posts — Page 18 — Andy James

Worthy of the In-Between

September 21, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Philippians 1:21-30
preached on September 21, 2014, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Sometimes it can be a bit strange to read letters like what we read this morning from Philippians. I often find it to be something almost like eavesdropping on a conversation between two good friends. There is so much more being said that what we ourselves can hear. There is so much written between the lines—shared experiences, conversations at meals about the meaning of life and the importance of faith, even inside jokes—that remains beyond our grasp and yet is integral to understanding what is being said. In the case of reading letters from the Bible, add in two millennia of of time difference and at least one layer of translation and you’ve got the perfect recipe for confusion, misunderstanding, and head scratching!

Paul’s letter to the Philippians is very much one of those letters that doesn’t always sense to us at our distance. Many scholars think that the Philippians were Paul’s favorite church, so when we read the letter, it really does feel like we’re missing something here. There’s a real sense of affection throughout his words to them. His tone is never harsh but always encouraging, never focused on lifting up the places where they have gone wrong but on rejoicing in their faithfulness, never distant but very personal and friendly and loving. All this makes Philippians a wonderful, warm book to read, but it can also make it a bit difficult to connect to our lives.

The first line of our reading this morning is a perfect example of this: “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.” What? That just doesn’t make sense to me on a linguistic level, let alone a practical one. Paul’s attempts to explain what he means just make me all the more confused. Some of the confusion is a translation issue—there are certainly other ways to look at these words beyond the trusty New Revised Standard Version, descended as it is from the good old King James, which has nearly the same confusing translation. The thoughtful paraphrase The Message clarifies Paul’s intention a bit, I think: “Alive, I’m Christ’s messenger; dead, I’m his bounty. Life versus even more life! I can’t lose.” But what does this mean, anyway? What is the life that Paul is referring to? Does he really prefer life after death to life here and now? Or is he trying to get at something else here?

As he goes on to explain all of this, Paul appeals to that deep relationship that he shares with the Philippians. He says that he prefers to “depart and be with Christ,” yet his continued life on earth “is more necessary” for them. He is so devoted to them that that relationship, among other things, pulls him back toward this life. He has been living in the tension so prevalent in the New Testament between the here-and-now and the world-to-come, the already and the not-yet, life in the flesh and life with Christ. He has every reason to want to move on—he has lived a good and faithful life, he is suffering from an unknown-to-us physical affliction, and he is living under Roman imprisonment. Yet he doesn’t set this world aside. He longs to be with Christ, to know the fullness of God’s love, to set aside the pains of living, and yet he knows that there is still labor for him in the days ahead, that he can continue to grow in his own faith, hope, and love, and share the joys of life in relationship with communities like the Philippians.

All this focus on the life here-and-now, though, requires careful attention to the way of living in this world, not just for the sake of living today but to find a faithful way forward in this in-between time. So Paul insists that this beloved community “live… life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ,” which for him is grounded in unity of spirit. This unity of spirit brings them together and gives them common purpose for the actions that live out the gospel. This unity also forms the basis of their witness against anyone who may oppose them, for these opponents will not realize all the ways in which God is working through the Philippians’ faithfulness and courage to seal their destruction. This unity supports the Philippians and brings them together, helping them to believe and to face the challenges of faithfulness together along the way. This unity takes its clearest form as he and the Philippians face the suffering that they both endure, and he assures them that this is not just something that must be endured but indeed is a privilege to be celebrated!

While the deep relationship between Paul and the Philippians makes for beautiful reading, it can make it a little more difficult for us to figure out where we fit in in these words. What does all this mean for us in our world? What does it mean for us to live our lives in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ? How are we to understand this call in our world where we are still in this in-between time many centuries after Paul would have suspected that all things would be made new?

Perhaps Paul’s call to unity of spirit is more important for us than we might realize. It is far too easy to let the fractures of our world break into our lives. We see a broken political system where women and men spend more time campaigning against one another and posturing against another perspective than in finding a solution that brings us together. We lament the end of the structures that have bound together our communities for years, yet we ourselves no longer contribute the time and resources to them that are necessary to make them work. We complain that society is changing from the way it always was and fail to recognize how even what we remember is the product of so many different perspectives of time and place. We sigh that our churches no longer have the members or privilege that we remember in them, yet we ourselves have too often looked only within these walls rather than seeking to work in new and different ways beyond them.

When challenges and struggles like these come before us, the temptation is to let those things push us apart, to allow conflict to blossom and flourish, to set aside the call to live in peace together, to be intimidate by others who shine light on our divisions, to be divided even amidst our unity in Christ. So perhaps in our fractured world we are called more than ever before to live life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ, coming together from our different perspectives to stand firm in one spirit. In our world where those with different perspectives are best placed in entirely different camps, we are called to strive side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel, not focusing on our own understanding but on the faithfulness of God in Jesus Christ. In our world where everything is changing and our temptation is to hold tight to the ways that we know, we are called not to be intimidated by change, to struggle with the different and emerging understandings of faithfulness in our lives and our world, to seek together, amidst all our differences, to find the new life that is coming into our midst in Jesus Christ.

Like many Presbyterians and Americans, I’ve followed with some interest the news of this past week as the people of Scotland voted in a referendum on independence from the United Kingdom. When I was last in Scotland about two years ago, this referendum was still a good ways off, and most people assumed that the result would be a clear vote against independence, so I think many people ended up a bit surprised that the vote was actually as close as it was, with the “yes” vote for independence receiving about 45% of the total.

What has been most amazing about this referendum, though, is the way in which it seems to have brought out the deepest passion for the good of the nation. Some 85% of registered voters cast ballots in the referendum—compare that with the meager 10% of New Yorkers who voted in our own party primaries two weeks ago! As one commentator put it, “That nearly every Scottish adult over the age of 16 has been engaged, peacefully, in a crucial political decision is widely recognised as the referendum’s great achievement.”

Both sides offered impassioned arguments for their perspective, yet in the end the result seems to have brought everyone to want to work together for a better nation. Our sisters and brothers in our parent church, the Church of Scotland, maintained intentional institutional neutrality in the referendum, recognizing that people of good faith and practice might disagree on the best pathway for the work of God’s kingdom in our midst. Good, faithful, Christian people worked on both sides of the referendum, yet the church did not take its own stand. Some criticized the church for its neutrality, yet it may be the Church of Scotland’s very example of unity amidst differing opinions that can be its most powerful witness in these days. Amidst the fractures in society, it can stand as a witness to the ways in which God’s faithfulness can bring people together.

So may God guide us to live lives worthy of this in-between time, striving together for the unity we know in Christ so that we might be a witness to new life even as we struggle to live these lives in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ until all things are made new. Lord, come quickly! Amen.

The Balance of Forgiveness

September 14, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Matthew 18: 21-35
preached on September 14, 2014, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

The Irish writer Oscar Wilde offers us some wisdom that seems quite appropriate for the events of today and our reading this morning: “After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relatives.” So maybe the outcome of today’s parable might have been a bit different if only they had come to our fall picnic for a good meal first!

On this day of celebration, as we begin a new year in our life together, kick off the annual restart of Sunday school, commemorate the beginning of a new school year for our children and youth, and gather after worship for a festive picnic, it seems strange to turn our attention to a parable that ends with two men thrown in prison and the rest of us threatened with a similar fate. Wouldn’t it be nice if all of Jesus’ parables ended happily ever after? Can’t we just have one nice, happy story from Jesus every now and then? Isn’t the gospel supposed to be filled with good news anyway?

Alas, that is not the kind of story that is before us. Like much of the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ, this parable and all its surrounding reflection are focused on forgiveness, even though the good news about forgiveness here is a bit more conditional than most as it explores how human and divine forgiveness get balanced out in the great equations of life and living. Jesus told this parable in response to one of Peter’s many questions to him. They had been talking about the importance and process of forgiveness for a good while now, and Jesus had paid special attention in his teaching to how the disciples would deal with one another when there was conflict between them. This process focused on individual attention to wrongdoing that would escalate to a broader confrontation only when reconciliation was unsuccessful, and it insisted on accountability for sinfulness while also encouraging a graceful approach to wrongdoing and especially wrongdoers. And this parable comes after Jesus instructs his disciples that they must take up their cross and follow him, so it quickly becomes clear that part of this call is to pay attention to forgiveness and reconciliation.

In the midst of all this, when Peter asked Jesus how many times he must forgive someone who sins against him, I can’t imagine that he expected anything quite this generous. “How often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.” That’s a whopper of a number. Forgiving someone seven times is enough already to ask, so forgiving seventy-seven times is just flat-out ridiculous. But Jesus clearly meant what he said to Peter and so defined the balance of forgiveness in the parable at the center of our gospel text today.

The parable is strangely simple, as it portrays the interaction between two debtors and the men that they owe. Despite owing very different amounts—one an astonishingly large amount, perhaps even beyond what could ever even be owed, and the other a very tiny, nearly insignificant, amount—both debtors plead with the men that they owe to seek some sort of patience or relief. Here the two stories diverge. Strangely, the man who is owed the larger debt, worth many times more than a lifetime of wages, relents and not only gives him more time to pay but forgives the debt entirely. But the man who is owed the much smaller debt is ruthless in his insistence that he immediately be paid what he is owed, and when his debtor cannot do so, he has him thrown into prison.

The parable brings these two stories together because the man who is forgiven a large debt is the one who is owed a much smaller debt. The one who receives incredible forgiveness cannot offer even a little of it to others. The one who seeks generosity for himself cannot find a way to share that gift with another. When the one owed the greater debt hears of this outcome, he immediately rescinds his offering of grace. “You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?” He then hands “him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt.” Then Jesus closed his telling of the parable with a warning about the balance of forgiveness: “So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

Such a warning does not feel like good news to me. The gift of forgiveness from God in Christ seems to come without conditions such as this. The hope of new life seems a little less hopeful and a good bit less new if we have to worry about how our actions toward others will be judged along the way. And while the promise of divine retribution may be entirely reasonable and even deserved, it can leave us trembling in our boots over potential bad acts even as we examine our actions more closely.

Even when we enjoy incredible forgiveness from God, sorting out the balance of forgiveness with those around us is not easy. It is far easier to bear grudges against others than to address the things that keep us apart as part of the process of reconciliation. It is far more normal in the eyes of our world to end a relationship over the perceived sins of those around us than to work through the challenges of new life together. And it is even at times necessary to insist that those around us face the consequences of their actions that have harmed us.

Over this past week, we have been reminded of the incredible challenges of domestic violence in our culture as a professional football player brought the culture of violence learned on the football field into his relationship with his then-fiancée and now wife. Even after video was released that showed him punching her in an elevator until she became unconscious, she has insisted that she forgives him and that he should not be punished severely. Could Jesus really have meant that she needed to forgive his harm to her seventy-seven times? Was he really suggesting that she ought to put up with such behavior and place herself at greater risk?

The balance of forgiveness that is at stake here isn’t quite as simple as what Jesus portrays in the parable, and I cannot reasonably suggest that he would insist upon the abused returning to the abuser or immediately offer forgiveness to those who have deeply wronged us when they are unprepared to admit their wrongdoing. Yet in the light of Jesus’ instruction to take up the cross and follow him, the balance of forgiveness requires that we seek some sort of reconciliation, that we not build our lives on the grudges we carry against others, that we stop placing our focus on keeping score or sorting out who is more right or wrong and seek a new and different way of living together, that so much as is possible we set aside the anger we carry toward those who wrong us and so open ourselves to new and right and safe relationship with them along the way, even if that means stepping away from them entirely for our own safety or for the safety of others.

This kind of approach to life and living can be transformative for us. Imagine if the first misstep did not immediately result in the end of a relationship. Imagine how the connections between nations would be different if we approached difficulty not with guns blazing but with cooler heads and an openness to listening and forgiveness. And imagine how the controversies that so easily swirl in our world over the smallest slights could be transformed through open acknowledgement of the places where we all have gone wrong. As much as anything, I think Jesus is calling us in this parable to do our best to live in this way with one another, to make it clear that when we deal with others, we approach one another with grace and mercy at the forefront, and to embody the kind of forgiveness and love in our interactions that he shows us each and every day.

So as we work to make this parable good news in our lives and our world, as we seek to find the right balance of forgiveness amidst the difficulties we face, may God open us to this new way of life with one another, may God help us to be gentle and gracious in our actions toward others, and may God work in us and through us and in spite of us to bring reconciliation to this broken and fearful world until all things are made new in Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God! Amen.

The Pathway of New Life

September 7, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Matthew 16:13-28
preached on September 7, 2014, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Poor Peter. He just can’t figure out what Jesus is up to. One minute Jesus was celebrating him for being the first disciple to acknowledge that he was the Messiah, then the next he’s getting called Satan.

Peter had always been one of Jesus’ favorites, among the first disciples that Jesus called out from his daily work as a fisherman. I have this image of Peter listening intently to every word that Jesus spoke, waiting to soak up the latest morsel of new knowledge and instruction that Jesus would offer.

But the teacher’s message didn’t always get through to him very well. Peter was the one who decided it would be a good thing to look down when he started trying to walk on water. Peter was the one at the transfiguration of Jesus who suggested that they build houses on the mountain so everyone could stick around for a while. When Jesus told them that the way to the kingdom of heaven was leave behind all their worldly wealth, Peter was the first to remind him of everything that the disciples had left behind. And Peter was ultimately the one who denied even knowing Jesus after he had been arrested and as he was facing his death.

And then there is today’s story about Peter. Jesus started out by querying his disciples about what they had been hearing from other people about him: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” It’s not immediately clear why Jesus was asking this question. Was he using the disciples as informants of some sort, trying to get information from them about what others were saying and thinking so that he could adjust his words and actions accordingly? Was he trying to figure out if his time had come, if people had really begun to understand what he was up to? Or was he quizzing the disciples to see if they themselves had shaped their own opinions of him based only on what they had heard from others?

All the responses that they shared were pretty timid. According to the disciples, the people were seeing Jesus as a messenger following after John the Baptist or a prophet in the line of Elijah or Jeremiah. It was clear from the disciples’ reports that the people were understanding a portion of Jesus’ message but were ultimately missing the bigger point.

But maybe in asking this question Jesus was just trying to set up his next question, for he then turned to the disciples and made it personal: “But who do you say that I am?”

Like the good teacher’s pet that he was, Peter immediately piped up with a response: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” This was a monumental moment. It is the first time in the Matthew’s gospel that any particular person beyond the narrator uses the word “Messiah” to describe Jesus.

Jesus was clearly excited by Peter’s confession. He offered accolades to Peter for his willingness to receive and share this truth. He made it very clear that this was not Peter’s own doing but God’s. And he promised that Peter would be the foundation of things to come.

But Peter must have let all this praise get to his head. It didn’t take long for him to show that he just didn’t understand anything at all about what this meant. After Peter’s confession, Jesus began to teach the disciples about what it meant for him to be the Messiah, about how he would need to face great suffering, about how he would ultimately die and be raised because of all that he said and did.

But Peter would have nothing of it. If his friend and teacher was the Messiah, then he should not have to suffer in any way. The honor and status of such a figure should never have to face such humiliation. He pulled Jesus aside and told him that this should not, even could not, happen. But then Jesus turned to Peter, the teacher’s pet who had sat at his feet listening intently from the very beginning, the disciple who had seemed to understand it best, the very one who had offered the first confession of Jesus as Messiah, and condemned him: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Jesus proceeded to make the implications of being the Messiah clear. It had nothing to do with status or position, and in fact it had everything to do with giving up those very things. The Messiah’s way to exaltation was not through recognition of kingship as the world knew it—it came instead through giving up everything, through suffering and death, through the foolishness and humiliation of the cross. Anyone who wanted to find this kind of glory in and through the Messiah would need to find this kind of suffering, too. A profession of mere words such as Peter’s would not be enough—such a confession required similar steps in actions to show a denial of self-interest and a taking-up of the interests of others, actions that set aside personal gain for the well-being of the world, actions that offered even the fullness of life itself so that others might live.

While we might say that Peter’s actions from confession to correction here are wholly unlike our own, I think they are probably more familiar to us than we care to admit. Following Jesus has two parts, belief and action, and Peter had gotten the belief part right but missed how that belief necessarily changes our actions. We are probably more like Peter than we can even begin to realize. How often do we set our minds on human things and ignore God’s new and different way? How often do we try to define what God says or thinks about others because we feel the need to defend God or make sure that God’s honor isn’t put at risk, as if God didn’t have enough power to do it? And how often do we offer a word of confession of what we believe about God and then leave it behind quickly when it doesn’t fit quite so well into our lives?

It is not easy to live out the full and real consequences of what we say we believe in this world. So many interpretations of Christianity have twisted Jesus’ message for purposes that have absolutely nothing to do with what he said he was about. So many people have claimed that Jesus is the Messiah while using that very declaration as the basis for condemning others. And so many times we make faithfulness as simple as wearing a cross around our neck, showing up at church on Sunday, or following a traditional moral code and miss that there might be more.

Claiming that Jesus is the Messiah and so taking up the cross in our world has real consequences. It means more than having to give up a relaxing Sunday morning drinking coffee in bed with the newspaper, more than claiming protection for ourselves and those we love amidst the perceived threats to our privileged lives, more than preparing to enjoy eternal life in a heaven where the streets are paved with gold and we are reunited with beloved spouses, friends, and pets. As nothing other than our Presbyterian Book of Order puts it, “We are persuaded that there is an inseparable connection between faith and practice, truth and duty. Otherwise it would be of no consequence either to discover truth or to embrace it.” (F-3.0104)

So what is the connection between your faith and practice? What is the consequence of confessing Jesus as the Messiah in these days? How are we called to live differently because we must take up our cross and follow Jesus? Over the next month, as we prepare to receive the Peacemaking Offering on the first Sunday in October, we’ll be thinking more about these very things.

In the meantime, though, I encourage you to examine your lives and our life together. Where can we make these things more real? Who around us is walking the way of the cross—not so much those who are subjecting themselves to difficulty but more those who face suffering each and every day at the hands of systems and structures that oppress? How can we walk this way in our lives—not so much so that we can be enjoy the glory that may come at the end but more that we can join God in making a new way for all creation?

So may God guide us as we offer our confession, as we acknowledge Jesus as the Messiah, as we make the connection between this confession and our daily lives, and as we take up the crosses of our lives and walk with Jesus on the pathway of new life. Thanks be to God! Amen.

The Signs of Faithfulness

August 31, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Romans 12:9-21
preached on August 31, 2014, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

It could be my personality, or it could just be an occupational hazard, but I seem to like telling people what to do. Now before you start agreeing with me about how bossy your pastor is, let me clarify a bit—it’s not that I like telling people what to do in the sense of ordering them around but more that I tend to end every conversation with a bit of an instruction. “Take care.” “Travel safely.” “Have a good day.” “Call me and let me know how it went.” “Email me and let me know what works for your schedule.”

All these closing words are imperatives, sentences that leave someone with an instruction of some sort, usually and hopefully gentle. When I realized this recently, I started trying to come up with other ways to bid farewell to people, but I came up short. For whatever reason, it’s in my being to speak and act in this way. It might be that I am just a demanding person, someone who wants people to do things, or it might be that I am so deeply influenced by our tradition that I just can’t help but leave people with a parting word that gives some sort of instruction.

Imperative, instructional words are a foundational part of our Christian tradition. The apostle Paul offered some classic imperative instructions in our reading from Romans this morning, instructions that guide us in showing the signs of faithfulness every day. You’ve quite likely heard some version of these words before—they form the core of the traditional charge that I use many weeks at the end of worship—but they are also so rich that they can’t just stand alone there. They need some special attention from time to time.

If anyone thinks I offer a lot of commands sometimes, go count them up from Paul here—one estimate points to twenty-three separate imperatives in these thirteen verses! In this long list, Paul is telling the faithful Christians in Rome about the signs of faithfulness that come from a life of following Christ. Some of these are some very simple commands that almost seem obvious: “Let love be genuine.” “Hold fast to what is good.” “Serve the Lord.” “Rejoice in hope.” They’re so simple that sometimes I wonder why Paul even brings them up—they should just be a given in how we treat one another and others! But when you look more closely, these stand as the basis of more challenging themes of how we show genuine love for one another and how we relate in times of disagreement, and for Paul these things are critical signs of faithfulness for us every day.

The first several verses here all point us to how we can express genuine love as a sign of faithfulness. For Paul, all love needs to be genuine—not scattered about without regard for the evil in our world but love that enables and extends good, that gives space for it to be shared, that demonstrates respect and honor for all people. This genuine love rejoices in hope, shows patience amidst suffering, continues in prayer no matter what, steps up when others are in need, and offers welcome to everyone, especially those who might otherwise be excluded.

Genuine love, though, is not simply to be enjoyed but rather must be shared. This love is not limited by the standards of the world but is extended beyond all human boundaries. And this love is ultimately not a human feeling or emotion but rather an expression of God’s love and care in our actions toward others. Genuine love, then, stands at the center of the signs of faithfulness for Paul, for God’s faithfulness is shown most clearly in the love revealed in Jesus Christ, and so we who follow him are called and challenged to make this love real in our own lives.

Love is a pretty straightforward thing, when you get down to it, but Paul’s second set of commands here starts to get a little more difficult. After laying out genuine love as a sign of faithfulness, he turns more directly to issues of how to live with other people in the world, and I think these signs of faithfulness can be divided into things that are hard and things that are harder. In the hard category, we find things like, “Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.” “Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are.” And “if it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” Here Paul proposes a way of life that honors the fullness of the humanity of others, that seeks to go where others are rather than demanding that they come where we are, that walks the path with others before claiming that our journey is better than theirs.

These things are plenty hard. It is much easier to take pleasure in the pain of others, to let hurt and division fester, and to promote conflict as we work with others, but Paul insists that we need to look for a different and better way. Just when we’ve started to address these difficult challenges, Paul gives us more signs of faithfulness that are even harder to live out. Five times, in five different ways, Paul instructs us to show kindness to the very people who are dead-set against us. “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.” “Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all.” “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God.” “‘If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’” “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

Just when we thought that living the signs of faithfulness was hard, Paul makes it harder, insisting that we seek not the destruction of those set against us but rather their transformation. You can’t say that living all this out is anything less than hard, and Paul knew it. He himself had to struggle with how to treat the Pharisees who had once been his friends and who were now dead-set against his work of sharing the gospel, and he himself surely wondered how to deal with other Christians who objected to his openness to Gentiles. Yet Paul knew that the way of life set forth in Jesus Christ demanded that he treat everyone with kindness and seek to embrace those who disagreed with him.

While he recognized and even rejoiced that these actions of kindness, generosity, and grace might set in motion the destruction of those set against him, he made it clear that transformation, not destruction, was the ultimate goal, leaving any necessary purge of past ways and challenges to God. Paul knew that the way forward is not through negativity and anger, not through answering wrong with more wrong, not even through hoping that God would turn our good acts toward our enemies into their destruction, but rather through a graceful and grace-filled approach to those who have set themselves against us in the hope that they would be transformed to new life.

Living out these signs of faithfulness is never easy, but we are called to walk in this path as we seek to show our faith in our lives and be a part of God’s transformation of the world. As difficult as it is to live out these things, as challenging as it can be to hear these sorts of imperative commands from others, showing this kind of genuine love and broad faithfulness in our lives can be transformative for ourselves and others. Living out this kind of love that shows no boundaries and embraces even the broadest differences can show our broken and fearful world a different way of approaching conflict in days where the emphasis seems to always be on supporting one side at the expense of the other. And seeking the transformation rather than the destruction those who are opposed to us can make our lives a better reflection of the kind of world that God intends for us all.

So while Paul might be a little overbearing in these twenty-three directions of what to do and how to live, may his words pointing to the signs of faithfulness guide us as God strengthens us to make our love genuine, to bless those who persecute us, to live in harmony with everyone we meet, to keep evil from taking over our lives, and most of all to overcome all the evil we encounter with the goodness of God until all things are made new in Jesus Christ our Lord. Lord, come quickly! Amen.

The Rock of Our Salvation

August 24, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Isaiah 51:1-6
preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone on August 24, 2014

The exile had come to an end, and the people of Judah were finally returning home. It had been a long forty years since a substantial group had been forced to leave Jerusalem and go to Babylon, and even though that first generation of exiles had largely died, the continuing generations did not let go of the hope of returning home that had been shared with them. But what would they find there? They knew that Jerusalem had already been largely destroyed during the multiyear siege that predated their forced departure, and they had to suspect that things had been left to decay even further, that the symbols of their culture and faith, especially the temple, would have been completely destroyed.

So as they made their way home, the prophet Isaiah knew that they needed some words of encouragement. He started out by calling out to get their attention. There was so much going on around them, so many things to distract them, so many things to keep them from being able to catch this new word, so much that would make it easy to ignore what he had to say, yet they so needed to hear him. Once he had gotten their attention, he pointed them to the past, offering reminders of how they had made it through all of the struggles that they had faced along the way in hopes that they would be inspired amidst the new challenges ahead.

Look to the rock from which you were hewn,
and to the quarry from which you were dug.

Isaiah made it clear that all the stories of the past still mattered. Everything that would emerge from this time of transition and change would be rooted in what they knew very well, in God’s continuing faithfulness from generation to generation. The stones of their life together might be cut and chiseled and shaped in new ways, but they wouldn’t miss that it was all from the same rock.

The prophet continued by directly invoking the story of Abraham and Sarah. Just as God’s faithfulness broke through the bleak desperation of their lives in giving them a son after years of barrenness, so God would make a new way for them as they returned from exile. They too could count on God for amazing faithfulness, to comfort Zion amidst continuing distress and change, to transform the wilderness and desert into the lush beauty of Eden, and to show them a way of joy, gladness, and thanksgiving for the journey home.

In our world these days, we too need the prophet to remind us of the rock from which we are hewn. We certainly may not have all the burdens of the returning exiles, but there is plenty that weighs on our hearts in these days. Our world is filled with much strife and sorrow: war in too many places, conflict that simmers and so easily boils over, the devastation of infection attacking people and places in our world that already face incredible struggle, people who face persecution or death because of their confession or the color of their skin. All the pain and hurt is enough to make you want to move as far away from it all as possible. But then we still face the grief that emerges so close to home on days like today, when we mourn the death of one of our own and carry all the other concerns that weigh on our hearts and minds each and every day. There is so much to distract us from the source of all things, from “the rock from which [we] were hewn,” from the one who bore us into this life and who journeys with us every step of the way.

So when the prophet invites the exiles of Judah to listen, he might just be speaking to us too. He might just be offering us a memory of God’s promises that we have experienced in our own lives. He might just be giving us a reminder of God’s presence amidst all that weights on our hearts. He might be showing us a way of comfort amidst all the pain of our lives. And he might just be giving us hope for new life when we find ourselves in our own desert places, places where joy and gladness can blossom abundantly and thanksgiving and rejoicing will spring forth.

The prophet might have stopped there, thinking that comfort would be enough to get the returning exiles through their first days back home. But the comfort and hope we have in God is not the end of the story—there is more still ahead. These promises, this comfort, this new life—all these things are not just for self-preservation but rather are given so that they may be shared. As much as the returning exiles were desperately desiring the fullness of God’s hope for themselves, they also needed to share it with others. All their actions in rebuilding the city, in reshaping their life together, in restoring God’s promises in their midst, would help demonstrate God’s salvation and God’s hope to others in the world who needed to see these things for themselves.

Just as the exiles had waited so patiently and hopefully for God’s new life to emerge in their midst, so the prophet said that even “the coastlands wait” for this good news and that God’s salvation will reach to every shore. All the new things ahead would not just be for the benefit of the returning exiles—they would be for the blessing of all creation. These new things would replace the old in a dramatic transformation:

the heavens will vanish like smoke,
the earth will wear out like a garment,
and those who live on it will die like gnats.

But this was not the end but rather a beginning, the beginning of a world where God’s “salvation will be forever,” where the old things, as good as they might have been, will be replaced with something far greater.

Just as the prophet’s words of comfort and confidence speak to both the exiles and us, his words of challenge call to us as well. Amidst all that weighs us down, amidst all that distracts us from God’s new thing, amidst all that keeps us focused only on ourselves as we seek God’s comfort in our lives and our world, we too are called to bear God’s new life into the world. We are called to share the teaching and justice of God with all people and to work to make it real here and now. The faithfulness of God that sustains us also calls us to share that faithfulness with others, to share our confidence that God’s salvation and new life will prevail amidst everything that changes, to make God’s deliverance clear here and now and forever.

So amidst all the things that weigh us down in these days, with death and sadness and pain near and far, with all creation crying out for a new way, God’s promise of comfort and new life resounds loud and clear, inviting us to make these things real not just for ourselves but for all people, reminding us to return to the source of our being and find the hope of new life.

So amidst all the challenge of these days, amidst the pain and hurt and sorrow of our lives, amidst the war and strife of our world, may we return to our roots, look back to that rock from which we are hewn, find our comfort in God’s promises, and share this hope of new life with all the world each and every day. And when we struggle to hear and live amidst all the noise around us, may the rock of our salvation, the comfort that comes from God alone, and the promise of new life in Jesus Christ our Lord, bring us back to our faithful God, who promises to bring us comfort and peace and to make all things new. Thanks be to God. Amen.