The Vastness Of Relationships
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
Series II, Cycle A
Object:
At this time of year, the Christmas and Epiphany seasons, various preachers, teachers, and Sunday school lessons remind us that we sometimes overdo things in our Christmas pageants and Christmas cards by mixing distinct Bible stories together into one great mish-mash. We have the angel choir and shepherds from the Luke 2 Christmas story, which we celebrated last week, along with the kings from the East (not numbered in the scriptures, although we usually settle for three) from Matthew 2, which we will celebrate next week on Epiphany. Sometimes they are gathered at the stable from Luke and other times at the house from Matthew. Their point is a good one: By jumbling various passages together, we may very well obscure or even lose important distinct teachings each story has for us. But as we consider the epistle lesson for today, I want to suggest that you can't overdo the mental imagery. Go ahead and have the angel choir and the star that led the Magi crowding each other in the night sky; bring on the shepherds along with the three kings. For that matter, you might as well include Jeanette Isabella with her torch, and the talking animals and the little drummer boy for good measure. Because today's reading from Ephesians is unimaginably expansive and reminds us that the unfathomable graciousness of God's act in Jesus Christ cannot be limited by time or space.
Perhaps it is an indication of the complexity of the content of our lesson that verses 3-14 are one long sentence in the original manuscripts; translators (and for that matter editors of modern Greek New Testaments) have added punctuation to help us. Paul (or the later disciple of his who penned this letter) has so much to say about God, the relationship of the various members of the Trinity to one another and to us, and our relationship to God and the vastness of the Creator's work that it just all spills out. It is about the vastness of relationships. It is sometimes pointed out that this passage falls into three convenient sections and it may even be divided up this way in some of your study Bibles: verses 3-6 focusing on the Father, verses 7-11 on the Son, and verses 12-14 on the work of the Holy Spirit. While there is a kernel of truth in this, it is far too neat a package and seems to me to try to represent overlaying a neatly thought-out idea of the nature of God on a much more dynamic and relational passage. So let's try, as difficult as it may be for us, to not do that. Let's begin at the beginning and see where it takes us.
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love." We are called to bless God, to give God the honor and glory due God's name, throughout scripture and for a variety of reasons. God is the creator, we are creatures, and so we bless and praise God for the gift of life. God has given us the great gift of the law, of revelation, so that we, as people of faith, are not left to our own devices to stumble around in a dark world seeking out the light, but we are able to learn what God desires for us and obey. In fact, one of the Hebrew terms often used to denote praise and worship shares its root with the description of a shepherd using the crook to reign in and guide the flock. We are grateful for guidance and protection. But perhaps most striking in the Hebrew Bible is the teaching that praise and blessing are the appropriate human responses to God's acts of salvation in history. Think of Psalm 96:
O sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. Sing to the Lord, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvellous works among all the peoples. For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; he is to be revered above all gods.
-- Psalm 96:1-4
Or Psalm 118:
O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love endures for ever! ... Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me in a broad place. With the Lord on my side I do not fear. What can mortals do to me? ... It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in mortals. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in princes.-- Psalm 118:1, 5-6, 8-9— Psalm 118:1, 5-6, 8-9
Today we bless God because of the work of salvation God has continued and brought to completion in Jesus Christ, a work that began before the foundations of the world and that extends to the heavenly places. As amazing as the deliverance at the Red Sea may have been, as awe-inspiring as David's mighty conquests extending the boundaries of Israel to their greatest extent may have been, this cosmic work in Jesus is truly mind-bending. It expands the notion of God working in history -- the Old Testament narratives, the miracles of Jesus, and the missionary journeys of Paul, God reaching out to you or me in a moment of particular need -- to a galactic scale.
Stop for a moment and consider this: Paul's theme here is not creation per se but is clearly about the purpose of God through Christ in the church. Yet, Paul stresses that the scope of God's purpose is much more inclusive than just the church, extending beyond what most of us can imagine. Because we preachers are what the British would call "professional religionists," we tend to see things through the lens of the local church. I should hasten to add that key lay people in most congregations become pretty good "semi-professional religionists" as well.
So I may, for example, preach a sermon about serving God through Jesus Christ more fully and, quite naturally, choose my examples from a church list: singing in the choir, teaching Sunday school, helping with the youth program. I may even broaden it a bit beyond my congregation perhaps by mentioning a short-term mission team being organized by a cluster of churches. But at the conclusion of the service someone shakes my hand and says, "You know, preacher, I am a physical therapist. I work one day a month at the free clinic downtown treating people with inadequate insurance. I do it because of my commitment as a Christian. It may not be at a church, but I see it as part of my service to Christ." Who's right on that one? Paul says that God's electing purpose began "before the foundation of the world," as a "plan for the fullness of time" that will conclude with gathering all things in heaven and earth in "the beloved" Jesus. That, of course, includes the work of the church, but goes well beyond it.
Amazingly, we are taught that this cosmic God has a plan and has destined us for adoption. For truth in advertising, I need to acknowledge that I read this text as a Wesleyan-Arminian -- I just can't help it. And I read it as a Wesleyan-Arminian who is alarmed about the flippant use in many churches today of the glib phrase, "God has a plan for your life." I am troubled because of two tendencies I have often seen. One is to understand the phrase, "God has a plan for your life," almost like the ancient Greeks understood the words of an oracle: It is a mysterious prediction to be pursued. Nicky Gumbel, of the Alpha Course, tells the story of the Cockney who could not decide to which of two girlfriends to propose. One was Sally and the other was Maria. He was attracted to both. Although not a religious person, he stopped into a church one day and decided to pray. "'elp me God," he prayed, "to choose the right woman. Whom shall I 'ave Lord, Sally or Maria?" And he got his answer as he looked up at the stained-glass window and saw the words, "Ave Maria." Such people become preoccupied with figuring out what God's plan is for them, as if it is some secret, rather than living by faith into God's plan for them. Others fall into the trap of what John Wesley derogated as "Quietism," the attitude that "if God indeed has a plan for me, then I might as well just lean back and go along for the ride." It seems to diminish our responsibility as believers to expect much of either God or ourselves. After all, God has a plan.
Perhaps you recall from sermons or lessons on the parables of the good steward and the dishonest steward (Luke 12 and 16) that the biblical term we translate as "steward" is oikonomos, a term that derived its meaning from the word oikos, house or dwelling. Oikonomos referred to the individual, often a high-ranking slave, who had oversight of the affairs of a house, organization, or town. He was in charge of income and expenses, as well as overseeing whatever farming or cottage industries existed, and the general well-being of the house or town by assigning servants and employees to their various duties. He was in charge of the economia, the economy of things. Because we tend to use the word "economy" almost exclusively with regard to money, we have to remind ourselves at stewardship campaign time that we are called to be stewards of everything we control, our time, our talent, all our resources and relationships including, of course, our money. It is this word, oikonomia, that is rendered "plan" in today's and similar texts that describe God's plan. It tells of God's providential direction of all things in the cosmos and, we are taught, is a plan for the fullness of time. Does it include that Cockney's proposal? Of course it does. Is it to be reduced to fortune-telling, like reading a Tarot card? Never! Because God's plan, Ephesians tells us, is "set forth in Christ ... for the fullness of time to gather up all things in [Christ], things in heaven and things on earth" (Ephesians 1:9-10).
Fortunately, we have other documents from Paul to clarify what is meant here. In Galatians, he compared the role of the law God had given the Hebrew people to the role a guardian plays in the life of a minor. Up to a certain point, it is appropriate for the legal guardian to make decisions for and tutor the young person. But the time of maturity arrives when the person is an adult, no longer in need of such assistance. So the law played such an appropriate role for people of faith, up to a point. "But when the fullness of time had come," Paul wrote the Galatians, "God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!' So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God" (Galatians 4:4-7). The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus represents the fullness of time, the decisive epoch when all the promises for the future God had made through the ages became available. And unlike events like the giving of the law or the crossing of the Red Sea, which are recalled in memory and thereby shape us, the work of Christ in gathering all things to himself continues.
It is interesting that in Galatians and Ephesians, as well as Romans, Paul uses the metaphor of "adoption." While the legal moment of adoption has significance, it is the continuing status that really matters. Our 35-year-old son, Tim, was "adopted" in 1976 and is just as much adopted today; adoption never ends. So the new covenant of Christ gathering all things to himself is ongoing. Our adoption by God is an ongoing process of maturing, growing, and deepening in relationship. You'll be happy to know that thirty-some years later, Tim is not still a little boy, nor do he and I relate in the same way we did then. But we are still father and son, the relationship remains while it changes.
Scripture makes it clear that we are expected to grow and bear fruit. Jesus spoke about it in parables. Paul, in Romans 12, calls us to undergo a process of transformation of our minds. Last week's lesson from Hebrews reminds us that both the end toward which we strive and how we get there are important. This is where the Holy Spirit enters today's lesson: When we come to faith in Christ, Paul says, we were "marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit"; this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God's own people. You don't pledge something that is paid off; a pledge entails future work. When we believe in Christ, we begin the process of adoption, of relationship, of being drawn to Christ with all things. It is the beginning of a vast web of relationships, not the end.
This vastness of relationships, Paul says, is all good. "He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will." When scripture describes God's plan for individuals it is in this context of goodness and growth. It is so that believers might "be conformed to the image of his son" (Romans 8:29), and enjoy "the things God has prepared for those who love him" (1 Corinthians 2:7). When we allow our thinking to become unhinged from the biblical witness of God's mercy and love made known in the fullness of time, odd things can happen. We begin to conjecture that if God has planned good for some, then God must have planned ill for others; if some are (pre)destined for life and joy, others must be (pre)destined for death and defeat. Perhaps what God desires for us is not all good. One of the latest New Testament letters addressed this feeling of discouragement among believers very clearly: "[The Lord] He is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9).
While most of us have heard Philip Yancey's story from What's So Amazing About Grace? at least once, it is worth recalling. A friend involved in urban ministry told Yancey of a particularly harrowing meeting with a drug-addicted prostitute who had reached such depths of despair that she was renting out her two-year-old daughter for sex. Yancey describes what his friend tried next:
I could hardly bear hearing her sordid story. For one thing, it made me legally liable. I'm required to report cases of child abuse. I had no idea what to say to this woman. At last I asked if she had ever thought of going to a church for help. I will never forget the look of pure, naive shock that crossed her face. "Church!" she cried. "Why would I ever go there? I was already feeling terrible about myself. They'd just make me feel worse."1
Yancey goes on to point out what should be obvious: in scripture women much like this prostitute fled toward Jesus, not away from him. The worse a person felt about herself, the more likely she saw Jesus as a refuge. Evidently the down-and-out, who flocked to Jesus when he lived on earth, no longer feel welcome among his followers.
We really do need to expand that Christmas scene. Maybe we should include not just Jeannette Isabella and the little drummer boy, but a prostitute or two, a few lepers, a blind man, and a hated tax collector. The unfathomable graciousness of God's act in Jesus Christ cannot be limited by time or space, or by our doctrines or hard-heartedness. It cannot be limited by the walls of the church, or the fences of social custom. That's hard to accept, let alone live out. But the good news is that when we believe, we are adopted as children of God and receive the pledge of inheritance through the Holy Spirit. And we find ourselves in this vast relationship with the triune God and with all creation. Amen.
____________
1. Philip Yancy, What's So Amazing About Grace? (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, 1997), p. 11.
Perhaps it is an indication of the complexity of the content of our lesson that verses 3-14 are one long sentence in the original manuscripts; translators (and for that matter editors of modern Greek New Testaments) have added punctuation to help us. Paul (or the later disciple of his who penned this letter) has so much to say about God, the relationship of the various members of the Trinity to one another and to us, and our relationship to God and the vastness of the Creator's work that it just all spills out. It is about the vastness of relationships. It is sometimes pointed out that this passage falls into three convenient sections and it may even be divided up this way in some of your study Bibles: verses 3-6 focusing on the Father, verses 7-11 on the Son, and verses 12-14 on the work of the Holy Spirit. While there is a kernel of truth in this, it is far too neat a package and seems to me to try to represent overlaying a neatly thought-out idea of the nature of God on a much more dynamic and relational passage. So let's try, as difficult as it may be for us, to not do that. Let's begin at the beginning and see where it takes us.
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love." We are called to bless God, to give God the honor and glory due God's name, throughout scripture and for a variety of reasons. God is the creator, we are creatures, and so we bless and praise God for the gift of life. God has given us the great gift of the law, of revelation, so that we, as people of faith, are not left to our own devices to stumble around in a dark world seeking out the light, but we are able to learn what God desires for us and obey. In fact, one of the Hebrew terms often used to denote praise and worship shares its root with the description of a shepherd using the crook to reign in and guide the flock. We are grateful for guidance and protection. But perhaps most striking in the Hebrew Bible is the teaching that praise and blessing are the appropriate human responses to God's acts of salvation in history. Think of Psalm 96:
O sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. Sing to the Lord, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvellous works among all the peoples. For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; he is to be revered above all gods.
-- Psalm 96:1-4
Or Psalm 118:
O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love endures for ever! ... Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me in a broad place. With the Lord on my side I do not fear. What can mortals do to me? ... It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in mortals. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in princes.-- Psalm 118:1, 5-6, 8-9— Psalm 118:1, 5-6, 8-9
Today we bless God because of the work of salvation God has continued and brought to completion in Jesus Christ, a work that began before the foundations of the world and that extends to the heavenly places. As amazing as the deliverance at the Red Sea may have been, as awe-inspiring as David's mighty conquests extending the boundaries of Israel to their greatest extent may have been, this cosmic work in Jesus is truly mind-bending. It expands the notion of God working in history -- the Old Testament narratives, the miracles of Jesus, and the missionary journeys of Paul, God reaching out to you or me in a moment of particular need -- to a galactic scale.
Stop for a moment and consider this: Paul's theme here is not creation per se but is clearly about the purpose of God through Christ in the church. Yet, Paul stresses that the scope of God's purpose is much more inclusive than just the church, extending beyond what most of us can imagine. Because we preachers are what the British would call "professional religionists," we tend to see things through the lens of the local church. I should hasten to add that key lay people in most congregations become pretty good "semi-professional religionists" as well.
So I may, for example, preach a sermon about serving God through Jesus Christ more fully and, quite naturally, choose my examples from a church list: singing in the choir, teaching Sunday school, helping with the youth program. I may even broaden it a bit beyond my congregation perhaps by mentioning a short-term mission team being organized by a cluster of churches. But at the conclusion of the service someone shakes my hand and says, "You know, preacher, I am a physical therapist. I work one day a month at the free clinic downtown treating people with inadequate insurance. I do it because of my commitment as a Christian. It may not be at a church, but I see it as part of my service to Christ." Who's right on that one? Paul says that God's electing purpose began "before the foundation of the world," as a "plan for the fullness of time" that will conclude with gathering all things in heaven and earth in "the beloved" Jesus. That, of course, includes the work of the church, but goes well beyond it.
Amazingly, we are taught that this cosmic God has a plan and has destined us for adoption. For truth in advertising, I need to acknowledge that I read this text as a Wesleyan-Arminian -- I just can't help it. And I read it as a Wesleyan-Arminian who is alarmed about the flippant use in many churches today of the glib phrase, "God has a plan for your life." I am troubled because of two tendencies I have often seen. One is to understand the phrase, "God has a plan for your life," almost like the ancient Greeks understood the words of an oracle: It is a mysterious prediction to be pursued. Nicky Gumbel, of the Alpha Course, tells the story of the Cockney who could not decide to which of two girlfriends to propose. One was Sally and the other was Maria. He was attracted to both. Although not a religious person, he stopped into a church one day and decided to pray. "'elp me God," he prayed, "to choose the right woman. Whom shall I 'ave Lord, Sally or Maria?" And he got his answer as he looked up at the stained-glass window and saw the words, "Ave Maria." Such people become preoccupied with figuring out what God's plan is for them, as if it is some secret, rather than living by faith into God's plan for them. Others fall into the trap of what John Wesley derogated as "Quietism," the attitude that "if God indeed has a plan for me, then I might as well just lean back and go along for the ride." It seems to diminish our responsibility as believers to expect much of either God or ourselves. After all, God has a plan.
Perhaps you recall from sermons or lessons on the parables of the good steward and the dishonest steward (Luke 12 and 16) that the biblical term we translate as "steward" is oikonomos, a term that derived its meaning from the word oikos, house or dwelling. Oikonomos referred to the individual, often a high-ranking slave, who had oversight of the affairs of a house, organization, or town. He was in charge of income and expenses, as well as overseeing whatever farming or cottage industries existed, and the general well-being of the house or town by assigning servants and employees to their various duties. He was in charge of the economia, the economy of things. Because we tend to use the word "economy" almost exclusively with regard to money, we have to remind ourselves at stewardship campaign time that we are called to be stewards of everything we control, our time, our talent, all our resources and relationships including, of course, our money. It is this word, oikonomia, that is rendered "plan" in today's and similar texts that describe God's plan. It tells of God's providential direction of all things in the cosmos and, we are taught, is a plan for the fullness of time. Does it include that Cockney's proposal? Of course it does. Is it to be reduced to fortune-telling, like reading a Tarot card? Never! Because God's plan, Ephesians tells us, is "set forth in Christ ... for the fullness of time to gather up all things in [Christ], things in heaven and things on earth" (Ephesians 1:9-10).
Fortunately, we have other documents from Paul to clarify what is meant here. In Galatians, he compared the role of the law God had given the Hebrew people to the role a guardian plays in the life of a minor. Up to a certain point, it is appropriate for the legal guardian to make decisions for and tutor the young person. But the time of maturity arrives when the person is an adult, no longer in need of such assistance. So the law played such an appropriate role for people of faith, up to a point. "But when the fullness of time had come," Paul wrote the Galatians, "God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!' So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God" (Galatians 4:4-7). The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus represents the fullness of time, the decisive epoch when all the promises for the future God had made through the ages became available. And unlike events like the giving of the law or the crossing of the Red Sea, which are recalled in memory and thereby shape us, the work of Christ in gathering all things to himself continues.
It is interesting that in Galatians and Ephesians, as well as Romans, Paul uses the metaphor of "adoption." While the legal moment of adoption has significance, it is the continuing status that really matters. Our 35-year-old son, Tim, was "adopted" in 1976 and is just as much adopted today; adoption never ends. So the new covenant of Christ gathering all things to himself is ongoing. Our adoption by God is an ongoing process of maturing, growing, and deepening in relationship. You'll be happy to know that thirty-some years later, Tim is not still a little boy, nor do he and I relate in the same way we did then. But we are still father and son, the relationship remains while it changes.
Scripture makes it clear that we are expected to grow and bear fruit. Jesus spoke about it in parables. Paul, in Romans 12, calls us to undergo a process of transformation of our minds. Last week's lesson from Hebrews reminds us that both the end toward which we strive and how we get there are important. This is where the Holy Spirit enters today's lesson: When we come to faith in Christ, Paul says, we were "marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit"; this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God's own people. You don't pledge something that is paid off; a pledge entails future work. When we believe in Christ, we begin the process of adoption, of relationship, of being drawn to Christ with all things. It is the beginning of a vast web of relationships, not the end.
This vastness of relationships, Paul says, is all good. "He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will." When scripture describes God's plan for individuals it is in this context of goodness and growth. It is so that believers might "be conformed to the image of his son" (Romans 8:29), and enjoy "the things God has prepared for those who love him" (1 Corinthians 2:7). When we allow our thinking to become unhinged from the biblical witness of God's mercy and love made known in the fullness of time, odd things can happen. We begin to conjecture that if God has planned good for some, then God must have planned ill for others; if some are (pre)destined for life and joy, others must be (pre)destined for death and defeat. Perhaps what God desires for us is not all good. One of the latest New Testament letters addressed this feeling of discouragement among believers very clearly: "[The Lord] He is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9).
While most of us have heard Philip Yancey's story from What's So Amazing About Grace? at least once, it is worth recalling. A friend involved in urban ministry told Yancey of a particularly harrowing meeting with a drug-addicted prostitute who had reached such depths of despair that she was renting out her two-year-old daughter for sex. Yancey describes what his friend tried next:
I could hardly bear hearing her sordid story. For one thing, it made me legally liable. I'm required to report cases of child abuse. I had no idea what to say to this woman. At last I asked if she had ever thought of going to a church for help. I will never forget the look of pure, naive shock that crossed her face. "Church!" she cried. "Why would I ever go there? I was already feeling terrible about myself. They'd just make me feel worse."1
Yancey goes on to point out what should be obvious: in scripture women much like this prostitute fled toward Jesus, not away from him. The worse a person felt about herself, the more likely she saw Jesus as a refuge. Evidently the down-and-out, who flocked to Jesus when he lived on earth, no longer feel welcome among his followers.
We really do need to expand that Christmas scene. Maybe we should include not just Jeannette Isabella and the little drummer boy, but a prostitute or two, a few lepers, a blind man, and a hated tax collector. The unfathomable graciousness of God's act in Jesus Christ cannot be limited by time or space, or by our doctrines or hard-heartedness. It cannot be limited by the walls of the church, or the fences of social custom. That's hard to accept, let alone live out. But the good news is that when we believe, we are adopted as children of God and receive the pledge of inheritance through the Holy Spirit. And we find ourselves in this vast relationship with the triune God and with all creation. Amen.
____________
1. Philip Yancy, What's So Amazing About Grace? (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, 1997), p. 11.
