The Quiet Man
Sermon
Daniel J. Weitner
And Other Reflections On Christmas
Object:
[Mary's] husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to
expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly.
But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord
appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, Son of David, do
not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived
in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are
to name him Jesus ..." When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of
the Lord commanded him; he took [Mary] as his wife (Matthew 1:19-
21, 24).
Simplicity is the thread that attaches God's help to our need. Wise are God's servants who learn to stitch straight lines.
Preachers often lose sight of that fact. They tend to weave unnecessarily intricate theological patterns which entangle the feet of those looking for God, and strangle their understanding of what is really an easily-understood gospel. Somtimes it takes nothing more than a plain, unadorned act of love to clear away the web so the thread can be seen.
The late Harry Rogers was a self-effacing sort who was easily embarrassed when any accolades were given him for what he did. The same can be said of his widow, Betty. But I think it's time to say that the Rogerses performed a ministry that is one of the most profound I have ever encountered.
It also happens to be one of the simplest and most quiet. And it reminds me of a man whose story in the Bible is unique in that not one word he uttered is quoted, yet he has influenced generations as if what he said filled volumes.
To a freshman at a small liberal-arts college in the hills of northwestern Pennsylvania, Dr. Harry Rogers' method of teaching New Testament Greek made a considerable impact. It is something that I've never forgotten. Before any of us knew how to fully decipher the Greek alphabet, before we knew anything of Koine idioms, before we knew the intricacies of parsing -- from the first day of Greek 101, we began translating the Gospel according to John, from the first verse of chapter one:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with The God, and God was the Word.
Dr. Rogers of Grove City College had a theory, that something worth doing is worth pursuing one hundred percent. Plunge right in. Don't hesitate. Even if it goes against the current of conventional wisdom. Even if it doesn't square with tried-and-true methods that have been used for long periods of time.
What was true of his standards in the classroom was also true of his home life. As vigorously and exuberantly as he taught, Harry Rogers played. He loved railroading. He had train paraphernalia all over. He had shelves, stacks, boxes full of timetables, dating from goodness-knows-when, culled from goodness-knows-where. He was always sending away for updated versions.
The same thing can be said of Betty Rogers. When she worked, she took the job seriously. When it was time for recreation, she had fun! I remember that it was just about the time we pre- seminary types were getting just a wee grim about our studies that we'd get an invitation to go to Dr. and Mrs. Rogers' house. We would talk. We would tell jokes. We would play parlor games. The kind of activities more reminiscent of the late nineteenth century than two-thirds of the way through the twentieth.
But it was just what we needed! And at just the right time. Betty had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly when to tell us to "lighten up." I guess it was part of her ministry to people she thought of as friends, not just students. (Incidentally, if you are ever curious, please drop me a line and ask me what "This Is a Dog ..." is all about.)
Harry and Betty Rogers also sent out Christmas cards. Betty still does. That in itself is not really unusual. What is different is the number of cards that are mailed. If my math is correct, by now it must be hovering somewhere near 1,200. What is also different is how the cards are prepared. Every day of the year, the Rogerses randomly selected three or four cards that had been sent to them the previous Christmas. Betty carries on that tradition.
What did this dear couple do with the cards?
* They read the message.
* They thought of the individual, couple, or family represented by the card.
* They prayed for them.
Harry and Betty prayed specifically and intentionally for their health, their spiritual life in Christ, their joy in the Lord. Then, and only then, was the card signed and the envelope addressed.
It was a quiet ministry, silent to all but God and themselves, but it was a ministry nonetheless. It continues to be just that.
What difference does it make? What possible need is met in this high-tech age by receiving a Christmas card that the widow of a retired professor has prayed over? Just ask those who have said it was just what the doctor ordered, to realize that someone had expended the care, time, and prayer in order to express love. Ask those whose sagging souls were summoned from the shadows by the Spirit of God who flew to their side on the wings of intercession.
It is a simple, straight thread of prayer linking God to one who needs God.
In this age, we have been conditioned to give special attention to the boisterous, the showy, the "glitzy," and the just plain noisy. We have been allured by piercing decibels -- the louder something is said or sung, the better and more truthful it must be. Or so we have been told.
Yet God has always spoken most eloquently in the silence.
As a result of our patterning, we tend to miss a great deal that the Lord has in store for us. We fail to stop and listen in the pauses of life -- the quiet times -- the spaces between one crisis and the next. We're grim, we're short, and we're ill- tempered.
Consider: the incarnate Word of God -- Jesus Christ -- was given in the still of the night in a quiet, obscure village in a corner of the Judean landscape; he was greeted, mind you, not by the official leadership of his day nor by their representatives, but by the silent reverence of awe-struck, adoring shepherds who knew that something wonderful had happened to them and to the whole world.
Several weeks earlier, in obedience to both the civil authorities and the irresistible will of God, Joseph of Nazareth packed up his bags and, with Mary his beloved, headed for Bethlehem, where they would be registered for the census.
All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child (Luke 2:3-5).
If you look for a description of God's call to serve written by Joseph, you won't find it. If you search for words of wisdom he may have shared with those of his home synagogue in Nazareth, you won't find them. If you hope to find something comparable to Mary's song of joy, but spoken by Joseph, your pursuit will be in vain.
All we know of Joseph is that he was a righteous man, a man who loved Mary very much, a man who was fiercely protective of his soon-to-be wife. A man who knew what it was to have doubts.
A man who knew the triumph of faith.
A man who knew that God often speaks most eloquently in the silence.
Joseph embodies the principle that the best theologies are not necessarily the most complicated, but the simple ones that show where to find God's strength in the moment of crisis. A theology that falls back, not on law but on faith. In Nazareth, had Joseph become entangled with the web of legalism, he likely would have let Mary fall victim to stoning, or else headed the line of her accusers. Later, in Bethlehem, had Joseph been more concerned with the form of his "righteous" and "just" behavior than the behavior itself, by the time he got around to helping Mary she would have already given birth to the Redeemer alone, helpless and miserable.
Joseph had a quiet ministry. We can only speculate as to what he said to his beloved, because not one word is recorded in Scripture. But because he is noted as one who did what was good and just, we know that what he did for Mary was exactly what she needed. He prayed for her. He begged God's strength for her. He implored the Almighty that she might be given comfort in her hour of need. And he asked that his love might be enough, that it would see her through.
It did.
When was the last time you caught hold of the simple thread? There are books on pure theology written in scholarly terms so complex, an academic would have a hard time getting past the preface. Then there are books which are a curious combination of theological musings and self-help. Into a third category you can put works that are closer to New Age human potential ritual and hype than theology.
Unfortunately, they all fail to live up to their intended goal. And what, after all, is the goal of theology except to assist the reader to understand the Bible and the God who authored it?
Maybe in your life there is some Joseph of Nazareth, or some Harry or Betty Rogers, whose theology is utterly simple. (One illustrious seminary professor, when asked by a student what he considered the greatest theological statement, is reported to have said, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.") What he or she has done was intended to help you out of some problem or rut. But you have rejected it because it doesn't "fit" into your stereotype of what is theology and what is not. Maybe you have the notion that great theologies have to come packaged in full-color slip jackets and hand-sewn hardcovers. Maybe you think they have to have the imprimatur of some mainline denomination.
And maybe you equate simple with silly.
If you do, I would like to offer the following axioms. They deal with those who have more than their share of problems but don't know where to turn. They are decidedly simple, but they have proven helpful to more than a few people:
* The Bible is a book that tells of imperfect, sinful persons.
* The gospel is a story that tells of God's mercy.
* There isn't a person alive who doesn't need help.
* You can't be helped if you don't admit it.
* Compassion isn't a crutch.
* Somewhere, someone wants to give you compassion.
* True love doesn't cost a cent.
* God's grace is true love, and you don't owe him anything.
* Christmas is not a sweet, sappy, saccharine story. It is not a story to be dragged out and dusted off one quick season of the year.
Christmas is a powerful story, a story of true love, the truest love that ever existed. Salvation's power, love's source, came in the quiet and unpresuming anonymity of a profoundly simple birth on a silent night that was made holy by heaven touching earth, the divine coming among us, God dwelling among us, Emmanuel.
And thus, the Almighty works through all the Josephs, Marys, Harrys, Bettys, and the rest of those quiet folks who know that simplicity is the thread that attaches God's help to our need.
Simplicity is the thread that attaches God's help to our need. Wise are God's servants who learn to stitch straight lines.
Preachers often lose sight of that fact. They tend to weave unnecessarily intricate theological patterns which entangle the feet of those looking for God, and strangle their understanding of what is really an easily-understood gospel. Somtimes it takes nothing more than a plain, unadorned act of love to clear away the web so the thread can be seen.
The late Harry Rogers was a self-effacing sort who was easily embarrassed when any accolades were given him for what he did. The same can be said of his widow, Betty. But I think it's time to say that the Rogerses performed a ministry that is one of the most profound I have ever encountered.
It also happens to be one of the simplest and most quiet. And it reminds me of a man whose story in the Bible is unique in that not one word he uttered is quoted, yet he has influenced generations as if what he said filled volumes.
To a freshman at a small liberal-arts college in the hills of northwestern Pennsylvania, Dr. Harry Rogers' method of teaching New Testament Greek made a considerable impact. It is something that I've never forgotten. Before any of us knew how to fully decipher the Greek alphabet, before we knew anything of Koine idioms, before we knew the intricacies of parsing -- from the first day of Greek 101, we began translating the Gospel according to John, from the first verse of chapter one:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with The God, and God was the Word.
Dr. Rogers of Grove City College had a theory, that something worth doing is worth pursuing one hundred percent. Plunge right in. Don't hesitate. Even if it goes against the current of conventional wisdom. Even if it doesn't square with tried-and-true methods that have been used for long periods of time.
What was true of his standards in the classroom was also true of his home life. As vigorously and exuberantly as he taught, Harry Rogers played. He loved railroading. He had train paraphernalia all over. He had shelves, stacks, boxes full of timetables, dating from goodness-knows-when, culled from goodness-knows-where. He was always sending away for updated versions.
The same thing can be said of Betty Rogers. When she worked, she took the job seriously. When it was time for recreation, she had fun! I remember that it was just about the time we pre- seminary types were getting just a wee grim about our studies that we'd get an invitation to go to Dr. and Mrs. Rogers' house. We would talk. We would tell jokes. We would play parlor games. The kind of activities more reminiscent of the late nineteenth century than two-thirds of the way through the twentieth.
But it was just what we needed! And at just the right time. Betty had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly when to tell us to "lighten up." I guess it was part of her ministry to people she thought of as friends, not just students. (Incidentally, if you are ever curious, please drop me a line and ask me what "This Is a Dog ..." is all about.)
Harry and Betty Rogers also sent out Christmas cards. Betty still does. That in itself is not really unusual. What is different is the number of cards that are mailed. If my math is correct, by now it must be hovering somewhere near 1,200. What is also different is how the cards are prepared. Every day of the year, the Rogerses randomly selected three or four cards that had been sent to them the previous Christmas. Betty carries on that tradition.
What did this dear couple do with the cards?
* They read the message.
* They thought of the individual, couple, or family represented by the card.
* They prayed for them.
Harry and Betty prayed specifically and intentionally for their health, their spiritual life in Christ, their joy in the Lord. Then, and only then, was the card signed and the envelope addressed.
It was a quiet ministry, silent to all but God and themselves, but it was a ministry nonetheless. It continues to be just that.
What difference does it make? What possible need is met in this high-tech age by receiving a Christmas card that the widow of a retired professor has prayed over? Just ask those who have said it was just what the doctor ordered, to realize that someone had expended the care, time, and prayer in order to express love. Ask those whose sagging souls were summoned from the shadows by the Spirit of God who flew to their side on the wings of intercession.
It is a simple, straight thread of prayer linking God to one who needs God.
In this age, we have been conditioned to give special attention to the boisterous, the showy, the "glitzy," and the just plain noisy. We have been allured by piercing decibels -- the louder something is said or sung, the better and more truthful it must be. Or so we have been told.
Yet God has always spoken most eloquently in the silence.
As a result of our patterning, we tend to miss a great deal that the Lord has in store for us. We fail to stop and listen in the pauses of life -- the quiet times -- the spaces between one crisis and the next. We're grim, we're short, and we're ill- tempered.
Consider: the incarnate Word of God -- Jesus Christ -- was given in the still of the night in a quiet, obscure village in a corner of the Judean landscape; he was greeted, mind you, not by the official leadership of his day nor by their representatives, but by the silent reverence of awe-struck, adoring shepherds who knew that something wonderful had happened to them and to the whole world.
Several weeks earlier, in obedience to both the civil authorities and the irresistible will of God, Joseph of Nazareth packed up his bags and, with Mary his beloved, headed for Bethlehem, where they would be registered for the census.
All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child (Luke 2:3-5).
If you look for a description of God's call to serve written by Joseph, you won't find it. If you search for words of wisdom he may have shared with those of his home synagogue in Nazareth, you won't find them. If you hope to find something comparable to Mary's song of joy, but spoken by Joseph, your pursuit will be in vain.
All we know of Joseph is that he was a righteous man, a man who loved Mary very much, a man who was fiercely protective of his soon-to-be wife. A man who knew what it was to have doubts.
A man who knew the triumph of faith.
A man who knew that God often speaks most eloquently in the silence.
Joseph embodies the principle that the best theologies are not necessarily the most complicated, but the simple ones that show where to find God's strength in the moment of crisis. A theology that falls back, not on law but on faith. In Nazareth, had Joseph become entangled with the web of legalism, he likely would have let Mary fall victim to stoning, or else headed the line of her accusers. Later, in Bethlehem, had Joseph been more concerned with the form of his "righteous" and "just" behavior than the behavior itself, by the time he got around to helping Mary she would have already given birth to the Redeemer alone, helpless and miserable.
Joseph had a quiet ministry. We can only speculate as to what he said to his beloved, because not one word is recorded in Scripture. But because he is noted as one who did what was good and just, we know that what he did for Mary was exactly what she needed. He prayed for her. He begged God's strength for her. He implored the Almighty that she might be given comfort in her hour of need. And he asked that his love might be enough, that it would see her through.
It did.
When was the last time you caught hold of the simple thread? There are books on pure theology written in scholarly terms so complex, an academic would have a hard time getting past the preface. Then there are books which are a curious combination of theological musings and self-help. Into a third category you can put works that are closer to New Age human potential ritual and hype than theology.
Unfortunately, they all fail to live up to their intended goal. And what, after all, is the goal of theology except to assist the reader to understand the Bible and the God who authored it?
Maybe in your life there is some Joseph of Nazareth, or some Harry or Betty Rogers, whose theology is utterly simple. (One illustrious seminary professor, when asked by a student what he considered the greatest theological statement, is reported to have said, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.") What he or she has done was intended to help you out of some problem or rut. But you have rejected it because it doesn't "fit" into your stereotype of what is theology and what is not. Maybe you have the notion that great theologies have to come packaged in full-color slip jackets and hand-sewn hardcovers. Maybe you think they have to have the imprimatur of some mainline denomination.
And maybe you equate simple with silly.
If you do, I would like to offer the following axioms. They deal with those who have more than their share of problems but don't know where to turn. They are decidedly simple, but they have proven helpful to more than a few people:
* The Bible is a book that tells of imperfect, sinful persons.
* The gospel is a story that tells of God's mercy.
* There isn't a person alive who doesn't need help.
* You can't be helped if you don't admit it.
* Compassion isn't a crutch.
* Somewhere, someone wants to give you compassion.
* True love doesn't cost a cent.
* God's grace is true love, and you don't owe him anything.
* Christmas is not a sweet, sappy, saccharine story. It is not a story to be dragged out and dusted off one quick season of the year.
Christmas is a powerful story, a story of true love, the truest love that ever existed. Salvation's power, love's source, came in the quiet and unpresuming anonymity of a profoundly simple birth on a silent night that was made holy by heaven touching earth, the divine coming among us, God dwelling among us, Emmanuel.
And thus, the Almighty works through all the Josephs, Marys, Harrys, Bettys, and the rest of those quiet folks who know that simplicity is the thread that attaches God's help to our need.
