service.

This is the final installment of our fall sermon series on the Practices of Faith. There are five practices and it doesn’t matter where you start. Each one leads to the others. All are a matter of practice because contrary to what we were told as children, practice doesn’t make perfect. Practice makes better. We never arrive at perfection.

In the past ten weeks we’ve looked at the five practices (see the earlier entries in this blog):

On the practice of meaningful Worship:

• being centered on loving God and loving neighbor
• Christians are guided not by what is lawful, but what is loving
• in Jesus walls are broken down between God and us and between people groups
• and instead arches joining the groups are constructed

On the practice of Prayer:

• the Lord’s Prayer is a guide for worship at home
• God delights in the diversity of prayer and the personalization of prayer
• prayer impacts our vertical and horizontal relationships
• prayer is rest in the presence of God through stormy seas and dark nights, for God is always present

On the practice of knowing and applying the Bible:

• it guides to a godly life and perseverance through trials
• it deepens our relationship with Christ and experience of salvation
• it helps us to situate our stories into God’s story

On the practice of making Spiritual Friends

• we grow as disciples together
• we’re created for community as in God’s triune image
• Paul had three ways of pursuing spiritual friendships
• Jesus had one way
• God even uses annoying people to help us grow

Now on the Practice of Service . . .

Small communities can often teach us about love, but they can also be quite closed. On one hand, people in small communities know each other well, look over one another’s faults, and choose to stay together. They are loving communities. But small communities also sometimes have particular characteristics and can become exclusivist.

The community that produced the Newer Testament books bearing the name “John” appears to have been a small community. First John toggles back and forth between encouragement to love and precise doctrinal standards. It appears there may have been some dissent within the community, or the fear of dissent.

It’s somewhat satisfying that embedded in the passage for today is this theological and psychological gem: “This is love, not that we loved God, but that God loved us, and sent his Son as the atoning sacrifice for our sins.” (1 John 4:10)

First John knows that love isn’t something we can determine. We all know this is true of romantic love. We were sure we were in love . . . But it’s true of a higher love as well. Part of reason is our persistent self-interest. This is the “altruism question” of psychologists: Can we ever not be self-interested? Is love possible only in the absence of self-interest?

Counter to this assumption, First John 4:10 establishes an external reference point—God, not us; and a concrete example—Christ’s sending to save us. High, true, divine love is not affection only, and not affinity only. This love is action in the interest of the other. More precisely, it is sacrificial action in the interest of the other.

Since God has loved us this way, 1 John argues, so we also ought to love one another—with action, even sacrifice, in the interest of the other. Christian love is actually both: Free of self-interest but also serving self-interest. This is because Ephesians reminds us that “we are members of one another.” Caring for others is also caring for self. This is one of the implications of the metaphor of the church as the Body of Christ.

So for example the thief who steals from others is redirected to work for wages in order to give to others. (An added point here—there are actually two ways to be a thief: Steal from others, or withhold generosity towards others.)

For John, this active, sacrificial love reveals God in two ways. First it reveals God TO us who receive the benefits of Christ’s action: “God’s love was revealed among us in this way, God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him.”

Then it reveals God THROUGH us who love in this same way: “No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.” What does John mean by God’s love is “perfected in us”? God’s love isn’t perfect in itself? Divine love within the Trinity is incomplete? Heavenly love shared among celestial beings isn’t enough?

Apparently not. Divine love acts in the interest of the other, so as long as there is a need divine love still acts. That is good news for us. We are always in need. And it’s also good news for others for we are called not only to receive love but to channel it, to act in the interest of the other. We’re called to perfect God’s love.

The point is this. We may know God in our heads. We may have affection for God in our hearts. But loving with our hands is true knowledge and affection. This is the biblical understanding of knowledge and love.

Perfect love doesn’t choose WHOM to love. It chooses HOW to love. Perfect love chooses to serve the interest of others—all others, regardless of race, religion, nationality, sex, gender, ability, socio-economic status, even our enemies.

And this kind of love takes practice, life-long practice. So don’t be discouraged. Start with a close situation and grow a little bit in love. Eventually God’s love will be perfected in us, and we will be perfected in God. And like the God depicted in Jesus’ parable of the great banquet, eventually we will love the whole world.

To the ancients, human physiology was a big mystery, but the spiritual life was more robust. It’s the opposite today for us moderns. If we moderns were to listen to the ancients on the spiritual life, we might hear something like Psalm 139.

Psalm 139 reads like the reflections of tribal elder who is looking back on his or her life and writing for posterity. It makes extensive use of allegory, the symbolic representation of abstract concepts. In this case, that abstract concept is the presence of God.

The heart of Psalm 139 is verses 7-8. “Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.” After a long life of trying to escape, the author realizes we cannot. If we rise to the realm of the divine—heaven—or descend to the destiny of the human—death—God is equally in both places. We humans are incapable of imagining a place where God is not fully present.

Realizing this, the author begins to describe the extent of God’s presence, and uses one of main symbols of anxiety in the ancient world: The Sea. “If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.” If we start traveling as fast a bird, we would substitute air-travel, beginning at dawn and go all day and land on some remote island, even there we would not be out of God’s hands.

Then the Psalm turns to another ancient symbol of anxiety: The Darkness. “If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,’ even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.” God isn’t just present in human darkness; God sees in it and through it. When we are utterly lost, disoriented, “blind,” God sees us and the way forward. Or as Jesus said in another context, “What is impossible with humans is possible with God.” (Mark 10:27)

Since God is everywhere, the author continues, God is also part of one’s entire life. “Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.” Here we gain an insight on how God views our lives. Our lives consist of our bodies, our “unformed substance,” and God has beheld our lives through our bodies.

But our lives also consist of our choices, our reactions to what life presents us. Like reading a book, as we turn the page from childhood to adolescence, to adulthood, to vocation, perhaps to marriage and parenthood, to loss of health, to the final chapters—whatever life presents to us, “the days formed for me when none of them as yet existed”—and how we respond: God is already there.

And God is not only present throughout our lives, but also throughout our prayers. “Even before a word is on my tongue, O LORD, you know it completely.” Paul says the Spirit prays God’s will for us even when our words fail (see Romans 8).

The prayer of Psalm 139 teaches us these things about God’s Spirit and the spiritual life of God’s children. It invites us to practice prayer in a way perhaps different than we’ve been taught before. Here are three ways to practice prayer in the spirit of Psalm 139.

1. Start every day remembering and anticipating God’s presence. Last week we looked at the faithful practice of knowing and applying the Bible by remembering the history of God’s people. Starting every day remembering that God has been present justifies our anticipating and looking for God’s presence throughout the day. The letter to the Colossians urges us to “look up” to find our lives hidden in Christ. Psalm 139 says we need only look around and look within to find God’s life hidden in us. Taking time in the morning previewing the day with God’s presence in it is one way to practice prayer in the spirit of Psalm 139.
2. End every day with an examination of your experiences. This is a traditional practice of St. Ignatius of Loyola. As yourself, “When did I feel close to God today?” Offer thanks for these times. Then ask yourself, “When did I not feel close to God?” Turn these situations into intercessions. After a while, begin to look for patterns. This is how God guides us, as we pay attention to the movement of the Spirit day by day.
3. Let sleep symbolize your utter dependence upon God. When we’re sleeping we are unproductive. We’re not worrying about anything. We’re not regretting anything. We’re not feeling guilty about anything. We’re not succeeding or failing at anything. We’re not solving any problems. And yet God is sustaining us. This is true throughout the night of sleep, but it is also true throughout your waking moments. That’s the message of Psalm 139.

So every night is an opportunity to remember God’s sustaining Spirit. And every day is an opportunity to enter God’s presence again. And the same is true at the Lord’s Table. Here we remember that God provides everything for us: We bring nothing. And here is an opportunity to experience God’s presence. For our host is the one who calls us to remember. He is the one who feeds us. He is the one who calls us to follow. Here at the Lord’s Table, we pray in God’s presence, and remember we may do so anywhere and anytime. For, “where can we go from God’s Spirit?” God is there. Amen.

Those nights when I am available to put my children to bed, I offer them a blessing which is based largely on the theology of Psalm 139. It goes like this:

“You are precious and perfect, a gift from God and from your mom and from yourself, and I say thank you. May God grant you a restful night and peace at the last.”

What’s true of my children is true of all children of God, including you. You are precious and perfect, and a gift from God and from yourself. And so is everyone you meet. Let us live in the faith of Psalm 139.

Do we need all the help that is available in order to know and apply the Bible to our lives? Yes and no.

Of all the five practices of faith, the one with the most support is knowing and applying the Bible. There are new Bibles published every year for every occasion. There are Bibles just for men, women, teens, those in recovery, military personnel, athletes, and environmentalists. And there is an even greater variety of segmented devotionals. Why do we need so much help?

On one hand, we need help because the Bible is complex. It’s a library containing books of poetry, history, myth, legend, hagiography, and propaganda. It was written in different languages, within different cultures, by numerous authors with varying theologies.

It is overwhelming to know the Bible, much less apply it. And as author Doe Zantamata notes, “Knowledge is like paint—it does no good until it is applied.”

On the other hand, there are some major themes in the Bible. One major theme stated right at the beginning is that creation is good and yet we struggle against sin. Another major theme is that of Exodus, the story of God liberating his people from their various slaveries. Exile is a third theme, the plotline that we find ourselves lost and in need of being found. The Law and the Prophets offer yet another major theme: How do we live together.

The Bible reveals the cycle of promise, hope, disappointment, and redemption. It is filled with stories of reality and re-orientation. Our realities change throughout our lives, and we have to re-orient around those changes, personally, relationally, and societally.

The Bible reminds us of the Long View, that life certainly includes us, but not just us. We have our struggles, but the world also suffers. Our time is challenging, but there have been other challenging times.

And this is the central point of the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. The tell their unknown travel companion about the promise: “We had hoped Jesus was the one to redeem Israel.” And about their disappointment: “But our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him.”

And it is a story of reorientation: “Some women in our group astounded us. Not finding his body, they had a vision of angels who said he was alive.” And finally, Jesus himself reorients their lives: “Beginning with Moses and the prophets, he interpreted to them what was written about himself in all the scriptures.”

Jesus does for these disciples what Psalm 136 had done for the people of Israel. The psalmist calls the worshiping assembly to remember the past, in order to reorient the present, so that they could remember the future in God’s steadfast love which endures forever.

Here we are given a depiction of what it means to be a Christian. It is someone who lets Jesus reorient their lives. Christians let Jesus interpret the Bible. They let Jesus inspire their prayers (which means they listen in silence before they speak). Christians let Jesus guide their lives.

A Christian, according to Luke, is someone who listens to Jesus. They don’t listen to our culture of consumerism. Or let their finances dictate their lives. They don’t listen to partisan politicians. And they don’t listen to their personal past no matter how tragic. Christians don’t listen to their abilities, limitations, or characteristics.

Christians listen to Jesus, risen from the dead, walking alongside us, asking questions, leading us forward, and reminding us of the Bible’s story.

And this is what Jesus does every week here at the Table. If you read on in Luke 24, you’ll discover that The road to Emmaus leads here, where Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and hands it to the disciples who only then recognize that it has been him walking and talking with them the whole time.

At this Table, Jesus says, “Remember me. Remember Moses and the Prophets. Remember the Psalms. Remember that death yields to life, that good triumphs over evil, that light shines in the darkness, that hope does not disappoint, and that the divine yes overrides the human no.”

In Christ we remember the story of God’s people. It is God’s story. It is your story. In Christ we remember the future. Thanks be to God.