In Betwixt And Between
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
Series I, Cycle C
It was a calm and lazy summer evening, almost dark. As the sun set, casting a reddish-golden haze to the air and a glowing reflection upon the water, a grandfather and his small grandson sat on the edge of the fishing pier watching nature's glory, not really caring whether they caught any fish or not. There was an understanding silence between the two, bridging the gap of the years, binding them together with a bond beyond understanding. The wisdom of wrinkles and years, the questioning naiveté of innocence, there was an awareness of one another that required no words and it was good. Both gazing upon the glorious sight, the silence was broken when the lad questioned, "Grandpa, do you ever see God?"
"Son," the old man replied, "it's getting to where I hardly see anything else."
Is that not an image of that which we all desire -- an encounter and experience with God that is accompanied by peace and harmony with him and our loved ones? We, too, desire to see God, to know him, to love him, and to have him love us. Is that not what life and our faith is all about? But some of us, if not most of us, surely did not start out that way! We reluctantly came to deity, heavy with unforgiven sin, almost backing in, touched with apprehension and fear. I know I did. I came to God because I was scared of going to hell. My relationship to the Father has assumed a more benevolent tone as the years have progressed, but it was scary in the beginning.
Possibly it was an experience for me and perhaps for others, not unlike the encounter experienced by Moses and the children of Israel at Mount Sinai when God handed down the covenant in the form of the Ten Commandments. "You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them, because they could not bear what was commanded: 'If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned.' The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, 'I am trembling with fear' " (vv. 18-21 NIV). Although the commandments, the giving of the law was a good thing, the writer of Hebrews employs Sinai as a negative sign, a symbol of everything that goes awry in religion when it is severed from the high-priestly ministry of Jesus. Sinai is a place of dread and fear. Even though the mountain is ablaze with fire, it radiates gloom and doom. To touch Sinai is fatal, and any animal that ventures onto this holy ground is destroyed. Thunder rumbles with deafening intensity. Jagged lightning splits the sky. Storms rage. A trumpet blasts so loudly that it scares the wits of all who hear it. The voice of God bellows and they beg to hear it no more. It is such a scene of sheer fear and terror that even Moses, himself, is afraid.
Sinai is a place filled with horror and fear. It is as if Moses and the children of Israel came to God as unclean sinners and there encountered a God of holy terror, who refuses to see their shame or to be seen by them. Thank God that no one who reads this came to God that way -- or did we?
That was the bad news! The good news is that we did not come to Mount Sinai but to Mount Zion. "But you have come to Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the judge of all men, to the spirits of righteous men made perfect, to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel" (vv. 22-24 NIV). Here the scene, the symbol, the atmosphere is totally different. Mount Zion is everything Mount Sinai is not. Mount Zion is a paradise where a perpetual party is in place. It is a place of joy and accessibility where everyone can approach the throne of grace with boldness (Hebrews 4:16).
The writer of Hebrews describes this joyful perpetual party with four pairs of terms. Mount Zion is both a mountain and a city. Mount Zion in David's day was symbolic of a kingly reign of prosperity and peace where the highest ideals of government and worship were achieved. It was Israel's Camelot. But now Mount Zion is a city, the New Jerusalem, the city of the living God, created by God and for all his children to inhabit. Here no one cries out in fear but all rest in the assurance and security of God's presence and love.
Mount Zion is adorned by the angels and the church of the firstborn. Here are thousands upon thousands of festive angels, frolicking and laughing. No gloom here. Accompanying the rejoicing angels is the "church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven" (v. 23). This is the preacher's way of referring to those who have preceded us in the race, who have already reaped their internal reward, who rejoice every day in the eternal presence of God. This is paradise!
Mount Zion also is inhabited by the Judge and the acquitted. Everyone approaches Mount Sinai heavy laden, encumbered, and guilty with unforgiven sin. To touch the mountain is to die. To see God is to die. Even Moses is afraid. Guilt brings fear. At Mount Zion the Judge is there but pronounces everyone "not guilty," as "persons made perfect," moving toward completeness in the image of Christ (v. 23).
Mount Zion also has Jesus and the sprinkled blood. There is blood on Mount Sinai and there is blood on Mount Zion, but it is not the same blood. On Mount Sinai, it is the blood of sin, violence, and tragedy. The blood of Abel cries out for revenge resulting in the endless flow of the blood sacrifices of animals to a god who will not be appeased. On Mount Zion is the blood of Jesus given in loving self-sacrifice, offered once and for all. It is the blood of a new covenant based not upon fear of God and guilt but founded upon forgiveness made possible by Jesus' compassion, forging an avenue of accessibility to the very throne of God where there is peace and endless joy.
On Mount Zion there is endless joy because there is endless worship in God's true sanctuary. It is similar to the witness of John in the fourth chapter of Revelation where he opens the door to the throne room of God. This is the very throne room of heaven. This is the center of the universe, where it all happened and where still it happens. This is where the universe was spoken into being and from where the universe is managed. This is the center of all there is. And we are surprised! It is not a factory where everything from fleas to trees is made. It is not a boardroom where executive decisions are handed down with absolute authority as to which civilization will thrive and which will prosper. It is not where roadmaps for human destiny are chiseled in stone. It is not even a switchboard where incoming calls are received, registered, and returned with answers favorable and unfavorable. No! It is none of that. At the very center of the universe there is a sanctuary where day upon day, hours without end, there occurs nothing less than the worship and adoration of God. It is a perpetual party characterized by laughter, praise, joy, and eternal delight. That is good news!
So, what do we do in the meantime? We have not come to Sinai with its fear and dread. We are going to Zion with its endless joy and worship. But, what about now? What about the time in betwixt and between? Well, we listen to God. In short, we live a life of worship and praise to prepare us for that time when we shall worship and praise him forever. In the meantime, we, too, can approach God in worship as we encounter and experience his presence. We are to listen to him and not refuse his warning. "See to it that you do not refuse him who speaks. If they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, how much less will we, if we turn away from him who warns us from heaven?" (v. 25 NIV). Here the preacher voices an appeal in the form of a threat. It is a warning. We must not "refuse him who speaks." We must listen to God -- to our unshakable God in our very shaky world.
We live in a shaky world. The death of Timothy McVeigh has not eased all the shakiness of Oklahoma City. Have you seen your retirement funds reduced lately? Some would say that the stock market has been a bit shaky. There is more than one government on an unsure foundation on the international scene. Respect for authority has taken a nose dive, some of it deserved. A man occupies the White House who did not win the popular vote of the American people. Some say that the church is going through its greatest transition in hundreds of years and the dust has not settled yet.
Speaking of dust, I write this on September 11, 2001. I do not have to remind you how that day will change, has changed, our shaky world. When a small band of conscienceless cowards can destroy so many and so much, I do not have to remind you of the shaky foundation upon which much of our way of life is built. We live in a shaky world.
Too, our unshakable God sometimes wishes to shake us and our complacent lives up. He is the "consuming fire" that desires to remove the dross from the gold, to rid us of anything that does not belong and hinders his purpose for our lives.
It is said that Leonardo da Vinci had a guest who was admiring his masterpiece of the Last Supper. The guest was particularly intrigued with two goblets upon the table, especially attracted to their intricate design. After hearing the remarks, the master abruptly brushed out the two goblets and exclaimed, "It is the face I want you to see." God desires to separate from us anything that hinders the work of Jesus in our lives. From our perspective, that process is called repentance.
John Claypool first told me the story of the old sailor very apparently lying upon his death bed. Some who cared for him summoned the priest, a young novice with little experience in such eternal matters. The young man began his nervous remarks by saying, "I am sure, sir, that you are aware of your serious condition and undoubtedly wish to make amends and express regret for your sins."
The "old salt" thought a moment and then responded, "Well, Father, to be honest with you, I am not sorry for the life I have lived. I have enjoyed my life of wine, women, and song and do not wish to leave this world with a lie upon my lips."
The young priest was taken aback. He hardly knew how to respond, and then a moment of true inspiration arrived as he said, "Then tell me, sir. Can you truly say that you are sorry that you are not sorry?"
The change in the old man's demeanor was evident as moisture filled his eyes as he replied, "Yes, Father. I can definitely say that. I am sorry that I am not sorry."
I am sorry that I am not sorry. Whew! Not much! Just the slightest opening in the door. But, sometimes, that is all God needs to enter therein. I wish that I had come to God out of an overwhelming love for him and desire to share his very life and to serve him sacrificially. I did not! I came out of fear. Many have done the same as their first encounter with God was a Sinailike experience of childlike awe, even dread. Many start out on the stormy mountain, but thank God, we do not have to remain there.
We come to God through prayer. But prayer is not always what we think. I love Robert Farrar Capon's definition. Prayer is not going to God, for he is already in you. Prayer is not seeking God, for he has already found you. Prayer is not opening yourself up to God, for you could not keep him out if you tried. Prayer is not becoming spiritual, because he had rather show you Jesus than help you display your spiritual prowess. And it is certainly not buttering God up with abject apologies for your existence, because in his beloved Son, he already thinks you are dandy. Prayer is just talking to someone who is already talking to you.1 Prayer is just listening to someone who is already listening for you. What do we do in the meantime? We listen to God.
We also come to God with grateful hearts. "Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God" (v. 28a). When we come to God in worship, we place ourselves in a position to allow him to accomplish his transforming work in us. Fred Craddock states that God's final work of grace in us is to make us gracious. It is God's work, his act of grace. Our work is worship and the spiritual discipline necessary to place us where he can transform us. But it is his work. It does not come naturally.
When we lived in Canaan, Indiana, we took a trip with our three small sons to Santa Claus, Indiana. As you can imagine, the entire city is built around the Christmas theme. There is a post office in Santa Claus, which receives many of the letters written to Santa by boys and girls of all ages. I asked the postmaster, "How many letters did you receive last year from boys and girls describing their Christmas wish list?"
"Too numerous to mention," he said. "Probably thousands."
I then asked him, "How many letters did you receive last year after Christmas thanking Santa for his generosity?"
He hesitated not one minute when he responded, "One!" One letter out of all the thousands! Giving thanks does not come naturally. It is God's work of grace in us that makes us gracious. Our work is worship! "Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God -- this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is -- his good, pleasing and perfect will" (Romans 12:1-2 NIV). In the meantime, we can place ourselves in worship where he can give us grateful hearts.
In the meantime, in betwixt and between Sinai and Zion, we can come to God "with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire" (vv. 28b-29). All of our worship begins with and must be appropriate to who God is. Our God is a "consuming fire." He is the refiner's fire that burns and destroys only to separate the dross from the gold "so that which cannot be shaken may remain" (v. 27). He is the fire that tempers us better fit for his use, that fashions and shapes us into an appearance pleasing unto him. And all that he asks is that we approach him with such reverence and awe that position us in a place where he can perform his transforming work.
All God asks is that we sit still in his presence. That is why we come to worship. We do not come to worship to be entertained, to see the show. We do not come to worship to register our likes and dislikes, as if God can only work through our preference or experience. We do not come to worship to make religion work for us, to see what Jesus can do for me. We do not come to worship to find a cheap therapist in Jesus in order to feel better or even worse to have "our toes stepped on." We do not come to worship to create a God of our own liking, as did the children of Israel in the valley while Moses was up on the mountain. Golden calves and the gospel of prosperity seem to have a lot in common. We come to worship to approach God, to encounter him in reverence and awe, allowing him to shape our experience and us. We are to sit still.
Sitting still is not easy in a shaky world where our self-worth is often perceived in terms of what we can produce or how much we can acquire, amass, and accumulate. As Michael J. Fox said in the midst of combating that terrible disease, "I couldn't be still until I couldn't be still!" Maybe another entertainer adds an additional positive word when ole Willie Nelson sings from his heart and through his nose: "Still is still moving to me." Sometimes we need just to sit still with reverence and awe in the presence of God. Besides if any transforming is to be done, God will do it, and not us!
Therefore, if we listen to God, allow him to make us gracious as we sit still in reverence and awe as we worship him, we may just accidentally run into a few serendipitous surprises that God has in store. We may find that there is actually only one God. Tom Long says, "We do not have two Gods, one shrouded in smoke on Sinai, the other running around Zion like a dotty old man, twisting his watch knob and merrily handing out candy to children. The God of Sinai and the God of Zion are one and the same, holy and awe-full, a purifying fire of perfect judgement."2
Another surprise awaiting us is that we discover serendipitously that there is not only one God but only one mountain as well -- the dwelling place of God. There may be two paths up the hill, but only one destination. One walks up fearfully, heavy laden with sin, traveling in one's own strength, while the other ascends hand in hand with Jesus. The question is: "With whom will you travel?"
Possibly John Duncan had a clue. James Steward reminds us that Duncan was a scholar, a mystic, and a theologian of the first rank. It was said that he knew Hebrew so well that he probably prayed to God in the Old Testament language. Several students, seeking to see if it were so, stationed themselves outside his study while Duncan was in prayer. They were surprised to hear,
Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.
Look upon his little child.
Pity my simplicity
Suffer me to come to Thee.3
We would see Jesus!
____________
1. Robert Farrar Capon, The Foolishness of Preaching (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1998), p. 68.
2. Tom Long, Hebrews (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1997), p. 140.
3. James S. Stewart, The Wind of the Spirit (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1968), p. 133.
"Son," the old man replied, "it's getting to where I hardly see anything else."
Is that not an image of that which we all desire -- an encounter and experience with God that is accompanied by peace and harmony with him and our loved ones? We, too, desire to see God, to know him, to love him, and to have him love us. Is that not what life and our faith is all about? But some of us, if not most of us, surely did not start out that way! We reluctantly came to deity, heavy with unforgiven sin, almost backing in, touched with apprehension and fear. I know I did. I came to God because I was scared of going to hell. My relationship to the Father has assumed a more benevolent tone as the years have progressed, but it was scary in the beginning.
Possibly it was an experience for me and perhaps for others, not unlike the encounter experienced by Moses and the children of Israel at Mount Sinai when God handed down the covenant in the form of the Ten Commandments. "You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them, because they could not bear what was commanded: 'If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned.' The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, 'I am trembling with fear' " (vv. 18-21 NIV). Although the commandments, the giving of the law was a good thing, the writer of Hebrews employs Sinai as a negative sign, a symbol of everything that goes awry in religion when it is severed from the high-priestly ministry of Jesus. Sinai is a place of dread and fear. Even though the mountain is ablaze with fire, it radiates gloom and doom. To touch Sinai is fatal, and any animal that ventures onto this holy ground is destroyed. Thunder rumbles with deafening intensity. Jagged lightning splits the sky. Storms rage. A trumpet blasts so loudly that it scares the wits of all who hear it. The voice of God bellows and they beg to hear it no more. It is such a scene of sheer fear and terror that even Moses, himself, is afraid.
Sinai is a place filled with horror and fear. It is as if Moses and the children of Israel came to God as unclean sinners and there encountered a God of holy terror, who refuses to see their shame or to be seen by them. Thank God that no one who reads this came to God that way -- or did we?
That was the bad news! The good news is that we did not come to Mount Sinai but to Mount Zion. "But you have come to Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the judge of all men, to the spirits of righteous men made perfect, to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel" (vv. 22-24 NIV). Here the scene, the symbol, the atmosphere is totally different. Mount Zion is everything Mount Sinai is not. Mount Zion is a paradise where a perpetual party is in place. It is a place of joy and accessibility where everyone can approach the throne of grace with boldness (Hebrews 4:16).
The writer of Hebrews describes this joyful perpetual party with four pairs of terms. Mount Zion is both a mountain and a city. Mount Zion in David's day was symbolic of a kingly reign of prosperity and peace where the highest ideals of government and worship were achieved. It was Israel's Camelot. But now Mount Zion is a city, the New Jerusalem, the city of the living God, created by God and for all his children to inhabit. Here no one cries out in fear but all rest in the assurance and security of God's presence and love.
Mount Zion is adorned by the angels and the church of the firstborn. Here are thousands upon thousands of festive angels, frolicking and laughing. No gloom here. Accompanying the rejoicing angels is the "church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven" (v. 23). This is the preacher's way of referring to those who have preceded us in the race, who have already reaped their internal reward, who rejoice every day in the eternal presence of God. This is paradise!
Mount Zion also is inhabited by the Judge and the acquitted. Everyone approaches Mount Sinai heavy laden, encumbered, and guilty with unforgiven sin. To touch the mountain is to die. To see God is to die. Even Moses is afraid. Guilt brings fear. At Mount Zion the Judge is there but pronounces everyone "not guilty," as "persons made perfect," moving toward completeness in the image of Christ (v. 23).
Mount Zion also has Jesus and the sprinkled blood. There is blood on Mount Sinai and there is blood on Mount Zion, but it is not the same blood. On Mount Sinai, it is the blood of sin, violence, and tragedy. The blood of Abel cries out for revenge resulting in the endless flow of the blood sacrifices of animals to a god who will not be appeased. On Mount Zion is the blood of Jesus given in loving self-sacrifice, offered once and for all. It is the blood of a new covenant based not upon fear of God and guilt but founded upon forgiveness made possible by Jesus' compassion, forging an avenue of accessibility to the very throne of God where there is peace and endless joy.
On Mount Zion there is endless joy because there is endless worship in God's true sanctuary. It is similar to the witness of John in the fourth chapter of Revelation where he opens the door to the throne room of God. This is the very throne room of heaven. This is the center of the universe, where it all happened and where still it happens. This is where the universe was spoken into being and from where the universe is managed. This is the center of all there is. And we are surprised! It is not a factory where everything from fleas to trees is made. It is not a boardroom where executive decisions are handed down with absolute authority as to which civilization will thrive and which will prosper. It is not where roadmaps for human destiny are chiseled in stone. It is not even a switchboard where incoming calls are received, registered, and returned with answers favorable and unfavorable. No! It is none of that. At the very center of the universe there is a sanctuary where day upon day, hours without end, there occurs nothing less than the worship and adoration of God. It is a perpetual party characterized by laughter, praise, joy, and eternal delight. That is good news!
So, what do we do in the meantime? We have not come to Sinai with its fear and dread. We are going to Zion with its endless joy and worship. But, what about now? What about the time in betwixt and between? Well, we listen to God. In short, we live a life of worship and praise to prepare us for that time when we shall worship and praise him forever. In the meantime, we, too, can approach God in worship as we encounter and experience his presence. We are to listen to him and not refuse his warning. "See to it that you do not refuse him who speaks. If they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, how much less will we, if we turn away from him who warns us from heaven?" (v. 25 NIV). Here the preacher voices an appeal in the form of a threat. It is a warning. We must not "refuse him who speaks." We must listen to God -- to our unshakable God in our very shaky world.
We live in a shaky world. The death of Timothy McVeigh has not eased all the shakiness of Oklahoma City. Have you seen your retirement funds reduced lately? Some would say that the stock market has been a bit shaky. There is more than one government on an unsure foundation on the international scene. Respect for authority has taken a nose dive, some of it deserved. A man occupies the White House who did not win the popular vote of the American people. Some say that the church is going through its greatest transition in hundreds of years and the dust has not settled yet.
Speaking of dust, I write this on September 11, 2001. I do not have to remind you how that day will change, has changed, our shaky world. When a small band of conscienceless cowards can destroy so many and so much, I do not have to remind you of the shaky foundation upon which much of our way of life is built. We live in a shaky world.
Too, our unshakable God sometimes wishes to shake us and our complacent lives up. He is the "consuming fire" that desires to remove the dross from the gold, to rid us of anything that does not belong and hinders his purpose for our lives.
It is said that Leonardo da Vinci had a guest who was admiring his masterpiece of the Last Supper. The guest was particularly intrigued with two goblets upon the table, especially attracted to their intricate design. After hearing the remarks, the master abruptly brushed out the two goblets and exclaimed, "It is the face I want you to see." God desires to separate from us anything that hinders the work of Jesus in our lives. From our perspective, that process is called repentance.
John Claypool first told me the story of the old sailor very apparently lying upon his death bed. Some who cared for him summoned the priest, a young novice with little experience in such eternal matters. The young man began his nervous remarks by saying, "I am sure, sir, that you are aware of your serious condition and undoubtedly wish to make amends and express regret for your sins."
The "old salt" thought a moment and then responded, "Well, Father, to be honest with you, I am not sorry for the life I have lived. I have enjoyed my life of wine, women, and song and do not wish to leave this world with a lie upon my lips."
The young priest was taken aback. He hardly knew how to respond, and then a moment of true inspiration arrived as he said, "Then tell me, sir. Can you truly say that you are sorry that you are not sorry?"
The change in the old man's demeanor was evident as moisture filled his eyes as he replied, "Yes, Father. I can definitely say that. I am sorry that I am not sorry."
I am sorry that I am not sorry. Whew! Not much! Just the slightest opening in the door. But, sometimes, that is all God needs to enter therein. I wish that I had come to God out of an overwhelming love for him and desire to share his very life and to serve him sacrificially. I did not! I came out of fear. Many have done the same as their first encounter with God was a Sinailike experience of childlike awe, even dread. Many start out on the stormy mountain, but thank God, we do not have to remain there.
We come to God through prayer. But prayer is not always what we think. I love Robert Farrar Capon's definition. Prayer is not going to God, for he is already in you. Prayer is not seeking God, for he has already found you. Prayer is not opening yourself up to God, for you could not keep him out if you tried. Prayer is not becoming spiritual, because he had rather show you Jesus than help you display your spiritual prowess. And it is certainly not buttering God up with abject apologies for your existence, because in his beloved Son, he already thinks you are dandy. Prayer is just talking to someone who is already talking to you.1 Prayer is just listening to someone who is already listening for you. What do we do in the meantime? We listen to God.
We also come to God with grateful hearts. "Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God" (v. 28a). When we come to God in worship, we place ourselves in a position to allow him to accomplish his transforming work in us. Fred Craddock states that God's final work of grace in us is to make us gracious. It is God's work, his act of grace. Our work is worship and the spiritual discipline necessary to place us where he can transform us. But it is his work. It does not come naturally.
When we lived in Canaan, Indiana, we took a trip with our three small sons to Santa Claus, Indiana. As you can imagine, the entire city is built around the Christmas theme. There is a post office in Santa Claus, which receives many of the letters written to Santa by boys and girls of all ages. I asked the postmaster, "How many letters did you receive last year from boys and girls describing their Christmas wish list?"
"Too numerous to mention," he said. "Probably thousands."
I then asked him, "How many letters did you receive last year after Christmas thanking Santa for his generosity?"
He hesitated not one minute when he responded, "One!" One letter out of all the thousands! Giving thanks does not come naturally. It is God's work of grace in us that makes us gracious. Our work is worship! "Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God -- this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is -- his good, pleasing and perfect will" (Romans 12:1-2 NIV). In the meantime, we can place ourselves in worship where he can give us grateful hearts.
In the meantime, in betwixt and between Sinai and Zion, we can come to God "with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire" (vv. 28b-29). All of our worship begins with and must be appropriate to who God is. Our God is a "consuming fire." He is the refiner's fire that burns and destroys only to separate the dross from the gold "so that which cannot be shaken may remain" (v. 27). He is the fire that tempers us better fit for his use, that fashions and shapes us into an appearance pleasing unto him. And all that he asks is that we approach him with such reverence and awe that position us in a place where he can perform his transforming work.
All God asks is that we sit still in his presence. That is why we come to worship. We do not come to worship to be entertained, to see the show. We do not come to worship to register our likes and dislikes, as if God can only work through our preference or experience. We do not come to worship to make religion work for us, to see what Jesus can do for me. We do not come to worship to find a cheap therapist in Jesus in order to feel better or even worse to have "our toes stepped on." We do not come to worship to create a God of our own liking, as did the children of Israel in the valley while Moses was up on the mountain. Golden calves and the gospel of prosperity seem to have a lot in common. We come to worship to approach God, to encounter him in reverence and awe, allowing him to shape our experience and us. We are to sit still.
Sitting still is not easy in a shaky world where our self-worth is often perceived in terms of what we can produce or how much we can acquire, amass, and accumulate. As Michael J. Fox said in the midst of combating that terrible disease, "I couldn't be still until I couldn't be still!" Maybe another entertainer adds an additional positive word when ole Willie Nelson sings from his heart and through his nose: "Still is still moving to me." Sometimes we need just to sit still with reverence and awe in the presence of God. Besides if any transforming is to be done, God will do it, and not us!
Therefore, if we listen to God, allow him to make us gracious as we sit still in reverence and awe as we worship him, we may just accidentally run into a few serendipitous surprises that God has in store. We may find that there is actually only one God. Tom Long says, "We do not have two Gods, one shrouded in smoke on Sinai, the other running around Zion like a dotty old man, twisting his watch knob and merrily handing out candy to children. The God of Sinai and the God of Zion are one and the same, holy and awe-full, a purifying fire of perfect judgement."2
Another surprise awaiting us is that we discover serendipitously that there is not only one God but only one mountain as well -- the dwelling place of God. There may be two paths up the hill, but only one destination. One walks up fearfully, heavy laden with sin, traveling in one's own strength, while the other ascends hand in hand with Jesus. The question is: "With whom will you travel?"
Possibly John Duncan had a clue. James Steward reminds us that Duncan was a scholar, a mystic, and a theologian of the first rank. It was said that he knew Hebrew so well that he probably prayed to God in the Old Testament language. Several students, seeking to see if it were so, stationed themselves outside his study while Duncan was in prayer. They were surprised to hear,
Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.
Look upon his little child.
Pity my simplicity
Suffer me to come to Thee.3
We would see Jesus!
____________
1. Robert Farrar Capon, The Foolishness of Preaching (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1998), p. 68.
2. Tom Long, Hebrews (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1997), p. 140.
3. James S. Stewart, The Wind of the Spirit (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1968), p. 133.
