Tight Lines

“It’s always something,” Gilda Radner as Roseanne Roseannadanna would say on “Saturday Night Live.” She was right, and the people of Israel in the prophet Joel’s time would have agreed. For them, it was always something, whether it was invading locusts or an invading human army.

As we work our way through some of the greatest chapters of Scripture, we land on Joel chapter 2 this coming Sunday. It definitely deserves its place on the roll. We hear various portions of this chapter on Ash Wednesday (today!), on Pentecost, and on Thanksgiving. In the midst of the “always something” struggles of God’s people, Joel sounds a call for repentance, offering in return the hope grace and blessing.

That “always something” note begins in Joel 1:4, with the brutal words that “What the cutting locust has left, the swarming locust has eaten. What the swarming locust left, the hopping locust has eaten, and what the hopping locust left, the destroying locust has eaten.” Successive swarms of locusts have devastated the crops and left fields bare and people starving.

In the midst of that agricultural disaster, Joel asks the people to do what might be the last thing on their minds, to fast (chapter 1 verse 14, chapter 2 verse 12). They are going hungry already. There is not enough grain or wine to bring their usual offerings to God. And the prophet suggests a time of refraining from the little food they have.

Fasting is a way to focus the mind and the heart on God, to remove the distraction of meal preparation and eating for a time, so that one can address the condition of one’s soul as well as one’s body. The call for fasting and a demonstrated repentance is why we read this text on Ash Wednesday.

As anyone knows, it’s easy to say you are sorry. It’s more difficult to offer a genuine demonstration of one’s regret and repentance. Fasting and other signs like the sackcloth called for in chapter 1 and the visible weeping named alongside fastin in 2:12 are ways to show the Lord that what verse 2:13 asks for is actually happening, that one’s heart is being torn with sorrow for sin. “Rend your hearts and not your garments.”

Like so much of spiritual life, the outcome of fasting is blessing. A sincere turn to the Lord means that He will turn to us in blessing. Most of the ancient Israelites were probably focused on the promises of 2:23-26, plenty to eat and repayment for the lean years of the locust-caused famine.

Yet verse 27 is the greater promise, that “You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel, and that I, the Lord am your God…” That’s what was fulfilled for us in Jesus Christ. God came into our midst and then remained in our midst in the person of the Holy Spirit, verse 28 goes on to promise. Peter quoted this verse and what follows on the day of Pentecost, our great hope that our God will be with us.

May His Spirit be with each reader of this today on Ash Wednesday, and always.

“Oh Lord, deliver me from this text!” was my seminary professor’s thought. Fred Holmgren stood in the North Park chapel and told how he was teaching a course on the Psalms. So he had committed himself, for his day to preach in chapel, to speak on whatever psalm was assigned in the daily lectionary for that day. It was Psalm 23, our text for this Sunday.

Of course Psalm 23 has to be included in our list of the 90 greatest chapters of the Bible which we are reading in the first 90 days of 2013. Yet I feel a little like Fred did so many years ago. Why did it have to fall on this Sunday, so that I have to use it as my preaching text?

Don’t get me wrong. I love this psalm. It’s one of a few longer Scripture passages that I have committed to memory and repeat to myself almost every day, often several times a day, particularly in those night times when I find myself worried and awake.

Yet it’s very familiarity and beauty make it a daunting text for the preacher. What can one say that hasn’t been said about it? Especially after having read Phillip Keller’s sweet little book, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23? I’ve got no agrarian insights to offer, no original take on words that have echoed in all their power down through the ages. I’m tempted to just read the text aloud and let it stand on its own.

But of course I will find something to say. I want to share how I’ve discovered elderly people with dementia who remember hardly anything else, but will join in repeating “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” as soon as they hear it begun. I want to share how this psalm constantly reassures me of God’s care and guidance no matter what is happening around me. And I want to help us claim the New Testament truth that Jesus Christ is the Lord who is our Shepherd, and that we will dwell in His house with Him forever.

So I’m confident that my Lord will walk with me even through the valley of the shadow of preaching on a text where there seems to be nothing to say that has not already been said many times. But that’s just fine. Originality is probably one of the seeds of heresy.

Think Sylvester Stallone in “Rocky” or “Rambo.” That’s how I picture Samson, big, strong as an ox, but not too bright. As we jump to Judges 16 this coming Sunday, following our 90-day Bible reading plan, we find the story of this man with incredible physical power, but incredibly poor judgment.

The old saw, “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” is not true. Otherwise it would be impossible for God to be good. But having power does get human beings into all kinds of trouble. When we can solve problems by brute force, it’s often difficult to see that there are other solutions. That’s true whether we’re talking personal, national, or international problems.

Samson’s story teaches us that, like all gifts, power has its source in God and that if it is abused or if God is ignored, then the gift can do damage or be taken away. Samson’s downfall is an ancient story of being led astray by his lust and not taking the gift and responsibility of his power seriously enough.

Yet this big, stupid powerhouse is counted among the judges who were saviors of Israel. In the end, Samson sacrifices himself to deliver his people from the tyranny of their enemies. For that reason, some of the church fathers regarded Samson as a type of Christ, foreshadowing how Jesus would give Himself up for the salvation of us all, delivering us from our enemies, sin, death and the devil.

Yet Jesus is a much, much better example for us regarding the use of power. It is always for the sake of others, always done with self-sacrifice. In the Gospel lesson for this Sunday, John 2:1-11, Jesus exerts His power for the first time, changing water into wine at the wedding in Cana. He helps out the friends of His mother and, as the interchange with her shows, sacrifices His own sense of proper timing for such a display.

Would that all of us who wield even a little power in whatever arena would learn both from Samson’s negative example and from Jesus’ positive model.

“Are we there yet?” “I’m thirsty!” “I have to go!” Most parents will recognize these as the cries heard from young children on a car trip of any length. Even the inarticulate cries of an infant confined to a car seat can make an automobile journey seem like an unending ride of misery.

They were adults, but the children of Israel got to their leader Moses with their cries and complaints even more than kids in the backseat. Of course, their journey was much longer and the number of gripers in the hundreds of thousands.

As we move through the 90 greatest chapters of Scripture in the first 90 days of 2013, we take a big leap from Genesis 8 last Sunday, to Numbers 20 this coming Sunday. In it we find one of the several scenes where the people are complaining to Moses and Aaron, this time about the lack of water, along with the lack of fruits and grains that grow when there is water for them. ”I’m thirsty!”

Like many parents have been pushed too hard, Moses and Aaron succumbed to the pressure of the complaints and responded with an angry outburst, despite God’s promise to provide water. So instead of speaking to a rock as God directs in verse 8, Moses struck the rock with his staff in verse 11.

It’s not just the physical anger, though, which God subsequently finds objectionable in both Moses and Aaron. Moses exclaims in frustration in verse 10, “Listen, you rebels, shall we bring water for you out of this rock?” The implication of those words was that Moses and his brother were the ones who would bring the water forth. As God tells them in verse 12, they did not show God’s holiness to Israel, they did not honor Him as the source of the water and all their needs.

We see further consequences for this lack of honoring God in the rest of the chapter, as all the people suffer a rebuke from the king and people of Edom and then as Aaron dies before being able to enter into Canaan.

For us we see a good warning against rash words, especially words that take credit to ourselves for what is God’s work. The counterpoint is in our Gospel lesson from Luke 3, wherein we see Jesus humbly submitting Himself to water of baptism and thereby honoring His Father. So we have this Sunday a negative example in Moses and a positive example in Christ Himself.

A dove with an olive leaf is a familiar symbol of peace. It comes from the chapter which is our sermon text this week, Genesis 8. It was a favorite in early Christian art (as was the whole wider theme of Noah and the ark), and of course it got adapted into our own national symbolism by having the American eagle on our great seal clasping an olive branch in the talons of one foot while grasping a cluster of arrows with the other foot.

As a new year begins we contemplate how life began again on earth after the flood. After God’s punishment of evil humanity is spent and the flood waters recede, Noah and his family emerge to begin again. At the end of the chapter, God promises not to ever bring such wholesale destruction to the world again.

It’s interesting that in verse 21, God makes that promise to refrain from destroying all flesh again, despite the fact that, “the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth.” God’s gracious promise is extended despite the inevitability of human evil.

God’s grace is our only hope for a fresh start in a new year or at any time. As that line from the flood narrative shows, our inclination to evil is inescapable. It’s only by God’s mercy and grace that we may continue on, trying again to do good instead of evil.

May our new beginning this year be to make fresh and better use of the gift of grace given to us in Jesus Christ.

You may notice that Genesis 8 is not the assigned Old Testament lesson for January 6. We’re jumping out of the lectionary readings for the sermon texts for the first three months of the year in order to follow a 90-day reading plan of the greatest chapters of the Bible. We call it “Around the Word in 90-Days” and I invite you to follow the link to learn a little more and see the reading plan.

So I’m preaching on “great chapter” assigned for each week in our “Around the Word” plan. That lands us on Genesis 8 for this Sunday and then on Numbers 20 on January 13 and so on. Which means part of the new year will be some new experiences in the text chosen for each week. I’m looking forward to it.

Happy new year and God’s great blessings to you all!

Thick juicy lamb chops and warm wool socks. Those things are, in my mind, the purpose of sheep. Sheep are dumber than dirt. They are helpless prey to predators smaller than themselves. Their image makes for cuddly stuffed toys like my oldest daughter used to have, but in other ways they are just not that attractive.

Yet one of the primary and most comforting images of Scripture is that in relationship to God we are sheep, and He is our Shepherd. That image rises to its height in the promise of One who would Shepherd God’s people Israel and the fulfillment of that promise in the person of Jesus Christ. Our text for this week is Micah 5:2-5a, in which we hear the promise of a Shepherd to be born in Bethlehem.

The fact is that already in biblical times “shepherd” had a double meaning. Yes, it referred primarily to one who herded and cared for sheep, but it also was regularly used to refer to kings who led armies. So, perhaps influenced by mid-eastern usage, we find Homer later on referring to heroes like Agamemnon and Hector as “shepherds of the people.”

So the promise of a shepherd is more than the promise of someone who will keep us safe and comfortable, warm and well-fed. It is the prediction of a leader who will order us together in combat against our enemies. That seems to be the true spirit of Micah’s prophecy as he speaks it in the context of verse 1 and the remainder of verse 5, picturing Israel up against its enemies.

Facing the elusive and shapeless enemies of poverty and fear, pointless hate and senseless violence, we may find ourselves most like sheep, unsure where to turn and wandering aimlessly. It is in Jesus Christ that we are promised leadership in directions that actually address such enemies and bring help and healing. It’s in Christ that we may unite and move forward to bring help and healing where people are feeling chaos and despair.

As we remember how the shepherds came to see the newborn Great Shepherd, may we be ready to accept Him as the Shepherd Micah predicted, a kingly leader, calling us to order and battle against the forces of evil in our world.

This past Sunday evening our congregation had the joy of watching our children bring off a classic little Christmas pageant, complete with shepherds in little robes, lambs wearing fleecy ears, and angels with cardboard wings spray-painted gold. A full house smiled and oohed and awed with delight as the kids enjoyed their roles and sang old familiar carols.

Several people with grown children or with no kids of their own came out to share the moment with the kids. Something about the presence of children and their fresh joy in the season adds to our delight. And of course parents treasure all the memories of their sons and daughters enjoying Christmas when they are little.

Considering how children bring us delight and joy gives us a path toward understanding a theme in our prophetic text for this week from Zephaniah 3:14-20. In verse 17, Israel is told that God will “rejoice over [take delight in] you.” The whole text is a promise of all the blessings God will pour out in His delight with His people.

The product of God’s delight in us is our own delight. This prophecy begins with a call to rejoice and that’s echoed in the epistle reading from Philippians 4:4-7.

It’s not always easy to be aware of God’s delight in us. We’re often ready to believe that He is aggravated and angry, rather than joyful and delighted with His people. Yet Scripture teaches that God takes great delight in human beings, beginning with His pronouncement that creation crowned with humanity was “very good.”

In Christmas we have a special opportunity to experience God’s delight in us, as we remember how He poured out so much wonder and blessing in the birth of His own Son. It’s a time for each person to be reassured of his or her own worth and God’s desire to take delight in each of us. May that message be a source of encouragement and joy to everyone ready to receive it.

My mother grew up in the shadow of what was at one time the largest copper mine in the world. The mine was in Jerome, Arizona and Mom spent her youth in Cottonwood, a town that supported the mining community with agriculture, shops, etc. In between was Clarkdale, the town that, as I understand it, grew up around the smelting operation.

It requires a great deal of turquoise green copper ore in order to extract any significant amount of pure copper. The ore is crushed, treated with chemical and at some point “smelted,” heated and melted down at temperatures high enough to separate a much more concentrated copper “matte” from the “slag,” which is drawn off and disgarded. You can still see a huge slag heap near Clarkdale.

As our text for this week, Malachi 3:1-4 speaks of the coming Messiah as a “refiner’s fire,” I picture those heaps of waste mineral from the smelter operation near my mother’s home. It makes me wonder if our Lord has to melt off a similarly large proportion of “slag” from our lives in order to produce anything really good or useful.

Yet I’m also reassured that the Lord sees us as valuable enough to refine, that even the most corrupt of us, like the Levites of Malachi’s time, are worth the time and effort to redeem and purify what is good in us.

And even if we feel like slag heaps sometimes, the grace of Christ is working to refine us. I just read that a present day company is recycling that heap of slag by Clarkdale to extract gold and other precious minerals. That’s what our Lord would like to do with us.

For Advent I’m beginning a series of sermons on the Old Testament lessons, thinking about the promises God made to His people through the prophets and then fulfilled in the coming of Jesus Christ.

The reading from the prophets for the first Sunday in Advent is Jeremiah 33:14-16. God promises a “righteous branch” from the “tree” of the house of David and promises that He will “execute justice and righteousness in the land.” He goes on to promise that “Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety.”

The prophet’s focus on a corporate salvation runs a little counter to our usual evangelical focus on personal and individual salvation. We need to adjust our thinking a little to accept the Bible’s perspective that God’s salvation in Jesus Christ is meant to produce a righteous community who live together in peace and justice.

Jeremiah’s talk about the Branch bounces nicely off the words of Jesus in our Gospel lesson, Luke 22:25-36, particulary verses 29 and 30 which talks about looking to the trees and the sign of leaves sprouting as a parable for discerning the time of Jesus’ second coming.

I’ll be preaching a sermon that rifs on the Branch and and the new growth of trees with a parable about an apple tree. It tells of how God’s people had a rocky relationship with Him, how Christ came and was rejected, crucified and rose again, and how we wait in hope now for His return.

May you all be blessed this Advent to rejoice in God’s promises to you and to live hopeful lives in righteousness and peace.

The election is over and we’ve had our fill of listening to both sides complain about the lies told by the other side. And most of us realize that the complaints are valid in both directions. Yet most of the lies told by politicians are a matter of implication. Out and out whoppers are pretty easy to discern, but candidates and campaign ads often manage to imply untruths without actually saying them outright.

So when we turn to this week’s text, John 18:33-38a, and find an experienced politician of the ancient world conversing with Jesus, it’s no surprise that Pilate ends the interview with a candid acknowledgement of political reality in relationship to matters of truth. Pilate’s question rings down the ages as the cry of cynics and skeptics everywhere, “What is truth?”

My academic background as a philosopher answers Pilate’s question with various theories of truth. Truth is coherence. What is true is whatever is self-consistent, a system of beliefs that do not contradict each other. Or truth is pragmatic. Truth is whatever beliefs work to further one’s goals in life. Coherence and pragmatism may be ways to test for truth, but the very nature of truth is as Aristotle said, “To say of what is that it is, and of what is not that it is not, is true.” In other words, truth is correspondence with reality. It doesn’t matter how consistent or practical your beliefs are, if they do not connect with what is real.

Pilate failed to see that connection as he spoke with Jesus. He was concerned with a practical, political truth. His questions to Jesus show him concerned merely to ascertain whether Jesus was making the claim to be a king, an offense against Rome punishable as treason. In verse 34, Jesus confronted Pilate with whether he actually cared about the truth of the matter, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?”

The rest of the dialogue shows us Pilate distancing himself from any attempt to discern anything about the reality of who Jesus is. “I am not a Jew, am I?” he says, indicating that the truth about any claim Jesus has to be a king makes no practical difference to Pilate.

Jesus tried to talk to Pilate about a kingdom that would make a difference to him, a kingdom that was not and never would be one of the political chess pieces of the Roman empire. It is kingdom of those who acknowledge Jesus Himself as the bearer of truth and who listen to Him (verse 37). But in the end Pilate’s closing question in verse 38 shrugs off even truth as a matter of no practical importance.

We are in Pilate’s position whenever we begin to let practical concerns, whether political or personal, economic or social, take precedence our hold on the reality of Jesus Christ as our Lord and King. If we imagine that political practice justifies compromise of Jesus’ love for all people we become like Pilate. If in order to take care of ourselves we treat others in ways that take no account of Jesus’ command to love our neighbors, we are little Pilates. If we think that making a living or protecting our economic standing entitles us to ignore Jesus’ teaching on sacrifice and generosity, then like Pilate we have tossed the matter of truth into the wind.

If Jesus Christ is our truth, if we acknowledge Him as King and wish to be in His kingdom, then we will live out that truth in every dimension of life. Truth is not merely whatever works, but if we subscribe to the truth that is Jesus, His truth will be working out in us.