Thoughts on faith, musings on Scripture, plus audios and videos of sermons from Boulevard Presbyterian in Grandview Heights, an older suburb just a couple miles from downtown Columbus, OH. Add your two cents to the mix.
In today's reading from John, the religious authorities bring Jesus a woman who has been caught in adultery. Her "guilt" is apparently never in dispute. The only issue is how Jesus will respond. "Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?"
Saying "the law Moses commanded us," is the equivalent of someone today saying, "It says right here in the Bible..." And it does say in the Bible, in Leviticus 20 and Deuteronomy 22 to be precise, that a woman caught in adultery is to be killed. (For that matter the man is to be killed as well, but the male religious authorities seem to have forgotten this.) Obviously this woman is brought to Jesus because Jesus has developed a reputation for bending and breaking the rules. Will Jesus say, "Do what the Bible commands," or will he go against the Bible and get himself in trouble?
But as is so often happens, Jesus pulls off a nifty escape that does not require him to say outright, "Disobey the Scriptures." But nonetheless, he does disobey the Scriptures that demand this woman be killed in order to "purge the evil from Israel." There is simply no getting around the fact that Jesus, the Messiah promised by Scripture, decides that certain Scripture should not be followed.
What are we to do with the Bible? Like the religious authorities in today's gospel, many of us are good at using it as a weapon. We employ it selectively to support our causes and bludgeon our opponents. Some say that homosexuality is an abomination because it says so in the Bible. Of course the same passage also says that planting two different kinds of seeds in the same field is an abomination, as is wearing clothing made from two different materials. It also says that children who curse their parents must be put to death, and a stubborn and rebellious son who has failed to respond to his parent's discipline can be taken to the town elders and ordered stoned to death.
It's hardly a news flash that all of us use the Bible in selective fashion, reading it to support what we like and condemn what we don't. Conservative Christians often claim religious warrant for supporting a strong military and limited government while liberal Christians claim religious warrant for pursuing peace and have large scale social services for the poor and needy. Both can find passages in the Bible to support their stance.
But if today's gospel is any guide, what we are to do as Christians is never as simple as "What does it say in the Bible?" After all, Jesus completely ignores what is says in the Bible.
I'll show my own bias and say that this is why I so like the stance of my own, Reformed tradition that sees the Bible as a witness to Jesus Christ. As a witness it points to something and by its testimony unveils the truth to us. But that truth cannot be found by using the Bible like a dictionary or encyclopedia. We cannot search the index for the passages on adultery or homosexuality or war or parenting or whatever and then say we know what we are to do. That's like rendering a verdict in a court case after listening to a few words uttered by one of the witnesses in a week long trial. Only after we listen to all the witnesses in totality can we come close to understanding what is true.
Why do you think Jesus disobeys the Bible the way he does? What does that say about how we are to read the Bible and use it as we seek to be the people of God?
Growing up I learned the story of young Jacob stealing his older brother Esau's birthright. But I'm not sure that it registered what a true scoundrel Jacob was. He not only stole Esau's birthright but, with the aid of his own mother (talk about dysfunctional families), he tricked his father into giving him the blessing intended for Esau. Yet despite all this, the story in Genesis makes it clear that God's promise runs through Jacob, this trickster and scoundrel.
I'm not always sure what to make of this, but one thing is certain, God's blessings and plans take a circuitous route that I would never have chosen. That probably recommends that we all exercise a great deal of humility when it comes to deciding who is and who isn't a part of God's plans.
The same sort of problem crops up with Jesus. In today's reading from John, the fact that Jesus comes from Galilee prevents people from being able to embrace him as Messiah. They are sure that nothing good can come from Galilee, not to mention prophecies saying the Messiah would come from Bethlehem. But in John's gospel the issue is not whether Jesus is from Bethlehem or Galilee. The issue is that Jesus comes from God, and so arguments about earthly origins miss the point.
It seems to me that both Jacob and Jesus emphasize that "God moves in mysterious ways." And so whoever we are and however we tend to interpret the Bible, any arrogance that is certain we've gotten it right may well cause us to miss what God is up to.
Luke tells a different version of Jesus calling his first disciples than Matthew and Mark do. In Luke, Jesus has been to Simon's house prior to this. Apparently Simon "knew" Jesus but didn't quite realize who he was. But when he does, Jesus calls him.
In today's verses from Hebrews, the writer recounts great acts of faith from heroes of Old Testament days, but then adds, "Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect. Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses..."
My congregation repeats the Apostles' Creed most Sundays, saying that we believe in "the communion of saints." Saints here speaks of all those in Christ, not some sort of super Christians, and the creed is saying that we are all joined together. Together we form a great arc through history. The faith of saints long dead impacts us, and our faith affects them.
Yet we modern American Christians have turned our faith into something that is largely individualistic. Despite what we may say in a creed, we tend to view faith as something personal between us and God. And I think it is such thinking that allows people to participate in a congregation, do a little mission work down at the homeless shelter, then make business and political decisions with no thought as to how those decisions square with the teachings of Jesus.
Our associate pastor preached a sermon recently that honed in on the line in 1 Corinthians 12 where Paul speaks of believers as one body saying, "If one member suffers all suffer together." Yet in our individualist view of faith, others are so disconnected from us that their suffering is usually easy for us to ignore, and it has little impact on how we live out our faith.
I first heard of this when my father read me "Bible Stories" as a small child, and we studied it as children in Sunday School. But I've never really understood why anyone would tell this story to a child, the story of Abraham preparing to kill his son, Isaac.
I've never been sure what to do with this story. Is Abraham to be blessed by God only because he passed this "test?" The angel says, "Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore." But this promise had been made by God to Abram long before this event. Was there some fine print in the covenant that said Abram would have to prove himself for the promise to be good?
I'm not sure it is possible to read this story as a straightforward account of actual events and not be left with some truly disturbing images of God. God comes off as nearly sadistic. After all, if God truly "knows the heart," why the need for any test at all? And God is the one who recruited Abraham for this role, who had uprooted his life and took him away from family.
I find this text disturbing, but I know that many Christians find my questioning of the text equalling disturbing. If, like me, you grew up in a Protestant church culture that revered the Bible, it can be difficult to challenge the obvious, plain meaning of a biblical account. But I am convinced that we, like Jacob, must wrestle with the God we meet in the pages of Scripture if we are to be blessed and changed (although we may find ourselves with limp; see Genesis 32:22-32).
Is this story a "legend" about Abraham told to demonstrate his remarkable faith? Is it a story of a pious man who thought he heard God tell him an impossible thing and in his religious zeal set off without even considering that he might be wrong? Surely he might well have followed the advice given in 1 John 4, "Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God."
Whatever is actually going on in this story, God's promise to Abraham and Sarah, the promise present in the boy Isaac, seems to be in serious peril. But in the end, God intervenes, and the promise is preserved. Does that happen only because Abraham performs well enough in his test? That seems out of character with the God who had made the covenant with Abraham, and surely with the God we meet in Jesus.
I wonder, what picture or image of God and God's character do you have? Where does it come from, and how do you handle those places in Scripture that seem contrary to your image? Where do you find yourself wrestling with God?
Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from humankind. They utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak.
So begins Psalm 12. In every age there are times when the world seems to be going to pot, when people are abandoning the ways of God. The psalmist sees that happening in his time. Which is not to say that they people of his day weren't being religious. If other biblical passages are any guide, people continued to go to the Temple, to make their offerings, and to participate in the festivals and celebrations of the faith. The prophets regularly complained about those who confessed God with their lips but failed to live as God commanded.
The same sort of thing can be said in our day. More attention is given to religious symbols and observances than to how people live. There is a facebook group insisting that this is a Christian nation, and people rally around nativity displays and displays of the 10 Commandments. Yet our culture seems to value consumerism, greed, individualism over any biblical designs for society.
Regardless of the age or situation, there are times when it is easy to sing along with the psalmist. "Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly." But the psalmist does not make the move that some of us want to make. The psalmist never says, "It's hopeless." The psalmist never writes, "The whole world's going to pot." Instead the psalmist proclaims a word from God, "Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan, I will now rise up."
I think that one of the great challenges of faith is to trust that God is still sovereign, that God still controls human destiny, even when things look bad. It is so easy to make faith about nothing more than one's personal spiritual state, and in the process deny that God is the God of history. O God, help me trust that you bend all things to your will.
"I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." So says Jesus in today's verses from the gospel of John. No doubt the familiarity with these words has numbed many Christians to the oddness of this metaphor. What does this mean? What in our personal lives of faith and spirituality is described by never being hungry and never being thirsty?
Certainly my own spiritual life can get pretty dry at times, and I can feel empty. How do such experiences fit into what Jesus says?
I don't have any neat answers to such questions. And sometimes I think that the trite formulas spouted by some Christians are more of an impediment to deep faith than they are a help. Faith needs to wrestle with doubt, with feelings of God's absence, with questions of "Why?" if it is going to grow and mature.
So I won't offer a one size fits all interpretation of today's words on hunger and thirst, but I will speak of my own experience. Often times my own spiritual dryness is connected to barriers I set up between me and Jesus. Sometimes these barriers have nice, religious clothing such as my work as a pastor. Serving a religious institution is not always the same thing as following Jesus, and sometimes I need to make a concerted effort to draw close to Jesus once more.
What are the things in your life that get in the way? In my case, they are rarely things which seem patently evil or opposed to God. The best barriers, like the best idols, usually appeal to our religious and spiritual hungers.
1 Corinthians 13 is most often heard at weddings, but it is not an ode to love, certainly not romantic love. Paul is lecturing wayward children, admonishing them for engaging in petty divisions. The behavior of the Corinthians is not unlike that of siblings engaged in all out rivalry. And the Corinthians could surely see themselves in all those things "love is not."
In today's reading from John, the religious authorities bring Jesus a woman who has been caught in adultery. Her "guilt" is apparently never in dispute. The only issue is how Jesus will respond. "Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?"
Posts
