The Price of Peace

Sometimes we make too much of the peace that comes from following Jesus.  At the very least, too many promises of easy peace have been made from pulpits. 

Too many troubled souls have walked down the church aisle or the old sawdust trail of the tent revivalist declaring their faith and reaching out to claim the Prince of Peace, only to discover that trouble still abounded. 

Like many of you, I regularly pray for peace—peace in my own heart and mind, peace in my family, peace in my church, and peace in our world.  I pray because Jesus taught us to do so. I pray because I know that making peace is beyond my limited ability.  While I can live in such a manner that my living makes peace more possible, I cannot bring peace to others, and often not to my own life.  I pray because I believe that apart from God peace is impossible.

Yet it seems that even with God peace remains beyond our grasp.  While we proclaim the end of wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, war rages on—there and many other places.  Daily we hear the news of another troubled soul who has taken his/her life.  Families quarrel and fall apart.  Peace officers are ambushed and killed, as was the case in nearby Bardstown early Saturday morning when a young officer was gunned down on his way home from work.

Into this trouble, peace-free world, the word of the Apostle Paul enters.  In Romans 8:1-11, Paul contrasts the law of the spirit with the law of sin and death.  The one promises life.  The other death.  One leads to a peace that cannot be found in the other.  But Romans 8:1-11 can’t be understood apart from what Paul wrote earlier and what Paul lived.  In Romans 5, he stated that “we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”  From Paul’s writings and his life and from our own experience, we begin to understand that “peace” is something other than the absence of conflict and trouble.  “Peace with God” speaks not of a trouble-free world but of being peaceable in the midst of a troubled world.

We should pray and work for peace in our communities and wider world, but doing so first requires that we be at peace.  How can we be at peace with ourselves if we are not at peace with God?  How does peace with God come?  On the one hand, it is a gift through Jesus Christ our Lord.  On the other hand, it is the result of living in the spirit—living in relationship with Jesus.

Thus a text about law and grace becomes a key source for understanding how to be at peace—at peace with God, with ourselves, and with our times.  “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you” (Romans 8:11, NRSV).

There is a peace that sustains us even in troubled times, but it comes at the price of a relationship with God through Jesus Christ.  The more we live and walk that relationship the more peace will abound even in the midst of turmoil and struggle.

Tower Building Can Be Hazardous

This past Sunday, I preached from Genesis 11:1-9 which is the story of the "tower of Babel."  When I read this story as a child, I liked it.  I liked seeing God give those evil people their due. When I grew up, it dawned on me that "those evil people" included me.  Tower building can be hazardous.

Beware!  The Tower of Babel is like the famed phoenix.  It keeps rising from its ashes.  Chances are you have built one or may be building one now.

Perhaps you, like me, are fairly inept with building tools in your hand.  If so, you may be taking false comfort in the thought that you will not be guilty of building a tower. 

Beware!  Towers of Babel are built of many things.  Some of the most damning are not built from bricks and mortar or glass and steel.

There are the towers that are built from ego blocks.  The building starts out well enough.  Those with strong egos are usually surrounded by others who have helped to convey to others a strong sense of self-worth.  The problem comes when nothing matters more than stroking our own egos and becoming obsessed with making a sure everyone else knows who and what we are.  When one with a strong ego becomes egotistical, the tower often crumbles and falls.

There are the towers that are built on the backs of our children.  Having failed to become all we hoped to become, we strive ever harder to be sure our children become all they should be.  It is admirable to see parents who guide and direct their children toward self-discovery and who urge them to be the best they can be.  The problem comes when the parent or parents confuse who their children can be with who they had hoped to be.  The parent trying to complete in the child what they failed to complete is a builder of a tower that will crumble and fall.

There are towers that are built from status blocks.  Individuals, couples, families, churches, and societies can be builders of such towers.  A person, a couple, a family, a church, or a society consumed by concern about its status will spend too little time looking outward and forward and too much time looking inward.  Such persons and groups forget to consider how their choices today will play out in the lives of others.  As a result, they build empty edifices that look good from the outside but are empty and hollow inside.  While others look on from the outside and rave about what they see, the builders slowly die from emptiness they know all too well.

Why do we labor so hard for that which crumbles, destroying others and ourselves?  Have we forgotten the Builder who calls us forth to a way of life?   Abraham knew that Builder and came to know that only that which God built would last.  “For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Hebrews 11:10).

There are towers that are built on sure foundations.  To build those towers, we will need to look to the Master Designer and Builder and follow the plans provided—plans that call for the elevation of the Designer and Builder, not the elevation of our ourselves.

Mother's Day Sermon Disclaimer

Somehow I managed to take Ephesians 1:15-23 and turn it into a Mother's Day sermon.  For that reason, I sent out the disclaimer below to those who receive the sermon by email.  You can find the sermon at our church's website.

It is a Mother’s Day sermon.  While the sermon was born from the reading of the biblical text, it is not true to the text.  By this I don’t mean that the sermon is untrue.  I mean that the text does not address what the sermon addresses.

It is a Mother’s Day sermon and I am not a mother.

It is a Mother’s Day sermon, and I don’t like preaching Mother’s Day sermons.  I don’t like preaching them because too often they hold up an unattainable standard for mothers and, thereby, leave mothers feeling guilty; and most mothers feel enough guilt without the preacher adding to it.

It is a sermon preached on Mother’s Day, and any sermon preached on Mother’s Day is less likely to be heard than on other days.  Thoughts are turned to mothers/grandmothers who have died, and emotions run high.  Others present will be thinking of mothers they had and the ones they wish they had had instead.  Mothers, at least many of them, will be thinking of all they wish they had not done and of all they wish they had done.

You are getting some advance warning of where the sermon is heading.  As is often the case, those hearing the sermon at church will also be “hearing” some of what I’m writing to you.  I’ll slide some of the “faithful reader” note into the sermon.  In this way, they, too, hear my disclaimers.

Whenever we think of the immense role that mothers (and fathers) are called upon to assume, we need to hang tight to two important words: love and grace.  Every mother will make mistakes in rearing her children.  Those mothers who love their children, but occasionally err in the care of their children, will discover that children will see past the error to the love.  They will also discover the immense power of love to bring good even from our mistakes. 

Mothers are covered by God’s grace, and their growth as Christians and as mothers flows from their relationship with Jesus.  Mothers, like all the rest of us, should be willing to confess the error of their ways; but having done so, they should lay aside the error and the guilt and move on.  In Christ, mothers are forgiven and set free to be the only persons they can be—themselves.  In Christ, there is grace, and it is enough.

A Father's Love

For as long as I can remember, I’ve enjoyed reading and hearing The Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). 

As a young person listening to that story, it seemed to me that the prodigal had the best of two worlds.  He got his inheritance early and was able to spend it on all the worldly pleasures he could find, and then when he had run out of money, he got to come home to a new endowment.  How much better could it get? 

I never identified with the good brother.  Perhaps he had the good life, but it was the dull life of doing day after day the same old thing. 

Of course, those who have actually gone into their own “far country” know that it is not all fun and games.  The fun found more often than not proves to be a false fun.  To prove to ourselves and others that we are having fun, we put on false faces and shout with too much bravado about our grand lives.  We rush from one thing to the next trying to fill our emptiness, only to discover that the emptiness grows.  If we’re fortunate enough to come to our senses and to come home, we discover in the midst of the welcome-home party, that we are scarred.  The father’s forgiveness is a welcome relief.  To know one is restored in spite of his unworthiness is a great joy and a great mercy, but the scars remain.

It is not so grand out in the far country.

Of course the good sons and daughters might well tell us that it is not so good at home either.  Actually, the truly good sons and daughters will tell us that life is grand at home.  The problem with most “good” sons and daughters is that they are good in order to get what they want or “deserve.”  They’re playing the same game as the sibling who ran away.

What is missing for the good and the bad sons and daughters is not material things and/or new experiences.  What is missing is relationship.  We run away from the life for which we were created or we begrudgingly live it because we’ve failed to understand and rejoice in the relationship with the Father.

When we are in relationship with the Father, there is no far country . . . there are no tasks begrudgingly done.  There is life.

As my friend and teacher, Dr. Glenn Hinson, recently reminded me, the parable really isn’t about the prodigal son or the “good” son who stayed home.  It is about the loving Father who never gives up on us, who is forever wooing us into a relationship with Him, and who is forever ready to welcome us home.

When we read parables, we must read more than the story.  We must read the story in the story.  In this parable, the story in the story is that of the loving Father whoever forever claims and loves His children.

 

All Is Not Right & that Is Okay

Once upon a time, filled with youthful enthusiasm and naiveté, I believed that one day I would finally get life right . . . that my life would be fully on target . . . that I would be the person God intended me to be.

There is nothing like adulthood to take care of youthful enthusiasm and naiveté.  My life is not always on target.  In fact, there are days when I can’t even see the target.  As for being the person God intended me to be, this too, according to the standards of the young man I once was, eludes me.

Realizing this, I marvel that I am not in deep depression and suicidal.  I might be, were it not for one important discovery.  As a youth, not only did I believe that one day I would get all of life right, but I also believed that in doing so all would be right with me and with my world.  Believing the latter has made the journey toward the former almost impossible.  

All is not right with my world, and all the believing and all the faith-having I can muster will not make it so.  Coming to Jesus will give me salvation, but it will not make all things right.  Following Jesus will lead to my becoming more than I could otherwise become, but I will still face difficulty from the normal ravages of life, and I will face other difficulties because of the choice to follow Jesus.

I give thanks that I’ve lived long enough to discover this about myself and about God.  I am a more contented follower of Jesus now that I know I still haven’t got it all together.  I am not content because I haven’t got it all together; I am content in spite of the fact that I haven’t.  

God’s invitation spoken through Isaiah means so much more to me today than it did in my youth.  “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat!  Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.”  I may not be all God intended me to be, but I am at God’s table.  I am refreshed and nourished.  And, in spite of all I am not, I am God’s child.

How is it possible for me (and folks like me) to miss the target so widely and still be the recipient of God’s grace?  It is possible because God says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”

All is not right with the world or with me, but that's okay.  I am more than I might ever have been because I heard God’s invitation and I drink and eat at God’s table.

Jesus Wept

During my childhood, Elmer Holmes led the singing for our little church.  Elmer, as all the Holmes boys were, was tall.  He had a special music time for children, I think on Sunday nights.  Often during this music time, he would ask us to quote Bible verses from memory.  It was no secret that he would ask.  He was always encouraging us to learn new ones.  One verse which was often quoted was John 11:35.  It was one everyone knew and one to which anyone caught with memory loss would quickly repeat.  Finally Elmer told us there would be no more quoting of John 11:35.  I suppose he thought the congregation had heard “Jesus wept” enough. 

Jesus’ weeping was at Lazarus’ home.  His friend was dead and he was about to raise him.  I’ve always wondered about the cause of his weeping.  Was he crying because Lazarus had died . . . because Lazarus sisters partially blamed Jesus for not getting there sooner . . . or was it because Jesus hated to call him back from what had been found beyond the tomb? 

There is an event, described by Luke (the sermon text), that leaves me wondering if perhaps Jesus wept again.  He certainly lamented.  Jerusalem, the Holy City, had all but rejected him.  The people of the city, like so many others, had heard him and had seen the miraculous things he did; but, in spite of this, they rejected him.  This was the city where he, as a twelve year-old boy, had taken his place as a “man” in the Jewish faith.  It was here he had dialogued and questioned the leading rabbis.  It was here that he had the first awakening of who he was.  When his parents realized he had been separated from them and rushed back to find him, his mother chastised him.  Well, what mother wouldn’t?  He said, “Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?”  (See Luke 2:41-51)

Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem was personal.  As the Father’s Son, this was the one place he should have been welcomed.  Oh, I know that his message challenged the established faith, but wouldn’t those who were watching for the coming Messiah expect him to challenge them? 

It all leads me to wonder if Jesus is weeping still.  As he looks down on our houses of worship and our other institutions of faith, what does he see?  Have we embraced the Messiah he was?  Or have we reshaped him into the Messiah with whom we’re comfortable?

Christians make a lot of noise in the public arena.  They march and carry signs.  They boycott businesses and offices.  They do it all because of the evil society the nation has become and the immoral behavior they see.  Jesus made his way through the society of his day, even daring to travel into the despised land of the Samaritans and to engage them in dialog.  In doing so, he carried no sign but himself.  When he lamented, it was not over society as a whole but over the Holy City, the place that was the center of the faith that was his.

Perhaps we lament over the wrong things, places, people, and causes.  Perhaps we should look more closely at our own practice of the faith we claim to hold in Jesus’ name.

The Devil Made You Do It?

 “The Devil made you do it!  Are you sure about that?”  I posted that statement and question on Facebook yesterday, and then added, “Life is so much easier when the Devil gets the credit . . . but then there is that Other problem.”

One friend, understandably, identified the “Other” problem as being “me,” by which she meant all of us.  We are a big problem when it comes to temptation and sin.  Like it or not, we bear responsibility for our actions and our reactions.  I sometimes wonder about God’s wisdom in giving us free choice, but I have no doubt that God did so.

But that wasn’t the “Other problem” I had in mind.  Jesus is the other problem.  Were it not for him, you and I could blame our own sin and all the ills in the world on the Devil.  There is a lot of evidence that the Devil deserves the credit for all that is ill and evil in our lives and world.  God certainly can’t be seen as responsible for such.  So, if God is not behind the evil, surely the Devil is.

I like blaming the Devil for all that I do wrong.  It removes responsibility from me and from those I love.  It allows me to fall back and use the Apostle Paul’s lament: “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing” (Romans 7:19, ESV).  Whew!  I’m in good company—Paul’s and yours.  Well, I may be in good company, but I still have the Jesus-problem.

After forty days of fasting and prayer, Jesus did battle with the Devil . . . and won!  I know.  I know.  He was Jesus.  Yes, he was Jesus, but do you recall who Scripture tells us that Jesus was?  He was the Son of God in flesh and blood and limited by that flesh-and-blood as are each of us.  He beat the Devil not because he was the Son of God, but because he was a faithful son of God.  He spent enough time with the Father to recognize the Devil when he showed up and to be able to distinguish God’s ways from the Devil’s ways.  Jesus did that as the flesh and blood man he was.  That’s the problem.  We would prefer that Jesus’ power to resist the Devil be a special divine power available only to him.  

We love to hold Jesus up as the perfect example of the kind of persons we should be.  Well, let’s be consistent.  Jesus’ example says that the Devil’s power to lure us away from God’s will is limited to the power we grant to the Devil.  Jesus’ power to resist the Devil was not a special divine power.  It was the power that comes to one who spends ample time in relationship with the living God . . . one who spends so much time that the line between good and evil is always clear.

The problem may well be our fear that, if we were to follow Jesus’ example, we might miss out on something.  We will . . . the hell of being outside God’s will.