The music of grace
Commentary
Object:
His shrunken frame and age-diminished voice were almost lost at the front of our large church auditorium. He had been a medical intern at a small hospital in Arnhem when Hitler's war machine rolled through the Netherlands and set up a puppet Nazi government. Radios were destroyed to prevent BBC "propaganda" from demoralizing folks who needed nothing other than German "truth."
But among the clutter of equipment in one surgical suite, someone had managed to hide a shortwave set. At 5 p.m. each Sunday afternoon the doctors and nurses gathered secretly and tuned in softly to the worship service of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields on the edge of London. My friend could not remember a single sermon heard in those covert assemblies, but one thing he never forgot. At the close of each broadcast swelled the choral power of Henry Lyte's magnificent melody, "Abide With Me."
"In the distance we could hear the guns," the old doctor whispered, "and the cupboards of medical supplies rattled with falling bombs. We huddled together, standing close to the single speaker, weeping as we were transported for a few moments into the congregation in London, and with it to the very throne of God."
"This," he said, as we turned our own hymnbooks to the song, "is how we survived those dark and awful hours." And so we sang with him:
Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide!
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
O Thou who changest not, abide with me!
I think of him often when my students walk into class with buds in their ears linked to phones. "What are you listening to?" I ask them, and they tell me of the latest hits and greatest groups and hottest tunes and newest metal. I love music and share their passions, often playing videos of recent songs for classroom discussions.
But in the noisy archives of all the wonderful melodies I've loved and sung with pounding intensity or heart-throbbing intimacy, I wonder sometimes what music actually changes my life or places me in the company of those who need to enter another realm in order to remember what this one is truly all about. What are you listening to?
Each of today's lectionary passages echoes with the song of grace. For the Israelites at Mount Sinai, it was wedding bells that confirmed their relationship with Yahweh, even when the marriage got off to a rocky start. For Paul in his letter to the Philippians, it is the joy of dancing grace that lifts the spirit to transcendent places. And for Jesus when describing the kingdom of heaven, it is the haunting call of grace from the banqueting hall of eternity, causing folks on the highways and byways of life to stop and turn and long and hope for something that makes sense in an upside-down world.
Exodus 32:1-14
The tabernacle existed uniquely in its world, representing the physical home of Israel's deity as a residence within its own spatial and temporal context. Israel was not a people who needed to create representations of powers that it then idolized; instead, the very society in which it lived emanated from the identity of the chief citizen who lived at its heart.
It is in this context that the golden calf incident of Exodus 32-34 must be understood. Moses' delay on the mountain while talking with Yahweh on behalf of the people bred frustration and anxiety within the community. So they begged Aaron for symbols around which to rally, and what emerged was a bull calf made of gold. The Israelites were probably not seeking to worship something other than the God who brought them out of Egypt so recently; instead they were trying to find a representation of that God within their cultural frame of reference, so that they could cajole (or manipulate) this deity into further meaningful actions rather than wasting time in the seeming stall of their current lethargy. Since the bull calf was revered among the Egyptians for its ability to portray the liveliness of sentient power, it could well serve the Israelites in their quest to display national adolescent brash energy.
The problem for Yahweh, however, was twofold. First, the calf was an Egyptian symbol, and thus essentially blasphemous in light of Yahweh's recent decisive victory over all aspects of Egyptian power and civilization. Second, the calf reflected brute strength in the natural order and of a kind that could be controlled by human will. A bull was meant to be yoked, harnessed, and guided by whips and goads. True, it was more powerful than its human driver but at the same time it became a tool in service to the human will. For Yahweh to be represented in this manner undermined the significance of the divine defeat of Egypt and its culture and appeared to turn Yahweh into a mighty, albeit controllable, source of energy serving the Israelite will.
Under Moses' leadership his own tribe, the Levites, rallied to avenge Yahweh's disgrace. Because of that action they were appointed to the honored position of keepers of the house of God. Meanwhile, Yahweh himself wished to break covenant with Israel and instead start over with Moses' family; after all, Moses and Yahweh had become great partners and almost friends over the past few years and especially through their time on the mountain. Moses argued against this divine turnabout, however, for two reasons. First, he reminded the great one that Yahweh had sealed this suzerain-vassal covenant with Israel, and it could not so easily be discarded or broken. Yahweh had deliberately invested Yahweh's own destiny into this people, and while they might wrestle with the chafing fit of the new relationship, Yahweh no longer had a right to deny it. Second, Moses raised the card of shame. What would the nations say if Yahweh quit this project now? The peoples of the ancient Near East had begun to tremble because of Yahweh's decisive victory over Pharaoh; if the God of Israel was able so clearly and convincingly to topple the deities of Egypt and their power in both the natural and supernatural realms, what hope could there be for any other mere national interest or powers? But if Yahweh now suddenly left the Israelites to die in the wilderness, the nations around would see that this god was no more than a flash-bang, a one-hit wonder, a dog with more bark than bite. Moses used Yahweh's own covenant to make the deity toe the line and get back into bed with Israel on this honeymoon night.
Philippians 4:1-9
Sometime in the spring of 57 AD Paul arrived in Rome. While he was clearly a prisoner awaiting adjudication before Caesar himself, Paul was also a Roman citizen with rights and freedoms. Since the charges against him were sectarian (related to Jewish religious practices) rather than capital crimes, Paul was able to establish his own living circumstances within the larger palace precincts while remaining under a type of house arrest.
Probably late in 57 AD or early in 58, Epaphroditus, who had been serving as pastor or congregational leader in Philippi, brought Paul a rather significant gift from that church (Philippians 2:25; 4:10). It may have included both money and supplies; in any case, it greatly enhanced Paul's comfort in his limited circumstances.
Epaphroditus stayed on with Paul for some time, assisting him as a servant. Unfortunately, Epaphroditus became ill and nearly died (Philippians 2:25-30) and only very recently had returned to full health.
Paul believed that homesickness for Philippi and the congregation there might have contributed to Epaphroditus' grave malady and vowed to send him back home as soon as he was able to travel. Of course, a letter of appreciation and encouragement was a necessary part of all these things, so Paul penned Philippians, probably sometime in early 58 AD.
Paul's letter to the Philippians is the most joyful and uplifting note of the entire New Testament. Even in Paul's confinement, he is filled with delight in his relationships and amazed at what God is doing (Philippians 1). Almost without needing to do so, Paul reminds the congregation of the great example of Jesus, who gave up everything in order to express the love of God to us (Philippians 2:1-18). Another example of this selfless care is found in both Timothy and Epaphroditus, each of whom had sacrificed much in order to serve others, especially the faith community in Philippi (Philippians 2:19-30). More encouragement to serve follows, with Paul reflecting on his own changes of behavior and value systems once he was gripped by the love of God in Jesus (Philippians 3). There are a few personal instructions and notes of appreciation to round out the letter (Philippians 4).
Although other letters of Paul are more intentionally "theological," this small epistle has a particularly wonderful poetic reflection encapsulating the entire ministry of Christ in a few lines (Philippians 2:6-11). Because of its condensed and hymnic character, some think Paul brought these verses into his letter from an early popular Christian song or creedal statement. Perhaps so. Nevertheless, the whole of this short book is lyrical and reaches for the superlatives in life through lines that are both economical and majestic:
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things.
-- Philippians 4:8
Matthew 22:1-14
The idea of "kingdom of heaven" is central to Jesus' teachings, and a common theme throughout the gospel of Matthew. It implies citizenship or at least allegiance to a governing authority. In today's gospel reading, Jesus shows the gentle but ultimate compulsion it has in our lives.
It is the kind of thing that J.R.R. Tolkien tried to picture in his powerful trilogy The Lord of the Rings. Writing in the recovery years after World War II, Tolkien imagined what powers there are in this world that can possess peoples and nations, for good or for ill. His tale of the struggles of Middle Earth allegorically reflected the biblical idea of kingdoms in conflict.
Either, as Jesus indicates, we play games with little treasures, buying and selling them on world markets and moving among commercial districts that hold our attraction for a while, or we are sold out to a greater power. We sell all and buy it. We give up our claims in order that we might be claimed.
Our youngest daughter was born in Nigeria while I was teaching at the Reformed Theological College in Mkar. Because the Nigerian government does not automatically grant citizenship to all who are born on its soil, Kaitlyn was truly a person without a country in her earliest days. Until I could process her existence with the United States consulate in Kaduna she had no official identity, no traveling permissions, and no rights in society outside of our home. We took a picture of her at five days old, sleeping in my hands, and this became the photograph used on her passport for the first ten years of her life. The snapshot may have become outdated quickly as she grew through the stages of childhood, but the passport to which it was affixed declared that she belonged to the United States of America. She had rights. She had privileges. She had protection under the law. When the time came for us to leave Nigeria and travel through three continents to get back to North America, that little passport opened doors and prepared the way for her. She had never lived in the U.S., but the U.S. knew her by name and kept watch over her.
So it is and more with the kingdom of heaven, according to Jesus. It becomes the badge of identification for us, as well as the symbol of our protection and care. When we choose other pearls or dig around for treasures in our own backyards we get from them what we are looking for -- things that we can possess. But when the great prize of the hidden treasure comes our way, or we stumble onto the pearl of great price, we realize that our little hordes are insufficient. It is not enough to own a piece of fading substance; we need to be owned by something that transcends our time. We need God to lay hold on us.
This is why, in many of the earliest liturgical forms for baptism, those who were newly coming into the fellowship of believers were asked if they renounced the devil and all his works. Early on it was recognized that entering the kingdom of God was more than just adding another spiritual talisman to the mix of superstitious hex warders; it was a fundamental commitment of identity that could not be shared. No dual passports in this kingdom! The truly great treasure demands that one sell everything else. It is exclusive. And when it is purchased, it actually purchases you.
Some time ago I talked with a pastor of a large congregation in a major city. He was pleased with the worship and the ministries of his church. Everything seemed to operate with care, good taste, and competence. He had the right staff in place and they all were able to find dedicated, trained volunteers to shape a marvelous network of programs. Yet something didn't sit right with him. In his words, it was a very, very nice church. And therein was the problem. It was a church that looked after itself so well that it had forgotten that it was under orders to be about the missionary business of the kingdom of heaven.
If people wanted wonderful worship, all they had to do was join the congregation on Sundays. If they wanted terrific children's ministries and youth programs, all they had to do was drop their sons and daughters off at the right times. If anyone wanted a little diaconal assistance, just stop by the office and a secretary would arrange for a modest handout.
But the onus was on others to come and find the church. The congregation itself had little use for going out to search for the lost and the last and the least. It had given up being a net. It had lost its marching orders. It had gained the corner on "nice" but was losing the ability to call itself "church."
We are not saved so that we may politely pat ourselves on the back and smile at one another in the tiny corners we occupy. No, we are part of a mandate issued by the Lord of our estate that seeks and engages the fish of this world who might be swimming to their own destruction.
When we hear Jesus tell us about the kingdom of heaven we recover our sense of values and outcomes in the quagmire of daily events. We carry the passport of heaven. We live as those who are under orders to be and do and make a difference. And we know who writes the last chapter, because the kingdom of heaven is growing tenaciously around us in spite of reports to the contrary.
Application
God is good, creation is good, and human alienation from the good is a late introduction brought about by our sinful choices. Throughout scripture, the message communicated is that all of humanity had the same opportunities to remain in fellowship with the Creator and all are equally responsible for their distance from God.
But the prophets and apostles, and certainly Jesus himself, also couched the story in swaddling folds of never-ending grace. Time after time God initiated a restoration of relationships with humanity. All are welcome to be part of the team. As part of our latter days, in fact, God sent in Jesus to spur the team to new spiritual victories. Jesus is the expression of God's righteousness inserted recently into our world, and the means by which we are attached to the righteous endeavors of God. He is the glue that binds the team together and keeps them connected both to the owner and the game.
It is like the "deep magic" of Aslan in C.S. Lewis' great tale The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Most don't understand it but without it the game becomes a never-ending cycle of violence in which there are only losers.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 22:1-14. Savannah, Georgia, is a beautiful city of gardens and cemeteries and parks. Our youngest daughter went to college in Savannah just as Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil became popular in both book and movie versions. She even had a job for a summer working in one of the cemeteries where she reset gravestones and restored family monuments. Some of them had been looted and reconfigured by General Sherman's troops after his infamous Civil War "March to the Sea" from Atlanta to Savannah wasted many communities.
Sherman loved Savannah, however, and we could understand why. When platted in 1769, Savannah's founders created four "squares" of public park space to enhance the social life of its residents. As the city grew, the "squares" multiplied to 24, enhanced by other larger parkland areas and marvelously crafted cemeteries. Today Savannah's southern charm is enhanced by ghost stories and haunting sightings in its ancient buildings and sultry public places lined by Spanish moss-hung oaks.
John Wesley preached his first sermons in the New World in the squares of Savannah, cementing the gospel link between gardens and cemeteries and parks. Today his image stands in bronze downtown still crying out about eternity among those plagued by the fatal human disease of death. Interestingly, the story of our race, according to the Bible, begins in a garden, ends in a park-like city, and is focused in between on a cemetery.
Gardens speak of well-sculptured horticulture and minimal human engagement. Friends walk through parks and gardens. Lovers stroll secluded paths, picking flowers for one another and hiding smooches from public view. Birders relish the quiet of muted breezes carrying fowl calls of the wild.
Cities, on the other hand, rush and roil, bump and burn, stomp and shout, push and pluck, and assault every sense all at once. Cities are made for crime, particularly if you read of their origins in Genesis 5. The sons of Adam and daughters of Eve, who heard from their first parents of the delights of communion with God and one another, once ejected from the garden of bliss tried to re-create the great societies by building cities. They didn't work then, and rarely to the present have they ever been agents of great grace.
Yet it was to the city that rural Jesus came when he brought home the divine message of salvation. It was to the cities that Paul and others traveled with the good news about Jesus. In fact, the word "pagan" originally meant "farmer" or "rural person" in Greek, only picking up its negative connotations when the cities of the Roman world had become "Christianized" by the fourth century and those out in the country were left behind in the evangelization process.
Today the cities of our world cry for renewal. There are many social programs that seek to address small or great needs. But above all stands the call for the rebuilding of the city of humanity into the city of God. Though the final design and construction will require another mighty act of God at the end of time, today we participate in the global quest through restoring communities of faith, redeeming social structures, and renewing urban blight into blessing. This is what Jesus has in mind when he speaks of the kingdom of heaven, and its urgent invitation to people everywhere in the countryside of humanity. Come now, for the banquet of life is prepared in the city of God.
But among the clutter of equipment in one surgical suite, someone had managed to hide a shortwave set. At 5 p.m. each Sunday afternoon the doctors and nurses gathered secretly and tuned in softly to the worship service of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields on the edge of London. My friend could not remember a single sermon heard in those covert assemblies, but one thing he never forgot. At the close of each broadcast swelled the choral power of Henry Lyte's magnificent melody, "Abide With Me."
"In the distance we could hear the guns," the old doctor whispered, "and the cupboards of medical supplies rattled with falling bombs. We huddled together, standing close to the single speaker, weeping as we were transported for a few moments into the congregation in London, and with it to the very throne of God."
"This," he said, as we turned our own hymnbooks to the song, "is how we survived those dark and awful hours." And so we sang with him:
Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide!
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
O Thou who changest not, abide with me!
I think of him often when my students walk into class with buds in their ears linked to phones. "What are you listening to?" I ask them, and they tell me of the latest hits and greatest groups and hottest tunes and newest metal. I love music and share their passions, often playing videos of recent songs for classroom discussions.
But in the noisy archives of all the wonderful melodies I've loved and sung with pounding intensity or heart-throbbing intimacy, I wonder sometimes what music actually changes my life or places me in the company of those who need to enter another realm in order to remember what this one is truly all about. What are you listening to?
Each of today's lectionary passages echoes with the song of grace. For the Israelites at Mount Sinai, it was wedding bells that confirmed their relationship with Yahweh, even when the marriage got off to a rocky start. For Paul in his letter to the Philippians, it is the joy of dancing grace that lifts the spirit to transcendent places. And for Jesus when describing the kingdom of heaven, it is the haunting call of grace from the banqueting hall of eternity, causing folks on the highways and byways of life to stop and turn and long and hope for something that makes sense in an upside-down world.
Exodus 32:1-14
The tabernacle existed uniquely in its world, representing the physical home of Israel's deity as a residence within its own spatial and temporal context. Israel was not a people who needed to create representations of powers that it then idolized; instead, the very society in which it lived emanated from the identity of the chief citizen who lived at its heart.
It is in this context that the golden calf incident of Exodus 32-34 must be understood. Moses' delay on the mountain while talking with Yahweh on behalf of the people bred frustration and anxiety within the community. So they begged Aaron for symbols around which to rally, and what emerged was a bull calf made of gold. The Israelites were probably not seeking to worship something other than the God who brought them out of Egypt so recently; instead they were trying to find a representation of that God within their cultural frame of reference, so that they could cajole (or manipulate) this deity into further meaningful actions rather than wasting time in the seeming stall of their current lethargy. Since the bull calf was revered among the Egyptians for its ability to portray the liveliness of sentient power, it could well serve the Israelites in their quest to display national adolescent brash energy.
The problem for Yahweh, however, was twofold. First, the calf was an Egyptian symbol, and thus essentially blasphemous in light of Yahweh's recent decisive victory over all aspects of Egyptian power and civilization. Second, the calf reflected brute strength in the natural order and of a kind that could be controlled by human will. A bull was meant to be yoked, harnessed, and guided by whips and goads. True, it was more powerful than its human driver but at the same time it became a tool in service to the human will. For Yahweh to be represented in this manner undermined the significance of the divine defeat of Egypt and its culture and appeared to turn Yahweh into a mighty, albeit controllable, source of energy serving the Israelite will.
Under Moses' leadership his own tribe, the Levites, rallied to avenge Yahweh's disgrace. Because of that action they were appointed to the honored position of keepers of the house of God. Meanwhile, Yahweh himself wished to break covenant with Israel and instead start over with Moses' family; after all, Moses and Yahweh had become great partners and almost friends over the past few years and especially through their time on the mountain. Moses argued against this divine turnabout, however, for two reasons. First, he reminded the great one that Yahweh had sealed this suzerain-vassal covenant with Israel, and it could not so easily be discarded or broken. Yahweh had deliberately invested Yahweh's own destiny into this people, and while they might wrestle with the chafing fit of the new relationship, Yahweh no longer had a right to deny it. Second, Moses raised the card of shame. What would the nations say if Yahweh quit this project now? The peoples of the ancient Near East had begun to tremble because of Yahweh's decisive victory over Pharaoh; if the God of Israel was able so clearly and convincingly to topple the deities of Egypt and their power in both the natural and supernatural realms, what hope could there be for any other mere national interest or powers? But if Yahweh now suddenly left the Israelites to die in the wilderness, the nations around would see that this god was no more than a flash-bang, a one-hit wonder, a dog with more bark than bite. Moses used Yahweh's own covenant to make the deity toe the line and get back into bed with Israel on this honeymoon night.
Philippians 4:1-9
Sometime in the spring of 57 AD Paul arrived in Rome. While he was clearly a prisoner awaiting adjudication before Caesar himself, Paul was also a Roman citizen with rights and freedoms. Since the charges against him were sectarian (related to Jewish religious practices) rather than capital crimes, Paul was able to establish his own living circumstances within the larger palace precincts while remaining under a type of house arrest.
Probably late in 57 AD or early in 58, Epaphroditus, who had been serving as pastor or congregational leader in Philippi, brought Paul a rather significant gift from that church (Philippians 2:25; 4:10). It may have included both money and supplies; in any case, it greatly enhanced Paul's comfort in his limited circumstances.
Epaphroditus stayed on with Paul for some time, assisting him as a servant. Unfortunately, Epaphroditus became ill and nearly died (Philippians 2:25-30) and only very recently had returned to full health.
Paul believed that homesickness for Philippi and the congregation there might have contributed to Epaphroditus' grave malady and vowed to send him back home as soon as he was able to travel. Of course, a letter of appreciation and encouragement was a necessary part of all these things, so Paul penned Philippians, probably sometime in early 58 AD.
Paul's letter to the Philippians is the most joyful and uplifting note of the entire New Testament. Even in Paul's confinement, he is filled with delight in his relationships and amazed at what God is doing (Philippians 1). Almost without needing to do so, Paul reminds the congregation of the great example of Jesus, who gave up everything in order to express the love of God to us (Philippians 2:1-18). Another example of this selfless care is found in both Timothy and Epaphroditus, each of whom had sacrificed much in order to serve others, especially the faith community in Philippi (Philippians 2:19-30). More encouragement to serve follows, with Paul reflecting on his own changes of behavior and value systems once he was gripped by the love of God in Jesus (Philippians 3). There are a few personal instructions and notes of appreciation to round out the letter (Philippians 4).
Although other letters of Paul are more intentionally "theological," this small epistle has a particularly wonderful poetic reflection encapsulating the entire ministry of Christ in a few lines (Philippians 2:6-11). Because of its condensed and hymnic character, some think Paul brought these verses into his letter from an early popular Christian song or creedal statement. Perhaps so. Nevertheless, the whole of this short book is lyrical and reaches for the superlatives in life through lines that are both economical and majestic:
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things.
-- Philippians 4:8
Matthew 22:1-14
The idea of "kingdom of heaven" is central to Jesus' teachings, and a common theme throughout the gospel of Matthew. It implies citizenship or at least allegiance to a governing authority. In today's gospel reading, Jesus shows the gentle but ultimate compulsion it has in our lives.
It is the kind of thing that J.R.R. Tolkien tried to picture in his powerful trilogy The Lord of the Rings. Writing in the recovery years after World War II, Tolkien imagined what powers there are in this world that can possess peoples and nations, for good or for ill. His tale of the struggles of Middle Earth allegorically reflected the biblical idea of kingdoms in conflict.
Either, as Jesus indicates, we play games with little treasures, buying and selling them on world markets and moving among commercial districts that hold our attraction for a while, or we are sold out to a greater power. We sell all and buy it. We give up our claims in order that we might be claimed.
Our youngest daughter was born in Nigeria while I was teaching at the Reformed Theological College in Mkar. Because the Nigerian government does not automatically grant citizenship to all who are born on its soil, Kaitlyn was truly a person without a country in her earliest days. Until I could process her existence with the United States consulate in Kaduna she had no official identity, no traveling permissions, and no rights in society outside of our home. We took a picture of her at five days old, sleeping in my hands, and this became the photograph used on her passport for the first ten years of her life. The snapshot may have become outdated quickly as she grew through the stages of childhood, but the passport to which it was affixed declared that she belonged to the United States of America. She had rights. She had privileges. She had protection under the law. When the time came for us to leave Nigeria and travel through three continents to get back to North America, that little passport opened doors and prepared the way for her. She had never lived in the U.S., but the U.S. knew her by name and kept watch over her.
So it is and more with the kingdom of heaven, according to Jesus. It becomes the badge of identification for us, as well as the symbol of our protection and care. When we choose other pearls or dig around for treasures in our own backyards we get from them what we are looking for -- things that we can possess. But when the great prize of the hidden treasure comes our way, or we stumble onto the pearl of great price, we realize that our little hordes are insufficient. It is not enough to own a piece of fading substance; we need to be owned by something that transcends our time. We need God to lay hold on us.
This is why, in many of the earliest liturgical forms for baptism, those who were newly coming into the fellowship of believers were asked if they renounced the devil and all his works. Early on it was recognized that entering the kingdom of God was more than just adding another spiritual talisman to the mix of superstitious hex warders; it was a fundamental commitment of identity that could not be shared. No dual passports in this kingdom! The truly great treasure demands that one sell everything else. It is exclusive. And when it is purchased, it actually purchases you.
Some time ago I talked with a pastor of a large congregation in a major city. He was pleased with the worship and the ministries of his church. Everything seemed to operate with care, good taste, and competence. He had the right staff in place and they all were able to find dedicated, trained volunteers to shape a marvelous network of programs. Yet something didn't sit right with him. In his words, it was a very, very nice church. And therein was the problem. It was a church that looked after itself so well that it had forgotten that it was under orders to be about the missionary business of the kingdom of heaven.
If people wanted wonderful worship, all they had to do was join the congregation on Sundays. If they wanted terrific children's ministries and youth programs, all they had to do was drop their sons and daughters off at the right times. If anyone wanted a little diaconal assistance, just stop by the office and a secretary would arrange for a modest handout.
But the onus was on others to come and find the church. The congregation itself had little use for going out to search for the lost and the last and the least. It had given up being a net. It had lost its marching orders. It had gained the corner on "nice" but was losing the ability to call itself "church."
We are not saved so that we may politely pat ourselves on the back and smile at one another in the tiny corners we occupy. No, we are part of a mandate issued by the Lord of our estate that seeks and engages the fish of this world who might be swimming to their own destruction.
When we hear Jesus tell us about the kingdom of heaven we recover our sense of values and outcomes in the quagmire of daily events. We carry the passport of heaven. We live as those who are under orders to be and do and make a difference. And we know who writes the last chapter, because the kingdom of heaven is growing tenaciously around us in spite of reports to the contrary.
Application
God is good, creation is good, and human alienation from the good is a late introduction brought about by our sinful choices. Throughout scripture, the message communicated is that all of humanity had the same opportunities to remain in fellowship with the Creator and all are equally responsible for their distance from God.
But the prophets and apostles, and certainly Jesus himself, also couched the story in swaddling folds of never-ending grace. Time after time God initiated a restoration of relationships with humanity. All are welcome to be part of the team. As part of our latter days, in fact, God sent in Jesus to spur the team to new spiritual victories. Jesus is the expression of God's righteousness inserted recently into our world, and the means by which we are attached to the righteous endeavors of God. He is the glue that binds the team together and keeps them connected both to the owner and the game.
It is like the "deep magic" of Aslan in C.S. Lewis' great tale The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Most don't understand it but without it the game becomes a never-ending cycle of violence in which there are only losers.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 22:1-14. Savannah, Georgia, is a beautiful city of gardens and cemeteries and parks. Our youngest daughter went to college in Savannah just as Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil became popular in both book and movie versions. She even had a job for a summer working in one of the cemeteries where she reset gravestones and restored family monuments. Some of them had been looted and reconfigured by General Sherman's troops after his infamous Civil War "March to the Sea" from Atlanta to Savannah wasted many communities.
Sherman loved Savannah, however, and we could understand why. When platted in 1769, Savannah's founders created four "squares" of public park space to enhance the social life of its residents. As the city grew, the "squares" multiplied to 24, enhanced by other larger parkland areas and marvelously crafted cemeteries. Today Savannah's southern charm is enhanced by ghost stories and haunting sightings in its ancient buildings and sultry public places lined by Spanish moss-hung oaks.
John Wesley preached his first sermons in the New World in the squares of Savannah, cementing the gospel link between gardens and cemeteries and parks. Today his image stands in bronze downtown still crying out about eternity among those plagued by the fatal human disease of death. Interestingly, the story of our race, according to the Bible, begins in a garden, ends in a park-like city, and is focused in between on a cemetery.
Gardens speak of well-sculptured horticulture and minimal human engagement. Friends walk through parks and gardens. Lovers stroll secluded paths, picking flowers for one another and hiding smooches from public view. Birders relish the quiet of muted breezes carrying fowl calls of the wild.
Cities, on the other hand, rush and roil, bump and burn, stomp and shout, push and pluck, and assault every sense all at once. Cities are made for crime, particularly if you read of their origins in Genesis 5. The sons of Adam and daughters of Eve, who heard from their first parents of the delights of communion with God and one another, once ejected from the garden of bliss tried to re-create the great societies by building cities. They didn't work then, and rarely to the present have they ever been agents of great grace.
Yet it was to the city that rural Jesus came when he brought home the divine message of salvation. It was to the cities that Paul and others traveled with the good news about Jesus. In fact, the word "pagan" originally meant "farmer" or "rural person" in Greek, only picking up its negative connotations when the cities of the Roman world had become "Christianized" by the fourth century and those out in the country were left behind in the evangelization process.
Today the cities of our world cry for renewal. There are many social programs that seek to address small or great needs. But above all stands the call for the rebuilding of the city of humanity into the city of God. Though the final design and construction will require another mighty act of God at the end of time, today we participate in the global quest through restoring communities of faith, redeeming social structures, and renewing urban blight into blessing. This is what Jesus has in mind when he speaks of the kingdom of heaven, and its urgent invitation to people everywhere in the countryside of humanity. Come now, for the banquet of life is prepared in the city of God.
