Are you saved? Dwelling with God on the 4th Sunday of Lent

“For we are His handiwork, created in

Christ Jesus for the good works that

God has prepared in advance, that we

should live in them.” –Ephesians 4:10

Recently I have been doing a bit of driving –trips to the grocery store, the therapist, the pharmacy, down to Montrose to hear a lecture about Flannery O’Connor, even a drive to and from Dallas for a college visit.  And during these drives –especially if I am alone at night—I tend to turn on one of the Christian radio stations to hear someone preach about God. I started this habit back in my twenties. It just seemed more interesting than most pop music.  Regardless, the habit has stuck.  And I can be inspired by and learn something new from even the simplest sermon (or lesson). I’m not too picky. I like R.C. Sproul (Reformed), Chuck Swindall (Evangelical), Ed Young (Baptist), Charles Stanley (Southern Baptist), and a couple weeks ago I heard a woman from Africa teaching lessons from Genesis 12 and the call of “Papa Abraham.” I had never considered thinking of Abraham as “Papa Abraham,” but I liked it.  What first appealed to me was simply the “exotic” sound of her voice. It was something different from the usually Southern twang of many of these ministers.  But, I also liked the simple lessons about faith and following God that she was deriving from just a very few verses about “Papa Abraham.” So, I kept listening.

But, as I listen to these shows more than occasionally I will hear someone bring up the arguments of the Reformation as if they were still a sore subject. The other night, driving home from Sugarland I heard a preacher (not sure of the name) preaching on Revelations. As I listened he quickly came to the question of the whore of Babylon and how it was –what he called—the church of Rome.  On one level he was making a pretty good case starting with Constantine and the conversion of Rome; dwelling with particular emphasis on the mass baptism of Constantine’s army as a sign of the early Church getting way off on an extremely wrong foot.  

            I’m not certain if it was the same guy, but on another evening I heard the Church of Rome condemned for keeping the Bible out of the hands of the common people for so many centuries: 1. keeping it in Latin, and 2. keeping the right (or authority) to interpret scripture unto itself. Whether it was the same guy, it was definitely the same channel. I’ve head other ministers on that station (ministers I respect –like Sproul) deride the Roman Catholic church for its corruption and especially for still teaching that works are required for salvation.  And as I listen, I am often struck by the thought: you’re over-simplifying! It seems to me that these ministers were probably taught something during seminary and are simply repeating it without checking to see if its true (or ever was), and what the other side has to say for itself.  Heck, they don’t even acknowledge that the Lutherans and the Roman Catholics signed a Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification back in 1999 (when John Paull II was still Pope).

            To be fair, I’ve also heard Catholic radio personalities (on EWTN) do the same thing from the other side.  They ridicule or deride their Protestant brethren for the teaching of justification by faith, and speak disdainfully of the very idea of sola scriptura –oversimplifying everything Luther or Calvin or even Barth might have taught. 

It feels like (on both sides) there is a refusal to listen, to engage the actual ideas of the other side, and a dangerous tendency to oversimplify. Who needs to actually read and contemplate the ideas of Luther or Calvin or a papal encyclical, when all you’re looking for is a straw man to knock over with a blast of your own hot air?    

            For instance, the other night on EWTN a Catholic apologist was citing several scripture passages as proof that Luther was all wrong about faith alone, and that clearly Jesus, Himself, was going to be looking at our works when it came time for the last judgment.

            For a Roman Catholic to think that Luther (or Lutherans) have failed to notice (or consider) Matthew 25: 31-46 is just absurd. A quick Google search will bring up articles and sermons by contemporary Protestant ministers preaching and teaching on the importance of works of mercy and love.  But look a little further and we find that Luther addressed this also; as did Calvin; with grace and inspiring insight. Whether we agree with an interpretation or not, what you will find in these writings is a brother or sister sincerely seeking God’s will and not just a cartoon enemy to be taped to a theological dart board.

The same could be said of those who have never read an encyclical or Papal letter, or the Catechism of the Catholic Church, yet wants to criticize her teachings. But who has time to consider what the other side of an issue when we are all in such a rush to jump to conclusions?

Which –by way of a lengthy introduction—brings me back to Paul’s letter to the Ephesians and the very question of “good works.”

Paul states here that we are “saved through faith” (points for Luther & JPII) and adds that our faith comes not through any effort on our part, but as a “gift of God.”  How much clearer does the teacher have to be here? Suddenly I am wondering why the whole Reformation couldn’t have been handled over in an afternoon at the pub; a couple of pitchers of ale, a block of Limburger and a loaf of pumpernickel and it’s done! Thomas Moore still has his head and Servetus still… well, never mind. As we know, the pub was probably closed for a religious holiday.

(As a side-note, it is interesting what the church has paired this reading with, a passage from Second Chronicles (cf.36:14-16; 19-23) about the “works” of God’s people when they are left to their own devices: abominations and the polluting of the temple. Even when God sends prophets with warnings the people react only with mockery and scoffing. Sound familiar? So, God sends them the Babylonians and a little bit of captivity, as a gift –one might say; a very hard kind of grace.)

But then, what does all this say to us about our works? Aren’t they worth something? Or why bother?

Well, what does Paul say?  Paul says this: our works were prepared for us by God, “that we should live in them.” Our works are where we are to dwell –prepared for us before we were born.  What does that mean: “…Prepared in advance that we should live in them?”

I propose that the answer is found not in theological debates or creeds or encyclicals and catechisms. It is found in Jesus. In the person of Christ.  In the time of fulfillment personified; in the Kingdom of God made flesh.

When the “sheep” in the parable of the last judgment ask the King: When did we see you hungry and feed you? Naked and give you clothes? A stranger and make you welcome? A prisoner and visit you? Basically, they are asking Jesus: When, Lord, were we in your presence? When were we dwelling in the Kingdom of God? Living in the time of fulfillment? And what does Jesus say? He responds:

“In truth I tell you, when you did this for the least

Of these my brothers, you did it for me…” (Mt. 25:40)

Basically, He is answering: when you did this and this and… 

True, those works may not earn the Kingdom of God, but that may not be the point. The point just might be that they are the Kingdom of God. (How very Dante-esque, I must say!)

So, if we’ve signed a declaration of agreement, why do Catholics and Protestants keep arguing about these things? And why do they always seem to be scoffing and deriding each other’s ideas?  Why won’t they just sit down with a pitcher of Shiner and a plate of nachos and listen to each other? That’s probably a discussion for another time, but it reminds me of something Jesus says in Sunday’s Gospel:

“…the people preferred darkness.” (Jn 3:19)

Assumptions and the aftermath: on Joshua 22:12

"At this news, the whole community of the Israelites

mustered at Shiloh, to march against them and

make war on them.” –Joshua 22: 12

Out of context, one might read this passage and assume that the Israelites are mustering to go to war against an enemy, perhaps some nation that has become an abomination before the Lord. But, in fact it seems to me, a perfect sign of what is to come for God’s chosen people: in-fighting, mistrust, suspicion and jealousy; the human condition (one might say).

Here, near the end of the book of Joshua, when the battles are finished, and all of the tribes have been allocated their land, one would imagine –expect, even—peace to reign, at least for a chapter or two.  However, almost immediately after the fighting stops as the tribes of Rueben, Gad and “the half-tribe of Manasseh” head home, they stop and build an altar (possibly in Gilgal). In reading the Torah (the first 5 books of the Bible) how many times have we seen the great figures from Israel’s history stop and build an altar of stones to honor God? To memorialize some victory? To remember some great, life-altering event? Abraham does it (cf. Gen 12:7 -8;13:18; 22:9) . Jacob does it (Gen 35:7). Moses builds one (Ex. 17:15). Heck, even Joshua does it (Joshua 8:30).  But now, when the rest of the tribes hear of this particular altar they muster at Shiloh and prepare to march against them because they find it suspicious and threatening. Here they are, finally settled after 40 years of wandering and fresh from the seemingly miraculous victories over their enemies, and what happens? They declare war not a pagan enemy, but on their own brothers (and sisters) who have just fought along side them to win them their homelands. Already in this nascent moment, the community of God’s people is crumbling.

As a prelude to war, the priest Phinehas is sent (with ten elders) to declare to these three (or 2 1/2) tribes their sin and to demand an answer:

“What do you mean by this infidelity, which you have

committed against the God of Israel…?” (cf. 22:16)

Phinehas asserts that this altar puts all of Israel in danger.  But the two and a half explain that Phinehas (and the others) have been rather rash in their judgment. This altar has been built not out of idolatry, nor infidelity, but out of fear that these others –the tribes that sent Phinehas, et al—might some day forget that the Reubenites and Gadites and half tribe of Manasseh too are children of Abraham, and say to them:

“What connection do you have with the Lord, God of Israel? Has not the Lord set the frontier of the Jordan between us and you, you Reubenites and Gadites. You have no share in the Lord.” (cf. 22:24-25)

They have built this altar as a witness for future generations, as a reminder that they too are a part of God’s people; they too have a stake in His blessing.  They have built it that they might point to it as an image of what they once stood near, as an assurance to future generations that they too “have a right to worship the Lord in His presence…” (22:27b)

            Oddly enough, nowhere in this story is there any mention of God’s approval or disapproval of the altar. The same God who was so precise and exacting in his directions to Moses for building a tent and an altar and special poles and bowls and tent cloths –even to the number of loops in the cloth—and who and when and where anyone could approach the altar-- doesn’t seem to have any opinion on this one.  So, I ask myself: what lesson are we to derive from this story? If it isn’t a lesson about altars and infidelity, then what is it? A lesson about trust? About faith? About rushing to judgment? About making assumptions? One side assumes the other is doing something sinful. The other side assumes that they will be forgotten. And neither side seems to remember God’s strangely reassuring words from Deuteronomy:

“It is not for your righteousness or for the uprightness of your heart that you are going to possess [this] land, but it is because of the wickedness of these nations that the LORD your God is driving them out before you.” (Deuteronomy 9:5)

But as we see again and again in scripture, that is the key mistake people make over and over. We assume it’s all about us. God is rewarding us because we deserve it, or God is punishing us because we deserve it. At least for me, it is always about me. My wife is mad because of something I did. My kids are sick because I’m a failure as a father. My poem got rejected because I’m no good as a writer. But as we see in the book of Judges, every time things seem to start going right, every time the Lord blesses His people with victory and protection and peace, they begin doing what is evil in the sight of the Lord. It happens so often that it becomes a kind of refrain. The main lesson I am hearing from this passage is: Don’t assume this all about you. And don’t assume you know all the facts. And don’t assume you know God’s will…  And don’t assume that just because God loves you, He approves of everything you do.  In fact, just don’t assume.

The Tranfiguration: 2nd Sunday of Lent

“…when they looked around, they saw no

one with them anymore but only Jesus.”

--Mark 9:8

Outside my window, the branches of the oak in our front yard are being transfigured –metamorphosing—from stark leafless twiggy things, seemingly lifeless, icons of loss and sorrow, into budding branches almost literally bursting with life.  Images of transfiguration are all around us. But often we either don’t see them or don’t know what to make of them.  We rush on to our next appointment unwilling to stop and stare and really see what is right before our eyes.  The blessing that rises before us.

Looking at the readings for this Sunday, I quickly read the Old Testament passage –Abraham and Isaac and the sacrifice—and rushed past the psalm and the reading from Romans to look at the Gospel. Eager to skip over the side dishes and get to the main course, I guess.  And when I saw that the reading from Mark was the story of the transfiguration, I thought: Oh, that’s why we have the Abraham story! Perfect! Yes. Both stories have mountains and both involve beloved sons and both involve some kind of change or revelation. I got that. Easy. I wonder what’s next week?

I was treating these familiar readings with too much familiarity. I was treating them the way one might treat an old stain on the wall, or your 851^st bowl of oatmeal, or your wife’s hair… I wasn’t really looking at it, wasn’t really noticing it. I wasn’t really paying attention. Yeah, it’s fine. Looks nice. Tastes like it always does… I guess.  How would I know? Unless I take the time to actually taste it, notice it, appreciate it.

When I teach poetry (this is definitely an aside) I like to share with students a piece of historical prose written by William Carlos Williams as a kind of introduction. The piece is called something like “The American Background,” and I first came upon it in Williams’s Selected Essays (pg. 134).  It is a brief observation (less than a page) about the early American settlers from England and their misidentification of a bird. Williams tells us that these early settlers saw a bird that looked to them like something they remembered from their homeland and they called the bird a robin. But (according to Williams) what they were looking at was a thrush –a larger bird, a bird of wilder song and that even landed differently. It was a totally different bird with only similar coloring.  But instead of looking at it and seeing that this was something new, something they had never experienced before –they fell back on their past, retreated to what they already knew and missed the actual: Nothing new here. Just a robin –seen one, seen ‘em all.  Let’s go find some gold.

Instead of seeing the truth perched on the branch before us, how often do we rush past not noticing the gift God has set before us? How often do we look at a thrush, but see only what we think is a robin –because that’s what we are expecting to see?  How often do we read a familiar story and hear only what we expect to hear –never really what is on the page, never letting ourselves hear the story fresh, engage it anew?

Beginning to wonder if maybe I’d missed something by seeing only the familiar, I went back to look at the psalm (and possibly I was feeling sorry for it –who pays attention to the psalms?).  I wondered what it might have to say about the theme of transfiguration.

I was first struck by the words:

“I believed, even when I said:

I am greatly afflicted.

Precious in the eyes of the Lord

Is the death of His faithful ones.” (116:10)

And instead of trying to make that mean something about the Gospel or the story of Abraham, I simply heard it and felt the words begin to take root in my soul. Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His faithful ones… In the midst of a culture that measures success and the value of a life by the amount of comfort and pleasure experienced, and by the amount of pain and discomfort avoided it is very troubling to hear of such preciousness. One might even ask: If the faithful one is so precious to God, why doesn’t God save him?

            Next the psalm speaks of being God’s servant, of being set free by God (“you have loosed my bonds…”). And then the psalmist sings:

“To You I will offer sacrifice of thanksgiving,

I will call upon the name of the Lord…” (cf. 116:16-17)

And I began to contemplate –what does this mean to me? How is God speaking something new to me through these ancient words?  And it was in that time of contemplation that I began to understand being transfigured doesn’t just mean a change of appearance.  When Jesus is transfigured, Peter, James & John see Him in a new way. But it isn’t just that Jesus has changed in appearance. In this story, in that moment, the disciples get a glimpse of the Truth… they have the mystical experience of seeing Christ in the fullness of His being.  But Jesus isn’t the only one who is transfigured on that mountain. Peter, James & John come down the mountain changed, metamorphosed by the experience. And then I heard myself asking: What about Abraham? Who is transfigured in that story? On the one hand there is Abraham who is challenged to offer his beloved son as a sacrifice, and in his willingness to do whatever God demands of him, he is transformed from a man who follows God in order to receive a reward (wealth, land, generations of children, and a lasting memory) into a man who “fears the Lord” [not afraid the way someone might be afraid of ghosts or the dark or nuns with yardsticks, but more like awe or a sense of being devoted to God] (cf. Gen 22:12).   Okay, so on one level there is a change in Abraham’s relationship with God, but there is something else; something that reminds me of the changed disciples coming down from the mountain with Jesus.  They now understand Jesus in a new way. They have heard God’s voice from a cloud proclaim “This is My beloved son. Listen to Him.” (Mk 9:7)

Abraham goes up a mountain following a God capable of demanding human sacrifice, but he comes down serving a God who refuses such a sacrifice.  Abraham’s very understanding of God has been transformed –transfigured. God has revealed something new about Himself to Abraham and be so doing He has loosed the bonds of superstition and set Abraham free.  But this freedom is not a freedom to lick the earth, to seek comfort and pleasure wherever you will. It is a freedom to serve God, a freedom to submit to God’s gift of the law. A freedom to offer our brokenness and our sin, our death to our longings and desires, our selfishness, as the sacrifice we place upon the alter, our living sacrifice offered in Thanksgiving.

Open your Bible, climb the mountain (go out in your front yard) and offer God the sacrifice of your attention. Give yourself to God with a thankful heart. And don’t be afraid. Just open your eyes and let yourself see. Really see. And don’t be surprised if what you see is something you have never noticed before; you may just find yourself transfigured.