All this assumes that John’s Revelation is not to be read as a series of predictions to be awaited in chronological order. Rather, we are dealing with something more like a picture gallery in which we see current events, and even some past events, in a prophetic, apocalyptic perspective. Some of these are even universal, recurring events, such as war and the worship of emperors and empires.

One of those past/current events is the story of The Woman Clothed With the Sun (ch. 12), whose story sounds like that of Mary, giving birth to Jesus. Evidently, the infancy narratives already had wide dissemination in the first generations of the church. But hers is also the story of the church, giving birth in the menacing presence of the Beast. Her labor pains are ours as well (temptation, persecution, suffering, etc.). Her son is both Christ and the church, for we share his throne. The Dragon, or the Beast, in addition to his earthly manifestations, is identified with Satan, the prince of all rebellious angels. The travails and warfare on the earth are related to the travails and warfare going on in the spiritual realm. It is there where Christians wage their part of the battle, with prayer, patience and faithful witness.

THE MARK OF THE BEAST (Rev. 13: 16-17) has spawned a cottage industry of speculation. Before we decide that it has anything to do with today’s magnetic bar codes, consider again that it had to make sense to readers of the past twenty centuries, especially the First. The simplest answer may be the best: that corrupt and exploitive imperial economies are often based on imperial religions, that is, if with Caesar you play, to Caesar you must pay. The marks of the Beast on head and hand are simply mirror images of the name of Christ on the heads of his saints (Rev. 3:12), which denotes ownership and loyalty. As the latter are currently symbolic and spiritual, so are probably the former. Christians in Communist countries would understand this, as well as those in Islamic economies: loyalty to The Lamb comes with even an economic cost.

THE OLD TESTAMENT is an overlooked but key part of John’s Revelation. Much of Revelation’s imagery and language amounts to a reuse and updating of the OT prophets, especially Isaiah, Ezekiel, Amos and their language about “The Day of the Lord.” But so does the Pentateuch. The plagues and disasters of John’s Revelation bear much similarity to the plagues that afflicted Egypt before the Exodus. The Song of Moses (Rev. 15:3) hearkens back to the song that Moses taught the Hebrews on the other side of the Red Sea. The census numbers of the redeemed hearken back to the book of Numbers and the counts of those who escaped slavery in Egypt. Revelation therefore is an apocalyptic retelling of the Exodus story for the church coming out a world of idolatry, exploitation and imperialism in ways that Moses and the Hebrews would have understood.

A TALE OF TWO WOMEN: One of them is Babylon, or the the Great Harlot (Rev. 17), the other, the Bride of the Lamb (chs. 19-22). The former, in the original context, is Rome, but because of the constancy of human nature, can apply throughout the ages to empires, imperialism and the imperial habits of nations, societies and fallen human nature, even so-called “Christian empires,” or Christendom. The Bride is the church, or at least, the church that has remained faithful even through suffering. In Chapters 21-22. the church morphs into the City, the New Jerusalem, which is the reunion of heaven and earth.

A WORD ABOUT THE MILLENIUM (Rev. 20:1-6): Much ink has been spilled (and likely some blood) over how literally we take the 1,000 year reign, and whether that occurs before or after Christ returns and the promises of chapters 21 and 22 are fulfilled. Unfortunately, such debates distract us from the purpose of such promises and images, to keep on keeping on in Christ. One theory, called “pre-millenialism,” states that Christ returns in fullness, then there is a thousand year millenium, and one final end-times battle with Satan. This lends to a tendency to watch the sky, and the news headlines for events and signs of literal fulfillment to the apocalyptic images. Post-millenialism states that the saints will rule the earth for a thousand years before Christ returns at the end of the final, apocalyptic battle. This can lead to a tendency to seek and hold worldly power, as in “The Holy Roman Empire” or other forms of Christendom, thinking that such Christian kingdoms are setting the stage for Christ’s return. Amillenialism holds that there is no literal thousand-year reign after nor before Christ returns. Rather, the thousand years simply denote a long time, while “reigning” is what the saints already do by way of faith, love, patience in suffering, witness and good works. According to amillenialism, Christ is already ruling in and through his church, and by means of his church is extending his reign until all is ready for his enthronement before all eyes. The “thousand years” may be John’s way of balancing the sense of urgency (“Behold, I am coming soon”) with a call to patience, warning to be ready for death, persecution and a long slog.

A TALE OF TWO CITIES: Christians often present the gospel as “the way to go to heaven,” which is true enough while we await the fulfillment of John’s vision. But chapters 21-22 show us God’s end-game for our corner of Creation: that heaven comes to us, to earth, to reunite all that was separated in the Fall (God and people, creation and humanity), in Genesis 3. As in Genesis 3, we have a Tree of Life, rivers, a city that is also a garden, and face-to-face intimacy between God and people. In contrast, we have not just a garden, but a garden that is also a city. The gates to the City/Garden are not closed; no angel with a flaming sword guards them. As for the jewels that bedeck the walls and the streets of gold, we are to think back to Revelation 14: 13: “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.”“Yes,” says the Spirit, “they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them.” Now we know not only that the fruits of our labors of love will never be lost, nor in vain, but that they are contributing even now to the building of that city that shall reunite heaven and earth, people and creation. In the words of Paul (I Cor. 15:58): “Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.” Which is another way of stating John’s purpose in writing this Revelation, or Apocalypse.

IN WHAT WAYS IS JOHN’S REVELATION ABOUT THE PAST, OR ABOUT THE PRESENT? That is, aren’t we already citizens of a New Jerusalem? Aren’t John’s signs and symbols of cosmic reconciliation already taking place in our lives? One would hope. The prophetic/apocalyptic perspective is that redemption is here and coming, now and not yet.

PSALM 149 is a “Hallelujah!” psalm, beginning and ending with the Hebrew phrase, meaning, “Praise the Lord.” Part of the last section of the Psalter that sums the whole book up with worship and adoration, it also contains an apocalyptic element of judgment against the nations and their nobles. A close and careful reading does not call the church to rise up in arms (or political campaigns) but in worship and proclamation of the gospel, for the two-edged sword is elsewhere in the Bible described as The Word of God (Heb. 4:12). In worship and in teaching, proclamation and discernment, the church already reigns and proclaims judgment, as noted in the discussion of amillenialism above.

PSALM 150 brings the entire Psalter to a close where it began in Psalm 1: with a call to wisdom, which in this case is worship. The extravagant elements and expression of worship (trumpet, drums, choir, dancing) give us a glimpse into worship in ancient Israels’ temple and tabernacle. But not only are people enjoined to praise God, “let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Not only do priests lead such worship in the temple, all of Eve’s children are priests, leading all of creation in worship, a charge whose fulfillment is underway now in our worship and discipleship, but which will be complete in the New Jerusalem, where the Lamb is our temple.

This concludes my two-year program of reading and commenting through the entire Bible (May 7, 2012).

]]> http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/2012/05/10/week-100-revelation-11-22-psalm-149-150/feed/ 0 http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/2012/04/30/all-in-the-same-boat/ http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/2012/04/30/all-in-the-same-boat/#comments Mon, 30 Apr 2012 15:23:42 +0000 Mathew Swora http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/?p=1471 Mark 4: 35 That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” 36 Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. 37 A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. 38 Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”  39 He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.  40 He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” 41 They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

I’m talking today about a scary subject: fear. In particular, about good fear and bad fear, the kind that makes us take stock of what is important and valuable, the kind that makes us marshal our efforts and energies constructively against a threat, versus the kind of fear that makes us lose our heads and brings about the very things we fear most. And by the time I’m done with this message I hope I will have convinced us that the best antidote to the bad, self-defeating, divisive and destructive kind of fear, the kind that the disciples experienced during the storm, is not no fear. That’s neither possible nor desirable. To have no fear at all is to not care at all, to be totally indifferent, which is really, really scary. The antidote to the bad, self-defeating kind of fear is the good kind of fear, what the saints have called “holy fear” and the Bible calls, “the fear of the Lord,” the fear that the disciples experienced in that boat after the storm had passed.

Some fear in life is just inevitable precisely because we care about someone or something. Because we care about life, ourselves and others, we’re in the same boat with those disciples who screamed at Jesus, “Don’t you care that we’re gonna die?” The question comes down to this: do we manage our fears, or do they manage us? That depends on how much good fear, or holy fear, we have, as opposed to the bad fear, the carnal or the worldly fear in us. And that depends on what and who it is we value most.

For example: The very first Europeans to record their encounter with the Grand Canyon in Arizona were not pleased nor thrilled with it. They were terrified at something so deep, so wide and so long; they were angry and anguished and infuriated, because they weren’t wandering around the Desert Southwest looking for a national park in which to take pictures. They were 16^th Century Spaniards, part of Coronado’s expedition looking for gold. They didn’t understand that the Indians kept telling them that there’s gold over yonder just to get them out of their hair. And here’s this gi-normous hole in their way. Fear, fury and frustration were their reaction to this giant gulf in the ground. Five centuries later, ironically, its the same destructive and divisive kind of fear that has cops in that same state of Arizona pulling people over for the crime of driving while Hispanic.

And its not unlike the fear of those disciples in that storm-tossed boat on the Sea of Galilee, one “dark and stormy night.” On one hand, we shouldn’t be too hard on them. If such a storm broadsides us while we’re out on a boat, hopefully we won’t just keep calmly casting for walleyes. God gave us adrenaline glands for a reason.

But there’s something strange about this story. There are at least four seasoned fisherman among the twelve disciples on the boat who must have had some experience with storms on this lake. This is before the day of Doppler Radar, so it wasn’t uncommon that a squall would come in off the Mediterranean Sea, and people on the lake wouldn’t see it coming until it had cleared the mountains to the west. Then you’ve got about five minutes warning, max. Less in the dark. So, I can understand it if Peter had gone to wake Jesus up in the back of the boat and said to him, “Sorry to wake you up, Sir, but we need to talk. While following your orders to row to the Decapolis, a nasty storm seems to have broad-sided us. Do you recommend, Sir, that we:

1. turn the stern to the wind and the waves and row with them, to effect a speedy landing on the windward shore, if its not too rocky? Or:

2. that we turn the bow into the wind and row just to keep it in place, so the wind and the waves break around us, not over us? Those are standard procedure out here, in case of storms. And if we still get swamped, and the boat overturned, its not going to sink; its made of wood. We’ll lose our food and gear, but…

3. …if we all hang on to the hull, and to each other, even the non-swimmers stand a good chance of making it out of this mess alive. Just so you know, Sir.”

Kind of like when a tour boat on the Rio Negro in Brazil got broad-sided by a sudden rainy-season storm some years back. And this was the storm from hell. It soon became apparent that this boat was taking on water and was going to sink; it was made of metal. Some people were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, screaming, “We’re all gonna die!” But the leader of a Japanese tour group on that boat calmly said to his fellow tourists, “Let’s all put on our life jackets, shall we?” Then, as the boat listed to one side and water lapped at their feet, he said, “Let’s all hold hands.” As the boat went under, they could all feel the water rushing down, pulling at them with a force strong enough to overcome even their life jackets. But together, by holding hands, they kept every last one of their group up and alive. All it took for everyone to survive was one calm person who exuded a contagious confidence.

But fear is contagious, too. And that’s how I understand what happened on that other boat, on the Sea of Galilee. To awaken Jesus by screaming, “Don’t you care that we’re all going to die!!??” is not a healthy care or concern. That is unadulterated, irresponsible and counter-productive panic. Its also what counselors and self-help groups call “catastrophizing.” Catastrophizing is when we look at all the options and possibilities before us in a crisis, and we immediately embrace and assume the worst possible outcome, thereby losing our capacity to deal constructively with it, and almost guaranteeing the worst possible outcome, like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Now, why do we do that? Is it delayed traumatic reaction to our last previous disappointment? Do we think that if we assume the worst, we’re setting ourselves up to be pleasantly surprised by anything else that happens? Or is it because we feel most alive when we’re most afraid? That’s to be hooked on fear. That’s the only way I can explain the market appeal of horror flicks and slasher films. Or do we think that assuming the worst is the most responsible thing we can do in a crisis?

Whatever the reason on that boat, a contagion of panic overpowered everyone’s confidence. The four seasoned fishermen who knew better were letting the least experienced, the most fearful and the most reactive people set the agenda and extort them all, emotionally. And with that I have just described most of the paid political advertising that we’re going to endure this year, of the left and right.

Why did that happen? Why did the least responsible, the least experienced and the most reactive people among the twelve get to set the emotional and practical agenda for everyone else? Any number of reasons, but I’d guess at fatigue and over-stimulation. They had just been ministering in Galilee before they left. They had just witnessed mind-blowing, adrenaline-rushing miracles like the multiplication of loaves and fishes for five thousand people plus their families. Now they were up, late at night, rowing. Maybe Plan A was for them to rest once they got to the other side, for there was probably no rest to be had while people in Galilee were looking them up, probably to ask, “Would you mind multiplying these loaves and fishes for me, too?”

But we spend most of our lives in Plans B and C. That’s why taking care of ourselves and respecting our legitimate needs and our limits, observing the sabbath and getting our rest, attending to our prayers and our quiet times are always the responsible things to do, so that we don’t become prey to fatigue and all its distorting and confusing effects. Like panic. That’s why its just as legitimate and important to seek and to accept help and support from others as it is to offer them to others. Because only God is infinitely resourceful and capable. Its why God programmed us to spend a third of our lives asleep, on his heavenly recharge cycle. Its why the Biblical notion of a day begins with the night, when God recreates us, and then includes the day time, when we work from the rest he has given us. Because only the One “who neither slumbers nor sleeps” is tireless and indefatigable. That subtly rising level of anxiety, irritation and fear that many of us live with could be a symptom of fatigue, of taking on too much responsibility, activity and constant distraction and entertainment, of not letting God be God, maybe even of chronic sleep deficit.

So much for the bad fear, the worldly, carnal fear. Just as it happened in that storm-tossed boat on the Sea of Galilee, so it happens in our spiritual lives and journeys, that the good kind of fear, the holy fear, the awesome and wonder-filled fear of God often follows after an encounter with the normal, worldly fear of danger, death and disaster. Its not uncommon to go from the one to the other. Like cancer survivors or trauma survivors who have learned not to sweat the small stuff anymore. Or when you have attended the birth of a baby, or held hands with a friend or parent who’s breathing his last. Suddenly, the latest celebrity Twitter is your last priority.

Like when Becky and I stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon the Monday before last. It was my first time. And of course, my first thought was, “Don’t get too close to the edge; Man alive, that’s a long way down…….. Will this railing hold?”

Then come some other thoughts and sensations: “How did they get it to look just like all the photos of it?” Or, “Where in the sky did they hang this amazing huge picture, and can I touch it?” It takes the mind a while to register the inconceivable depth and distances. Then you think, “I’m so small compared to this. And my lifespan is just a blink of the eye compared to the hundreds of millions of years that went into making this.” Finally, “Good thing they didn’t put that reservoir in here. Or that uranium mine or that trash dump like they were talking about some years back. What a treasure.”

Then after people have gazed a while in silence at it, you see people taking out their smart phones, but not to check the latest Twitter from their favorite Hollywood celebrity, nor to check up on the Stock Market, but to take pictures. “This will replace my Spongebob SquarePants wallpaper from now on.” Or, “I’ll send this to Grandma; I’ve neglected her lately, and this will remind her of her honeymoon in 1947. Too bad Grandpa’s not here to see it.” You can see how the experience of awe and wonder—the good kind of fear– is having an effect on priorities and relationships.

As with the disciples in that boat, post-storm. “Who IS this man?” they ask. They’ve just had what scholars of Bible and religion call a “theophany,” that is, a direct revealing of God, or at least as direct a revelation of God as a mortal being can stand and still live. Like what the prophet Isaiah experienced in the temple, when he saw a vision of the Lord, “high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphim, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another:   “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty;  the whole earth is full of his glory.” At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.” (Is. 6:1-4)

Far from being filled with comfort and joy and syrupy-sweet Precious Moments Hallmark Card sentiments, Isaiah cried out, “Woe to me!… I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.” But the vision, as overwhelming as it was, did not destroy Isaiah; it purified and empowered him for his prophetic ministry. His was what saints and mystics call a “holy fear,” or what the Bible calls, “the fear of the Lord,” that is “the beginning of wisdom.”

As the words of the song, “Amazing Grace” put it: “twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.” Its that mix of repentance and relief, of having one’s pride and pretenses and false securities devastated, blown away, by something or someone so much infinitely greater and purer than ourselves, even while we realize that we are not being judged and rejected; we are being loved and welcomed. Its like Saul getting knocked off his horse on the Road to Damascus and blinded, only to find that he can stand and walk and see with new eyes. Its finding that that all-seeing eye that sees right through our outer shell, before whom no secrets are hidden, who knows us better than we know ourselves, is looking at us not with disdain nor contempt, but with welcome, love and delight.

So, “Who is this, that even the wind and the waves obey him?” the disciples ask each other, in fear and trembling. With them, with the Bible and the creeds, I confess that this man in the bow of the boat, who has just stilled the storm, is the Lord, the Son of God, Israel’s Promised Messiah, the World’s Savior, the Prince of Peace, the Lion of Judah and the Lamb of God, the Word of God, the Alpha and Omega, and more.

But don’t ask me to explain it all. How Jesus can be so fully human that he has to sleep even through a storm, and yet so fully divine that he can stop a storm, I can confess, but I can’t fully comprehend. The mystery of it all amazes me, even as it gives me hope, because I he’s infinitely bigger than any of the things that I fear. If I could understand it all, I could also then explain the mystery of how the Holy Spirit lives and works in us, creating faith, hope and love. But I can’t. I just know it happens, and like the disciples, I marvel. I wonder. And I worship.

That’s the good kind of fear, the holy kind of fear that liberates us, rather than enslaving us. Its a constructive kind of fear, rather than the destructive, carnal kind. Because carnal, worldly fear is usually so destructive and divisive, maybe we shouldn’t call what the disciples experienced “fear,” but just stick with, “awe and wonder,” or “reverence,” following the lead of Abraham Joshua Heschel, the rabbi and Old Testament scholar. Out of such awe and wonder, God told Isaiah to go forth and speak his Word. And he did. Fresh from such awe and wonder, the disciples would also go on to have prophetic ministries of their own.

We’re all in the same boat with them when it comes to fear. There’s no getting away from it. As another pastor once said, “We’re all either sailing into a storm, or through a storm, or out of a storm.” If we cultivate such awe, wonder and reverence in our lives and loves, if we turn our fears from screams of panic into prayers of hope, then we too can master all the worldly, carnal fear coming at us, rather than letting it master us.

]]> http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/2012/04/30/all-in-the-same-boat/feed/ 0 http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/2012/04/30/trusting-thomas/ http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/2012/04/30/trusting-thomas/#comments Mon, 30 Apr 2012 15:20:25 +0000 Mathew Swora http://www.emmanuelmennonitechurch.com/?p=1468

John 20:24 Now Thomas (also known as Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!”   But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”  26 A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” 27 Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”  28 Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”  29 Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

Thomas’ story has gotten me thinking about some common misconceptions about doubt and faith that I regularly encounter:

I. You are not the only Christian who has ever had doubts about your faith. So I don’t want anyone to come from this sermon wondering, “How does he know about me?” or “Was he getting down on my case?” Actually, I’m preaching to myself this morning, and I thank you for listening in. Again.

II. Christians are not the only people to have doubts about what they hold most sacred. C.S. Lewis said that, “As a Christian I have occasional doubts about my faith, and they bother me. But when I was an atheist, I had doubts about my atheism, and they bothered me even more.” Which goes to show that when we believe pretty much anything, there’s always a part of us asking, “Is that true?” or “Just how true is that?” Because we think in question marks. That’s why there should be a monument somewhere to whoever it was who invented the question mark. Put it in Spain, because Spanish uses two question marks for every question, with an upside-down one at the beginning of the question, so that you don’t come to the end of the question and say, “Oh! Was that a question?” So whatever it is we hold sacred, we always do so in the face of doubts and questions.

III. Doubt and Faith are not polar opposites. There is some doubt in every faith, just as there is faith in every doubt. We never say, “This I believe,” but that we know, in the backs of our minds, that somewhere, someone is asking, “Oh, really?” including ourselves. In the same way we can’t ever say, “I doubt that” without implying that somewhere, sometimes, someone says, “This I believe.”

The real question then is not “Do you believe?” but “How much do you believe?” or “How much of you believes?” How much do you believe that this bungee cord will not snap when you jump off this bridge over the Royal Gorge? Do you believe it enough to jump, or not? Or, How much do you believe that this parachute will open up after you jump out of this airplane at 18,000 feet? Enough to jump, or will you stay inside the plane and enjoy the landing instead? Obviously people trust the bungee cord or the parachute enough to jump, but they don’t trust it so totally that there is no thrill, no tingle in the tummy, no big whoop-de-do when they jump. Trust is pointless and unnecessary whenever there’s no element of wonder and doubt.

In Thomas’ case, there was some doubt mixed in with his faith. But he had faith. There’s nothing in this story to indicate that, after Jesus died, he had stopped believing in God and being an observant Jew. The question was over the resurrection of Jesus, and the reliability of the first eye witnesses. He had every right and reason to ask, “Are all these reports coming to me of a resurrected Jesus a scam, or a mass hallucination?” Good question.

But while Thomas had some doubt in his faith, he did not have too much faith in his doubt. He did not say, “I will never, ever, ever believe that Jesus rose from the dead.” He said, “Unless I see and can touch the nail prints in his hands and feet, and the scar in his side, I will not believe.” He set some conditions for his belief. Once they were met, he believed. So, he may have been skeptical, but he was not a scoffer who was bound and determined never to believe. That is to have too much faith in our doubts. So faith and doubt are not polar opposites; they mix and mingle in various combinations.

IV. Just as faith and doubt are not polar opposites, so is it that reason and faith are not polar opposites. All reasoning requires some faith, just as all faith requires some reasoning. Or else we have sermons that no one can follow.

Reasoning requires some faith, at least the faith that we can even reason at all, and faith that our reasoning bears some resemblance to reality. And then, faith that when we communicate our reasoning to someone else, it will make sense to them.

That sounds pretty basic, doesn’t it? But in this postmodern age, even that is under attack. I once sat in on an educational psychology class, in which the lecturer said that no one can really understand what someone else is saying because the speaker comes from one world view, with one big personal body of experience and meaning, while the listener comes from another world view, with a great big different world of experience and meaning, and therefore, never the two shall meet.

Later, it occurred to me that I should have raised my hand and say, “So if I understand you correctly, you’re saying that I can never understand you correctly.” Then I should have asked, “Is this going to be on the test?” As G.K. Chesterton put it, “There are thoughts that kill thinking.” Now, we do miscommunicate and get confused just enough to make all reasoning and communication acts of faith. But we do understand well enough to be able to act on what we see and hear, so our faith in reason is not without reason.

Likewise, there’s always some reasoning mixed into our faith. We call such reasoning, theology. For example, my faith in the Bible and the basic creeds rests on the foundation of Jesus’ resurrection. I don’t have a 100% certainty that Jesus walked out of the tomb alive. I’m not 100% sure that anyone can be 100% sure about anything. But there is enough probability in life to act upon. To me, the resurrection is more probable than not; it best explains all that appears to have happened after it. Any other explanation actually requires more faith.

If we believe that Jesus rose from the dead, then certain other things stand to reason. One is that there’s life after death. Another thing is that he is quite authoritative. We should trust what he says, like what he says about the Old Testament, the Hebrew Bible. And that has implications for the New Testament. I could go on, but that’s just a start on how there is always reasoning involved in faith, just as there is always faith involved in all reasoning.

V. Another misconception is that Faith is the safe, comforting, weakling’s way of group-think, while doubt and skepticism are the hard and courageous way of the strong, self-sufficient individual. By contrast, I would say that in both faith and doubt there are courage and comfort, safety and difficulty, community and individuality. Consider Karl Barth’s definition of Christian faith, as “the courage to accept that we are accepted.” Such faith requires of us great courage, because a lot of people and things in life appear to say, “No, we are not accepted, nor are we acceptable.”

To say that Jesus rose from the dead does take some of the bitter sting out of death. That’s comforting. But it also implies that I have some responsibility and will have to give account for this life in the next, that there are timeless consequences to things we do with time. Now tell me that faith is just the most safe and comfortable way. Or consider the case of Dr. Francis Collins, the geneticist who cataloged the entire genetic code of the human DNA. Unlike most of the people in his particular domain of science, he is a believer. So, when President Clinton chose him to receive a government grant and lead that particular task, and again, when President Obama appointed him head of the National Institute of Health, there was a lot of angry, hostile resistance from many in the scientific, academic community, precisely because Collins is known for having an orthodox Christian faith. Yet, as time passes, in neither endeavor has anyone been able to accuse him of sloppy science. Nor has he used either position to advance a religious or political agenda. Now tell me who is engaged in group-think.

VI. A Sixth misconception about belief and unbelief is that faith and mystery are polar opposites. As though believing in Christ and studying the Bible means we get all the answers. But I find faith to be like science, in the sense that we never run out of questions and mysteries. Every answer just opens up new questions. Scientists are this close to answering a very basic question, namely, how does energy become matter, in the form of rocks or puppies or people? People who play with atom smashers are this close to documenting the existence of the Higgs Boson, or “The God Particle,” a sub-atomic thingamajig that turns energy into substance. So the answer to the question, how does energy become matter? is the Higgs Boson whatchamacallit. But once that is proven and documented, we’ll naturally want to know, So, where does the Higgs boson come from? How many are there? Why are they there? Every answer in life leads to more questions. Isn’t that wonderful?

In the same way, every answer that faith gives to life’s deepest questions only leads to more questions. As with science, so with faith: answers don’t take away mystery, awe and wonder; they only deepen them.

A pastor friend of mine once preaced at a Christian college. In her sermon she said that, although she has studied at seminary and knows and loves the Bible, she still has many unanswered questions about life and the Christian faith. After her talk, a student came up to her with his Bible open and asked her, “Just what questions do you have?” like he was sure he could answer them all, then and there, with just the right Bible verse. Whenever I encounter such people, I want to run the other way. They scare me as much as do people who are just as cock sure about their doubts and skepticism.

Because if our faith can’t stand an element of mystery, then we’re also lacking in awe, wonder and beauty. Does anyone know exactly why Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, or the Grand Canyon, or the love between a husband and wife, or a child and parent are so soul-stirringly beautiful? Do we have that down to a mathematical formula and an evolutionary mechanism that totally explains their haunting effect on us? I hope not. Because if we think we do, then we will have also killed those very things we find most beautiful and stirring, by committing the mental equivalent of vivisection—live dissection– upon them. It is the mystery and majesty of what is bigger than ourselves, and un-knowable, that adds the elements of joy and beauty to our lives. So don’t confuse mystery and unanswered questions with doubt and skepticism. To believe with Jesus is to enter a realm of mystery and unanswered, unanswerable questions, just as with science or reason. But the mysteries of biblical faith lead not to fear and despair but to wonder, beauty and joy.

VII. All of which leads to this: that we understand and marvel at just how precious faith in the Risen Jesus is. Such faith is precious to God, and I hope it is to ourselves. For it costs many believers dearly, even their lives. As I get to know people’s life stories, and learn about the kind of pain and loss and struggle most people have come through, their faith strikes me as all the more precious for being hard-earned. And there will come a day, a moment, when faith is all we have left, that moment when, in death and dying, we will be letting go of everyone and everything we have in this life, and when we will not yet have seen the fulfillment of our faith in the face of God.

Faith is at least as precious to God. It is how we put ourselves voluntarily in reach of his love. In Hebrews 11: 2 we read that “without faith it is impossible to please God.” In the end there is no conflict between works and faith, because trusting God is the first work of the Law. In the Bible, such trust is compared to gold refined by fire.

Understanding and appreciating how precious our faith is to God and ourselves, then I encourage us to do whatever we can to nurture and grow this most precious, enduring part of ourselves. All we need to start with is faith the size of a mustard seed, Jesus said. But don’t stop there. Like any living organism, faith grows by feeding it, with worship, prayer and the Word of God, and by exercising it in service, love and witness.

Yet our faith will never grow big enough to become sight or certainty. That’s for the next life. Still, there are people who have no doubts whatsoever. They are 110 % certain of what they believe. And its a medical condition. Before anyone learned how to treat it, there was no way to convince such absolutely doubt-free people that they were not Napoleon Bonaparte or Jesus Christ. For the rest of us, there are many things on which we rely, for which we don’t have 100% certainty. And so we move ahead on desire, probability and experience. Which brings me to a treasured quote by Thomas Merton: “We believe, not in order to understand, but in order to become.” Trust in God through Jesus, if you want to become like Jesus.

The Lamb we know: Jesus. Who is the Beast? To answer that, we do well to consider that John’s Revelation had to make sense to its original audience, as well as to readers and hearers in the centuries between its composition and now. So, we should cast a doubting eye upon predictions of gunship helicopters and digital magnetic bar codes. They may fulfill or express some of the types and idolatries listed in the book, in spirit at least, but so might Conquistadors and corrupt papal politics in the 16^th Century. Every age, every saint, and every sinner can see themselves in the types and conflicts of John’s Revelation, and rightly so.

Back to the setting. Internal clues, like the number 666, the number of the beast (the sum of the numerical value of the letters for the Emperor Nero’s name) and the beginning of the persecution of the churches, such that its author would be exiled to Patmos, put the composition sometime in his reign (until 68AD) or beyond. Others put it toward the end of the First Century, with the Reign of Domitian, when persecution of Christians first started to become systematic, as did Emperor worship.

Roman Imperial and official Emperor Worship is the antagonist, The Beast, of John’s Revelation. It was well underway, in localized and incipient forms, even before Nero, but it would soon become an organizing principle of the Empire. Much of the worship language of John’s Revelation reflects this language, while turning it on its head. Instead of worshiping a Beast who goes forth to kill, and sends soldiers out to die for him, John and his friends worship the Lamb, who was slain, and who “with his blood purchased a people of every tribe, tongue and nation.” The peaceful, non-violent self-sacrificial Lamb rules history, that is, he is worthy to open the seals.” So will be those who “wash their robes in the blood of the Lamb,” that is, who trust him even to a martyr’s death.

The violence, disasters and tribulations that afflict the earth and its people should not be read only as newspaper headlines (though they often are), but as counter-propaganda to that of the Imperial Cult, which typically boasted and promised that under the reign of the divine Emperor,as long as we remain loyal, say our prayers and offer our incense to him, nature and the nations will be at peace, and offer prosperity. But don’t think that John is just turning Roman emperor worship on its head. The problem is that all such idolatry turns the true order of the universe on its head. We live in a spiritually upside-down world.

Who and what constitutes The Beast today? For a very good take on how John’s Revelation speaks to recurrent themes and issues in all ages, check out J. Nelson Kraybill’s work in Christianity Today some 12 years ago, at http://www.ctlibrary.com/ct/1999/october25/9tc030.html Bruce Metzger’s Breaking the Code, also does wonderful job of locating John’s imagery and issues within its First Century context, what John meant and how his original audience would most likely have understood him.

But all this is as much a matter of church life and pastoral care as it is of understanding history. With the Beast seeming so successful in all his endeavors (“Who can make war against the Beast?”), with all the privileges that come with worshiping him (socially and economically) and with persecution stirring its ugly head, it was easy then, as now, for Christians to lose heart, focus and faith. Add the false teachings and the rejection by mainstream Judaism of the new Christian movement (and to an unfortunately growing extent, vice versa), and John had legitimate concerns for the seven churches of Western Turkey (chs. 2-3) in his care, even from his island exile. In the warnings and promises to the seven churches in Chapters 2-3 you will see germinal elements of the images and elements of subsequent chapters.

Some readers come away from John’s Revelation fearful. If our hope is in the systems and people whom the world trusts and all too often worship, such fear is justifiable. John’s Revelation exposes the unsustainable fragility, the idolatry and the immorality of it all But John’s purpose is to give his readers hope, and courage to face everything from loss of enthusiasm to loss of property, status and even life, for their courageous stance against the worship of The Beast, and for the worship of The Lamb.

SO, WHAT’S WITH THE SEVEN SPIRITS OF GOD? (1:4, and elsewhere in John’s Revelation) Do we worship a Nine-ity instead of a Trinity? Seven is the number of fullness and perfection in John’s Revelation. We’ll see versions of it, as in 6-6-6, the trinity of humanity, and therefore a tragic departure, “falling short of the glory of God.” Or the three and a half year, or day, events, which tell us that there is more of the same to come. The number of seven is associated with the One Spirit of God in Isaiah 11: 1-3, in which the Spirit resting upon the “shoot from the stump of Jesse,” that is, Jesus, will be the sevenfold Spirit of wisdom, understanding, counsel, might, knowledge, the fear of God, and delight.

PSALM 147 is a hymn of praise that enumerates the signs and blessings of shalom, or peace: the return of the exiles, the prosperity and fruitfulness of the fields, joy for the broken-hearted, the rhythm of the seasons, and security for the city. In fact, the usual human guarantors of security, the war horse and the warrior (v. 10) are of no help. Rather, humility, reverence, trust and the law of God are the key to shalom and security.

PSALM 148 invites humanity to take our place as priests in the orders of creation, calling the other elements of creation, earthly and heavenly, to join us in the praise of our common Creator. Among Israel’s neighbors, any of these forces and elements named, moon, stars and sun, etc., would have been considered gods and objects of worship in their own right. But such is the revolutionary nature of Israel’s monotheism that it redefined our relationship to heaven and earth, not as the slave of such things, but not its detached exploiter, either. From Ps. 148 and other such psalms we get the glimpse of the spiritual nature of all creation vis a vis God. But we are not invited in on that relationship in any other ways beyond to cherish, respect and steward creation, as well as to orchestrate God’s praise, in contrast to what primal and neo-primal (New Age) religions say.

The results of the church wreck include anxiety and insecurity about their salvation (4:19), fear (4:19), self-condemnation (3:20). John’s antidote to their trauma is not unlike the care and treatment of other trauma victims: keep the faith, love one another and reclaim the concrete basis of your hope, in the flesh-and blood Son of God who shared our vulnerable estate. See how much sense and detail emerges as you read I John as pastoral care for survivors at the scene of a crime, or a church wreck.

 II and III JOHN give us glimpses of life in the later Apostolic age, when the issues facing the early church expanded beyond evangelism and the initial stages of leadership formation to sifting through varieties of false and deceptive teachings (2 Jn:7) and the use or abuse of authority (3 Jn:9). The “elect lady” of 2 John could either be a church leader (and her “children” her disciples?) or she could be the church to whom John is writing, if he is using the Pauline language of the church as “the Bride of Christ.” Such letters among the apostles and the churches also served the purpose of encouraging and firming up the churches and their leadership, even while the apostles and church planters gave their churches and their appointed leaders time and space to stand on their own. They also helped set up plans for travel and visits, even while they gave seals of approval, or disapproval, to certain traveling teachers.

 JUDE, whose author is the brother of James (the brother of Jesus?), also reflects the later apostolic era conflict with false teachings. Some of Jude’s language and imagery parallels that of II Peter and II Timothy, indicating that similar false teachings were circulating and drawing similar condemnations, sometimes with imagery and stories coming from Jewish Apocrypha (Jude 9 and 14), as well as from the Old Testament. Note especially the parallel between Jude 18 and II Timothy 3: 1. Evidently we are in “the last days” and have been since the Apostolic era. “The Last Days” is more a matter of the church’s task (mission to all the nations) and the church’s trials (persecution and distraction through false teaching) than of events. Common to the extant forms of false teachings were a disconnect between faith and ethics, and the abuse of authority for licentiousness. The seriousness of Jude’s language reflects the seriousness of the offenses to God, faith and the believers.

 PSALM 144 has elements of both a royal psalm (2b) and a lament. That Israel, Jesus and the church can pray such a psalm tells us that the treasures and status of Davidic kingship are open and available to all God’s saints, even in times of lament and distress. Of special note are the names of God given in verse 2, and the images of shalom in verses 12-15.

 PSALM 145 is a hymn of praise that lists and celebrates the attributes and actions of God, in his kingdom and all his creation, all of them well worth meditating upon.

 PSALM 146 is also a hymn of praise, listing and celebrating the attributes and actions of God, to the individual as well as in the world and creation. Like the preceding psalm, it also gives a nod to the justice, impartiality and severity of God with evil. With Psalms 144 and 145 we are entering the closing stages of the Psalter, wrapping up Israel’s prayers of lament, wisdom, pilgrimage and for the nation with praise, adoration and reverence, which is the beginning of all wisdom. There is then a Psalm-like structure to the entire collection of Psalms.

If I had wanted to make up a resurrection story in order to hoodwink people into joining a religious racket for profit, I would not have written the resurrection story that we read in John Chapter 20. But that’s effectively what the books, The Passover Plot and Dan Brown’s blockbuster, The Da Vinci Code say: that the Resurrection of Jesus is the fictitious hook for snagging us into a religious racket.

But when it comes to making up a bogus tale, today’s gospel account gives us the wrong first witness. Wrong, that is, if you really, really, really wanted to hoodwink gullible, pre-scientific First Century men. And I mean men in the particular male sense, not in the generic sense of humanity. Because the first recorded witness of the resurrection is a woman. That’s no problem for me, hopefully not for any of us. But in both Jewish and Gentile laws of the time, the testimony of one woman was not admissible in court. There had to be at least two. Now I find that law just as objectionable as do you, I hope. But if Jesus’ resurrection was a fable, a hoax and a fabrication, would the first witness named be someone whose testimony was not legally admissible? Not likely.

The second reason I would Not have made up a story like this is because it is just too true to the human condition, especially to the aftermath and the effects of great loss and trauma. Those effects often include helplessness and dependency. There may come despair and despondency, what I call the false security of low expectations and negative assumptions. Then, when the first ray of hope breaks in through the dark clouds of loss and despair, our work of recovery is not over; its just beginning. We still have to work through confusion, ambivalence and mixed feelings, as we learn to let go of our hopes and desires to recreate the treasured times that have been lost forever, and learn to embrace the new thing, trusting that, though it is different, it will also be better.

I thought about that this week, when I interacted briefly with someone in a coffee shop. He came into it on his hands. For from the waist down he had no legs. Is he a veteran who lost them to a roadside bomb in Iraq or Afghanistan, I wondered? Or was it an industrial accident? Either way, he had to come to terms with saying goodbye to something old, familiar and comforting: legs. And he had to embrace a new future. That he appeared to be doing with some relish, and gusto. He was getting around quite well, and was smiling and chatting everyone up. But I doubt that he got to that point easily. Nor would I be surprised if some days he cycles back through the hard feelings of loss. I wouldn’t hold it against him if he did. But you wouldn’t know that from the way he was getting around and engaging us in the coffee shop.

Here’s how I see that process playing out in today’s resurrection account:

As for helplessness and dependency, I don’t mean to be judgmental nor condemning. I don’t know that I would have done any better had I been Mary Magdalene or any other of the friends and disciples of Jesus. Not if I had witnessed the kind of crazy, wanton celebration of violence and shaming that Jesus suffered on Good Friday, and the gratuitous overkill of everything he stood for. In such times, so much is demanded of us precisely when so much is taken from us, that it is a testament to God and to the human spirit that we can even put one foot in front of the other. Some can’t.

So when Mary shows up at daybreak and finds the stone rolled away from the mouth of the tomb, why doesn’t she look inside to see what happened? She did, later. But at her first sight of the open cave, she runs first to tell the disciples, assuming that someone has moved the body of Jesus. Which amounts to more work than if she had just looked into the tomb and inquired for herself. But that’s not unusual in cases of trauma, bitter loss, and despair. Our reasoning capacities get frozen in place, and we may look for others to lean on, to lead us, and to think for us.

Someone who witnessed the aftermath of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, Japan, at the end of World War II, saw a long line of dazed and injured survivors following each other out of the ruins of the city, stumbling and scrambling over piles of rubble and wreckage. And yet just fifty feet away was a broad boulevard that was empty and clear of debris. But they weren’t up to noticing that and acting on their own. They were simply following whoever was in front of them, who was doing the same with whoever was in front of them. Its amazing that they were capable of that, given what they had just experienced.

I don’t know with 100% certainty that the helplessness and dependency of trauma is why Mary ran first to the disciples, with the worst of all assumptions, instead of stepping forward a few paces to investigate for herself. We’ll have to ask her. But should we ever experience anything comparable, may there be someone on whom we can lean, who can be strong for us when we can’t be strong for ourselves. We should not expect the most from those who have lost the most, including ourselves. God gave us each other for a reason. But nor should we get stuck and stay in helplessness and dependence beyond its time, because someone else may need us to be strong for them some day.

But as we emerge from the shock and paralysis, another stage people experience is confusion, ambiguity and mixed feelings. For the worst situations can also be the most confusing. Having survived or witnessed something terrible, we will likely have all sorts of mixed feelings, like relief and guilt. Relief that we survived; guilt for having been the one who survived, while others did not. I sense this ambiguity in the story of Peter and the Beloved Disciple, John.

When John and Peter arrive at the tomb, what they see in there is quite confusing. There’s no body. But the grave cloths are still there, just where and as the body would have lain. Evidently, no grave robbery took place. Grave robbers or political enemies would likely have taken the body, cloths and all.

This may be when they start to remember that Jesus had predicted his resurrection. They had seen Jesus bring life back to the dead, such as Lazarus, a young boy and a young girl. But the dawning possibility that Jesus has arisen would be at once too good to be true, and too scary. Yes, he has conquered death and hell! Hallelujah! But what will Jesus say about the fact that we slept in the Garden of Gethsemenae when he had wanted us to pray with him? What will Jesus say about the way we fled and abandoned him in the Garden when his enemies came for him? And Peter, what will he say about the way you denied him three times? If Jesus has come back, alive, What’s to become of us? Is this good news, or are we in deep trouble?

Maybe this is what they were preoccupied with when they stepped out of the tomb. Maybe that mix of hope and fear, relief and guilt, is why they ran back to join the other disciples in hiding. For them, the Resurrection would not entirely be good news until later that day, when Jesus would stand among them and say, “Peace to you!” In other words, “All is forgiven; let’s start again, shall we?” Then, in a way, they too were resurrected.

But somebody forgot to tell Mary. For while they are heading back to their hiding place in the city with the other disciples, Mary remains standing, weeping outside the tomb, still thinking that the grave has been robbed or that the body has been taken and moved. All this confusion and miscommunication would be funny if we weren’t talking about a grief so raw.

It was bad enough that they put her beloved Rabbi and teacher to death. Did they have to do it so shamefully, so cruelly, so brutally, as on the cross? And having done their worst, at will, did they have to take the body away, too? Did they have to deny her and all his friends and followers this one last little solace, this one decent human consolation left when death robs us of everyone and everything else we hold so dear, a place, a grave, at least a tomb to which we can go and pay our respects now and then? Did they have to take that away, too? They may have disrespected him in life; why can’t we at least respect him in death?

That reflex to assume the worst is another symptom of trauma and soul injury. Given what she has suffered and seen, I don’t fault Mary for this false security of low expectations and negative assumptions at all. Once you have experienced the worst, it seems prudent and safe to keep expecting the worst. Once you have been beaten down in life, why walk with your head up and your shoulders straight? That’s only to invite getting beaten down again.

But this negative predictability and this despairing approach to life, gives a false sense of security. Because when our proverbial ship comes in, we might think its an invasion and run from it. When opportunity knocks on our door, we may think its a monster and hide in the attic. One loss keeps setting us up for another, in a continuous cycle of self-fulfilling prophecies.

So, even when Mary does finally look into the tomb for herself and sees two angels inside the tomb, and even when the Risen Jesus himself first addresses her, she assumes that they are the people who have removed Jesus’ body. “Tell me where you have taken him, and I’ll go get him,” she says. Maybe it was the tears clouding her eyes that kept her from recognizing Jesus. But just as likely, it was the heartbreak, the trauma and the experience of defeat that left her believing that its best to assume the worst. What can break us from such a cycle of self-reinforcing disappointment, despair and defeat?

The Great Physician has the medicine for such a broken heart, and in Mary’s case, he administered it through the ears. Everything changes when Jesus calls her by name. “Mary,” he says, in such a way that light breaks into her darkened spirit and hope breaks into her despair.

Then she must have embraced him, even if only to confirm that this is Jesus, in flesh and blood, and not a wishful hallucination. For which she gets a surprising response: “Do not hold on to me!” Bible teachers and preachers and interpretors have been working on that one for a while: “Do not hold on to me.” Some of your Bible translations may say, “Do not touch me,” but that doesn’t square with other times that people did touch the Risen Jesus, and at his own invitation. Grammatically, I think the best translation is literally, “Do not keep holding on to me.”

Why would Jesus tell her not to keep holding on to him? Jesus gives two reasons. I’ll start with the second one he gives. In verse 17 he tells her, “Go and tell my brothers….” meaning, obviously, the disciples. So don’t keep hanging on, Mary, you have a job to do. Time’s a’wasting; they need to know about the resurrection, the sooner, the better. That makes Mary Magdalene the first witness to the Risen Jesus, the first preacher of the gospel, the apostle to the apostles.

The first reason that Jesus gives takes a bit more explanation. He says, “Do not keep holding on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.” In other words, Jesus is soon to ascend to the place of power and agency and honor that God the Father had promised his Messiah in the Psalms and the prophets. There’s no keeping him here for long. Just as Mary has a place to go with an assignment, so does Jesus.

But that won’t happen for another forty days, when he ascends to heaven. Can’t she have a few more minutes to hold him close? Maybe. But there’s a deeper meaning here than meets the ear. “Do not keep holding onto me” means more than, “Let me go,” physically. It means “Do not try to hold on to what is familiar, to what is passing away.” She must start getting used to the fact that things will be very different from what they were in the good old days in Galilee, along the Sea of Galilee. His mission will continue, but no longer just in Palestine. The same message and ministry will continue, but we cannot depend upon Jesus being physically present, to do it all for us. Once he has ascended to the Father, he will be present everywhere, to all of us, by his Holy Spirit. But now ours are the feet that must walk the world in his love; ours the mouths that must speak his gospel, ours the hands that must reach out to serve, to heal and to help.

In other words, there are more changes to come; there’s more growing up to do. God’s way of resolving our grief and loss is not restoration but resurrection, a resurrection of hope, of purpose, and of powers. Yes, Mary’s beloved Rabboni is back, but not exactly as he once was. Nor will she be the same, either.

As the truth and reality of such changes dawn on Mary, and upon us, I can understand if there should be more mixed feelings. Even if the changes are good, even if, for example, we’ve just had a baby, and we find that a distant relative has left all his estate to us, and the IRS suddenly says it owes us thousands of dollars, change, good or bad, comes with a mixed bag of feelings. At times we may even prefer the paralysis, the helplessness and dependency of grief and trauma, once they start becoming familiar, to the changes that come with healing and resurrection. At least those are familiar. And with the new pleasures, possibilities and powers that lie ahead, come new responsibilities. And so we come into the last stage of healing and recovery: living into, and embracing, the new thing that is before us, with all that it gives us. And with all that it requires of us.

Whatever happens to us, whatever we have to deal with and adjust to, one thing does not change: the Risen, Triumphant Lord is with us, not in body, but in Spirit, now that he has ascended to the Father. It may sound harsh, that Jesus would say to Mary, “Do not keep holding on to me.” But none of us get to bottle our best moments and memories so that we might open them up for repeat performances, whenever we like. Life keeps moving on; God keeps calling us forward.

This same Risen Lord gives us the same blessing that he gave to Mary: to call us by name, in the depths of our spirits. And he gives us the same challenge and opportunities that she received, namely, to “Go tell my brothers.”

PSALM 142, also a lament, continues the theme of grief and loneliness at being one of the poor and the few who follow YHWH God in the midst of corruption and injustice. The “prison” referred to in verse 7 may be that within the soul, that keeps the psalmist depressed, making it difficult to worship God. Or it may indicate that this was a psalm prayed by those who stood falsely accused and imprisoned, awaiting discernment and a verdict, again, a feature of life in a day when no police, courts or other civil structures represented the poor and exploited, only God.

PSALM 143 shows how universal and timeless are the experiences of grief, loneliness, confusion, even depression, whenever we compare the mighty works of God in the past with the very common apparent silence, the seeming absence, of God in the present. For the psalmist, the enemy (v.3) may be a godless or pagan oppressor, or an accuser in court. In the latter case, it may be that the verdict is to be rendered in the morning (v. 8) For us today, the enemy can be human or spiritual. For those nights when darkness and sleeplessness magnify our griefs and fears, this psalm could give us some hope and perspective.

I PETER opens a window onto the lives of Christians much like ourselves 20-plus centuries later. They too faced temptations, persecution and the dilemmas of dealing with non-believers, often in authority over themselves, such as masters over Christian slaves, or unbelieving husbands to Christian wives. Though Peter’s audience came from Gentile backgrounds, from the letter it is evident that he taught and considered them as adoptive Jews, through Christ. He presumed that they knew the Old Testament stories and passages he quoted extensively in this letter. They share Israel’s exile. Persecution is a key issue, particularly, that of Christian slaves. We have many martyr stories from that era and later of slaves whose faith was discovered and punished whenever they refused to participate in pagan rituals or the moral debauchery of their homes and masters. Its worth remembering that masters in the Roman Empire were considered to own both body and soul of their lowest slaves, and had near life and death mastery and liberty over them. Peter often uses the word “submission,” in his advice to wives, slaves and subjects of the empire. But this submission does not mean a carte blanche obedience. It means respect for persons and a willingness to suffer the consequences whenever submission to God differs from, and trumps, submission to spouses, masters or emperor.

The key example is Christ and his sufferings, and in in I Peter we encounter multiple layers of meaning to his cross and crucifixion. That he died as an atoning sacrifice for our sins is basic to western, classical, creedal Christian theology (3:18). He also suffered and died as a moral example of God’s way of doing good and fighting evil (2:21). And by his faithfulness through death he conquered evil and his enemies (3:22), what is often called the Christus Victor understanding of his atoning death.

“Arm yourselves” with this same willingness to suffer and even die for Christ, as a witness to him, and so to follow him in resurrection victory. Which is a surprising and poignant thing for Peter to say, because on the night that he failed so painfully and miserably to do just that, when Christ was arrested in the garden of Gethsemenae, he was armed, but with a sword. Now we are to be armed with an attitude and a willingness, an attitude of submission to God and a willingness to follow Christ in life, unarmed with the normal human weapons.

II PETER gives us a glimpse into even later developments in the lives of the new churches, when, in addition to persecution, there are apostasy, heresy and moral decay, including among some leaders and teachers. Toward the end of his life, Peter’s desire is to leave this warning, with these reminders: that faith is as much about conduct as it is about belief, that it even grows through right conduct (1:3-11); that their faith is based on the reliability of the scriptures and the apostolic witness (his and Paul’s-3: 15-16); that the conduct of Christians and teachers is a reliable indicator of the worth of their teachings; and that the end of all things, and a final accounting, is near. In light of the transiency of all things worldly, some godly fear should drive our actions and desires here and now.

As in II Timothy and Jude, powerful language and imagery is used to describe these false teachers, their teaching and their conduct, most of which draws from the Old Testament, some of which may come from Apocryphal sources.

Of special note is the addition or clarification that II Peter makes to the biblical apocalyptic vision, that is, how the current era of the world will end and give way to the next. Not through flooding, as in Noah’s day, but through fire. Not entirely a new, prophetic development in the apostolic age, it has roots in Old Testament imagery about The Day of the Lord (Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Zephaniah). Again, then, Peter would have us attend to those things (“grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ”) that will endure the coming transformation, in holy, reverent fear, despite all the distractions, temptations and obstacles in our way.

JAMES 1-5: True to his Jewish roots, James draws heavily on Old Testament wisdom literature and the prophets for his inspiration. But there is also much that echoes the teachings of Jesus, especially the Sermon on the Mount. The last half of Chapter 2 gives us a glimpse into the wider context of discussion and disagreement among the first Christians over faith and the law. On the surface, James’ argument that “one is justified by their works, not only by faith,” appears to be at odds with that of Paul, that we are saved by grace through faith, and not by works of our own. They even appear to take contrary lessons from the life of Abraham. This is why someone like Martin Luther could wonder if James should even be in the canon. This argument did not die in the 1st Century AD, with the first generation of Christians. It was raised again during the Reformation, especially between Anabaptists and Lutherans, the latter insisting on salvation by grace through faith alone. But seeing the general tone and tenor of life in state churches, the Anabaptists asked the natural questions, “Shouldn’t faith look like something? If it is only a mental assent to some doctrine that arrives at no change of heart nor conduct, is it really faith, or only a game for the sake of eternal fire insurance?” In that sense, the Anabaptists were close to James. Of special note is the fact that the First Century controversy around faith and works had to do with ceremonial and ritual matters of the law, such as circumcision and kosher diet. James never and nowhere mentions such things, only the bedrock moral law, such as “You shall not kill,” “Do not commit adultery,” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Paul and his missionary team insisted on such things, too. It may be that, since Paul was primarily working with Gentiles, who were being tempted to justify themselves by taking on parts of the Hebrew law, he needed to stress faith: dependence upon God’s grace. But James is writing primarily to Jewish Christians, it appears, who, in their emerging freedom from the ceremonial/ritual law, may have needed to be reminded of what a living faith meant, by way of obedience to the bedrock moral law of the Old Testament. In the end, there is no contradiction nor controversy here. Faith in God was always the “first work” of the law, the bedrock on which it stood. And by grace through faith we are saved for lives that are characterized by the bedrock moral law.

PSALM 139 eloquently expresses the transparency of the soul before its Maker, as well as the Maker’s all-knowing, ever present love and attention to each soul, as though any one of the billions of us mortals were the only human being ever created, even as though we each received all the attention of God throughout all eternity. This can be both comforting and frightening, depending upon our orientation toward God. Yet amid all the inspiring and reflective words and images come the words that many find disturbing, words of hatred and imprecation toward the wicked. It would take the additional revelation of Jesus before the connection between God and one’s enemy would be treasured as much as the connection between God and Israel. Still, all the faithful must work through, honestly, such feelings when they arise, and God is safe with them. Indeed, it shows great faith that anyone with such enemies, in such danger, would pray a Psalm as the 139th. Perhaps it was even the experience of enemies and betrayal that occasioned this meditation upon the all-knowing ever-presence of God with each child of Adam.

PSALM 140 is a lament which ends in an affirmation of faith, a faith all the more surprising for the experiences of betrayal, hostility and plotting that the psalmist recounts. As in other laments, we are reminded of a day and place in which the poor and powerless have no recourse other than God. Unlike the gods, goddesses and divine kings and queens of ancient Middle Eastern empires, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is the advocate and defender of the little, unknown, expendable people. “Burning coals” ( v. 10) is an image we find elsewhere in the Bible (Ps. 120, Romans 12:20) in connection with trouble-makers, war-mongers and sowers of dissension. To enter into conflict with them on their terms is to join them in a shower of burning coals, a symbol of God’s wrath, whereas to desist and to entrust oneself to the vindication of God is to leave them to bear the wrath of God alone.

Did your Bible translators “chicken out?” Which ever version of the Bible you read, it didn’t just drop out of heaven ready bound and in English. It had to be translated from the original languages. If the translators came to verse 7, and the words, “but He emptied himself, taking on the form of a…..” and decided to translate the next word as “servant,” they might have gotten cold feet. Because everywhere else in the Bible that you find that same word, its usually translated as “slave.”

Now I can understand why one might hesitate before saying that Christ “emptied himself and took on the form of a slave.” That’s a tough word. It hurts just to say it. It brings up terrible images of Africans forcibly transported here like livestock, chains and manacles on their hands and feet, being sold at the auction block, split up as families, and forced to work against their will, at no profit to themselves. If they even survived the boat trip here, that is. Lest we think that’s just history, it also brings up modern images of human trafficking and sweat shops today. The U.S. State Department estimates that today there are anywhere from 4 to 27 million slaves worldwide, stuck in the sex trade, agriculture, construction, manufacturing and other services by no choice of their own. Even 4 million is more slaves now than at any other time in history. Some of them are hidden in this very neighborhood, in restaurant kitchens and brothels. And what do you call it when undocumented immigrants work full days and then sometimes don’t get paid, because they have no legal recourse?

“Slave” also conjures up images of someone whose back and spirit are bent over, whose eyes are downcast, who is but a passive, unwilling victim, who has learned to not even dare to have any say in the direction of his or her life, just so as to survive another day.

Christ Jesus certainly was not like that. The world has never seen a man more free. Yet one reason I prefer the translation, “slave” to “servant” is that Christ died a slave’s death, as the passage so powerfully reminds us. The cross was reserved as an instrument of torture, shaming and disposal for rebels, brigands and “uppity” slaves who would not be not servile; who did not bend the back, the gaze, nor the spirit, to their self-appointed superiors.

A second reason I prefer the word, “slave,” is because of what Paul is trying to accomplish in this letter. Paul is writing to a conflicted church. He wants to get their attention, to wake them up and shake them loose from the usual competitive games of social preening, status-seeking and attention-getting that made junior high so miserable for a lot of us, that make some of us rue going to work. So, which word is more likely to get their attention and break the chains of social one-up-manship that were dividing and tormenting the Philippian Christians? I’d vote for the word, “slave.”

All the more striking is that Paul is not the only one confronting us with the word, “slave.” A lot of scholars believe that Paul did not make these words up. These verses read like poetry; they have the structure of a hymn. Very likely, Paul was reminding the Philippian Christians of a hymn that they knew already. All over the Roman Empire, Christians were singing about a God who broke into human history as….a slave, the least-honored, most vulnerable, least secure, most dis-empowered member of society.

Consider too that they were singing this at a day and age when many other people believed that God had indeed broken into history and society, but on the other end of the social pyramid, the top end, the pinnacle, as the emperor. Ask any Greek and Roman subjects of the empire at the time, “Who is the Son of God?” and many of them would say, “Caesar.” You can still read it on their coins.

So have I convinced us of the shock value of Christians—not just Paul—confessing that divinity entered humanity at the level of a slave? Because that’s about all the status and security that a working class Jew of the Roman Empire had, that of a slave. On the cross that’s the death that Jesus suffered and died, the one reserved for rebels, criminals and slaves, especially for slaves who did not act their place.

And that’s an important distinction: “slaves who did not act their place.” As I said, the world has never seen anyone more free than Jesus. Free from the compulsions and fears and desires that drive us against ourselves and each other. And yet his total and eternal commitment to God His Father and to us was like that of a slave. As this first-ever recorded Christian hymn points out, he was obedient “unto death, even death on a cross.”

If anything, I’m reminded of a special kind of slave mentioned in Old Testament law. In the Old Testament is a law to the effect that, after a slave’s years of indentured service are up—seven at the most–he or she is to be sent off with some sort of financial gift to help them start a new life. But if it should happen that this Hebrew slave should love his master and mistress and their family so much that they would want to serve them forever, they could seal themselves in to a lifelong covenant relationship with that master and his family, by having the master take a hammer and drive an awl through the lobe of their ear. That hole would then be a public and visible sign of the commitment and covenant between master and slave, who had effectively become family.

By calling Jesus that kind of “slave,” we could say that the nails that held the hands and feet of Jesus on the cross are like the hole on that slave’s ear, the sign of how God has bound himself to serve us and love us, his human family, whatever the cost.

Now, if enough people could have understood this about 200 years ago, we could have skipped the American Civil War. Because about then, the churches and the people of the United States started dividing and drawing up sides over slavery. In fact, some historians say that the fact that each side appealed to the same Bible diminished a lot of people’s trust in the Bible. I still hear that today, when people ask me, “Why should I believe you Christians and your Bible? You can make your Bible say anything, even the most morally offensive and oppressive things, as you did for slavery.”

Now is not the time to rehash the whole argument over slavery. But it basically came down to an argument between human rights and property rights. And that’s still how we tend to argue over things today: my rights versus your rights. Now I think that human rights take priority over property rights, if ever the two should conflict. But those arguments missed the big, game-changing event that the earliest Christians understood and sang about: that Almighty God entered the world at the lowest level of society, not the highest. And like Jesus turning over the money-changers’ tables, that way of divine entry has turned everything upside-down and scrambled all our calculations of who’s in, who’s out, who’s up and who’s down. It should bring all the games of human exploitation and social one-upmanship to a screeching halt.

In effect, this is about more than human rights. Its about divine rights. But not the rights that God has and which God exercises. Its about those rights that God has surrendered. Or literally, those of which he emptied himself, in verse 7.

Which naturally raises the question of why He would do this for us. Three reasons I can think of: First of all, by “taking on the form of a slave,” Jesus mirrors to us the reality of human nature: that we are all slaves and will be slaves whether we like it or not. The question is, Will we be slaves bound to death and evil, to our fears and our appetites, or will we be slaves bound to God and goodness, to life and love?

This is what our friends in the Twelve Step Support Groups understand, like Alcoholics Anonymous or Cocaine Anonymous, that addiction is enslavement to the word, “More.” Two such groups meet here on weeknights. I’ve been trying to get a Twelve Step group going for fellow work-a-holics, but we’re all too busy to meet. And I keep being told that a support group for procrastinators intends intends to have a meeting one of these days.

In the movie, “Wall Street Never Sleeps,” the main character asks his antagonist, a billionaire investor and speculator, “Do you have a target figure, money-wise, at which you’ll keep your winnings and get out of the stock market?”

“Oh, I have an exact figure,” says the billionaire tycoon.

“And what is that?” the main character asks.

“More.”

Which again is slavery. Because we so easily become slaves to “more” of something, anything, there are war, pollution, global warming, corruption, addiction, abuse and….slavery, human trafficking. It all began when the First Adam grasped for Godhood in the garden. Ever since then, we’ve been susceptible to every snake-in-the-grass who tells us, “You can be like God.”

But what the First Adam grasped for, the Second Adam emptied himself of, when he entered our world through the back door, the slave quarters. And that’s the second reason why he did so: by emptying himself of all that Adam grasped, God has reversed the curse of sin and death, he has un-sinned the original sin, the sin at the source of all sins: our rejection of our humanity, our grasping after Godhood. What the first Adam grasped for, Jesus, the second Adam, released, and emptied himself of it. God’s slavery then becomes our freedom from our enslavement to power, position and possessions.

The third reason the Son of God entered the world as a slave was to mirror to us the true nature of God: that compassionate service, sacrifice, self-giving and eternal faithful covenant love are inherent, indelible, central and profound features of God’s nature. Its what we mean whenever we quote the Bible passage, that “God is love.” What does God look like? children naturally ask. Well, God looks like a slave, with a towel around the waist and a washbasin in hand, bending down to wash the feet of others. That, again, was slaves’ work.

When God entered history and society through the slave quarters, that was the death knell for all human slavery, abuse and exploitation. What if so many slave-holding plantation owners, or today’s human traffickers, could put all that in their mental pipes and smoke it a while until they got it? I think slavery, then and now, would have crumbled under the weight of conviction and conscience. But let’s not underestimate the addicting, enslaving power of profits and power over people.

In keeping with our Lenten season theme, “For the Joy Set Before Him,” we have to ask, Where and how would the human Jesus find the joy and the strength to identify with the slaves of his world, and to die their most shameful and painful death? That’s where the word “exalted” comes in, in verse 9. “Therefore, God has highly exalted him and given him a name that is above all names, so that at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

At the beginning of Lent we heard how the devil tempted Jesus with a shortcut back to his original glory. “Worship me and all these kingdoms that you see, with their glories, will be yours,” he said. But Jesus did not fall for that. He trusted his Father’s promise, that the way to his rightful throne led through the slaves’ quarters. That “those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” is not only good advice for dinner parties, its how the universe works.

“To the one who overcomes will I grant to sit with me on my throne,” Jesus says to us in John’s Revelation. Christ’s throne is ours as well. The throne and the crown are not for those who grasp at it, like the first Adam did. Its for those who put their trust in the One who emptied himself for our sakes, and who follow him in life. Having put our trust in him, we too are free to empty ourselves of the enslaving addictions of power, status and superiority over others, for the sake of all slaves, in earth as well as the One in heaven.

Christ’ slavery purchased our liberty. Our liberty is his kind of slavery.

John 12: 20 Now there were some Greeks among those who went up to worship at the festival. 21 They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, with a request. “Sir,” they said, “we would like to see Jesus.” 22 Philip went to tell Andrew; Andrew and Philip in turn told Jesus.  23 Jesus replied, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. 24 Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. 25 Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. 26 Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me.    27 “Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. 28 Father, glorify your name!”  Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and will glorify it again.” 29 The crowd that was there and heard it said it had thundered; others said an angel had spoken to him.  30 Jesus said, “This voice was for your benefit, not mine. 31 Now is the time for judgment on this world; now the prince of this world will be driven out. 32 And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” 33 He said this to show the kind of death he was going to die.

Pity the poor barracuda. He has a brain only the size of a pea. He’s swimming through a coral reef one morning, looking for breakfast, when he sees this fish (cue marine butterfly fish). The barracuda’s approach to life is, “if it flashes, smash it.” So, without delay, he swoops down on the butterfly fish, opening his mouth wide, aiming just ahead of the fish’s eye. Because at least he knows that fish don’t have a reverse gear.

But wait, which eye is the real eye? With only a pea-size brain, naturally he zeros in on the first eye he sees, the big one. And so he misses breakfast. Because what looks like an eye is actually a spot by the fish’s tail. That barracuda missed breakfast because he got something so important backward.

And so often do human beings, even though we have much bigger brains than do barracuda. Where we get it most backward is in the matter of honor and glory. With our Mennonite emphasis on humility, we may think that matters of honor and glory don’t matter. But they certainly mattered to Jesus. Some variety of the word “glory,” like “glorify” or “glorified,” is used four times in our reading today. Its a word that gets used many times throughout John’s Gospel. The Gospel barely begins before we read, in Chapter 1, verse 14: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

Glory and honor certainly mattered to Jesus’ adversaries. Jesus pegged them spot on when he asked them, in Chapter 5, verse 44: “How can you believe since you accept glory from one another but do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?”

Jesus is not telling us to seek no honor nor glory whatsoever, because that would be impossible. Naturally we want our lives to have value and meaning, and something commendable to show for them. God made us that way, because we have meaning and value to God. The choice then before us is not whether we will seek honor or not, but will we seek honor and glory from God, or from people?

Sometimes the honors of heaven and earth match. But just as often, honor is given and measured in heaven and among mortals, for quite opposite reasons. Which is why we sense, in today’s gospel reading, the threat gathering against Jesus. Because his code of honor was directly at odds with that of the most honored people of his society.

Oddly enough, the threat comes to a head just when a significant honor comes to Jesus, a gospel breakthrough. Some Greeks, we are told, want to see Jesus. The good news about Jesus, and the interest in him, is spilling over beyond the small world of Palestinian Jews. That’s what he came for, after all. His mission is working! Success!

“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified,” he says. Good. Cue the drums and the trumpets for a fanfare. Bring on the banners, the confetti and the parade.

Wellllll…. not so fast. Strange glory this is, when he goes on to say, “Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” This sudden interest in him from outside the usual circle actually confirms that this is his hour to die. Yet he also calls this his hour to be glorified.

Glory..Cross…Glory….death. That’s sobering enough. But lest we think it only applies to Jesus, he says to the disciples, “Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be.” Where will we, his servants be? Facing the same choice, to love our life in this world, that is, on society’s terms of honor and glory, or to hate the terms on which the world offers honor and glory, and to seek them from God, even at the risk of our lives.

At its best, honor is the status we ascribe to our actions and our character. Glory, by contrast, is honor on steroids. Glory is the highest, stratospheric level of honor by which we often measure and arrange other people and their honors. Someone may receive community honors for being a foster parent for scores of children over the years, but monuments are usually built for presidents who lead a nation through war, the generals who win battles, and the soldiers who die in them. Those we count “glory.” Honors may go to the person who builds a better mousetrap. But college buildings get named after the person who corners the market on mousetraps and makes billions off of them. That too we count “glory.”

When Jesus talked about “glory” his audience would have associated the word with similar splendors: the glint of sunlight off legions of spear tips, the flapping and snapping of scarlet imperial banners waving in the wind, the rhythmic tread of tens of thousands of marching feet moving to the sound of drums and trumpets, a sight to strike fear in the hearts of their foes, and to swell the hearts of friends with pride.

Into such a world comes Jesus with his seemingly backwards, upside-down standard of glory. It looks more like a criminal’s cross, than a conqueror’s sword. The cross reveals that heaven’s standard of glory is about self-giving, sacrificial love. An old hymn from the 19^th Century captured the reversal of glory that Jesus brought into the world with these words (cue the first hymn verse):

God’s glory is a wondrous thing,
Most strange in all its ways;
And, of all things on earth, least like
What men agree to praise.

The good news this morning is that heaven has a path to glory that is accessible not only to presidents and generals, soldiers and CEO’s, sports stars and Hollywood celebrities, but to those who never make this year’s copy of Who’s Who, nor the cover of Time magazine. Its a path accessible to parents and single people, to children and servants and the poor. They don’t need armies and budgets worth billions of dollars to achieve glorious things, nor do they need massive amounts of airtime and publicity to validate their accomplishments and achievements. In fact, the most glorious people according to heaven are probably not even aware of what glory may hover around themselves and their actions. For Christ seems to be more impressed by what we overcome, than by what we achieve and accumulate. He was more impressed by the one copper coin that a widow gave in the temple, than by the bags of gold that the wealthy were dropping in, because she likely had a harder time getting that coin, and more to lose by giving it away. Christ might then be more impressed with a homeless man who stays clean from drugs than with an evangelist who preaches to millions, again, if that homeless man had more to overcome. In the face of all the human struggles and weaknesses I encounter, I have learned to suspend judgment and let God assign honors and glory, because he sees and knows what I cannot.

Where then did Jesus find the patience and the strength, even the joy, to pursue and to display his Father’s honors and glory, even on a cross? Jesus names three joys that lay before him on the other side of the cross: One is the honor of being honored and glorified by God, for having honored him. As God told Samuel so many years earlier, “Whoever honors me will I honor.” And this honor Jesus shares with us, for he said, “My Father will honor the one who serves me.”   

The second joy before Jesus is that “the prince of this world will be driven out” (according to verse 31). By “the prince of this world” he meant Satan, the Evil One, the Accuser and the Tempter. It was by the Cross that Jesus dethroned “the prince of this world.” He dethroned Satan first of all by exposing, on the cross, the true nature of Satan’s Empire and dominion. There on the cross was displayed the true cost of all the glories that people seek through conquest and dominion over others, and their squalid, sordid nature. There on the cross was displayed the world’s way of enforcing its honor codes. The world weaves webs of lies around the words “glory” and “honor,” that enchant us and blind us to their costs. But because of the cross of Jesus, none of us can deny that those webs of lies are anchored in brutal, bloody crosses. Jesus dethroned the devil by exposing him.

Which leads to the third joy, all the people who would be drawn to Jesus. “If I be lifted up [on the cross, he meant] I will draw all people unto me,” he said. On the cross, not only would we see the true cost and brutality of human notions of glory and honor, we would see the true nature of heaven’s glory, its never-ending, self-giving, sacrificial love. And that would draw all sorts of people to Jesus, as I can tell just by looking around this sanctuary. The joy of all those friends, of you and me, coming to him was another joy that motivated Jesus, and kept him on the cross.

Our take-away lesson from this is two-fold: 1) to dis-enthrall, or disengage ourselves from society’s usual standards and labels of honor, glory and success. The world honors and glorifies success, efficiency, survival and growth for their own sake. The measure of success is, well, success. All this focus on strength, conquest and dominion for worldly rewards and honors may help us make better mousetraps, and more money from them. But it doesn’t always connect us with God or each other. If anything, the world’s notions of glory encourages us to hide and deny the common human needs and weaknesses that connect us with each other, and with God.

But in this morning’s thought to help us prepare for worship, you saw the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, that “In a world where success is the measure and justification of all things the figure of Him who was sentenced and crucified remains a stranger and is at best the object of pity…[But] the figure of the Crucified invalidates all thoughts which takes success for its standard.”

Once we dis-enthrall and disengage ourselves from society’s usual ideas about honor and glory, we can know where and how to go about true and lasting honor and glory rightfully, in ways that honor God, and in ways that God honors. Jesus directs our quest for honor and meaning toward God, so that God’s honor and glory become our honor and glory as well. Then we can do what brings lasting, enduring honor to both God and ourselves. The author of that same hymn I quoted earlier understood this when he wrote (cue the next verses please):

Workman of God, O lose not heart,
But learn what God is like!
And, in the darkest battlefield,
Thou shalt know where to strike.

O blest is he to whom is given
The instinct that can tell
That God is on the field when He
Is most invisible!

Blest too is he who can divine
Where real right doth lie,
And dares to take the side that seems
Wrong to man’s blindfold eye.

Our choice finally comes down to this: Whose honor matters most to us? That of a fallen society, afflicted with a moral vision that is reverse and upside-down, or that of our Heavenly Father? The cross stands as the divine question mark now posed over and against so much that we are taught by society to honor, value and achieve. It calls us to live instead for the honor and glory of God, and for the honor and glory that God gives. Heaven’s honor and glory may come at the price of a cross. But oddly enough, such honor and glory are best shown from a cross. We can see it straight if we are not looking at it upside-down and backward, as the world so often does.