Do I dare to preach this?
Commentary
Object:
The preacher lives in a privileged place. He or she has the incalculable honor of standing as the intermediary between the word of God and the people of God. That's not to say, of course, that the people cannot read and receive it on their own. Certainly they can. Yet you and I both know that they look to us.
I see it in the body language and energy level as we transition each Sunday from the scripture reading to the sermon. The attention given to the liturgist who reads the scripture is so passive and half-hearted. I sometimes think that the liturgist could read the ingredients for pizza into the midst of the passage and half the congregation wouldn't notice. Yet when it's time for the sermon, the attention level perks up. This, they think, is what they really came to listen to.
It's not that the sermon is better than the scripture. Not remotely. But there remains for so many laypeople a sense of distance from the Bible. They do not feel that they understand it without help. They do not immediately see the interest or the relevance. So they look to us. Just as our doctor or mechanic or IT consultant is expected to understand all the technical stuff and then be able to tell us what we need to know, so too the preacher.
But just as soon as we take on that privilege, the preacher also lives in a vulnerable place. For who is worthy to be that intermediary between God's word and God's people? What human being is adequate for that task? And which one of us lives up to the words that we proclaim?
Sunday after Sunday, I offer to show how the scripture speaks to my people and how it applies to their lives. This Sunday, will I have the courage to show how it speaks to me? Will I share candidly how it applies to my life?
Exodus 33:12-23
Few passages manage to capture in so few verses both the immanence and transcendence of God. Those words may not be the ones to use with your people this Sunday, but those are the key principles involved. Each time God's people gather for worship, these are important principles to bear in mind. Taken together, they express lovely and profound truths about our God.
On the one hand, there is something almost scandalously approachable about this God of Moses. It is almost as though Moses bursts into the Lord's office making demands. The man knows he is the underling in the relationship; yet still he is bold enough to do some insisting before the Lord. He reasons with God and presses his point.
Of course the behavior could be a reflection only on the character of Moses, not the Lord. See how the Lord responds to Moses' boldness and requests. He does not strike down the man for presumption. He does not condemn the man for audacity. Rather, the Lord gives tacit approval to Moses' method by responding favorably to Moses' requests.
Meanwhile, for as approachable as the Lord God seems to be at the beginning of this episode, we are quickly reminded of his mysterious otherness by the end of the encounter. Moses desires to see more of the Lord than he can. That desire is altogether good -- a far cry better than the more common human tendency to shrink away and stay at a distance. Yet Moses seeks more current than his breaker can accommodate. He wants to see God's glory, yet "no one shall see me and live."
In our day, it seems to me, we need to rediscover the transcendence of God. For a variety of reasons we have become so very casual. That's not to say that formality equals reverence. But our casual attitudes and approaches do tend toward irreverence. We come and go at our convenience, we think and act like consumers, and we take lightly the things of God. And in the process, we forget -- or never learn -- with whom we are dealing.
Only when we open our eyes to his transcendence do we recognize the grace of his approachability. Only when we are reminded of the second part of Moses' encounter do we perceive the grace and loveliness of the first part.
A significant part of God's grace in the first part, meanwhile, is not just in the candid and forthright way that Moses is permitted to approach him, but also in the promise of his presence with his people. This is, of course, the great and recurring promise of God through scripture. Moses was wise enough to ask for it, and God is gracious enough to offer it. It was his word of assurance to many a reluctant servant (e.g., Genesis 31:3; Exodus 3:12; Joshua 1:9; Judges 6:16). It was the psalmist's profound and sufficient comfort in the valley (Psalm 23:4). It is the promise and meaning of Emmanuel. And it is the eternal hope for Jesus' followers (John 14:3; 1 Thessalonians 4:17; Revelation 21:3).
Finally, the second part of this episode also recalls a larger biblical theme: God's glory. Its brilliance and accompanying smoke occasionally kept people from the place of worship (Exodus 40:35; 1 Kings 8:11; 2 Chronicles 5:14). Some approximate reflection of it was the fabulous vision that Ezekiel saw (Ezekiel 1:28b). Isaiah promised that it would one day be revealed and that all flesh would see it together (Isaiah 40:5). The gospel writer testified that in Jesus "we beheld his glory" (John 1:14). In the end, the Lord's glory will be the source of light for the New Jerusalem (Revelation 21:23). And that glory of the Lord is what Moses is eager to see in our selected passage.
1 Thessalonians 1:1-10
Many New Testament scholars believe that Paul's first letter to the Christians in Thessalonica is the earliest of all his letters. While some are more difficult to place on the apostle's time line, 1 Thessalonians is comparatively straightforward. He writes to this freshly founded church during his second missionary journey, not long after circumstances forced him to leave Thessalonica and move on toward points south. These first verses of 1 Thessalonians, therefore, are perhaps the earliest recorded words from Paul that we have.
The first sentences are familiar in genre, for they resemble what we see at the outset of all of Paul's letters. He identifies both authors and audience, followed by his statement of thanksgiving for the people. That statement, while customary, was not without meaning. The absence of such a statement in Paul's letter to the Galatians, for example, proves that it was not a mindless gesture or pleasantry on the part of the apostle.
In this specific instance, Paul expresses his gratitude for what the Thessalonians have become. It is not gratitude to them, of course, but to God. God, after all, is the one who has initiated and cultivated the work. But the Thessalonian Christians are to be commended and encouraged for their responsiveness to the Lord's work in their lives and in their midst.
Paul's profound sense of thanks is best understood in context. I currently serve a church in Green Bay, Wisconsin, that was established in 1826. Wisconsin itself didn't become a state until 1848. So the congregation I serve is well-established and has been working for the kingdom in this place for generations.
By contrast, Paul was writing to a congregation that was perhaps just a few months old. It had none of the historic stability that most of our churches enjoy. Rather, it was as fragile as a newborn. And Paul had not even been permitted to stay in Thessalonica long enough to wean it properly. They were left on their own from a very young age. So when he observed and heard of their faith and faithfulness, he was thankful indeed!
Particularly remarkable is the fact that the Thessalonians had even earned a reputation beyond their own walls. Others in their own region -- and others still even beyond their region -- had heard the news of their faith. This is a beautiful thing and especially in that ancient context where churches did not engage in the sort of publicity and self-promotion that is common in our day. No, Thessalonica's growing reputation was purely organic. They were not trying to puff themselves up, but the sheer reality of what they were was sufficient to have become the talk of the town, as it were.
Finally, Paul reminds the Christians in that early church of the transition that they made and thus articulates for us the fundamental nature of their conversion. "You turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God." That was surely the story in the ancient Mediterranean world. Though we think ourselves far removed from such primitive practices as idolatry, the same central issue is at play in our day as well, for we all serve someone or something. The question is to what extent we have turned completely from serving what is, at its core, manmade to serving the true and living God.
Matthew 22:15-22
The writer of Ecclesiastes noted that there is nothing new under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1:9), and the setting for this episode is a case in point. Jesus' opponents "plotted to entrap him in what he said." And 2,000 years later we are no more sophisticated than that, for still so much of our political gamesmanship is predicated on the same old strategy.
The larger context of the passage is Matthew's account of Holy Week. Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday in the previous chapter, and now the next few eventful days are filled with tension and teaching. The ongoing conflict between Jesus and his antagonists intensifies, and many of his teachings become more pointed in his condemnation of those Jewish leaders in Jerusalem. Even a newcomer to the story would sense the escalating pressure, moving inevitably toward some climax.
So it was that the Pharisees sent emissaries to trick Jesus with a question. We note that their words are incongruous with their intentions, for while they endeavor to trap him they appear to be praising him. This is the duplicitous speech of the flatterer (see Proverbs 29:5), and it is reminiscent of the serpent's diabolical conversation in Eden.
The question is an ingenious conundrum. There in a public setting Jesus is asked about paying taxes to the emperor. In order to appreciate how clever the question is, it will be important for our people to understand the historical context.
No one likes taxes much, of course, but taxes for us and taxes for Jesus' countrymen are completely different affairs. We may not always approve of how our government uses our money or how much of our money they take, but at least it is our own duly elected government. For the Jews of Jesus' day, however, the taxes were imposed by a foreign empire. They were an occupied nation, and they had to pay the freight for their own occupation. It was a noxious business indeed, and the people of Israel naturally resented it.
Some of them, in fact, harbored dreams of overthrowing that Roman presence in their midst. Many people no doubt associated Jesus' popularity and power with the prospect of such a God-ordained revolution. So for Jesus to encourage paying taxes to the emperor would, his opponents reckoned, take much of the wind out of the sail of his popular support.
On the other hand, if Jesus were to do the impolitic thing and discourage paying taxes to the emperor, then the trap would really be sprung. His Jewish opponents could hand him over to their Roman occupiers, and he would be treated as a troublemaker and insurrectionist against the empire. The Pharisees' Jesus-problem would be solved.
So they have him caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Two answers seem to be available to Jesus, and each one is risky. Yet he, with unflappable wisdom, offers an answer that not only sets him free from the trap but also reveals the truth of God.
Seeking a visual aid to make his point, Jesus asks for a coin. Then he asks his audience to identify the image and the name on the coin. They are, of course, both Caesar's. So Jesus famously concludes: "Render unto Caesar..." "Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's."
This brilliant answer has often been a motto for folks trying to capture the Christian's dual responsibilities to church and state. There is more beauty in the teaching than that, and it completely reorients the believer from the world to the kingdom.
In great economy of reasoning and language, Jesus surmises from the name and image on the coin that it must come from Caesar and must belong to Caesar. Therefore, since it is clearly his, we simply ought to give back to him what belongs to him. Just like that our attitude toward and grip on money is loosened. Jesus effectively trivializes it, and we see how contrived and temporary it is.
But the principle he established with the coin positioned Jesus to make a larger point. We know now what belongs to Caesar and is therefore due to him. What, though, belongs to God? What is due to him? The answer comes by implied analogy: Whatever it is that bears God's name and image. In short, we come from him, and we belong to him. And so we are called to give ourselves to him.
Application
In both the episode from Exodus and the excerpt from 1 Thessalonians, we are given a glimpse of intermediaries. Moses is manifestly that in the Old Testament passage, for he takes to the Lord his deep concern about the responsibility to lead the people in his care. And every letter from Paul, of course, implies that intermediary role -- especially those letters addressed to churches that he himself founded.
Moses and Paul are go-betweens. They are the individuals who spoke to people on God's behalf, sharing his word with them. God is fully capable of speaking to those individuals directly, of course, but he consistently uses human beings as the vessels of his work and word. Both Moses and Paul function as preachers and teachers in the midst of their respective congregations. They certainly serve as pastors to those people as well. And so -- swallow hard -- you and I find ourselves in the company of Moses and of Paul.
But we do not connect those dots this Sunday in order to exalt ourselves or to inflate our own sense of importance. On the contrary, we humble ourselves before God, his word, and his people this week. We take the examples of Moses and Paul as challenging models of our high calling, and we pledge to our people our own resolve to answer that call.
See Moses there, alone with God, praying for the people entrusted to his care. And see him moving ever nearer to God, seeking his face. That is the model set before us.
Likewise, see Paul, following up with the folks he has had to leave behind. No out-of-sight-out-of-mind with him. They are on his mind and in his prayers. See how he nearly equates his example and Christ's, for he knows that he is a vicar, a flesh-and-blood, visible example to his people.
Our sermons often invite our people to respond to God's word, to apply it to their circumstances, and to live more faithfully in response. But this Sunday we preach to ourselves. We respond to our own altar call, pledging ourselves to live more faithfully in response to God's word.
An Alternative Application
1 Thessalonians 1:1-10. "The Power of Example." When I meet with a couple before baptizing their baby, I talk through with them the vows that we will ask them to make on that occasion. Among them is a promise to nurture their child spiritually "by your instruction and example." The task of Christian parenting is captured as a two-part process: instruction and example.
We don't have any record of the apostle Paul having biological children, but it's clear that he saw himself as a spiritual parent to many people. We see in this week's excerpt from his relationship to the Thessalonians some of his spiritual parenting. For while he may not use the language of parent and child here, we certainly see that two-part parenting process in place.
The instruction is the part of Paul's ministry that we think of first. We picture him traveling from place to place, preaching in the streets and teaching in the synagogues. When we read the New Testament letters, of course, we read his abundant instructions to the earliest Christians on matters such as spiritual gifts, church discipline, holy living, law and gospel, faith and works, and on and on. But the part of his ministry we don't see so clearly, of course, is the example part.
Yet that is precisely what the Thessalonians -- and others like them in the first-century Mediterranean world -- saw most clearly. They lived with Paul. They watched him, and thus they learned not just from his instruction but from his example.
Paul was conscious of the influence of his example. He did not shy away from it or apologize for it. On the contrary, he emphasized it. "You know what kind of people we proved to be among you," he wrote to those Christians in Thessalonica, "and you became imitators of us and of the Lord."
That is the nature of an example, of course, whether good or bad. Examples breed imitators. We see abundant evidence of that both in individual cases and in the broad trends of a whole culture. And the principle was true in Thessalonica as well.
Paul's juxtaposition of "us" and "the Lord" is a compelling one. He seems to equate the two examples. We would hesitate to make such a claim, and yet we know it is precisely to that that you and I are called.
Meanwhile, the ripple effects of Christian example do not end in Thessalonica. Rather, Paul commends those people because they in turn "became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia." And so it goes.
We do a lot of instructing in the church. That we think is our most high-profile ministry. Yet that is not what our people see most clearly. They see our example, and they learn from it, for better or for worse. They go into their homes and schools and businesses without much opportunity to instruct, but with constant occasion to become an example to all.
I see it in the body language and energy level as we transition each Sunday from the scripture reading to the sermon. The attention given to the liturgist who reads the scripture is so passive and half-hearted. I sometimes think that the liturgist could read the ingredients for pizza into the midst of the passage and half the congregation wouldn't notice. Yet when it's time for the sermon, the attention level perks up. This, they think, is what they really came to listen to.
It's not that the sermon is better than the scripture. Not remotely. But there remains for so many laypeople a sense of distance from the Bible. They do not feel that they understand it without help. They do not immediately see the interest or the relevance. So they look to us. Just as our doctor or mechanic or IT consultant is expected to understand all the technical stuff and then be able to tell us what we need to know, so too the preacher.
But just as soon as we take on that privilege, the preacher also lives in a vulnerable place. For who is worthy to be that intermediary between God's word and God's people? What human being is adequate for that task? And which one of us lives up to the words that we proclaim?
Sunday after Sunday, I offer to show how the scripture speaks to my people and how it applies to their lives. This Sunday, will I have the courage to show how it speaks to me? Will I share candidly how it applies to my life?
Exodus 33:12-23
Few passages manage to capture in so few verses both the immanence and transcendence of God. Those words may not be the ones to use with your people this Sunday, but those are the key principles involved. Each time God's people gather for worship, these are important principles to bear in mind. Taken together, they express lovely and profound truths about our God.
On the one hand, there is something almost scandalously approachable about this God of Moses. It is almost as though Moses bursts into the Lord's office making demands. The man knows he is the underling in the relationship; yet still he is bold enough to do some insisting before the Lord. He reasons with God and presses his point.
Of course the behavior could be a reflection only on the character of Moses, not the Lord. See how the Lord responds to Moses' boldness and requests. He does not strike down the man for presumption. He does not condemn the man for audacity. Rather, the Lord gives tacit approval to Moses' method by responding favorably to Moses' requests.
Meanwhile, for as approachable as the Lord God seems to be at the beginning of this episode, we are quickly reminded of his mysterious otherness by the end of the encounter. Moses desires to see more of the Lord than he can. That desire is altogether good -- a far cry better than the more common human tendency to shrink away and stay at a distance. Yet Moses seeks more current than his breaker can accommodate. He wants to see God's glory, yet "no one shall see me and live."
In our day, it seems to me, we need to rediscover the transcendence of God. For a variety of reasons we have become so very casual. That's not to say that formality equals reverence. But our casual attitudes and approaches do tend toward irreverence. We come and go at our convenience, we think and act like consumers, and we take lightly the things of God. And in the process, we forget -- or never learn -- with whom we are dealing.
Only when we open our eyes to his transcendence do we recognize the grace of his approachability. Only when we are reminded of the second part of Moses' encounter do we perceive the grace and loveliness of the first part.
A significant part of God's grace in the first part, meanwhile, is not just in the candid and forthright way that Moses is permitted to approach him, but also in the promise of his presence with his people. This is, of course, the great and recurring promise of God through scripture. Moses was wise enough to ask for it, and God is gracious enough to offer it. It was his word of assurance to many a reluctant servant (e.g., Genesis 31:3; Exodus 3:12; Joshua 1:9; Judges 6:16). It was the psalmist's profound and sufficient comfort in the valley (Psalm 23:4). It is the promise and meaning of Emmanuel. And it is the eternal hope for Jesus' followers (John 14:3; 1 Thessalonians 4:17; Revelation 21:3).
Finally, the second part of this episode also recalls a larger biblical theme: God's glory. Its brilliance and accompanying smoke occasionally kept people from the place of worship (Exodus 40:35; 1 Kings 8:11; 2 Chronicles 5:14). Some approximate reflection of it was the fabulous vision that Ezekiel saw (Ezekiel 1:28b). Isaiah promised that it would one day be revealed and that all flesh would see it together (Isaiah 40:5). The gospel writer testified that in Jesus "we beheld his glory" (John 1:14). In the end, the Lord's glory will be the source of light for the New Jerusalem (Revelation 21:23). And that glory of the Lord is what Moses is eager to see in our selected passage.
1 Thessalonians 1:1-10
Many New Testament scholars believe that Paul's first letter to the Christians in Thessalonica is the earliest of all his letters. While some are more difficult to place on the apostle's time line, 1 Thessalonians is comparatively straightforward. He writes to this freshly founded church during his second missionary journey, not long after circumstances forced him to leave Thessalonica and move on toward points south. These first verses of 1 Thessalonians, therefore, are perhaps the earliest recorded words from Paul that we have.
The first sentences are familiar in genre, for they resemble what we see at the outset of all of Paul's letters. He identifies both authors and audience, followed by his statement of thanksgiving for the people. That statement, while customary, was not without meaning. The absence of such a statement in Paul's letter to the Galatians, for example, proves that it was not a mindless gesture or pleasantry on the part of the apostle.
In this specific instance, Paul expresses his gratitude for what the Thessalonians have become. It is not gratitude to them, of course, but to God. God, after all, is the one who has initiated and cultivated the work. But the Thessalonian Christians are to be commended and encouraged for their responsiveness to the Lord's work in their lives and in their midst.
Paul's profound sense of thanks is best understood in context. I currently serve a church in Green Bay, Wisconsin, that was established in 1826. Wisconsin itself didn't become a state until 1848. So the congregation I serve is well-established and has been working for the kingdom in this place for generations.
By contrast, Paul was writing to a congregation that was perhaps just a few months old. It had none of the historic stability that most of our churches enjoy. Rather, it was as fragile as a newborn. And Paul had not even been permitted to stay in Thessalonica long enough to wean it properly. They were left on their own from a very young age. So when he observed and heard of their faith and faithfulness, he was thankful indeed!
Particularly remarkable is the fact that the Thessalonians had even earned a reputation beyond their own walls. Others in their own region -- and others still even beyond their region -- had heard the news of their faith. This is a beautiful thing and especially in that ancient context where churches did not engage in the sort of publicity and self-promotion that is common in our day. No, Thessalonica's growing reputation was purely organic. They were not trying to puff themselves up, but the sheer reality of what they were was sufficient to have become the talk of the town, as it were.
Finally, Paul reminds the Christians in that early church of the transition that they made and thus articulates for us the fundamental nature of their conversion. "You turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God." That was surely the story in the ancient Mediterranean world. Though we think ourselves far removed from such primitive practices as idolatry, the same central issue is at play in our day as well, for we all serve someone or something. The question is to what extent we have turned completely from serving what is, at its core, manmade to serving the true and living God.
Matthew 22:15-22
The writer of Ecclesiastes noted that there is nothing new under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1:9), and the setting for this episode is a case in point. Jesus' opponents "plotted to entrap him in what he said." And 2,000 years later we are no more sophisticated than that, for still so much of our political gamesmanship is predicated on the same old strategy.
The larger context of the passage is Matthew's account of Holy Week. Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday in the previous chapter, and now the next few eventful days are filled with tension and teaching. The ongoing conflict between Jesus and his antagonists intensifies, and many of his teachings become more pointed in his condemnation of those Jewish leaders in Jerusalem. Even a newcomer to the story would sense the escalating pressure, moving inevitably toward some climax.
So it was that the Pharisees sent emissaries to trick Jesus with a question. We note that their words are incongruous with their intentions, for while they endeavor to trap him they appear to be praising him. This is the duplicitous speech of the flatterer (see Proverbs 29:5), and it is reminiscent of the serpent's diabolical conversation in Eden.
The question is an ingenious conundrum. There in a public setting Jesus is asked about paying taxes to the emperor. In order to appreciate how clever the question is, it will be important for our people to understand the historical context.
No one likes taxes much, of course, but taxes for us and taxes for Jesus' countrymen are completely different affairs. We may not always approve of how our government uses our money or how much of our money they take, but at least it is our own duly elected government. For the Jews of Jesus' day, however, the taxes were imposed by a foreign empire. They were an occupied nation, and they had to pay the freight for their own occupation. It was a noxious business indeed, and the people of Israel naturally resented it.
Some of them, in fact, harbored dreams of overthrowing that Roman presence in their midst. Many people no doubt associated Jesus' popularity and power with the prospect of such a God-ordained revolution. So for Jesus to encourage paying taxes to the emperor would, his opponents reckoned, take much of the wind out of the sail of his popular support.
On the other hand, if Jesus were to do the impolitic thing and discourage paying taxes to the emperor, then the trap would really be sprung. His Jewish opponents could hand him over to their Roman occupiers, and he would be treated as a troublemaker and insurrectionist against the empire. The Pharisees' Jesus-problem would be solved.
So they have him caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Two answers seem to be available to Jesus, and each one is risky. Yet he, with unflappable wisdom, offers an answer that not only sets him free from the trap but also reveals the truth of God.
Seeking a visual aid to make his point, Jesus asks for a coin. Then he asks his audience to identify the image and the name on the coin. They are, of course, both Caesar's. So Jesus famously concludes: "Render unto Caesar..." "Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's."
This brilliant answer has often been a motto for folks trying to capture the Christian's dual responsibilities to church and state. There is more beauty in the teaching than that, and it completely reorients the believer from the world to the kingdom.
In great economy of reasoning and language, Jesus surmises from the name and image on the coin that it must come from Caesar and must belong to Caesar. Therefore, since it is clearly his, we simply ought to give back to him what belongs to him. Just like that our attitude toward and grip on money is loosened. Jesus effectively trivializes it, and we see how contrived and temporary it is.
But the principle he established with the coin positioned Jesus to make a larger point. We know now what belongs to Caesar and is therefore due to him. What, though, belongs to God? What is due to him? The answer comes by implied analogy: Whatever it is that bears God's name and image. In short, we come from him, and we belong to him. And so we are called to give ourselves to him.
Application
In both the episode from Exodus and the excerpt from 1 Thessalonians, we are given a glimpse of intermediaries. Moses is manifestly that in the Old Testament passage, for he takes to the Lord his deep concern about the responsibility to lead the people in his care. And every letter from Paul, of course, implies that intermediary role -- especially those letters addressed to churches that he himself founded.
Moses and Paul are go-betweens. They are the individuals who spoke to people on God's behalf, sharing his word with them. God is fully capable of speaking to those individuals directly, of course, but he consistently uses human beings as the vessels of his work and word. Both Moses and Paul function as preachers and teachers in the midst of their respective congregations. They certainly serve as pastors to those people as well. And so -- swallow hard -- you and I find ourselves in the company of Moses and of Paul.
But we do not connect those dots this Sunday in order to exalt ourselves or to inflate our own sense of importance. On the contrary, we humble ourselves before God, his word, and his people this week. We take the examples of Moses and Paul as challenging models of our high calling, and we pledge to our people our own resolve to answer that call.
See Moses there, alone with God, praying for the people entrusted to his care. And see him moving ever nearer to God, seeking his face. That is the model set before us.
Likewise, see Paul, following up with the folks he has had to leave behind. No out-of-sight-out-of-mind with him. They are on his mind and in his prayers. See how he nearly equates his example and Christ's, for he knows that he is a vicar, a flesh-and-blood, visible example to his people.
Our sermons often invite our people to respond to God's word, to apply it to their circumstances, and to live more faithfully in response. But this Sunday we preach to ourselves. We respond to our own altar call, pledging ourselves to live more faithfully in response to God's word.
An Alternative Application
1 Thessalonians 1:1-10. "The Power of Example." When I meet with a couple before baptizing their baby, I talk through with them the vows that we will ask them to make on that occasion. Among them is a promise to nurture their child spiritually "by your instruction and example." The task of Christian parenting is captured as a two-part process: instruction and example.
We don't have any record of the apostle Paul having biological children, but it's clear that he saw himself as a spiritual parent to many people. We see in this week's excerpt from his relationship to the Thessalonians some of his spiritual parenting. For while he may not use the language of parent and child here, we certainly see that two-part parenting process in place.
The instruction is the part of Paul's ministry that we think of first. We picture him traveling from place to place, preaching in the streets and teaching in the synagogues. When we read the New Testament letters, of course, we read his abundant instructions to the earliest Christians on matters such as spiritual gifts, church discipline, holy living, law and gospel, faith and works, and on and on. But the part of his ministry we don't see so clearly, of course, is the example part.
Yet that is precisely what the Thessalonians -- and others like them in the first-century Mediterranean world -- saw most clearly. They lived with Paul. They watched him, and thus they learned not just from his instruction but from his example.
Paul was conscious of the influence of his example. He did not shy away from it or apologize for it. On the contrary, he emphasized it. "You know what kind of people we proved to be among you," he wrote to those Christians in Thessalonica, "and you became imitators of us and of the Lord."
That is the nature of an example, of course, whether good or bad. Examples breed imitators. We see abundant evidence of that both in individual cases and in the broad trends of a whole culture. And the principle was true in Thessalonica as well.
Paul's juxtaposition of "us" and "the Lord" is a compelling one. He seems to equate the two examples. We would hesitate to make such a claim, and yet we know it is precisely to that that you and I are called.
Meanwhile, the ripple effects of Christian example do not end in Thessalonica. Rather, Paul commends those people because they in turn "became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia." And so it goes.
We do a lot of instructing in the church. That we think is our most high-profile ministry. Yet that is not what our people see most clearly. They see our example, and they learn from it, for better or for worse. They go into their homes and schools and businesses without much opportunity to instruct, but with constant occasion to become an example to all.
