Starkindler

(John 1:1-18)

There’s a story about a young pianist who was working on a piece by Bach.  After the recital, she said to her teacher, “Thank goodness we’ve finished Bach.”  Her teacher looked at her and said firmly, “My dear, one never finishes Bach.”  Christians have the tendency to approach the fundamental truths of our faith in this way, as if there comes a point where we can look at them and say, “I’ve learned this—I can move on to the next thing.”  The truth that we’re saved by God’s grace alone and we live by his grace alone, for instance, is something we need to keep coming back to and re-learning because the sinful part of us keeps pushing it out of our minds.

That’s one reason it’s a good thing we have those headings of the VSF creed up on the wall:  we need the continual reminder that God is bigger.  We do well to take that a bit further and remind ourselves that Jesus is bigger.  The universal temptation is to make God safe, and perhaps especially to make Jesus safe—or maybe it’s just especially easy to do with Jesus.  We think in comparisons, and so when we read the stories of Jesus as a human being, we try to fit him into our normal frame of reference.  Even if we believe he was fully God, we have no model anywhere in view for what that looks like, and so our natural tendency is to imagine Jesus as merely human.  John’s aim in beginning his gospel is to write about Jesus in a way that prevents that tendency from obscuring our view of the greatness and uniqueness of Jesus.

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In the Lord, for the Lord, from the Lord

(Ephesians 5:17-33)

I love preaching on this passage.  That might sound a little strange, given the amount of ill feeling it generates in some parts of the church, but that’s actually why I love preaching on it.  There are some passages of Scripture that have gotten jammed up over the years in interpretations that don’t actually make sense—Jim Eisenbraun pointed me to another one this year, in Job 42—and it’s a joy and delight to be able to come along and say, “You keep using that passage.  I do not think it means what you think it means.”  (Gotta keep the Princess Bride references going here.)  There are interpretations of Scripture which ought to be inconceivable that are widely assumed to be obviously true, and they need to be set right.

That’s what we’re dealing with in Ephesians 5.  It’s a widely-misused passage which illustrates two common pathologies of biblical interpretation.  One is the mindset which reads the Bible as an instruction manual from which we are to extract “biblical principles” to follow in our lives.  With that approach, the instant the brain sees the word “wives,” the mental guillotine drops and everything that follows is cut completely out of its context.  It’s as if Paul said, “OK, I’m done talking about all this grace and unity stuff; now I’m going to sit down and write you a rulebook on ‘how marriage is supposed to work.’”  That’s how it’s frequently read, as if it were a marriage manual that got mixed up with the letter and published by mistake.

If we’re going to take this passage seriously as Scripture, we can’t do that.  We need to understand it in context—both the context of the letter, in which it serves a purpose in Paul’s overall argument, and its historical and cultural context.  Ephesians wasn’t written five years ago by a youth pastor in Iowa, after all.  We need to ask ourselves how the Ephesians would have heard this passage, which was written to address their questions, concerns, and culture, not ours.  When we ignore the context of a passage, we almost always produce interpretations which serve the agenda of the interpreter rather than challenging it.  In this case, that has historically meant two profound errors:  first, the idea of absolute unilateral submission of wives to husbands—the husband is supposed to be the lord of the house; and second, a focus on wives rather than husbands despite the fact that Paul addresses eight verses to husbands and only three to wives.

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Body-Building

(Psalm 68; Ephesians 4:7-16)

To my way of thinking, this is one of the two hardest passages in Ephesians to preach.  The other is the one I’m preaching on next month.  I don’t mention that because I’m fishing for sympathy—I volunteered—but because there’s one point to be made about both of them; I’ll talk about that later.  In general, though, the challenges are quite different.  With Ephesians 5, the problem is the way the passage has been misused and abused through the centuries.  That one, you might call the “No, Paul isn’t who you think he is and he isn’t saying what they’ve told you he’s saying” sermon.  Here in Ephesians 4, the issue is with the text itself, and one you may have already seen:  does Paul even know how to read?  Compare the text of Psalm 68:18 with the way Paul quotes it, and you have reason to wonder.

To understand what’s going on here, we need to begin—as always—with the context.  Read more

The Mystery of the Church

(Ephesians 3)

OK, Tychicus, are you ready to start?  Listen, brother, I’m really sorry your hand cramped up so badly . . .  I have to admit, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a pen fall out of someone’s hand like that.  —But you’re better now?  Good.  Thank you.

Just let me put myself in the proper frame—  Yes, I’m going to take a minute to think about—well, I know we’re planning to send this around all the churches in the province of Asia, but “Asians” sounds strange, and the only church I really know is Ephesus; I’m just going to call them “Ephesians.”  If I can fix them in my mind’s eye, it will be like I’m talking directly to them.  You know that’s how I work.

No, I don’t want to sit down, I think better standing up.  —Something to lean against?  You’re right, I’m not feeling well; that might be a good idea.  —Though I think you’re just hoping if I walk less, I’ll talk less.

So . . .  where did you put the copy you made?  —Oh, right, I’m holding it.  Thank you.  Now, where were we? . . .  Hmmmm . . .  Tychicus, I never finished my prayer for the Ephesians—I must have forgotten I was writing a prayer, because I went off on a tangent.  It was a good tangent, but still . . .  I wonder why we didn’t catch that?  —You caught it?  Of course you did.  Why didn’t you tell me?  —Because it was a good tangent and you didn’t want to interrupt me?  Well, that’s something, anyway.

Still, I need to finish that prayer.  So, let’s see, where did I leave off—mutter mutter “no longer exiles and resident aliens, fellow citizens with the members of the house of God, built on the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus the cornerstone, being built by the Spirit into a temple for God.”  OK.  Ready?  Good.  Continuing:

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Whose Am I?

(Ephesians 1:15-23; Hebrews 2:5-10)

How many of you recognize the name of Abraham Maslow?  For those who don’t, he was an American psychologist of the last century who was one of the founders of the discipline of humanistic psychology.  If you know his name, though, the first thing that comes to your mind probably isn’t “humanistic psychology,” it’s this:

Recently, Maslow’s hierarchy has been on my mind quite a bit.  For one thing, Sara is working her way through the online coursework for the Transition to Teaching program, and has discovered that the folks who developed the program are true believers in Maslow’s hierarchy who present it uncritically as the truth about human nature.  That’s the sort of presentation calculated to raise her hackles, so she’s been mounting a counterattack in the privacy of our home.

As it happens, she’s had a fair bit of material to hand for the purpose, beginning with the thing that first drew my attention back to Maslow—a remarkably efficient takedown of his hierarchy published a few months ago in Christianity Today.  Once Sara started me looking, I quickly discovered an avalanche of arguments against his work; one piece in Forbes declared, “Simple, orderly, intuitively sensible, cognitively appealing and offering order out of chaos, the hierarchy of needs has only one problem:  it is plain, flat, dead wrong.”

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Bigger than Our Fear

(Romans 8)

I grew up in the Reformed Church in America.  For those who aren’t familiar with it, it’s the Dutch version of Scottish Presbyterianism.  It’s a lot smaller in this country because there were far more Scottish immigrants than Dutch, but historically they’ve been different versions of the same basic thing:  Reformed theology and church government by elders.  Pastors are elders who take the primary responsibility for preaching and teaching.

Problem is, that word “Reformed” isn’t clear to many people nowadays.  What many don’t get—even in Reformed churches—is that the nub of Calvinism is very simple:  God is bigger.  Luther was driven to stand against the Roman church when he discovered the meaning of grace; Calvin’s great inspiration was a vision of the unimaginable sovereignty, glory, and goodness of God.  However much bigger and more wonderful you might stretch your understanding of God to be, he’s far, far bigger and more wonderful than you realize.  Everything else in Calvin’s thought flows from that.

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Who Are We For?

I’ve now said this a couple times, and I’ll say it again, and perhaps I should keep saying it every week until it truly sinks in with us:  our worship isn’t about us and it isn’t for us.  It is only and entirely about and for God.  Moses is perfectly clear on this in Deuteronomy 6, and Jesus reinforces it when he cites Deuteronomy 6:4-5 as the most important of all the commandments of God.  You’ll notice in Mark, the teacher of the law responds to Jesus by saying that this commandment, combined with the commandment from Leviticus to love your neighbor as yourself, is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices—which is to say, all the outward activities of worship.  Jesus confirms his insight and praises him, for he has shown by his understanding that he is near to the kingdom of God.

To put this into our context, it’s more important to love God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength—which is just four different ways of saying, with everything you have—than it is for you to ever go to church.  It’s more important for you to love God with all your power to love than it is for you to ever give any of your money or time to God’s work through the church.  Now, as Jesus knew and I’m sure that scribe understood, anyone who loved God in that way would give him all the burnt offerings and sacrifices mentioned in his law.  Anyone who loves God in that way will come to church regularly, give generously, and serve in any way they can.  But what God wants isn’t just for us to come to church regularly, give generously, and serve gladly.  He wants for us to do these things because we love him.  He doesn’t want our offerings just as offerings, he wants them as joyful offerings of grateful hearts.

And if they aren’t, and we don’t?  If we come to church because we want to see our friends, and only give if we’re pleased with who’s leading the congregation and how they’re leading it?  If we only give our time to serve when it suits us, when it’s something we want to do and we get to make sure it’s done our way?  If we come to worship as consumers, evaluating it based on whether our desires are satisfied and our felt needs are met?  Then we hit the reality expressed by the Christian Reformed writer Shannon Jammal-Hollemans:  “God rejects worship that is not worthy of God.”  Then we aren’t worshiping God at all, we’re worshiping our own desires—we’re putting ourselves at the center of the church instead of God.  Then, to be blunt, we’re worshiping an idol.

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Worth-ship

I said last week that in thinking about worship, we need to begin with the principle that our worship is only and entirely about and for God.  As I noted, this statement raises an important issue:  why is that OK for God to demand our worship?  Having answered that question, however, there’s actually another one which we ought to address.  In order to understand what it means to worship God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength, we need to make sure we’ve defined our terms properly.  What is worship?

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Circle Dance

(Genesis 1:26-28John 14:15-26Galatians 4:4-7)

As I was praying and thinking about the sermon schedule for this year, I found myself being led to begin the year by preaching on worship.  Ken Priddy, who leads the EPC’s task force on church revitalization, divides the ministry of the church into four areas which he calls “faith centers”—outreach, evangelism, discipleship, and worship.  For a while, I was thinking about doing a series on each, but the discipleship series wasn’t coming together, and so I ended up moving in a different direction.

One of the things Ken notes, though, is that there’s an upward spiral through these areas of ministry.  As we worship God, we’re motivated to reach out and share the gospel with others; as they come to faith and are drawn into the church, they become disciples of Christ and learn to worship him; and then they in turn are motivated to share the gospel, and the cycle continues.  You can begin talking about that at any point, but it seems to me that worship is the critical element.  Worship defines our relationship to God and God is the one who makes everything else happen.  At the same time, we have to see that worship extends beyond Sunday morning.  As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “Unless life is a form of worship, your worship has no life.”  So we’re going to start by talking about worship, but with the aim of showing how worship connects into the rest of life.
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Prince of Peace

We are promised a king who will reign in the wisdom, power, and faithful love of God; therefore he will be the Prince of Peace.  Remove any of the first three names, and this fourth one becomes impossible, inconceivable, unfathomable.  Coming after all three of them, however, this one is almost inevitable.  Isaiah describes a ruler with the love and commitment to desire only what is good and right, the wisdom to understand how to make all things good and right, and the power to make that happen and to defeat any who would try to oppose him.  What else would such a monarch bring but peace?

This doesn’t just mean the absence of war, either.  If a king were powerful enough, he could accomplish that without being either wise or loving.  The biblical concept of peace is much bigger and much greater than that.  As I’ve said before, this is one of those Hebrew words that’s worth learning for everybody, because you can’t translate it with anything less than a paragraph.  This is the word shalom.

At its root, it means to be whole, perfectly complete and unmarred; it carries within it the concept we call integrity.  To experience shalom, to live in the peace of God, is to be in complete harmony:  first of all with God and his will; and because of that, second, within yourself.  The result is a calm, unshakeable sense that all is well, and freedom from anxiety.  This in turn creates harmony with others, to the extent that they are willing to be at peace with you.  There will always be those who aren’t, whatever their reasons; the peace of God gives you the ability to behave peaceably toward them regardless, and to pursue peace with them even so.  A life of shalom is a life lived in tune with God, ordered by his order, in accordance with his will.

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