God of the ages
Commentary
What is the relationship between the past, the present, and the future? What impact does one have upon the others?
Gamblers carefully review and evaluate the minutiae of a team's past performances in order to wager intelligently on their upcoming game. Investors track the trends in markets and sectors in order to guess what lies ahead for a given company, stock, or fund. And psychologists help troubled souls identify what events and influences in their past continue to impact them in the present.
Just as we ponder the effect of the past on the present and the future, we also discover that the future reaches back to influence the present. The routine business of preparing -- whether for school, for an interview, for a trip, for work, or for retirement -- demonstrates the impact that the future has on present priorities and decisions.
When we delve into the pages of scripture, however, we are introduced to a whole new understanding of the interrelationship between past, present, and future. Past is not as determinative as we human beings are naturally inclined to think. Instead, we discover that it is the far future that is meant to have the greatest impact on our present.
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
One of the great disservices that has been done to so many of the people in our pews is the association of the word "unquestioning" with the word "faith." In some teaching and preaching, the marriage has been explicit. And in many struggling, individual hearts, the connection is simply assumed. To question is to doubt, and to doubt is to lack faith. Faith, therefore, must never question. So goes the guilt-ridden logic.
Here in this passage, however, we have the great hero of faith, Abraham, and in one of his most notable moments of faith (see Romans 4). Yet Abraham speaks only three sentences in this episode, and two of them are questions.
Just as many of your people and mine have been led to believe that faith and questions cannot go together, so they may also feel that reverence and candor are mutually exclusive in prayer. A generation or two that is accustomed to dressing up for church may also be in the habit of dressing up for God. They reserve for prayer a formality of language and a kind of filtered content that is directly the opposite of their other most familiar and intimate relationships. The candor of the biblical saints, therefore, can be a lesson to many of the people in our pews.
Abraham, faced with all that the Lord had given him, presumed to point out what God had not given him. What long-term good would additional blessings from God be to Abraham if he had no real heir? And note that Abraham put the matter squarely on God. It was neither chance nor human incapacity that had kept Abraham and Sarah from having children, but rather it was the Lord who had "given me no offspring."
How refreshing Abraham's approach is for many of us. And how liberating to be reminded that pretense is not reverence. It is not an act of faith to be dishonest with God. Rather, Abraham had a complaint -- or at least a concern -- and he was candid with his Lord about it. Surely it is more faithful to be honest with God. Surely it is more faithful to bring our needs and concerns to him than to grumble about them to ourselves or pretend that they don't exist. What so often passes for reverence in our sometimes shallow praying is, in fact, more of an insult to God -- an insult because we presume not to be honest with God, and an insult because we are afraid to be.
The Lord did not upbraid Abraham for his candor or his questions. Rather, God responded with promises, reassurances, and details. And Abraham believed him.
Abraham believed the Lord, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness. Paul regarded this episode as the great Old Testament evidence of his doctrine of justification by faith. And in addition to that fundamental matter of our salvation, it is an important episode for us to remember in the midst of our day-to-day circumstances, as well.
See how improbable Abraham's belief was. Our natural tendency is to extrapolate from past trends in order to predict future developments. Because the line on the graph has gone down in each of the preceding 11 months, we expect it to go down further in the twelfth month. That extrapolation is where Abraham began -- the concern that Eliezer would be his only heir -- but his faith was able to look beyond that. If he had merely extrapolated -- only reasoned and reckoned by his own understanding without the benefit of faith -- then his calculations would have come up childless. But he believed God. Against all odds, he believed God.
God's essential promise to Abraham was that he would have many descendants who would possess the land. At the time God made that promise, however, Abraham had no natural descendants, no realistic possibility of having any, and the only piece of that land he would legally possess by the time of his death was a field that he purchased for the purpose of a burial ground (Genesis 23). The circumstances were not very promising. The Lord, however, was very promising. And Abra-ham believed the Lord.
Philippians 3:17--4:1
Television commercials and programs that feature dangerous activities are sometimes accompanied by the warning, "Do not try this at home." This kind of driving is fine for the professional stunt drivers on the closed course, but don't get any ideas. Don't try doing what they do.
Then, in contrast, see the Apostle Paul. He is sitting in chains in a foreign prison, possibly facing execution. And from that location, Paul encourages the Philippian Christians, "Join in imitating me."
The man who discovers that he has walked into a minefield doesn't usually call out to those he loves, "Follow in my footsteps!" But from prison Paul urges his brothers and sisters in Christ to follow his example.
This is no case of "misery loves company," however. Quite the contrary: joy loves company, and Paul is full of joy. Paul's letter to the Philippians has rightly earned the nickname "the joyful epistle," for his tone and vocabulary are conspicuously joyful, especially given his circumstances. It is the joy of knowing Christ, and Paul had personally discovered that that joy eclipsed all of the attendant difficulties.
This excerpt from the joyful epistle is personal and poignant. Paul's deep love for the Philippians and his heartfelt emotion in writing to them is evident in the warmth and tenderness of his language. He refers to them twice as his "brothers and sisters." He tells them things "with tears." And the final verse of this passage (4:1) is so encumbered with expressions of love that it becomes awkward as a sentence.
The poignancy of the passage lies in the fact that Paul is writing from prison. The issue, though, is not that Paul feels sorry for himself in his present state. Rather, it is the poignancy of being separated from the Philippians. We all know that nothing is quite so frustrating to love as not being able to "be there." And it is especially difficult when the ones we love are in the midst of some difficulty or danger.
Truthfully, Paul's own situation was far more difficult than the Philippians'. But the physical pain and peril he faced were not so compelling to Paul as the spiritual challenges facing the Philippians. The confinement and persecution Paul was experiencing do not seem to compare favorably to the self-indulgent hedonism he warns about (3:19). And yet he calls upon the Philippians to imitate him rather than those pleasure-seekers.
Set side by side, Paul's bread-and-water rations behind bars don't look so desirable as the all-you-can-eat-smorgasbord living of those who "live as enemies of the cross of Christ." On the other hand, if we set side by side the glory and beauty of Christ with "their god ... the belly," if we set side by side a citizenship in heaven with the dust and disappointment of "earthly things," and if we set side by side "the body of his glory" with "the body of our humiliation," then suddenly there is no comparison. So Paul urges his beloved ones to imitate him and to "stand firm in the Lord."
Luke 13:31-35
It's always a bit suspicious when your opponents offer you advice. We see it routinely in the world of politics, as Democratic operatives give advice on television about what the Republicans should do, and vice versa. Likewise here as the Pharisees come and offer ostensibly helpful advice to Jesus.
We don't have any evidence to confirm the report that Herod was eager to kill Jesus. On the contrary, he had long been too afraid to kill John the Baptist, with whom he had more of a personal complaint. And after he finally arranged for John's execution, Herod was immediately haunted by the thought that Jesus was John come back to life (Matthew 14:2; Mark 6:16). Furthermore, when Jesus was brought to Herod in custody, Herod "was very glad, for he had been wanting to see him for a long time ... hoping to see him perform some sign" (Luke 23:8). And given the opportunity to pass sentence on Jesus, Herod declined, returning Jesus to Pilate.
It seems much more likely, therefore, that the Pharisees were trying to make Jesus go away simply because they wanted him to go away. Just shortly before this episode, Luke reports that "the Pharisees began to be very hostile toward him" (Luke 11:53), and so it seems highly improbable that the Pharisees would try to protect Jesus from Herod.
Jesus was very shrewd about people's motives, and so he likely recognized that the Pharisees were not earnestly trying to protect him from Herod. His "go and tell that fox" statement, therefore, was probably meant as much for the Pharisees as for Herod.
Interestingly, though the Pharisees were likely fabricating a death threat in order to scare Jesus away, he still went deliberately on his way toward Jerusalem, and he went precisely for the purpose of dying (see 13:33). In light of the cross and the empty tomb, how pathetic does the Pharisees' threat seem? Jesus had already eluded earlier efforts to kill him when the time was not right (Matthew 2:13-16; Luke 4:28-30; John 7:30, 8:59), and he made it clear even at the time of his arrest that he could be rescued simply by saying the word (Matthew 26:53). While the threat of death is the ultimate weapon the world can wield, it was an inadequate tool against Jesus.
Having expressed aloud his intent to go to Jerusalem to die, Jesus breaks into a lament about Jerusalem. The love-in-pain tone of Jesus' repeated vocatives ("Jerusalem, Jerusalem") might be best understood in light of other biblical examples of the same technique: "Simon, Simon" (Luke 22:31), "Martha, Martha" (Luke 10:41), "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom" (2 Samuel 18:33), and "My God, my God" (Psalm 22:1; Mark 15:34). Facing the prospect of his own death, Jesus laments, but not for himself. Rather, he laments for Jerusalem, the city that not only declines the Lord's overtures, but also violently rejects them. It may have been customary in some times and places to kill the messenger who brought bad news. What an irony, though, that Jerusalem chose again and again to kill the messengers who brought good news -- loving exhortations and gracious salvation from God.
From the perspective this side of the Empty Tomb, we understand better what Jesus said to Herod -- and to the disingenuous Pharisees. Jesus was not literally going to complete his work in the next 72 hours. Rather, he planted the cryptic seed of this lovely gospel truth -- that his work would indeed be finished "on the third day."
Application
The older we get, the more we come to recognize the interconnectedness of the past, the present, and the future.
We see the pendulum of fashion trends swing back and reintroduce styles that we remember from 30 years ago. We see how human relationships -- whether between individuals, between groups, or between nations -- are sweetened or embittered by the accumulation of past events. And we recognize more and more within ourselves the profound and continuing influence of our childhood experiences on our adult responses and behaviors.
At another level, when a medical doctor offers a patient a prognosis, it may come in the form of odds -- say, a 40-percent chance of recovery. That prognosis for the future, however, is no more than a record of the past. Based on the past results of similar cases, we predict the future outcome of present cases.
And at a personal level, you and I experience every day an assortment of common emotions -- e.g., worry, hope, dread, regret, nostalgia, anticipation, and such -- all of which bear witness to the enormous impact that past, present, and future have on one another.
The three lections we have before us this week also bear witness to the relationship of past, present, and future, but with a twist. The twist is faith. The twist is a recognition that we cannot really calculate the equation of past, present, and future without factoring in the God who is Lord of both time and eternity.
Abraham's past and present did not add up to the future that God had in mind. His past and present, so far as he could tell, added up to some slave from Damascus receiving all of his inheritance. But the sovereign God had a future in store in which a whole nation of Abraham's descendants would inherit and settle the land where Abraham lived only as a sojourner. Descendants as many as Abraham could count would spread out over the land as far as Abraham could see. With God, Abraham's future was far more than a simple extrapolation of his past and his present.
Paul, meanwhile, urged the Philippian Christians to let their present be a kind of extrapolation of their future. Paul laid out for them an understanding of what the future held, on the one hand, for those who were "enemies of the cross of Christ" and, on the other hand, for those who were believers following his example. In the present, in a prison, Paul's approach did not look so good. But Paul looked to the future -- God's future -- and lived toward that.
Jesus predicted that his work would be finished on "the third day." Between that prediction and that victory, however, came a lot of seeming troubles, setbacks, and defeats. And we, in the midst of troubles, are likely to lose hope about the future. But, like Abraham and Paul, we serve a Lord who will indeed fulfill his promise and finish his work with victory.
Alternative Applications
1) Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18. Some of the big events in our lives are about plot. We get married, we have children, we move, we change jobs, we experience some loss or tragedy, we retire, etc. The "plot" big events are often the kinds of occasions when we take pictures.
Other big events in our lives, however, are not about plot. They are about dialogue. They are instances when nothing visibly or measurably happens, but they are big events because of what is said.
At the opening of the scene in Genesis, Abraham has just come off of a series of big plot events. First, there was the ugly Egypt episode (12:10-20). Famine had forced a move by Abraham and Sarah, and then fear prompted them to be deceptive about their relationship. When the truth was discovered, they were summarily evicted from the land where they had sought refuge. Next came turmoil between his camp and the camp of his nephew, Lot, leading to their separation. Shortly after their separation, however, Lot's new home found itself in the crossfire of a regional conflict, and Abraham was forced to mobilize for a military rescue operation.
Life had not been peaceful and uneventful for old Abraham since leaving Ur. But then, "after these things," God came and spoke to Abraham. And the next big event in Abraham's life was not about plot, it was about dialogue.
God spoke to Abraham. He spoke great promises. He spoke great improbabilities. "And he believed the LORD; and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness" (v. 6). It was an all-dialogue event, but it was seminal. Two thousand years later, the Apostle Paul pointed to this event as not only pivotal for Abraham, but emblematic of the great pivotal event for all who are saved (see Romans 4 and Galatians 3).
The preacher and his/her people can embrace the truth of big events that are all dialogue. Precisely such events are sprinkled through our testimonies. Prayer itself is usually such an event. Anytime an occasion (like this Sunday morning) features a dialogue with God -- his word to us and our faithful response to him -- it is a big event.
2) Luke 13:31-35. From time to time in Bible-study settings, I challenge my people to make a list of the apparent shortcomings of God's people at the point in time being studied. For example, what were the recurring failures of the Israelites in the wilderness? What were the great sins cited by the eighth-century B.C. judgment prophets? What did Jesus need to correct and reprove among his disciples again and again? And what were the concerns that prevailed in the local churches to which Paul wrote?
My contention is that we will seldom come across a shortcoming or sin that is unfamiliar to us. What we see in the pages of scripture, we are also very likely to see in the mirror. That is not to say that every individual is beset with the whole collage of human sinfulness. It is to say, however, that we don't usually have to look very far to see that the human condition and tendency is always pretty much the same.
Accordingly, it is worth considering at a personal level what Jesus says of Jerusalem. We may distance ourselves from this passage because we haven't stoned any prophets. The underlying issue, though, is how God's people respond to him and to his word.
We, perhaps more than any previous generation of God's people, are inclined to pick and choose what we like from God's word, biblical commands, and Jesus' teachings. We don't need to stone any prophets when we can simply reduce God's word to a smorgasbord for consumers.
Meanwhile, there is this God who seeks to gather his people, like a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. Do we come when he calls? Do we let God draw us near to himself? Or do we ignore his invitations, postpone our response, and resist a closer relationship and deeper discipleship?
Perhaps our own names should be inserted when we hear Jesus lament, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem!"
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 27
There are two themes flowing through this psalm. These themes are connected, a part of each other, like two sides of a coin. But they are also separate, especially as they manifest themselves in human experience. While existing closely together in thought, they diverge dramatically as they work themselves out in life.
The first theme is fear. The psalmist addresses the fear of his audience directly. He knows the fear as one who shares it with his fellow worshipers. The fear is named: Enemies, evildoers, armies. These realities create other fears whose names are despair, hopelessness, anger, bitterness.
But the psalmist, while knowing and naming the fear that plagues his audience, also knows the name of the one who can overcome the fear. He calls out the names of this fear-buster: the stronghold, the shelter, the savior, the gracious one, the good one, the Lord.
This is where we find the second theme -- hope. The fear is present reality. They fear now. The confidence that the psalmist offers as a remedy for the fear is a hope. It is an outcome that will only be found at the end of a disciplined path. The psalmist names the path: I asked of the Lord, I seek after, I will offer, I will sing, I cry aloud, teach me, I believe.
The psalmist assures his audience that in following the disciplined path, their fear will give way to something wonderful. Something life-giving will emerge in the place of the fear. He names this assurance: my heart shall not fear, I will be confident, my head is lifted up, I will be strong, I will have courage.
This is important wisdom for anyone who fears. Fear evokes in us all those qualities that ultimately work against our best interests. Fear makes us defensive, violent, untrusting. But the disciplined path suggested by the psalmist cultivates in us those particular human qualities that benefit not only our individual existence, but the lives of those around us as well. When we are confident and trusting that God's way is the best way we resist violence, we refuse despair, we embrace our neighbor.
This is not a mind game the psalmist proposes. This is not a form of self-hypnosis whereby we convince ourselves that we are not afraid when in fact we really are. And this is not a form of denial. The psalmist is not proposing that we ignore the evil of our world or acquiesce to its power. In fact he offers the very opposite of acquiescence. He offers us a way to resist the evil in our world in a way in which the evil may be transformed.
The root of all fear is the threat of loss. We fear we will lose our lives, our homes, our purpose, our standing. The disciplined path the psalmist describes offers us a new identity -- an identity that is not shaken even if the world in which we live ceases to exist. Our purpose and being is not tied to any particular social or economic reality. Our identity comes from a constant that does not change and does not yield to the comings and goings of power. As we tap into that eternal constant, our fear begins to ebb.
And how do we tap into that eternal constant? What is the key to finding and staying on the disciplined path? The psalmist names the way plainly: Wait. Wait for the Lord.
Gamblers carefully review and evaluate the minutiae of a team's past performances in order to wager intelligently on their upcoming game. Investors track the trends in markets and sectors in order to guess what lies ahead for a given company, stock, or fund. And psychologists help troubled souls identify what events and influences in their past continue to impact them in the present.
Just as we ponder the effect of the past on the present and the future, we also discover that the future reaches back to influence the present. The routine business of preparing -- whether for school, for an interview, for a trip, for work, or for retirement -- demonstrates the impact that the future has on present priorities and decisions.
When we delve into the pages of scripture, however, we are introduced to a whole new understanding of the interrelationship between past, present, and future. Past is not as determinative as we human beings are naturally inclined to think. Instead, we discover that it is the far future that is meant to have the greatest impact on our present.
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
One of the great disservices that has been done to so many of the people in our pews is the association of the word "unquestioning" with the word "faith." In some teaching and preaching, the marriage has been explicit. And in many struggling, individual hearts, the connection is simply assumed. To question is to doubt, and to doubt is to lack faith. Faith, therefore, must never question. So goes the guilt-ridden logic.
Here in this passage, however, we have the great hero of faith, Abraham, and in one of his most notable moments of faith (see Romans 4). Yet Abraham speaks only three sentences in this episode, and two of them are questions.
Just as many of your people and mine have been led to believe that faith and questions cannot go together, so they may also feel that reverence and candor are mutually exclusive in prayer. A generation or two that is accustomed to dressing up for church may also be in the habit of dressing up for God. They reserve for prayer a formality of language and a kind of filtered content that is directly the opposite of their other most familiar and intimate relationships. The candor of the biblical saints, therefore, can be a lesson to many of the people in our pews.
Abraham, faced with all that the Lord had given him, presumed to point out what God had not given him. What long-term good would additional blessings from God be to Abraham if he had no real heir? And note that Abraham put the matter squarely on God. It was neither chance nor human incapacity that had kept Abraham and Sarah from having children, but rather it was the Lord who had "given me no offspring."
How refreshing Abraham's approach is for many of us. And how liberating to be reminded that pretense is not reverence. It is not an act of faith to be dishonest with God. Rather, Abraham had a complaint -- or at least a concern -- and he was candid with his Lord about it. Surely it is more faithful to be honest with God. Surely it is more faithful to bring our needs and concerns to him than to grumble about them to ourselves or pretend that they don't exist. What so often passes for reverence in our sometimes shallow praying is, in fact, more of an insult to God -- an insult because we presume not to be honest with God, and an insult because we are afraid to be.
The Lord did not upbraid Abraham for his candor or his questions. Rather, God responded with promises, reassurances, and details. And Abraham believed him.
Abraham believed the Lord, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness. Paul regarded this episode as the great Old Testament evidence of his doctrine of justification by faith. And in addition to that fundamental matter of our salvation, it is an important episode for us to remember in the midst of our day-to-day circumstances, as well.
See how improbable Abraham's belief was. Our natural tendency is to extrapolate from past trends in order to predict future developments. Because the line on the graph has gone down in each of the preceding 11 months, we expect it to go down further in the twelfth month. That extrapolation is where Abraham began -- the concern that Eliezer would be his only heir -- but his faith was able to look beyond that. If he had merely extrapolated -- only reasoned and reckoned by his own understanding without the benefit of faith -- then his calculations would have come up childless. But he believed God. Against all odds, he believed God.
God's essential promise to Abraham was that he would have many descendants who would possess the land. At the time God made that promise, however, Abraham had no natural descendants, no realistic possibility of having any, and the only piece of that land he would legally possess by the time of his death was a field that he purchased for the purpose of a burial ground (Genesis 23). The circumstances were not very promising. The Lord, however, was very promising. And Abra-ham believed the Lord.
Philippians 3:17--4:1
Television commercials and programs that feature dangerous activities are sometimes accompanied by the warning, "Do not try this at home." This kind of driving is fine for the professional stunt drivers on the closed course, but don't get any ideas. Don't try doing what they do.
Then, in contrast, see the Apostle Paul. He is sitting in chains in a foreign prison, possibly facing execution. And from that location, Paul encourages the Philippian Christians, "Join in imitating me."
The man who discovers that he has walked into a minefield doesn't usually call out to those he loves, "Follow in my footsteps!" But from prison Paul urges his brothers and sisters in Christ to follow his example.
This is no case of "misery loves company," however. Quite the contrary: joy loves company, and Paul is full of joy. Paul's letter to the Philippians has rightly earned the nickname "the joyful epistle," for his tone and vocabulary are conspicuously joyful, especially given his circumstances. It is the joy of knowing Christ, and Paul had personally discovered that that joy eclipsed all of the attendant difficulties.
This excerpt from the joyful epistle is personal and poignant. Paul's deep love for the Philippians and his heartfelt emotion in writing to them is evident in the warmth and tenderness of his language. He refers to them twice as his "brothers and sisters." He tells them things "with tears." And the final verse of this passage (4:1) is so encumbered with expressions of love that it becomes awkward as a sentence.
The poignancy of the passage lies in the fact that Paul is writing from prison. The issue, though, is not that Paul feels sorry for himself in his present state. Rather, it is the poignancy of being separated from the Philippians. We all know that nothing is quite so frustrating to love as not being able to "be there." And it is especially difficult when the ones we love are in the midst of some difficulty or danger.
Truthfully, Paul's own situation was far more difficult than the Philippians'. But the physical pain and peril he faced were not so compelling to Paul as the spiritual challenges facing the Philippians. The confinement and persecution Paul was experiencing do not seem to compare favorably to the self-indulgent hedonism he warns about (3:19). And yet he calls upon the Philippians to imitate him rather than those pleasure-seekers.
Set side by side, Paul's bread-and-water rations behind bars don't look so desirable as the all-you-can-eat-smorgasbord living of those who "live as enemies of the cross of Christ." On the other hand, if we set side by side the glory and beauty of Christ with "their god ... the belly," if we set side by side a citizenship in heaven with the dust and disappointment of "earthly things," and if we set side by side "the body of his glory" with "the body of our humiliation," then suddenly there is no comparison. So Paul urges his beloved ones to imitate him and to "stand firm in the Lord."
Luke 13:31-35
It's always a bit suspicious when your opponents offer you advice. We see it routinely in the world of politics, as Democratic operatives give advice on television about what the Republicans should do, and vice versa. Likewise here as the Pharisees come and offer ostensibly helpful advice to Jesus.
We don't have any evidence to confirm the report that Herod was eager to kill Jesus. On the contrary, he had long been too afraid to kill John the Baptist, with whom he had more of a personal complaint. And after he finally arranged for John's execution, Herod was immediately haunted by the thought that Jesus was John come back to life (Matthew 14:2; Mark 6:16). Furthermore, when Jesus was brought to Herod in custody, Herod "was very glad, for he had been wanting to see him for a long time ... hoping to see him perform some sign" (Luke 23:8). And given the opportunity to pass sentence on Jesus, Herod declined, returning Jesus to Pilate.
It seems much more likely, therefore, that the Pharisees were trying to make Jesus go away simply because they wanted him to go away. Just shortly before this episode, Luke reports that "the Pharisees began to be very hostile toward him" (Luke 11:53), and so it seems highly improbable that the Pharisees would try to protect Jesus from Herod.
Jesus was very shrewd about people's motives, and so he likely recognized that the Pharisees were not earnestly trying to protect him from Herod. His "go and tell that fox" statement, therefore, was probably meant as much for the Pharisees as for Herod.
Interestingly, though the Pharisees were likely fabricating a death threat in order to scare Jesus away, he still went deliberately on his way toward Jerusalem, and he went precisely for the purpose of dying (see 13:33). In light of the cross and the empty tomb, how pathetic does the Pharisees' threat seem? Jesus had already eluded earlier efforts to kill him when the time was not right (Matthew 2:13-16; Luke 4:28-30; John 7:30, 8:59), and he made it clear even at the time of his arrest that he could be rescued simply by saying the word (Matthew 26:53). While the threat of death is the ultimate weapon the world can wield, it was an inadequate tool against Jesus.
Having expressed aloud his intent to go to Jerusalem to die, Jesus breaks into a lament about Jerusalem. The love-in-pain tone of Jesus' repeated vocatives ("Jerusalem, Jerusalem") might be best understood in light of other biblical examples of the same technique: "Simon, Simon" (Luke 22:31), "Martha, Martha" (Luke 10:41), "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom" (2 Samuel 18:33), and "My God, my God" (Psalm 22:1; Mark 15:34). Facing the prospect of his own death, Jesus laments, but not for himself. Rather, he laments for Jerusalem, the city that not only declines the Lord's overtures, but also violently rejects them. It may have been customary in some times and places to kill the messenger who brought bad news. What an irony, though, that Jerusalem chose again and again to kill the messengers who brought good news -- loving exhortations and gracious salvation from God.
From the perspective this side of the Empty Tomb, we understand better what Jesus said to Herod -- and to the disingenuous Pharisees. Jesus was not literally going to complete his work in the next 72 hours. Rather, he planted the cryptic seed of this lovely gospel truth -- that his work would indeed be finished "on the third day."
Application
The older we get, the more we come to recognize the interconnectedness of the past, the present, and the future.
We see the pendulum of fashion trends swing back and reintroduce styles that we remember from 30 years ago. We see how human relationships -- whether between individuals, between groups, or between nations -- are sweetened or embittered by the accumulation of past events. And we recognize more and more within ourselves the profound and continuing influence of our childhood experiences on our adult responses and behaviors.
At another level, when a medical doctor offers a patient a prognosis, it may come in the form of odds -- say, a 40-percent chance of recovery. That prognosis for the future, however, is no more than a record of the past. Based on the past results of similar cases, we predict the future outcome of present cases.
And at a personal level, you and I experience every day an assortment of common emotions -- e.g., worry, hope, dread, regret, nostalgia, anticipation, and such -- all of which bear witness to the enormous impact that past, present, and future have on one another.
The three lections we have before us this week also bear witness to the relationship of past, present, and future, but with a twist. The twist is faith. The twist is a recognition that we cannot really calculate the equation of past, present, and future without factoring in the God who is Lord of both time and eternity.
Abraham's past and present did not add up to the future that God had in mind. His past and present, so far as he could tell, added up to some slave from Damascus receiving all of his inheritance. But the sovereign God had a future in store in which a whole nation of Abraham's descendants would inherit and settle the land where Abraham lived only as a sojourner. Descendants as many as Abraham could count would spread out over the land as far as Abraham could see. With God, Abraham's future was far more than a simple extrapolation of his past and his present.
Paul, meanwhile, urged the Philippian Christians to let their present be a kind of extrapolation of their future. Paul laid out for them an understanding of what the future held, on the one hand, for those who were "enemies of the cross of Christ" and, on the other hand, for those who were believers following his example. In the present, in a prison, Paul's approach did not look so good. But Paul looked to the future -- God's future -- and lived toward that.
Jesus predicted that his work would be finished on "the third day." Between that prediction and that victory, however, came a lot of seeming troubles, setbacks, and defeats. And we, in the midst of troubles, are likely to lose hope about the future. But, like Abraham and Paul, we serve a Lord who will indeed fulfill his promise and finish his work with victory.
Alternative Applications
1) Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18. Some of the big events in our lives are about plot. We get married, we have children, we move, we change jobs, we experience some loss or tragedy, we retire, etc. The "plot" big events are often the kinds of occasions when we take pictures.
Other big events in our lives, however, are not about plot. They are about dialogue. They are instances when nothing visibly or measurably happens, but they are big events because of what is said.
At the opening of the scene in Genesis, Abraham has just come off of a series of big plot events. First, there was the ugly Egypt episode (12:10-20). Famine had forced a move by Abraham and Sarah, and then fear prompted them to be deceptive about their relationship. When the truth was discovered, they were summarily evicted from the land where they had sought refuge. Next came turmoil between his camp and the camp of his nephew, Lot, leading to their separation. Shortly after their separation, however, Lot's new home found itself in the crossfire of a regional conflict, and Abraham was forced to mobilize for a military rescue operation.
Life had not been peaceful and uneventful for old Abraham since leaving Ur. But then, "after these things," God came and spoke to Abraham. And the next big event in Abraham's life was not about plot, it was about dialogue.
God spoke to Abraham. He spoke great promises. He spoke great improbabilities. "And he believed the LORD; and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness" (v. 6). It was an all-dialogue event, but it was seminal. Two thousand years later, the Apostle Paul pointed to this event as not only pivotal for Abraham, but emblematic of the great pivotal event for all who are saved (see Romans 4 and Galatians 3).
The preacher and his/her people can embrace the truth of big events that are all dialogue. Precisely such events are sprinkled through our testimonies. Prayer itself is usually such an event. Anytime an occasion (like this Sunday morning) features a dialogue with God -- his word to us and our faithful response to him -- it is a big event.
2) Luke 13:31-35. From time to time in Bible-study settings, I challenge my people to make a list of the apparent shortcomings of God's people at the point in time being studied. For example, what were the recurring failures of the Israelites in the wilderness? What were the great sins cited by the eighth-century B.C. judgment prophets? What did Jesus need to correct and reprove among his disciples again and again? And what were the concerns that prevailed in the local churches to which Paul wrote?
My contention is that we will seldom come across a shortcoming or sin that is unfamiliar to us. What we see in the pages of scripture, we are also very likely to see in the mirror. That is not to say that every individual is beset with the whole collage of human sinfulness. It is to say, however, that we don't usually have to look very far to see that the human condition and tendency is always pretty much the same.
Accordingly, it is worth considering at a personal level what Jesus says of Jerusalem. We may distance ourselves from this passage because we haven't stoned any prophets. The underlying issue, though, is how God's people respond to him and to his word.
We, perhaps more than any previous generation of God's people, are inclined to pick and choose what we like from God's word, biblical commands, and Jesus' teachings. We don't need to stone any prophets when we can simply reduce God's word to a smorgasbord for consumers.
Meanwhile, there is this God who seeks to gather his people, like a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. Do we come when he calls? Do we let God draw us near to himself? Or do we ignore his invitations, postpone our response, and resist a closer relationship and deeper discipleship?
Perhaps our own names should be inserted when we hear Jesus lament, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem!"
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 27
There are two themes flowing through this psalm. These themes are connected, a part of each other, like two sides of a coin. But they are also separate, especially as they manifest themselves in human experience. While existing closely together in thought, they diverge dramatically as they work themselves out in life.
The first theme is fear. The psalmist addresses the fear of his audience directly. He knows the fear as one who shares it with his fellow worshipers. The fear is named: Enemies, evildoers, armies. These realities create other fears whose names are despair, hopelessness, anger, bitterness.
But the psalmist, while knowing and naming the fear that plagues his audience, also knows the name of the one who can overcome the fear. He calls out the names of this fear-buster: the stronghold, the shelter, the savior, the gracious one, the good one, the Lord.
This is where we find the second theme -- hope. The fear is present reality. They fear now. The confidence that the psalmist offers as a remedy for the fear is a hope. It is an outcome that will only be found at the end of a disciplined path. The psalmist names the path: I asked of the Lord, I seek after, I will offer, I will sing, I cry aloud, teach me, I believe.
The psalmist assures his audience that in following the disciplined path, their fear will give way to something wonderful. Something life-giving will emerge in the place of the fear. He names this assurance: my heart shall not fear, I will be confident, my head is lifted up, I will be strong, I will have courage.
This is important wisdom for anyone who fears. Fear evokes in us all those qualities that ultimately work against our best interests. Fear makes us defensive, violent, untrusting. But the disciplined path suggested by the psalmist cultivates in us those particular human qualities that benefit not only our individual existence, but the lives of those around us as well. When we are confident and trusting that God's way is the best way we resist violence, we refuse despair, we embrace our neighbor.
This is not a mind game the psalmist proposes. This is not a form of self-hypnosis whereby we convince ourselves that we are not afraid when in fact we really are. And this is not a form of denial. The psalmist is not proposing that we ignore the evil of our world or acquiesce to its power. In fact he offers the very opposite of acquiescence. He offers us a way to resist the evil in our world in a way in which the evil may be transformed.
The root of all fear is the threat of loss. We fear we will lose our lives, our homes, our purpose, our standing. The disciplined path the psalmist describes offers us a new identity -- an identity that is not shaken even if the world in which we live ceases to exist. Our purpose and being is not tied to any particular social or economic reality. Our identity comes from a constant that does not change and does not yield to the comings and goings of power. As we tap into that eternal constant, our fear begins to ebb.
And how do we tap into that eternal constant? What is the key to finding and staying on the disciplined path? The psalmist names the way plainly: Wait. Wait for the Lord.
